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thegnomelord · 1 year

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Devotion in Steel

How They Worship You After The Hunt: Dottore, Childe, Zhongli.

So this is based off This idea I had about a cyberpunk reader in a cult!Sagau genshin, so this is just me testing the waters. I spent wayyy too much time on this one lol but this brainrot is still going strong.

CW: Suggestive themes, cult/yandere characters, reader is GN, mentioned gore for Zhongli part. First time writing Yandere's so tell me how it goes lol.

Dottore: Silent Curiosity

He does not worship you openly; he doesn't sing hymns about your mercy or your cruelty, nor does he press his face into the ground whenever you pass, like certain archons wishing for redemption. His worship is quiet. To the unworthy, the way he touches you — with clinically cold hands, examining every gear, and bolt, and piston with the same calculating gaze reserved for one of his machines — may as well be the highest form of sacrilege. Who is he to act as if you are just another of his toys? Who is he to not even say a single word to you? Who is he to touch and pull on your mechanical components like some urchin child toying with an object they do not realize is precious? But they can't do anything, because You do not see it their way. You do not stop or punish him, you encourage him; it isn't rare to find you two alone, him on his knees with your arm held in his hands, silently watching the moving mechanisms beneath your plating as you explain the intricacies of your mechanical form to him in that synthetic voice of yours that makes his bones tremble. His touch is clinical, precise, but it is by no means cold; His worship is conveyed through his actions. With reverence he cleans the dirt and grime from the seams in your armor, happy to stay on his knees for hours, days even, so long as not a single speck of dirt is left to mar your perfect body. With piety he polishes every gear, with admiration he oils every piston, worshiping even the smallest piece in your body like it is a holy relic. To Dottore, being able to see technology millennia ahead of his own and learn of knowledge yet undiscovered would have been bliss. But to feel it beneath his fingers? To feel it in his bones as that artificial voice of yours reveals the world's secrets? Heaven.

Tartaglia: Eager Veneration

Once, Tartaglia had only known of you from the stories his parents had told him; of a loving creator, a place of safety and solace in this harsh world. Later, when he fell into the Abyss, Skirk told him new stories of you, passed down to her by the denizens of the Abyss — ones his parents wouldn't have dared to utter lest they tempt Celestia to punish them for heresy. So when you descended, full of harsh edges and your body geared for battle, he embraced you as you were. He would have loved you regardless of your appearance, but something about the mechanical version of you made sense to him; Children resemble their parents after all, why should you have appeared like the demure little thing the tapestries depicted you as when Teyvat could be harsh, and cruel, and cold? He remembered his parents teachings, tried to be respectful like the other acolytes, on their knees, with their heads pressed to the ground. He would have done so happily, would have kneeled before you until he was nothing but bones, would have slaughtered countries in your name... yet the abyss gnawed on his bones, needing your attention like a babe needed a parent. So when you showed him favor? When you offered him to touch the divine metal of your cybernetic body? He couldn't stop himself. Anxiety tempered his eagerness, he did not seek more than what you offered him, yet his hands still glided over your skin and metal with the same energy as the little gears beneath your outer shell. Trembling fingers traced old dents and scratches that ripperdocs had neglected to fix, words of absolute devotion leaving his lips as he put his head to your chest, listening to the tik tik tik of mechanical organs beneath your chassis. But your weapons enchanted him the most. It reminded him so much of the Foul Legacy hiding under his skin; the promise of danger and death lurking beneath the surface, ready to be used as soon as a threat appeared — a similarity between you two that no one else could claim. He could spend days simply kissing and lavishing the seams in the armor, feeling where fake skin transitioned into metal which hid your weaponry from the world. Though you never allowed him more than a look, he yearned to touch them, to kiss the sharp blades, to feel his bones bend under your mechanical strength, to feel the monowire burn through his skin... Please, won't you let him? He survived the Abyss, he promises that he's tough, he can handle the pain... just this once, let him worship you, all of you, please?

Zhongli: Desperate Absolution

Zhongli is afraid; to touch, to breathe, to even exist near you. How can he not be, when he is the reason for your missing parts? Your aching joints? When he was the one who harmed you, who tainted your holy body with his hate and prejudice? When he was so prideful as to forsake his creator because they did not fit his own imagination? When the truth was revealed, the real impostor laying dead and your mechanical frame speckled with drops of your golden blood, he understood he was in no place to anything but bow and pray your fury would be swift and merciful, though he did not deserve it. Yet even as he knelt before you, head bowed so low it was flush with the ground and eyes shut tight, not daring to even glance at your metallic feet, a part of him still yearned for a chance at redemption; to earn back the chance to worship you, to earn your forgiveness through devotion. He would do anything for it; Kiss and lick the dirt off your mechanical feet, be at your beck and call till the end of time... If you wished to regain your lost parts — he would scour the far reaches of Teyvat until he found all the metal pieces you had lost, and those that were permanently damaged? He would carve his bones into shape, until they fit... If you told him to forfeit his flesh like you had done — he would claw at his skin until not a single scrap of meat hangs off his bones. He would happily wander the earth as a skeleton, grafting pieces of old Khaenri'ahn technology to himself until he resembled you, just so you could inflict the same wounds he had done to you... Yet you did no such thing. Even as his thoughts gained a voice, escaping his mouth through muffled whimpers, all you did was watch him, your mechanical gaze racking over his shivering form as he tried to stop his hiccupping cries. Truly pathetic. Then your fingers found his chin, gripping him in a bruising as you raised his head to look at you. Your mechanical eyes reflected in the tears running down his cheeks, the metal joints in your fingers nipping at his skin. His eyes met your cold gaze, and he wondered what you will ask of him — His eyes? His tongue? His arms? The impostor would have demanded all that and more... He would give it in a heartbeat. But please, find it in your cold heart to forgive him.

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nonbinary-thot · 5 months

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Okay okay, this has been rotting my brain all fuckin' day. He's so needy I need him :(

Virgin Choso! Is so needy and whiny it's almost impossible not to wanna tease him !! They way he whines when your hands haven't even touched his cock, but literally his mid thigh.

Virgin Choso! Bucking his hips into your sweet hand, head thrown back and salty, fat tears running down his cheeks. It's so cute, you just have to lean up and lick the tears off his black strip on his face.

Virgin Choso! His eyes rolling to the back of his head when he's so close and it's only been half a minute. The poor baby is so touch starved, it's almost comical.

When Virgin Choso! Finally cum, its thick, thick ropes of cum that cover your hand in that creamy pretty white color. You lift your hand to lick it, keeping eye contact with him, and he's instantly hard again, whining and crying for you to fuck him this time !! He just needs it so bad :(

Virgin Choso! Who's instantly sobbing as you tried to calm his aching cries when you pushed a finger into his tight,tiny little hole. He wanted this, why is he crying? But God is he such a pretty crier. The rounds of his eyes turning a brighter red than they already were, his lashes clumped with tears that hit the light in the room almost perfectly.

Virgin Choso! Who's cumming the second your push your cock in his hole. He couldn't help it, it just felt so good :( his cock has a mind of its own.

a/n help me, this isn't proof read. REPOST ARE APPRECIATED !!! I LOVE YOU GUYS, ITS CURRENTLY 2AM LOL

#jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso supremacy #jujutsu kaisen choso #whiny little bitch #whiny men #men crying #pretty boy

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1whump-dump1 · 1 year

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Anthropoid (2016)

#whump gif #hurt/comfort gif #whump #hurt/comfort #emotional whump #crying #men crying #comfort #hug #hugging #guilt #cillian murphy #and whoever the fuck that guy from 50 shades of grey is #i made the subtitles based on what i heard so they might be slightly wrong #whump community #fuck cillian murphy is a beautiful man #i mean fuck #anyway...#enjoy.

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xo-urban · 1 year

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After reading the medic reader fic, I got this idea and just had to ask : can I request Ghost x male reader, who got kidnapped during a mission.

They were together on a patrol, everything was fine until all of the sudden a few enemy soldiers appeared, Ghost and reader were able to take them down until one of them pressed a knife against reader throat, telling Ghost to back off. He didn't want them to hurt his friend, so he just watched as they dragged reader away.

Immediately after getting back to the rest they organized a rescue mission, but the area where Reader could be held was really big and it took them a few days to finally narrow it down to a small, abandoned building.

Just imagine Ghost, covered in blood of their enemies, sitting on the ground with readers unconscious and beaten body, sobbing out that he loved him and that he was sorry for not being able to protect him, that he let them take him away and hurt him, torture him.

I NEED ANGST.

With a good ending ofc, slay bestie 😌💅

Loved this yet hated this emotionally. ANWYAYS ENJOY!

Can’t Afford Losing You

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Male Reader

Summary: You get captured and Ghost doesn’t take it well, doing everything it takes to get you back.

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Angst, He’s crying, mentions of death.

Word count: 1734

The rain pounded down on the land. You shivered at the cold, gritting your teeth as you adjusted the hold on your rifle. Ghost was by your side, almost unphased by the weather. “You’re telling me you aren’t cold!?” You shuddered as you kept on walking. Why the hell did Price decide this was a great day to check the outskirts of the base for any enemies. “You’re just a little.. Overly reactive..” Ghost chuckled lowly, “I’m wet- freezing- cold! I better have some time to warm up when I’m back inside.” You growled.

Ghost was about to speak but heavy footsteps began to approach. “People are here..” You spoke quietly, trying to make out humanoid shapes through the heavy rain, Ghost nodded, lifting his gun. There was a thumping of footsteps all around the two of you.

You clicked your tongue, watching the men come into view, you had no hesitation firing, shedding the first blood as bodies dropped dead in front of you. Ghost had your back, firing at anyone who dared to reveal themselves out of bravery.

You were pulled forward by your wrist, a loud crack followed by your own yell. Your gun fell to the ground as you were pulled into a headlock, knife pressed against your throat. “Stand down!” Your opposer held the blade into your neck slightly, drawing a few drops of blood.

Ghost’s eyes widened, it all happened so fast, your wrist was broken and a knife was pressed to your throat. You groaned in pain, not daring to move. Ghost cursed loudly, taking a step towards you with his gun raised defensively.

“Put the gun down and your friend here may make it out alive.” The man holding you hostage spoke, you knew damn well he was smirking proudly. Ghost dropped his gun, eyes on you the whole time, “Let him go..” Ghost spoke, aware of the guns aimed at both of you. He didn’t wanna risk getting you shot, you were a valuable part of the team they couldn’t afford to lose.

“You’re a fool.”

A man came up behind Ghost, hitting him hard in the side of the head with the butt of his gun. “GHOST!” You yelled but soon enough you too were knocked out. The darkness clouding your vision as you went limp.

“We take this man, the other won’t give us anything so don’t bother, he’s lip sealed, this one though.. we have some hope.”

You were dragged away from the mess of dead bodies, you couldn’t fight, yet the fight seemed unfair, you were outnumbered from the start. Ghost laid still in the wreckage, rain still pondering down. They didn’t bother with him, assuming nature would take Ghost herself, while you were loaded up into the backseat of an armored car, the men didn’t bother strapping you in, only shifting you to tie your hands behind your back to prevent you from lashing out on them. And with what they would call a mission success, they drove off to god knows where, taking what they needed while leaving the nasty bloodbath all behind.

—--

Ghost groaned when he awoke, lifting himself off the ground. “Fucking-” He cursed, standing up, he rubbed his throbbing head in anger. “I need to get back.” Ghost groaned, quickly picking up your rifle and his own before heading back to base in a haste, he needed to get you back. He couldn’t lose you too.

Ghost swung the door open, being greeted with Soap who had a confused expression on, “You’re back early? Where is-” “Gather everyone for a rescue mission now, we don’t have time to waste, we’ve got to get him back, I need him back!” Ghost cut him off, clearly upset that you were taken from him and he didn’t do anything to prevent it. Ghost rubbed his face in anger, letting out a yell of frustration. “We’ll get him back mate, we need to work quickly” Soap patted him on the shoulder, “See you in the meeting room L.T” Soap nodded before quickly running out to gather the men.

—--

The team organized your rescue mission, working non-stop for the past twenty-four hours. Especially Ghost, who worked extra hard to get you back, listing multiple places where you could be held at. Eventually Soap and Gaz forced him to take a break, despite the protest Ghost had, They managed to get the masked man to get some sleep.

Ghost awoke to whispers around the table, groaning as Price patted him on the back, “Just in time Ghost. We pinpointed a place.” Price spoke, voice strong but you could tell he was breaking slowly at the seams, “A small warehouse a little south of here.. We need to take precautions. By sending out someone to take a look, we found that the place is heavily guarded, it’ll be the place we expect our man to be at.” Price pointed to a small circle on the map before looking at Ghost whose eyes spoke of the hellfire that sooned to rain.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

—--

You weren’t doing too great on your end. You were beaten, tortured and interrogated. Here you were, gashes and scratches bleeding freely without anything to stop the flow, wrists bound with new zipties after you tore out of you original ones and beat the shit out of your captors. Your knuckles were split and bloody and your face was beaten beyond recognition. You leaned back against the wall, heaving, trying to get some air in your lungs. Everything was numbing or throbbing, you couldn’t tell. “I’m gonna ask one more time.. What are your operations?” A man kneeled down to meet your eyes. “You.. will never fucking get it out of me you pathetic dog!” You spat at his feet, leaning back with a cocky grin.

That’s when the gunfire started, right when you were about to give into blood loss.

—---

Ghost launched himself out of the car in haste, ignoring his team’s calls to get him to wait. He couldn’t wait any longer, not when he knew you were at stake. He fired at anyone he saw as an enemy, the bullet piercing them before they could even lift their guns. If the others won’t come with him then he’ll walk with hell by his side, his only mission was to get you out alive.

Soon the team began to provide back up once Ghost rammed into the door, knocking it down with such force it fell off its hinges. “Split up! Soap with me!” Ghost commanded before walking into the building, not bothering to wait for any other arguments.

—---

You groaned, fighting to stay awake, you heard the gunshots, you heard your team, you heard Ghost. You just needed to stay awake, it was the best you could do in your bounded, weakened state. As soon as a bright light hit your eyes, you let out a sigh of relief, smiling, “You bastards.. What took you so long?” You laughed dryly as you were cut free of your handcuffs, you rubbed your very sore wrists, hissing at the pain in your broken one.

Ghost pulled you into a tight hug, his frame shaking, “I’m sorry I took too long” He cried, but your exhaustion got the best of you, passing out in Ghost’s arms before he was able to say anything else.

Ghost felt how you went limp in his arms, he practically yelled as he held you close to him, shaking you in hopes you just fell asleep, “No- no, no, no, no!” He sobbed, his voice broken as he kept on shaking you. “Stay with me please! I-I,,” Ghost sobbed into your bloodied uniform, “Please! I loved you..! Please stay with me, I can’t lose you, I can’t do this again! Fuck- Please!” He begged through his tears, his mask wet as hiccups, sobs, pleas and cries, left Ghost till his throat was sore.

Soap finally entered the room to his horror of finding you in Ghost’s arms unmoving. “We’ve got to get out of here!” Soap rushed over, trying to get Ghost up and away from your body, but he didn’t let go, as if he were to, you would cease to exist. It took a few moments to pry Ghost off of you so you could be safely transported back to the hospital. Ghost cried the entire time, staring at your unconscious body, he’d never know if you loved him back, or if you even heard his confession. His voice was hoarse so he didn't bother arguing or protesting at all.

He was lost without you.

—---

You pried your eyes open, groaning at how stiff and painful your body was. “Holy fuck..” You cursed, moving to sit up but a warm hand stopped you, carefully laying you back down. “Steady now.” Ghost spoke, eyes soft and tear stained. He wore a simple black shirt and some cargo pants, of course his signature mask still on. “Thought you died..” Ghost murmured sadly before settling down in a chair next to you. He held your hand in his own with the gentlest touch ever, as if you were the most fragile thing on earth. “Takes more than a little beating to kill me, yeah?” You snickered, Ghost’s eyes shut, his voice wavering as he spoke.

“Your heart stopped when we got you here.. You almost died..” Ghost cried softly, “I didn-” “I love you alright! I can’t lose you too, not again, I can’t-” Ghost broke down when he sighed. You needn’t say a thing, instead you pulled him into your arms, holding him close. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He repeated over and over again as he clung onto you before pulling up his mask and taking you into a passionate kiss.

You were taken back but welcomed it with open arms, leaning into the short kiss.

“I love you too.. Simon.”

Ghost’s heart was full, complete and content, he needed you this entire time yet was too scared to tell.

You smiled as you pulled him into another comforting kiss, the tension in the room easing drastically.

….

“ABOUT DAMN TIME!” Soap yelled from outside, earning a few laughs from you and Ghost.

“I agree with that..” Ghost smile, pecking your lips once more.

“So do I get to see the pretty face?”

“... Maybe later love..”

#fanfic #fanfiction #ghost x male reader #male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #ghost x reader #modern warefare 2 #simon ghost riley angst #angst with a happy ending #angst #men crying #i don’t even have words

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mewnoon · 2 months

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I have such a weak spot for men crying, all you have to do to make me love a male character is show them emotionally vulnerable and immediately he’s my new obsession. Bonus point if it’s a Character played by David Tennant.

#men crying #david tennant #robert sheehan #klaus hargreeves #tenth doctor #tua #dr who #there she goes

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eiqgot · 5 months

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Not me crying harder than waterfalls when Lilia cries. I lost it. I was bawling for a good 30min.

Sebek is so sexy with his hair like this!

And finally.... THE APPEARANCE OF IDIA!! so exciting! Trying not to reveal too many spoilers though.

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vexypest · 3 months

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heyyy I did the thing

@somaticmilk HI so I barely ever draw gore or whatever so forgive me if this isn’t perfect but yeah!!! Derek Goffard with stitches and tears. ive never actually played tpof so I wasn’t to sure what to do-

#digital art #art #digital artist #fanart #artist #btd fanart #tpof #tpof derek #tpof fanart #the price of flesh #derek goffard #men crying #stitches #pain

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dommedahlia · 7 months

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want a boy who starts sobbing, tells me to wait and tries to crawl away from me just after seeing the strap-on im gonna be using on him tonight even tho i spent the last 15 minutes prepping him

#fdom #bd/sm kink #mommy k!nk #gentle domination #good boy #subbyboy #men crying #hornyposting

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pekejscatbed · 7 months

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Please Don't Leave (i need you more than you need me) | Jason Todd & Tim Drake

info/warnings: Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Protective Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Angst, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Men Crying, Panic Attacks, Hugs, Platonic Cuddling

batman masterlist

------

It's weird, Tim and Jason's relationship.

When they'd first met, Tim had been looking up to him for years, long before ever taking up the mantle of Robin himself, but as the new Robin, Jason hated him. Jason saw Tim as nothing but his replacement, just some kid who took his place after he died- after Joker murdered him- and he was forgotten. So, Jason tried to kill him. Jason beat the kid to a bloody pulp and Tim's infatuation turned to hated as the trauma set in.

A few years have passed since then, and while the two aren't constantly at each other throats and can actually have a civil conversation and crack trauma jokes that would make anyone else uncomfortable, the scars are still there. Neither of them has forgotten their first encounter and Tim will never forget the pain.

So, this is definitely a surprise. 'This' being Tim, still in his Red Robin gear, curled up on the old, ratty couch in Jason's safe house when the latter gets back after a long night of anti-heroism.

"The fuck are you doing here, Tim?" Jason takes off his helmet and domino mask, setting them both on the small, wooden table in the center of the room. He isn't mad, not really. For all he knows, Tim could be injured, and the safe house could've been closer than the Batcave- it's happened before (it amazes Jason how the younger always gets in without setting off any of the multiple traps, and also worry's him- should he set more, should he blow this place up and start over?). "You hurt?"

Tim doesn't respond, not verbally, and Jason almost misses the small shake of his head.

Okay, the kid doesn't wanna talk. That's fine. Jason thinks to himself as he takes off his boots, setting them next to the table. "I'm gonna go to bed, then."

(By bed, Jason really means the futon hidden away in the only room in this place other than the bathroom and the weapons vault, though that's hidden (everything else is just one big open space))

"No!" Tim jumps off the couch so fast, the movement startles Jason more than the kids broken down yelling. The kids' cowl is off, and his own domino mask is dropped to the floor when he stands, falling from his lap, and his eyes are rimmed red and wet with tears. Jason only now realizes that Tim is shaking, violent shudders wracking through his whole body. He's in front of the older in an instant, shaky hands gripping onto Jason's jacket, and he looks up at his adoptive brother with a desperate plea in his watery eyes.

Jason fights back the urge to shove Tim off of him, maybe flip him over his shoulder, the sudden touch activating his fight or flight response- he has to stop himself from leaving too, because the situation is awkward and Jason's never been all that good at comforting people, but his little brother (when had he started thinking of Tim as family?) needs him so he stays, slowly wrapping his arms around Tim.

Tim slumps against Jason's body, who easily supports his weight, and sobs into his chest. Pleas of "don't leave me" and the like slip through Tim's sobs, but Jason gives no response, instead just holding his brother close and letting him cry himself out.

They stand there for a while until Tim's sobs die down and his body stops tremoring so violently, though he's still somewhat shaky, and he's taking deep breaths against Jason's chest. With Tim finally calming down, Jason starts to pull away, but Tim's grip on him tightens and his breathing quickens up; Jason holds him close once more, rubbing small circles into his back, and takes deep inhales, followed by slow exhales for Tim to match.

As Tim copies Jason's breathing, Jason starts whispering, voice quiet as so not to startle the younger. "Are you okay?" He pauses. "Never mind. Wanna stay the night?"

Truthfully, Jason doesn't think Tim is in any state to go back to the manor and considering the whole "please don't leave me" thing, he probably doesn't want to. Not now, at least. A nod against Jason's chest proves him right.

"You gotta let go, Timmy, so we can get to the bedroom, okay?" Tim whines in response, making no move to let go. "Alright. Want me to carry you, then?"

A small nod, and Jason is telling Tim to jump, then he's picking up Tim like he weighs nothing, his hands under the others' legs, which are now wrapped around his waist. Slowly, Jason walks them both to the small room he calls a bedroom, filled with his futon, a small dresser/nightstand, and a radio plugged into the wall.

When the older leans over to carefully drop Tim onto the futon, he's met with some resistance, though Tim (reluctantly) lets go when Jason promises he's just going to change them both out of their… 'work' uniforms and then Tim can cling onto him all he wants.

The younger curls up on the bed as Jason peels off his armor and lets it fall to the floor, then grabs a pair of sweats and a tank to change into, grabbing another pair of sweats and a t-shirt for Tim. Speaking of, when Jason tells Tim to sit up so he can slip off his suit, Tim actually listens, making Jason's job here much, much easier. The older then shimmies the sweatpants up Tim's legs, holding back a snort at how loose they are on him, then pulls the shirt over Tim’s head, this time openly snorting at how small Tim looks in it compared to Jason himself; Tim gives him a half assed glare as he lies back down, though the glare is quickly forgotten as Jason tells him to scoot over, then lies down next to him.

Tim is immediately clinging to his older brother again, head on his chest and arm around his waist, and Jason wraps his arms around Tim's back in return. And really, the cuddling (Jason will deny it's cuddling) is making it easier for both men to actually fit on the small futon that definitely is not meant for a fully grown man and his nineteen-year-old brother.

Both of them fall asleep in the comfort of each other's arms, and Jason is happy to not have any nightmares plague his rest for once.

------

When Jason wakes up the next morning, Tim is gone, though the space next to him is still warm, and there's a note on his dresser/nightstand: invest in a bed for fucks sake.

#Tim drake #Jason Todd #red robin #red hood #hurt/comfort #light angst #angst with comfort #angst with a happy ending #platonic cuddles #men crying #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #Batman #batfam #batbros

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thewhumpcaretaker · 21 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 ⚜

Thank you to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: gunshot, crying, John and Vincent being generally nasty to each other

Summary: John Wick and The Marquis de Gramont both faked their deaths on that fateful day at the Basilica. But when Vincent seeks John's help, he isn't expecting genuine compassion.

John was alone. “At home,” yes, “reading”, yes, but most fundamentally, he was alone, with a deep, soft-edged hollowness aching all along the Helen-shaped absence in his life. Dog wasn’t filling that loneliness tonight. Some days were harder than others, and this was one of the hard days. The same paragraph slid past again and again, read but not processed, as that ache grew slowly to rage at the bitter remembrances that cycled through his mind in place of the words on the page.

The sound of the doorbell came as a relief. It could only mean trouble - exactly what John was in the mood for. He took the pistol from the bedside table and closed Dog inside the bedroom – a habit he couldn’t seem to shake when answering the door, ever since Iosef.

“Trouble” wore a cream-colored three-piece suit and pearly pink tie, and a face even paler than those accoutrements. It was a comically poor choice of dress for the events fate had wrought on him that day. Even if he hadn’t been bracing himself against the doorframe in a desperate attempt to stay upright, the massive bloom of red spreading from the center of his chest would have informed John that the Marquis was in dire straits, bleeding out, come to his doorstep to beg. Huh. That sight would cheer him up all evening.

John savored it for a long moment and then began to close the door.

“Wait!”

Resting on the doorknob, John’s hand paused its progress and his eyebrow shot up in a silent expression of, “This had better be good.”

The Marquis began a speech that sounded almost rehearsed. “Let’s make this simple. I am offering you the contract of a lifetime. Not a hit, but something even more suited to your habits. Your job is to thwart the High Table on my behalf until my excommunication is reversed, and I am reinstated as Autem Imperator.”

“Excommunication? For what?”

“For your idiocy at the Basilica, which interrupted my contract. Since you were too much of a coward to face me until I had already fired, you are not dead, and I am being hunted by those fils de pute [sons of bitches]. I set out for the states this morning to end you. But count yourself lucky, Mr. Wick. The Table says it’s too late for that. Your head is no longer wanted – for now. So this is your opportunity to redeem yourself after pulling that completely underhanded stunt. Which, I might add, you botched.”

It hadn’t been a “stunt” he enjoyed pulling. Here was a man infinitely weaker than himself, on a deep, personal level, who lived in desperation. And John had used his own arrogance against him. It was what he deserved for hubris, but to give the Marquis de Gramont what he deserved was to destroy him, and John was tired of destroying beautiful things. Mere boys in their 20s, not so different from himself at that age, forced into that same twisted world. He shook his head, dispelling the memory. “You’re coming to me for protection? Why?”

He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Because! All High Table services are closed to me, but you…you’re completely unaffiliated now.”

“And I’d like to stay that way. If you’re trying to make me want to help, you’re doing a piss-poor job.”

“Oh I don’t need to make you want to do anything. You always take the bait eventually, because that is who you are. You answered the door, didn’t you? Bored of your precious retirement?”

John glowered. “I worked very hard for my retirement, as you may recall.”

“Only to relinquish it again and again. You are going to do the only thing you’re good for these days: poke the High Table only to outrun them with your tail between your legs. Except this time, it will be for a purpose that’s worth something. Try to think rationally for a moment. If there was ever a question of whether to leave you undisturbed, I could speak for you. On the other hand, if you spurn me today, you’ll - ”

“Don’t threaten me.” John closed the door. Didn’t even slam it.

He went to the basement, to fetch something. Could have told the Marquis where he was going, but why waste words? Besides, it was worth making him squirm a little.

When he returned to the door, Vincent had not moved from the spot. He blinked when the door opened, as if shaken from a trance.

John made no comment on it. He simply held up a marker. The little, cold weight of the metal felt hateful in his hand. A dreaded thing, a pin at the center of a butterfly. Something he’d only wish on his worst enemy. He handed it to Vincent. “This is not for your reinstatement as Autem Imperator. This is for your survival until you’re freed from the High Table.”

He scoffed. “You think I’m willing to give you a marker for the sake of mere survival? That is not the deal, Mr. Wick.”

“That is the deal. Mark it.”

“Payment upon receipt of services. Let me in first.”

By way of answer, John stood aside, and watched the Marquis drag himself through with a maddeningly victorious smirk. He limped his way to the sofa, with John following, not letting him out of his sight for a moment.

He didn’t even have to use the needle for a finger prick. He pressed his thumb to his heart, where there was already plenty of blood soaking through the button-down, and then into the brass. John took it back and snapped it closed again, sealing the debt.

It was only then that The Marquis added, “We’ll see whether the Table thinks I owe you anything before I’m reinstated. It’s your word against mine as to what that marker was for, and we all know which of us holds more sway.”

“Some way to honor a blood oath.” If he’d actually planned on using the marker, John would have kicked him right back out again for that. But in all honesty, it was just leverage. He opened the door again long enough to glance up and down the street. “Who shot you? Did they follow you?”

“I’m not such a novice as to lead them back. Some hitman at a gas station recognized me, but we lost him. By tomorrow morning, my bodyguard will be in another country, leading the High Table away from here.” He shuddered. “Now shut the door, it’s cold.”

It wasn’t the coldest night. Furrowing his brow, John turned his attention back to his new charge, who was looking paler by the moment. He shut the door. “Lay down.”

The Marquis did not comply. “You’re just an absolute mother hen, aren’t you, ‘Baba Yaga’? Going soft?” he seethed, teeth clenched, breathing through his nose and shutting his eyes in a bid to maintain composure. John knew the look. The feeling of shoving down pain and fear, holding your breath and restraining your muscles, actively ignoring the body’s bright red flashing lights that scream “we are not okay right now.” It was hard, and Vincent was amazingly bad at it. He probably didn’t have to do it very often.

John forced down the twinge of pity that rose up at that thought. The Marquis wouldn’t want it anyway. “Suit yourself. I’m going to get a first aid kit. If you’ve moved from that spot when I get back, I’ll shoot you.”

“Anything you say.” Vincent opened his eyes long enough to smirk and raise his hands innocently, as if playing along with the demands of a child. Unfortunately, the effect was spoiled slightly by the shake in his hands.

Fortunately, when John returned, he hadn’t moved.

“Shirt off.” It was painful just to watch as he tried to raise his arms, wincing, and struggling with the suitcoat. No doubt even more painful to be watched. By the time he got to the tie, John stepped in. “We don’t have all day.”

A venomous glare. He looked ready to cut deep. “Are you so eager to touch me, John? That lonely, in this big empty house, with all your ‘love’? Pathetic.”

Anger got the best of him for a moment and he shoved Vincent by the center of his chest, directly over the spreading patch of crimson. The result was a winded kind of wheezing that afforded him enough leeway to strip away as much fabric as needed. Pink silk sliding through his collar. The top four buttons undone. Underneath, parted flesh echoed the parted flaps of the button down.

Panting, the Marquis chuckled weakly. “Guess I’m right. I got to you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“How bad is it?”

John had already steadied himself and started inspecting the wound. “Could be worse. Came in at a glancing angle – only tore muscle on the left side. Then it hit your sternum.”

“Je suis à nouveau épargné [I am spared again],” he breathed, with a little dimpled smile.

“Not yet. I need to pull it out.”

“Without anesthetic!? You have to be joking.”

“I don’t have anesthetics in this house. I’ve done this dozens of times. They aren’t necessary.”

“That’s different. You’re a barbarian.”

“And you’re too chicken?”

Vincent tilted up his chin importantly. “Fine. I’m ready.”

“No, you’re not. Bite down, I don’t want a noise complaint.” The discarded tie had found a new use already.

Vincent grimaced at the metallic taste of his own blood on the silk and spat it back at him. “We’d have no concerns over a noise complaint if you weren’t allowed to run rampant and uncivilized. I had forgotten how intolerable the common assassin can be. At least my Myrmidons - ”

John shoved it back in his mouth, and tied it behind his head this time. Without hesitation, he dove tweezers into the wound and Vincent’s muffled screaming filled the room, making the air heady and vivid.

It was over in a second, but then there was the antiseptic, and the stitching took much longer.

It was all one long, meditative moment for John. He was unexpectedly flooded with adrenaline and had to force himself not to rush. There was the rage, but then there was something else, such a desire to make this quick, to offer some kind of mercy. He kept seeing Vincent’s too-wide, horrified eyes the fraction-of-an-instant before he took the shot that pointless, bloody morning in the Basilica Of Sacré Coeur De Montmartre. Neither of them dead, in the end. Just two faked deaths and a few more bad memories. Just a young man, weak, scared of John, scared of failure, driven mad by the constant push towards power, the constant belittling, the constant threat of death from all sides that was life under the High Table.

It was almost over when there was a buzz from Vincent’s coat pocket at the foot of the couch. Shit. The last thing they needed was for Vincent to get even more riled up by bad news.

“Don’t move. You don’t want to look at that right now anyway.”

His eyes were daggers. “The insolence to tell me what I want to do.” He tried to reach for it regardless but failed. “That’s my business phone. Give it to me.”

Sighing, John dove into the pocket and tossed it to him. He caught a glimpse of the screen as it passed: a contract notice. “What does it say?”

“I – nothing. Surely a mistake.” He closed the phone and tossed it aside, feigning indifference.

John picked it up. Contract for Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont: $20 Million. Open. International. Special alert to New York. Personal bodyguard already deceased. “The guy who saw you must have called in a tip to the High Table…I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You're an embarrassment.” Vincent gave a breathy, half-hearted laugh and began to list sideways, deathly pale. John caught him and lowered him into a laying position, pulling his legs up over the armrest. He took Vincent’s wrist between two fingers and his thumb.

“What are you…”

“Taking your pulse.” It was absolutely flying, dozens of little taps flickering against his fingertips in the space of a second. The Marquis’ eyes fluttered closed at the sensation, overwhelmed by the awareness of his own blood. But his expression remained frozen, a desperate grasp for some semblance of dignity.

“You’re either in shock or having a panic attack. Probably both.”

“I am not having a panic attack.”

“Fine, then you’re in shock.”

“So fix it.”

“I’m trying. You need to elevate your legs, and you need to calm down.”

“I need to calm down,” he repeated, sarcastic. The little taps accelerated. Not helping. He jerked his hand away, his voice rapidly pitching upward into a kind of hysteria. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die.” That’s true, John thought, if you don’t calm down. “You. This is your fault, for a second time. This is why you are alone, a pathetic widower. You are cursed. Everything you touch dies, John Wick, you are poison. Good for nothing. Je vais mourir. [I’m going to die.] This is fate. God is against me.”

This time, he didn’t take the bait. The situation was quickly becoming critical. “Vincent. Breathe.”

He was gasping now, between every other word, almost delirious. “Espèce de pion…sans valeur [You worthless pawn]! My name…is The Marquis de Gramont! You will…address me…by my title!”

John muttered a curse under his breath. Think, accommodate this asshole’s massive ego if that’s what it takes. He had destroyed many people, but rarely had someone been so fragile before him, so absolutely in need, and by extension (ironically), so innocent. Looking down at him, he suddenly viewed Vincent as something other than an asshole, something beyond judgement. An animal that lacked concepts like reason or remorse. Just something that suffered, and wanted, and needed, and that he was charged with treating according to its nature. “Marquis de Gramont,” John said calmly but forcefully, and, even though it wasn’t true, “Autem Imperator.” Please don’t pass out, he thought. Please don’t die on me. “Regarde-moi et respire. [Look at me and breathe.]” He pressed a hand into each of his shoulders, physically stopping the shaking. Physical contact, but more dignified than the hug he wished he could offer, hopefully less likely to make Vincent feel pathetic. He let his face go flat and his voice perfectly monotone, neither pitying nor dismissive, but simply a statement of fact. “Tu vas bien. Je ne vais pas te faire de mal. Ce à quoi vous survivez actuellement est extrêmement difficile. Tu te débrouilles bien. Je ne vais pas mentir, je déteste tes tripes, mais tu ne devrais pas être obligé d’être dans cette position. Cela me fait chier aussi. Alors je ne vais pas te laisser mourir. Je veux que tu ailles bien et je ferai en sorte que cela se produise. [You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. What you’re surviving right now is extremely difficult. You’re doing well. I won’t lie, I hate your guts, but you shouldn’t have to be in this position. It pisses me off too. So I’m not gonna let you die. I want you to be okay and I will make that happen.]”

He half expected Vincent to spit insults again, but he just stared, unable to respond. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Vincent’s eyes glaze slightly, pinprick pupils finally swelling open. Leaving one hand on his shoulder, John pulled the coat over his body, arranged it into place, and resumed the firm pressure on his shoulders. A human simulation of a weighted blanket. For a moment, he shivered even more violently, adjusting to the heat, and then let out an exhale as the peak of the terror began to subside.

Then those insults began to come. “This is exactly why I hate you. This sickeningly sweet nonsense that you spout. It makes me depressed to look at you. You say this - this fairy tale merde [shit], like you’re noble. But the world doesn’t work that way. It’s an affront to my intelligence. There’s no mercy waiting for you.”

“Maybe not. But there is for you. Even if I have to make sure of it myself.”

“I - “ his voice gave out into a sob and he turned his entire head away, into the cushions.

Heavy, sparkling droplets clinging to eyelashes, half-parted, twisted-up lips pressed into the fabric, the most wrenching sounds… He looked beautiful crying, and that thought did not belong in John’s head. He averted his eyes respectfully, partly so the Marquis would be free to turn back towards him if he wanted, and partly to avoid feeding whatever god-forsaken thing had just reared its head inside him.

They sat that way a long time, in silence, Vincent’s shoulders shuddering under the rock of John’s weight, sobs escaping a torn-open chest.

And as the Marquis’ muscles finally relaxed, John felt something. He felt something for this mess of barely restrained malice and misery pinned underneath him. An urgency, all through his body, his own heart taking flight as Vincent’s came to rest. I want you to be okay and I will make that happen, he had said. That was true.

It was then that John knew he was fucked.

#john wick #john x marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont #john wick fanfic #wickblr #marquis de gramont whumpee #angst #dacryphilia #men crying #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whump fic #assassin whump #ao3 crosspost #one shot #enemies to lovers

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hawkofkrypton · 1 month

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The Flash ending with one of the most heartfelt scenes of open, male to male affection in recent times was a suprise

The hug? The tears?? The softness? THAT JINGLE??? HELLO?? 😭

#flash #the flash #barry allen #grant gustin #eddie thawne #cw #rick cosnett #arrow #arrowverse #mental help #mental health #male affection #cuddling #men crying

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trash-magics-blog · 5 months

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The best thing a man can do is cry.

#i have a taste for men who are older #i want him #random #femcel #coquette #i want him to do unspeakable things to me #pathetic men #men crying #whiny men #i wanna dick him down #cod nikolai

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sun-ni-day · 3 months

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shimmer in diamonds

of his eyes

boy is so beautiful

when he cries

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1whump-dump1 · 9 months

Text

Shadowhunters S1E11.

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xo-urban · 1 year

Note

Yo yo! please can I request a John “soap” McTavish x male reader where him, soap and ghost are partnered up for a mission when suddenly, shadow company ambush them forcing them to split off. Reader finds himself hiding behind a building trying to contact ghost and soap when Suddenly the building exploded due to a bomb being planted inside of it. Reader gets stuck under the rubble and can’t contact anyone because he can barely breath and can’t see - thinking he’s going to die. Ghost and soap miraculously find him and get him out and to an infirmary once they get back to base. Turns out one of his legs go to badly injured and impaled that they had to amputate it off and soap is all lovin’ and is there for him to comfort reader 🫶

cheers mate and make sure to stay hydrated 💪

Damn you for this 😭/pos

I’ll Always Love You the Same

Pairing: John ‘Soap’ Mactavish x Male Reader

Summary: A mission goes wrong and you lose more than you could ever imagine, but Soap is by your side to help you through everything.

Warnings: Blood, angst, fluff otherwise

Word count: 1620

“I’m afraid they've been.. Detained.”

Much was a blur but you remember shots being fired left and right, your head was a mess with the sudden action but your aim game was on point. You growled as you shot your enemies that appeared before Soap and Ghost began to run off. You took this as your signal to escape as well, running into the cover of darkness that fogged the forest by night.

You kept on running, heart pounding in your head, frantic or multiple footsteps following you. You don’t know where you were going but you prayed to god you made it out alive. You ran fast enough to lose your enemies for a bit, shaking them off your tail as you emerge from the forest. You panted, seeking shelter in a building that was fully emptied out. You cursed to yourself, grabbing the radio strapped to your chest, speaking quietly into it, “This is Bravo 7-1, how copy?”

You were met with static on the other end, words of your teammates barely slipping through. “A- static. -rh”

You swore under your breath as you walked deeper into the building, rifle raised and ready to fire at any given moment. It was so eerily quiet, you hated every moment. Where was Soap? Where was your beloved man you swore to marry to crack a joke now? You hated the silence, and it didn’t help that your radio was only receiving static.. Well, mostly static.

Suddenly you heard a step. Being armed with your trusty rifle, you decided to investigate. You followed the sound to a small room. It was dark, you could barely make out what was even in there. You flicked your light on, widening at the sight.

That room was set with explosives of all kinds, you could barely name, surrounding the walls as a voice behind you laughed. You were set up, chased into a corner with nowhere to run, you were an idiot to have followed, and now you’re facing an untimely death.

“Fool..” The voice laughed maniacally, “What a fool you are!”

“SHIT!” You turned around, rifle pointing and firing. A good dozen of bullets into the man’s body.

And you ran.

As fast as you could.

Away from death.

Away as far as you could.

…

But you wished damn well you could run faster.

You heard a click, almost too small to be heard before a glass shattering blast rang through the whole building. The wave of force threw you off your feet, smashing you against a wall. You groaned as you slump to the ground, “Fuck!” You cursed through gritted teeth. You head spun and yours ears rang, a red pool of warmth dripping from your head as you tried to get up.

‘No. no. no. It doesn’t end here!’

Your head screamed as your body ached with every movement. Cracks sounded louder than earthquakes as the building shook, the seams that held the building together snapped and you found yourself praying you make it out. Debris began to fall around you and you can tell the whole building was collapsing.

“SOAP!!” You cried in efforts to try and make it out.

But that flame of hope was quickly extinguished as the building came down on you in your last efforts, burying you under piles of heavy concrete and dirt, almost suffocating you as the air was forced out of you, leaving you gasping for breath.

—---

“Haven’t heard from your boyfriend for a while.” Ghost stated, not helping the anxiousness Soap felt as he rubbed his face. “Been trying to reach out but I haven’t been getting any response.” Soap sighed, he knew something was wrong but he always knew to trust you that you’ll always make it out alive. “He’ll be fine Johnny, just take a bre-”

Static began to go through to their end and your voice was picked up on your other end. “Someone- please help.. I’m stuck.. Building came down.. just - please don’t leave me here..!” Soap’s heart dropped at your voice, it was scratchy, weak and desperate to cling onto what life you still had in you. “I’m coming love!” He quickly began to move. “Ghost! Follow my lead, we don’t got time!” Soap commanded as he began running to the building he watched collapse. He didn’t think you were in there, but- “Fuck!” Soap cursed as he ran, as fast as his legs could.

—---

You groaned in pain, body going limp after you grabbed your radio to speak to your teammates, if they heard you at all. You smiled in relief when you heard Soap’s voice through the ringing in your ears.

But you were exhausted and couldn’t keep your eyes opened any longer, murmuring a small apology as a tear slipped out of you eye before your world turned black.

—-

Soap dropped his gun as he ran into the pile of debris, almost crying after finding you unconscious with your lower half crushed under a mountain of shit that came down, head bleeding, and a radio in your hand in your last attempts to stay wake before blacking out.

He rushed over to you, pushing and pulling as much concrete off of you before Ghost made an appearance to hurry the process. “We need to get out of here.”Ghost warned as he heard cars pull up not too far away. Soap pulled you out from under, cursing at himself for not being able to keep you safe.

“Let’s get out of here!”

—--

You awoke with a massive headache and a painful sore throat. You were about to reach up to scratch it but a warm hand refrained you from doing so. You peeled your eyes open, groaning at the blinding light, squeezing the unknown hand in your own.

“You’re awake!” The man beside you stood up, pulling you into a hug as your vision cleared. “Soap..?” You croaked, cringing from how bad you felt as you sat up, facing Soap who pulled away from the hug with tears in his eyes. “Thought we lost you there.. Thought I lost you there..” He cried as you cupped his cheek, pulling him into a soft kiss.

“I’m alive aren’t I? It’ll take more than hell to get rid of me..” You cried, happy to have made it out of there to see another day, to see soap for another day.

You were gonna move your legs but your smile dropped when you couldn’t feel them.

Soap stood back, bracing himself for the wave of emotions he’s prepared himself for. You pulled the blanket covering you to your side, eyes widening at what you saw.

Your legs. From the knees down, were gone. You let out a sob, you couldn't believe it.

You were pulled into Soap’s embrace, his words barely making it to your ears as you shouted and sobbed into him. You were lost and hell you don’t even know if your bright future was gonna shine as bright now. You grasped his arms, sobbing and hiccuping as you begged and begged, praying this wasn't real in your heavy state of denial.

Soap was calming you down, easing your mind with every minute that passed, rubbing your back, hugging you close, whispering reassuring words to you as you let everything out. “It’s gonna be okay.. I’m here love..”

“You don’t hate me?” You whimpered.

“Never.. I’ll keep on loving you till the end of time..” Soap whispered, brushing some hair behind your ear before pulling you into a kiss.

—-

You’ve left the army but still kept in contact with your former teammates. They visit when they can and you welcome them every time. Despite being heavily depressed at your new life, you’ve gotten over it, Soap talks or writes to you whenever he’s free, you love him for it.

Today marked the day.

The day that changed your physical life. The end of a miracle and the start of another.

The front door creaked opened as Soap walked over to you with a soft smile. “I’ve got you a.. Gift” He smiled as he handed you a large box wrapped in fun pink paper. You laughed at his childish choice but it didn’t bother you.

You gasped, a grin on your face as you pulled out a metal pair of prosthetic legs. Almost in disbelief. “I’ll be with you on your way to recovery.. 141 missed you a lot, love.. I miss you.. Can’t stand not being by your side now..” Soap smiled.

You lunged at him, capturing him in a tight hug before you pressed your lips against his own as tears slipped down your face, thanking him over and over again, telling him how grateful you were to have him in you life and by your side, telling him how you swore to marry him when you both are able to leave behind all this violence.

“I’ll love you.. Always and forever..”

—-

It’s been months with recovery, you are able to run and walk with your legs Soap gave you. You managed to get back on the team with a few conditions, including Soap rubbing ointment on your scarred legs after a mission.

He spoiled you in kisses and affection all the time, you wouldn’t have asked for any more. This was everything you wished for.

You went to kiss Soap on his head once more as the two of you laid in your shared bed, prosthetics right beside you.

“I love you..you’re still the same ol’ you I fell in love with..” Soap grinned as he looked up at you.

“I love you too, wouldn’t trade anything for you..” You smiled as he captured you in another kiss.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #male reader #soap x male reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x male reader #modern warefare 2 #men crying

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