Ok I know I said I was gonna actually write more the last time but I ended up burnt out, so here's the deal I'll let a couple of request in and I'll take my time on it and hopefully I won't be too tired of writing
I'll TRY my best to stay active and write but it's not guaranteed.
Here's my new master list
Postal Dude (postal)
Not important (hatred)
Travis Touchdown (no more heros)
Albert Wesker (Resident Evil)
Zeno Wesker (Resident Evil)
James Sunderland (Silent Hill)
Won't do:
Incest
Csam
Will do:
Honesty anything not illegal
I'll update this more but I'll keep a few characters so I won't burn myself out
Also I've been really into no more heros sooo
Hear me out!!! Request some Travis!!!
I also wanna thank you guys for supporting my fanfics! It's not the best but I'm still glad people still read them :)
Last thing! I have an ao3 account too but that'll be more for my own creative freedom
i will name this something better IN THE MORNING i had to get this out of my system it feels kind of rambley but i have WORK in the afternoon and im posting at FOUR AY EM so be gentle with me and or enjoy
gn reader | not proofread | 2.8k words
cw: hurt/comfort i dont have the mental capacity to think of anything else, might be ooc i wrote this to get over a situationship then another guy came along and distracted me its a whole thing i hate men but i love drifter
drifter finds your scent comforting, always has. he describes it as warm and 'full of life', metaphorically and physically. you're sure if you asked him to explain further, he'd just describe the scent of blood to you. still, you take it as a compliment. a man like him, who's boiled his life down to the thrill of the chase, still finding things to be soft about. you're flattered, truly.
he swears your scent changes based on your mood. that's why he's so adamant on making sure you have the best time with him. but sometimes, he catches you at the wrong moment. you try for him, you really do. it's rare for him to stick around for more than a day or two, and when he does, you are practically attached at the hip to him. he doesn't mind, really. he's aware of his… behavior. the problem is, he's a stubborn old dog. he calls himself 'drifter' for a reason. he never intended to stay too long, even if you had him wrapped around your finger.
it's that very thing that gets to you. it had been a rough couple of weeks, and all you really craved was a soft touch, something gentle. what a shame it was, your partner was out prowling patrons knows where, getting his fill of blood.
you curl up in your bed, pulling a pillow close to your chest as some sort of hollow comfort. it feels a bit pathetic, but you do your best to fill the void drifter has left in any way you can. you face the window, watching lights flicker, the smoke rising from buildings. a melancholy air settles over the cursed apple— which is what you tell yourself to make you feel better. yes, it must be all of new york that's moody, not just you. it does little the soothe the ache in your heart, unfortunately.
however, before you can get comfortable enough to brood, your view of the city gets obstructed by a large figure. you raise your head, before realizing just who it is. you groan as the man grins.
you wanted to see drifter. but, at the same time, it suddenly felt sickening. you craved his touch again, but irritation caught up faster than relief or happiness did. before you can shoo him away like some crow, he opens your window from the outside. you can tell he was about to say some snarky, maybe a little too nasty comment, but he pauses when he sees your frown.
"what's wrong? do i still got blood on me?" he looks down at his shirt, and wipes his mouth. yes, he still has blood on him. he always has blood on him. but that's not what you were frowning at.
all you find you can muster is a pathetic, childish little "go away."
he looks at you like a dog who's just be told to go home when there's food out. then, he laughs, finally stepping into your apartment and onto your bed.
"ain't no way you're tellin' me that," he chuckles, looking down at you. but when you don't smile, he deflates a little. "really?"
you feel your throat stiffen, and your eyes burn. you mentally berate yourself for this.— why are you about to cry? at what? what he said, or him showing up? you wanted him here, dammit. he showed up at the exact time, and yet— you do your best to hide it, simply pouting at the man. but of course he notices, he always does. for how much time he spends apart from you, he can never find it in himself to ignore any signs you give him, good or bad.
"awh, cher," drifter murmurs, reaching out to you with those big hands, still bloody. you jerk your head away, closing your eyes tightly. "c'mon… don't be like that."
but you, to his dismay, continue to be exactly like that. you shuffle further away from him on the bed, clutching the pillow to your chest for emotional support. you don't dare to look at him. this breaks his heart more than you know.
you can feel him staring at you, before you hear fabric rustling as he sits down. he doesn't say anything else, staying almost deathly quiet, as if you were a timid little mouse who would run away at any sound. after a few minutes of your defiance, you open an eye and look over. he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes haven't left your form yet. he gives you a concerned look, one that's almost uncanny for a man like him.
you don't say anything. neither does he. he's unsure if you're ready to talk, and wonders if you'll just turn your head again if he tries to speak. after another moment of silence, he figures he might as well try.
"i've clearly done somethin' to upset you, so…" he takes a chance and scootches just a little closer, "… mind tellin' me what it is?"
you feel like it should be obvious. but when you stare at him for a little while longer, he doesn't continue. he only raises his eyebrows, prompting you to speak.
there's a million ways you want to phrase it; 'you're never around', 'i wish you were here more often', 'why can't you spend more time with me?', but all you can choke out is—
"you left me."
drifter's eyes widen, and he reaches out, a flicker of something passing through his eyes— reflection?— before he stops himself. he's being surprisingly mindful. and it's clear he doesn't know exactly what to say.
"i— oh, darlin'…" he finally speaks, but it gives you nothing to work with. it's clear he's struggling with words; which was funny to you, it felt like he always knew what to say.
when words fail him, he turns to touch. he pushes himself closer once more, placing a large hand on your knee. he sucks in a breath, like he's waiting for an adverse reaction. when all you do is sniffle and look into his eyes, he relaxes a little.
"look, i'm sorry," he mutters, as if those words took a great deal of effort to speak. you narrow your eyes at him and he is quick to defend himself, "i didn't know— i didn't think that it'd be such a… a problem?"
his tone does little to make you feel any better. he sounds unsure of himself, like he was reading from a script that he didn't know how to act out yet. you furrow your brows and place your hand on his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it. he squeezes your knee gently, as if to say he doesn't want to let go, before reluctantly letting go. he sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"what i meant to say is… oh, i don't know," he admits defeat finally, deflating a little. "i didn't think about it."
that lessens the blow for you. just a little. at least he admitted to it. but you still find yourself at a loss for words. sure, you had gotten an explanation, but you felt like it wasn't enough. a little voice inside of you called you selfish, but the louder voice told you it was okay to feel that way. you weren't the one who left him alone for weeks at a time.
so, what do you do? you pout. it may not be the most mature response, but to be fair, what he's been doing isn't exactly mature either. drifter scoffs; once again, he didn't mean to, and he tries to catch himself. it turns into a half-laugh, one you can't tell if it's genuine, or if he's nervous.
"how about this," he starts again, leaning forward a little bit, hoping to catch your gaze. "you tell me how i can make it up to you."
"you could stick around more." your response is immediate and blunt. he expected this, of course.
still, he found it a bit of a hard ask to deliver on. you both know why. his nature is to wander, his existence had been whittled down to hunger for so long, his pallette ever expanding.
he doesn't hide his reaction. his eyebrows furrow and he lowers his head, but he doesn't protest. he gives a reluctant sigh— which does little to quell the pit in your stomach—, before nodding.
"i know—" he cuts himself off, pursing his lips. he sucks in a breath, before he tears his gaze away from you, finally. "i'll try."
the answer is not good enough. he knows this too. he is too ashamed to say it out loud, but he knows this will not do.
"i don't want you to try," you turn towards him fully, finally reaching for him. you place a firm hand on his shoulder, one that does little to comfort the sudden doubt he holds. not that you meant to comfort him. "i want to see you more. i want to be around you more. i want to fall asleep with you and wake up to you."
you squeeze his shoulder, and he looks back up at you.
"i'm sick of just pretending that it doesn't hurt when you're gone for so long," the words were flowing now. a mediocre response like 'i'll try' was enough to flip the switch, and now you couldn't help but spill out the word stew in your brain. "'cause telling myself you'll come back doesn't work that much anymore. i know you do come back, but—"
and you choke. you feel a tightening in your throat as tears prick your eyes once more.
"it's not enough."
drifter's body loosens for a second, as he raises his head. he doesn't know what to say. your words hurt— it's been a long time since he's felt like this. since he's had to really commit himself to one thing, one person. connection was something that was long gone, he thought. specifically with the living, with someone so warm and full of life. he knew he wasn't an honest man, especially in undeath, and yet he selfishly found himself looking for something to hold onto. he had done so without realizing what kind of effect it had on you. and only now did he realize the consequences that followed.
his heart squeezes, and he finds himself floundering, reaching up to cup your cheeks, fingers twitching when he remembers the way you acted just seconds prior. but he wants to hold you. he doesn't like it when you cry, after all. your smell loses the warmth and vitality he adored so much.
before he can even come to a conclusion, his hands cup your cheeks. large, cold, and metallic smelling hands. his thumbs catch your tears almost instinctively, and through the blur you can almost make out a near distraught look on his face. you don't pull away this time, your hand meekly letting go of his shoulder.
"i'm sorry," he says rather softly. quietly, even. "i didn't know. i wasn't thinkin' right— when am i ever thinkin' right when it comes to you?" he tries to lighten the mood with that little comment, but his voice drips with a vulnerability you have never heard.
it makes your stomach turn— or maybe it's butterflies?—, and yet you can't bring yourself to pull away. this is what you wanted, and you'll be damned if you squander an opportunity like this. he holds you so gently, cradles your face like you're the most delicate thing he's met. you can tell he wants to do more, but is too hesitant that he himself may make it worse.
he relaxes a little when you dont pull away, some weight lifting off his chest. when you leaned into him, his heart stuttered, like he was a flustered middleschooler who was holding hands with his crush for the very first time. your reaction surprises him, but his own shocks him more. perhaps it was the previous context that made this feeling heavier, one realization followed by another.
he liked this.
a lot.
suddenly it barely made sense as to why he had spent so much time away from you. maybe new york wasn't too bad? there was certainly an abundance of food here, from all sorts of places. it was fine dining for him. and it'd be enough if you were here with him, right?
drifter looks down at you, before lifting his heads to cup your head, fingers threading through your hair. his touch is gentle, and you swear you can feel a slight tremor. you'd question it, or even tease him, but you can't get the words out. you can barely organize your thoughts.
it's nice to be held like this again, even if he smelled like blood and sweat and smog. it may have been an unpleasant smell, but it was something you missed, too. every little thing was. you cant help but take a deep breath, allowing his scent to settle in your lungs. he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest; he knows what you're doing. it's the same thing he's done to you every time he's had the chance.
one of his hands falls away from your head, moving to your back, stroking up and down slowly. his hands, for once, feel oddly warm. you don't question it, at the very least, they aren't soaked in blood. its a comfort you weren't expecting, especially from a man as cold as him. but it seems that you have struck a chord within him. one that has not been plucked in at the very least a decade— or maybe a century?
the silence between you is comfortable. not oppressive like your demeanor had been before. drifter wants to speak, his mind is starting to run a million miles per minute, words piling up. but he doesn't. at the same time, he doesn't know what to say. this isn't the end of the discussion, he knows that, he just doesn't want to ruin the moment. you're so comfortable, with your tears cooling over your cheeks and your little sniffles as you try to regain your composure in his arms, why would he want to move onto the next part? he'd rather wait until you're ready.
and after a couple seconds, ready you are. you slowly pull away from his chest, lifting your head and straightening your back. he reluctantly lets go, his hands dropping to his sides.
"you could… do more of this, too," you gesture vaguely between the two of you, smiling just a little. "a good cuddle is nice every now and then…"
"oh, darlin'…" he drawls, grinning childishly. "that wasn't exactly a cuddle, but… i wouldn't mind doin' that more often."
you both share a laugh, before you tilt your head to the side.
"y'know, a couple date nights would be nice, too," you hint.
he seems stunned for a moment, before blinking away his confusion. "you and me got different…. appetites. you know that, right?"
you nod.
"so… you just want me to invite you out to go huntin' with me?"
"no!" you huff, fake pouting this time. "real date nights, drifter. like… like dinner and a movie—"
"—now i ain't exactly got money, cher—"
"you kill so many people and you don't look for their wallets? at all?"
drifter pauses. you pause. he looks away like he's thinking. once upon a time, he did take any and all cash he could find on a person, but that was in his younger days as a vampire. now, it really didn't matter to him. what use did money have to him? he didn't need much, just a good meal and a place to stay. but for you, well, maybe it was time to start searching bodies once he had gotten his fill.
you can see the light bulb go off. hell, you can hear it. you can't help but give him a smug little smile as he nods slowly.
"i ain't had much of a reason to go lookin' for their wallets 'til now, i suppose," he hums, sitting back and scratching at his scruff.
"well, you better start," you keep up this bratty bit, just for a little, "'cause now i'd like to see some fine dining in the future."
"fine dining?"
he's stunned, now. his jaw drops like the concept is new to him. or like he knows what follows.
you nod.
"the kind where i gotta dress up all fancy like?"
you nod again.
he deflates, looking kind of like a puppy who came in from the rain. "does it mean i gotta shave…?"
you shake your head, and he lights up like a christmas tree.
"maybe i can handle a couple of rich folk and fancy food for you then… as long as you let me get some dessert after?"
you raise your eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. "are you implying—"
"blood, cher. i mean blood. you know how tasteless most food is to me out here. so… if you could look the other way while i grab a bite or two…"
well, it's a start. you close your eyes and nod in agreement.
🌙 Your wedding wasn't anything major. Bigby isn't a fan of drawing attention to himself, so you both settled for a small wedding in the gardens of The Woodlands. Both of you had only invited a few other Fables, nothing more.
🌙 Bigby looked very handsome in his tuxedo. It was very rare to get the wolf to play dress up, the beast often grumbling under his breath every Remeberance Day he had to attend, complaining about being in a stuffy suit surround by other stuffy people. But today? He loved being in his tux. It meant a lot to wear it as he stood at the altar waiting for you.
🌙 His whole world felt like it got knocked off its kilter when he saw you at the other end of the aisle. For a moment, Bigby felt like the world had stopped spinning just at the sight of you slowly walking towards him. His eyes were wide, even as you stopped before him. He didn't seem to snap out of his trance until King Cole started up the whole thing, a faint blush across his cheeks.
🌙 When it came time for Bigby to slip your wedding band on, he couldn't help the slight tremble in his hands. You noticed it, he noticed it. Nobody else did, and he's so thankful for that. The truth is; Bigby still doesn't understand why you love and said you'd marry him, but he won't question it. To question your choices makes him worry this is all some sick dream that he'll wake up from any minute now.
🌙 Your honeymoon was much more planned out; A cabin deep in the woods upstate where nobody would bother either of you. It's here where you both finally take a deep breath and really look at each other as a real married couple.
🌙 It's here that Bigby will straight up ask you if you think you've made the right desicion. You know what he means, of course, Bigby's insecurities coming to light as he worries worse than any mother hens could. You shut him right up with a kiss, whispering to him your vows once again, carding a hand through his hair and promising that your his forever.
🌙 If you're also a fable that can turn, you can bet your ass you both will be running through the woods without the worry of Mundies being around. Bigby made sure of it.
🌙 Big 👏 Ass 👏 Puppy👏Bigby is 100% a devoted and loving husband to you and only you. Wolves mate for life, werewolves mate for life; Nothing is taking Bigby away from you.
🌙 He finally moves out of his crappy apartment but still keeps it around for Colin to have right under Snow's nose. You both move into a much bigger apartment in The Woodlands with plans to move out entirely later on down the road.
🌙 Bigby isn't used to all of the space in your new apartment. Sure, he's used to hanging around in your old apartment and using your bed and all that, but to own the new furniture that still smells like the factory is jarring to him. You can't count how many times you come home to Bigby asleep in the new recliner you bought.
🌙 He never thought he'd be married with someone who actually has the capability to love him let alone be happy. He knows he's not the easiest one to love- Fable or even by Mundy standards alone - so to have you as his allows Bigby to do the one thing he hasn't been able to do since he was still a pup: Relax.
🌙 Bigby shows you that special side of him that nobody ever gets to see, the side that's been locked away behind the towering walls of broken trust and hard reality that came with the mantle of being sheriff to the rest of the Fables.
🌙 He loves holding you by your ring finger, seeing the band shine on you. He loves to kiss at the back of your hand and slowly move upward until he reaches your mouth. He's sure to deepen his kisses when you laugh at the scratch of his stubble tickling you, especially around your neck.
🌙 He makes a spare bedroom in your apartment into a secondary office for himself. It's a real big weight off of his shoulders to actually be able to move around in a space for him to work. His real office is too cramped and small, so to have this extra space to work helps relieve a lot of the stress.
🌙 His wolfy side gets a lot more domestic too, not just the human-looking Bigby. It comes to the point where Bigby turns on every full moon just so that side can come out and bask in your glory. The wolfman is all over you, crooning and pawing for you to praise him and scratch his fur. He loves your reaction when he licks you, chuffing as well as he can when you wipe off his slobber.
🌙 He doesn't smoke as much around you anymore, saving a cigarette here and there for if he's really stressed with work. He loves basking in your scent, even more so now that you're both married and he has you mated. It's really the only thing that can ground him nowadays, often finding himself sniffing you out if the stress starts to eat at him.
🌙 Speaking of being mated, Bigby finds himself drawn to kissing your mark. It's very faint now, no longer red and dented from where his fangs dug in, just faint scars from where he locked his jaws on you. He often kisses it, brushing his nose and lips over it from time to time - or when he's wolfed out, you can feel the wolfman licking at it softly.
🌙 You bet your ass you both are having the child talk. If you're someone who can bare his pups, it's multiple conversations of whether you feel like you can do it to debating on how many pups you would have to how big of a house will you both need for them all.
🌙 He secretly gets a kick at calling you his wife/husband. He never thought he'd get a happy ending like the bullshit lies Mundies are served up, but here he is. When people first found out he actually got married, Bigby had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.
🌙 His jealousy streak didn't end when you were just engaged, it got a lot worse. The wolf inside of Bigby screams to protect you at all times, to snap at anyone that gets too close for his liking. Bigby often finds himself growling deeply and pressing himself against you, taking your hand into his large paw while glaring at whoever.
🌙 Bigby actually gets real sleep now, especially when you drag him to an actual bed and not the recliner or the sofa. You had to spring from a heavy-duty king frame for when the wolfman comes out to play, so there's plenty of room for you both to cuddle in bed.
🌙 Bigby has to be touching you while sleeping. He won't be able to sleep without it, he hasn't been able to since he got comfortable with you when you were still dating. Even if it's just a hand on your hip, Bigby is out like a light and waking up to not being tired for once. It's refreshing seeing Bigby wake up with no bags under his eyes and an actual smile on his face.
Can you write nsfw of the ersatz crew with a reader who likes biting please? It might be a bit of a strange request but im a freak
A/N: Say less my friend welcome to the biting crew, we all got teeth marks here. This is fulfilling another request I got for nsfw Carrie hcs that also had biting so I'm just combining the two. I'm also adding the Ascetic for...personal reasons ;)
18+!!!
Sink Your Teeth to Taste Me- Mophead, Munroe, Carrie, Warwick, The Ascetic x Reader
(image credit to @marshalllir)
tags: mdni pls, there's so much smut & violence, no description of readers genitals, biting, blood, injuries, oral, public sex, brief mention of self biting, hair pulling, punishment, gagging, aided masturbation, smoking, bordering on nearly dying, breast worship.
Mophead
It started off small with you, not wanting to hurt them too harshly when your make outs grew more passionate, crammed together in their small bunk wanting to be as close as possible.
Listing for more of them once your lips begin to wander from theirs to cherish what they allowed you to have.
Even with their hand on the back of your neck the desire and need to feel their unblemished skin in your molars grew restless with your gentle kisses.
They could tell you wanted more, just teasing the edge of giving in, holding steadfast to avoid being denied your want.
"I'm not fragile, you know."
Mophead scolded once you'd reached their collarbone, dull silver eyes in a slight glare, daring you to give in.
Sending a spark of hot lighting throughout your spine to your core, yet still hesitant.
“Or do I need to show you that?”
Words aren’t needed after you answer with a nod, hoping they’d just fuck the shame out of you enough to not feel this hesitation.
Finishing your second round going into your third, the smell of sweat and sex nearly drowning you along with your legs going numb, clinging to anything to ground yourself even with the way they held you down.
And their shoulder was oh so conveniently in front of you, coated in sweat with their hair pushed to the side, what din light there was painting each curve and dip of their skin.
The yelp they let out following the animalistic action nearly had the entire bunk awake.
It hurt, yet that didn’t register over the warmth of your jaws contributing to the sick heat you two had built up for the past hour.
Kindling to a blazing inferno, you didn’t stop your new indulgence, moving up their shoulder to bite at their bicep.
Your greed bringing them closer to the edge than anticipated, feeling a cry travel from their lungs to their throat.
They understood your trepidation in that moment for the inevitable cataclysm, only they help no mercy in muffling their voice into the skin of your throat.
They didn't think of it til the next morning, taking in the rings of deep purple & wine red cast across their shoulders, barely veiled by their hair.
Looking over at you to see the one imprint of their teeth curving over your shoulder.
The look of your lips somewhat swollen from the countless bites you've given them, the sting it brings has them wanting more.
Then they notice how much you enjoy it as well as being bitten back, often finding more than enough places to leave your bites and hickeys for them to find later on in the day.
Begins holding it over you like a dog with a treat, once they realize how much you enjoy it,
If you behave well you can bite them, if not they keep your head to the bed while they have their way with you.
Mocking your inability to do as you please with far too soft kisses down your neck and back, only to pull back whenever you arched into their touch for more.
Laughing maliciously while letting their canines trace back their steps, holding you tighter to ensure you can't get what you want.
"You don't get what you don't deserve, take what I give you, and maybe I'll give you a bite."
They hiss into your ear, plowing their hips deeper into you before repeating the torture.
Eventually giving you the same capelet of bruises and bites to ogle in the morning along with the imrpint of their hands where they held your hips.
Munroe
I'm saying this now, because I said it last time with the first nsfw hcs, this man has a fetish for nearly dying mid sex.
The pain is grounding, clashing with the amount of times he's died and come back, it wasn't a surprise to find your passion for biting
You are no exception, addicted to the way you nip at his lips, tug at the skin of his shoulder with your mandible so close to his pulse.
Doesn't matter how, he just gets off to the threat of dying when it's imposed by a partner when you get creative.
Like biting.
The idea of his life perfectly held in your mouth as you use him like a toy is something he doesn't even need to admit since it's so obvious to you whenever your near him.
Everytime you lean against his shoulder or neck after training or in the mess hall, fixated on where the skin of your cheek rests against the fabric of his uniform, so close to his skin.
He's thinking of every which way you could hurt him
Baring his neck to you like some dog in heat, you don't disappoint in understanding his wants, crying in delight when your mouth found it's mark.
But one simple bite wasn't enough for him, he's greedy like that, wanting you deeper than just the rings of red grazing his neck.
"Ha-harder, please harder, I need it-ah! I need you, u-under my skin, in my blood, please!"
To see his skin stained with your saliva and his blood, wearing it like some sick version of lipstick coating your mouth while you draw out his ecstacy. He can't get enough.
He's a bloody mess by the time you’re done, probably needing an infirmary visit with those bites of yours.
Pulling him by his hair once you two are alone, forcing his head back to expose his mangled neck to add another bruise or scar, he can't describe the sick pleasure that melts over his senses.
A mixture of instincts screeching to run coupled with knowing there is no escaping the looming threat of death.
He’s insatiable, wanting any resemblance of the feeling imposed by you.
You’re his angel of life and death, he wouldn't have it any other way.
Seeing the endless amounts of bites he's asked from you, they make a sick tapestry of his skin, he'll examine if your ever away from him on a mission.
Remembering the soft punctured skin, the sounds of both pain and pleasure rolling from your throat before digging your nails into him while, snapping at whatever skin of his isn't already bleeding.
Taking in the overlapping of old scars with new bites as if being rewritten in your image.
If he's feeling extra lonely without you, it's not the same as your hands but he'll manage in choking himself with his dog tags, pressing down on what bruises he can still feel to give off the illusion of the delicious pain only you can give him.
There's a lack of fear to the bloodshed he can't cherish enough when you get bloody, mutual understanding death is so close but never reached, only ecstasy & pain.
The softness of your aftercare never fails to make him melt, when he comes crashing down, every mark and inch of broken skin tended to before he's provided your body resting against his. If he doesn't have to go to the nurse's.
Carrie
You two become the bane of the nurses existence, the amount of times either of you have to be dragged to the infirmary with blood all over the both of you, half naked from a punctured artery or bitten up wrist would outweigh the times you've been in the rezzer.
What few times you two aren't covered on each other's bite marks is being healed of moving the sections of bites away from a healing wound.
A toothy smile is all that's needed to get him hot and bothered, a smirk his way when out shooting, a laugh at some horrid piece of information, your getting another bite branded into ya.
It becomes competition at some point to pinpoint all the sensitive spots on the other to chew to shreds, skin chewed away to muscle and blood.
"Ya call that a bite huh? I've been bit by dogs with more jaw strength, c'mon...worried you'll like the taste of me too much to stop?"
It's inevitable, Carrie encouraging you using him as a living chew toy, the feeling of your hot mouth over his skin feels better than any rush of adrenaline he'd perviously felt before having you.
Your all his thanks to his own marks he's made on you, nobody else will even get a chance with the bite scars you sport.
It only gets worse if you two are on lookout together, one of you keeping watch while the other undoes the front of their uniform, mauling and kissing like it's nobody's business.
He could care less if you two get caught, in fact he'd just get more tuned on by that fact.
Hand slinking down to undo your belt while you tried to focus your shot through the small window of the foxhole.
"Betcha wanna get caught like this huh? Let the enemy have a show while you get off from just a few bites, fuck...we're filthy aren't we?" He chuckles into your neck before licking over a bite on your collarbone.
It becomes a pavlova effect to get him off, after realizing there hasn't been a single time you haven't tried snapping your teeth around the other.
Neither of you imagining the animalistic grappling of the other without knashing jaws and cut lips.
Testing this theory the next time you top him, you cruelly hold back as well as stop him from biting you.
Holy fuck does he hate it, squirming and thrashing against your grip after a while, he had more than enough stimulation to get him off.
But something was missing while you sneered down at his predicament, rolling your hips tantalizing.
"The hell are ya doin? Gh- this your way of getting back for last time-haah! C'mon now, don't ya want another taste of me? Fuuuuck I'll be gentle now if that's whatcha gettin at."
He'd slowly begin to beg, squirming and writhing while exposing his neck in an attempt to entice you.
Knowing he can't finish until he feels your teeth deliver that sickeningly warm thrill flow through him accompanied by the climax.
It would take more than five rounds for him to admit it, assuming you already know in his eye you look absolutely breathtaking being just as animalistic and passionate as him.
No matter if you look human of are a contam, the sight of you both bloody yet still eager to ravage the other like two animals is something he'll never give up.
For a man who looks so monsterous, his eye would soften in the afterglow once you'd both run yourselves ragged and collapsed against each other in his bunk.
Refusing to let you go as he let his hand wander over your hot skin, imprinted with just as many bites as he had.
Your shared version of aftercare is lovingly parching the other up, kissing the bites better or in Carrie's case gently nuzzle his tusks across your skin, breathing in the sweat and blood on your bodies.
His hand tracing your bloody lips, smudging the blood over your skin before licking it off far more gently than anticipated.
The one eye of his looking at you with the closest thing to devotion he can convey.
Warwick
Biting Warwicks's fat stomach and chest could cure you of 95% of your problems let's be real, and he more than encourages it.
Naturally running hot, feeling him up against you it only encouraged your need to feel him deeper, as close as possible which he found quite amusing.
He can't reciprocate the same kind of biting you deliver him, knowing he'd have to keep himself under control if he ever did.
That doesn't stop him from spoiling you rotten, he'd especially get off to you biting his chest,
"Greedy lil' leech huh? Can't keep those pretty teeth to yourself?"
He knows it's soothing to you, a bit of control and grounding in this environment, every soldier is bound to develop the few odd habits and kinks.
Takes pride in your markings especially for a possessive reason, even if they can't be seen, the feeling sat deep into his skin is enough to remind him of you.
Offers you his arm whenever your both caught in a stand still with the enemy, it's not much but he needs you in top condition and stress won't help either of you.
And the last thing he'd want is you biting yourself.
"Go on, have a bite while I think of a plan luv, we'll have em pinned before ya add another bruise."
He'll laugh if you ever apologize at biting too hard, always cowering like some kicked pup before kissing the wound, even with his looks and all he's endured, your worry for being too harsh is sweet.
There's a certain appeal to getting you off while you bite his skin, feeling your grip tighten he drives you closer to release body growing tense and arched like a bow.
But as well as the softer side when your so close to sweet euphoria as he steadies you, surrounding you with care, it all feels so good you can't help but unlatch your jaw in a moan. It gets him everytime knowing he makes you feel so good.
Even with understanding, he will absolutely use your love of biting him against you if needed, he has to keep you in line some way.
As a punishment, if ever needed, he can and will muzzle you with his belt or a piece of gauze, you still get to bite something, just not him which becomes your least favorite punishment.
Often getting a rise out of you to either behave and take it or be more of a brat while he teases you.
All that warm, bite able chest and stomach still holding some hickeys from last time just out of reach from your mouth drives you up the wall.
He only teases you more when your worn out by the end of the night, body become a puddle of warm buzzing til you feel his thumb trace your lips with a soft chuckle.
"So much for bearing your teeth huh, no more bite left in you now?"
As a small tease Warwick bobbs at the skin of your neck between kisses, even if he can't bite you safely, they find little ways to leave his mark on you one way or another.
Is always considerate of any wounds he or you receive, after letting you come back down to earth and getting your bearings, he'll let you tend to any bites you left on him that might've broken skin.
Whispering against your neck as he holds your waist that he hopes they scar so he'll be yours forever.
The Ascetic
Biting becomes the only thing he will allow you to do while having a session, telling themselves it's painful whenever you sink your teeth in around their fingers, trying to keep you quiet while they unravel you nerve by nerve.
Telling themselves there was little chance it would give them pleasure...even when the bite marks burn long after he's done with you, laying in his own bunk while the odd sensation aided the flames of passion.
It only grew when one night while your bunkmates were asleep, you couldn't keep your voice down and bit them in an attempt to muffle a cry, clinging to him desperately while he strung out your long awaited orgasm.
You bit their shoulder through the fabric, the reverb of your cry from the hold of your jaw traveled down their spine straight to their core like molten gold.
Almost finishing alongside you if he hadn't steeled his self control at the last minute, chastising himself internally for such carelessness.
They’re ever thankful you didn't notice in the blinding climax as they went through the motions of aftercare with shaking hands.
Laying you down to rest before running his hand over the spot you bit, torn between rubbing the feeling away or to check if the imprint went deeper than just his clothes.
After that, they grow curious with your oral fixation, being cautious to not grow so close to release like before, but walking the fine edge of it whenever you came to them.
Subtly positioning their arm in front of you when spooning, so he can watch over your shoulder the way your teeth marks dig into his skin followed by a whine or a twitch of your jaws hd on him.
It was cute in his eyes, like a dog refusing to give up a toy.
It's never too harsh to break skin, concluding it to be a way to ground yourself in all that sensation, as well as just keeping quiet.
This prompts their own form of experimentation for the next few nights.
Gagging you with their beaded necklace when you get too mouthy, watching the movement of your jaw as your teeth wrapped around the beads coating them in saliva grind together.
"There...hopefully now you can keep your jaws to yourself along with your whining. Unless you want to be muzzled with something else?"
He wonders how you feel about being bit, earning his curiosity a new way to please you.
Laying down on your back while he goes down on you, he lets his teeth wander earning him a flinch of your hips. That's a good sign...
Satiating their compulsion, they smiled eagerly with the skin of your thigh caught between their teeth, the melody of your cry smothered by your hands.
"Interesting, so you enjoy being bit just as much as your need to do it to me...how curious."
You can expect your shoulders and thighs to be sore the next day with all the love bites by the time the lights of the bunker flicker back on.
Your hunger will be his ruin one of these days...
A/N: In the wise words of Creep-P: "Sit & Unzip, but your dick in my mandible." Midterms are killing me but I am insane.
Dry humping with snake in the vents🤤he’s trying his hardest to not make a sound, but you’re making it so hard for him.
Snake had always greatly preferred being solo on all of his missions. It made his job infinitely easier, since there was no one that could possibly get in the way. Sure, codec calls were an entirely different thing than having someone physically there.
And now, here you both were. Buddied up on a mission together, much to his dismay. He had tried to talk you out of coming several times, but you wouldn't have it. He spoke as if you were some child or rookie, some annoying nuisance that he would have to watch over. It had the complete opposite effect on you and only served to further motivate you to come.
Combats boots echoed rhythmically against the metal walls of the hallway you both accompanied. He turned around to give you a silent signal, but you were already popping open a vent and heading in, eyeing him with a smirk as you dipped into the darkness of the tunnel. He let out a small huff and followed you in moments after. He grabbed the outside of the grate and placed it back on to deter anything looking suspicious to the soldiers walking past you both.
The vents were uncomfortably tight and humid, the both of your body heat only exemplifying it. The way you both shimmied in had your back pushed flush against his body. You had laid down low as he crouched over you, his arms and elbows resting on either side of your body so as not to crush you with his weight.
The soldiers stood there and started talking with one another casually, standing so close to the vent grate that their boots were immediately visible outside. The both of you were going to be there for a while, it seemed. Snake slowly lowered himself on top of you, trying to get in a more comfortable and viable position that would last for an indeterminate amount of time. His face rested in the crook of your shoulder, and hot puffs of breath caressed the soft parts of your throat. His body weight rested carefully on yours and completely caged you in.
His weight settled on you, causing certain parts of your own body to fall asleep. You arched a little, trying to stretch of yourself and get blood flowing back into your fuzzy limbs. Your hips pressed up against him as you stretched your arms out a little, immediately pausing when you heard him take a sharp intake of breath so close to your ear. His hips met yours and ground down, pushing your body back into the unforgiving floor of the metal vent shaft.
Your mind wandered back to him telling you at the very beginning of all of this that you would only make this mission more difficult if you came along. How much it seemed like he was talking down to you even if he was just looking out for your own safety.
You felt more defiant as you pushed your hips back up into him with more force than before, earning another keening breath beside you. You were about to turn your head to give him a little rebellious grin until you felt his half-hard cock press your hips back down again. And then again. And then again. Soon enough, he ground into you with his fully hard cock, open mouth grunting into your throat. His full weight crushed you down now, making you stuck in this position until he decided he was done. You turned to face him and put a single finger up to your lips, indicating that his groaning could alert the guards at any moment. To pacify himself, he went to bite down on the crook of your shoulder and neck, mollifying any sort of sound that could come out of his mouth.
A slight yelp began to come out of your mouth before his gloved hand clamped over it. The guards had now stopped conversing with each other.
"Did you hear something?"
"Yeah. Must be some rats in the vents or something, we need to take care of it soon."
Hearing the guards speak so carelessly while Snake thrust into you only added to the wetness forming on your own uniform. The guards began their descent down a staircase, finally. When their footsteps grew silent, Snake sunk his teeth further into your flesh as his pace grew animalistic, lacking any sort of coordination. A pained whine fell into his gloved hand and, soon enough, a low groan came from him and his pacing slowed into short bursts on your body. His mouth let go of your neck, gasping for as much air as he could get, clearly spent in this small space. The humidity of the vent increased to an unbearable amount now that you were both regaining yourselves. He removed his hand from your mouth and he pushed himself up off of you, moving slightly forward to shove off the grate on the vent. He motioned for you to get out from under him first, and he followed you out soon after.
You both patted yourselves off from all the dust, not making eye contact for a few beats before settling into the uncomfortable silence that grew heavy between you both. He shifted his pants a bit, still carrying a bit of a boner and an obvious darker spot on where he had spent on himself.
"So..."
"Hnng.... Look, uh. We have a mission to complete. But if you want to finish what we started, after this...?"
SYNOPSIS : the day victor was born, the same day he was abandoned by his creator, victor is forced to live a life chasing after whoever could’ve made him. along the way, he is troubled with his unfamiliar environment and people. how can he assimilate? in his journal entries, he documents all of his new experiences, lessons, and feelings. thank you for getting him into this new hobby of journaling.
TAGS : series, slow burn, journal entry style chapters, victor’s p.o.v., slight angst due to the story being from victors p.o.v., fluff, self discovery, friends to potential lovers, found family, more tags to be added as I continue the story!
NOTE : expect slow updates. if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, please send me an ask!
𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒
CH. 000 — PROLOGUE
TAGLIST : @synthetic-bug … please ask me if you’d like to be tagged!
imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted
i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)
but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.
wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.
sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.
and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.
but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.
"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.
"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."
you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."
"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."
you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.
wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."
"wade?"
"yes, cupcake?"
"do you like me?"
"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"
"yeah, i know but-"
"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."
that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.
wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."
"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."
Begging for any x reader crumbs for the Ersatz gang 🙏 maybe nurse!reader?
Especially Carrie and Ascetic pretty please 👉👈
Something about Carrie's comments on first seeing Mophead has me thinking he's a bit bitter deep down
A/N: *throws loaf of bread content* FEAST MY CHILD!!! Sorry this took so long I was trying to come up with scenarios for all the characters individually. (I also couldn't come up with a scenario for Warwick so I just replaced them with the Ascetic)
Nurses Favorite
Mophead, Munroe, Carrie, The Ascetic x Nurse!Reader
(Images credit goes @/clownsaint except the Ascetic being from @/marshalllir)
tags: injuries from war, insomnia, nightmares, resetting bones, poisonous gas, CPR, indirect kissing because I can, jealous!Carrie if you squint, mentions of eating disorder & being underweight for the Ascetic, no beta read we die in the trenches and get resurrected!!!
Mophead
It started with just a few headaches, than gradually grew to night terrors and insomnia. All common cases for the wide variety of soldiers, but most took to fixing the problems themselves with exercise, training, anything to tire themselves out.
Mophead wasn't as successful when it came to those methods.
Now almost every other night like clockwork, you'd run inventory and tending to anything in need of tidying, a knock would be heard against the wood. And the familiar white haired soldier would slink inside shy as a mouse, asking for any sleeping remedy you could provide to make them sleep.
"Please just anything will help, it's been a full day now, I can't sleep, none of the other nurses will help." They'd begged in the beginning, their eyes so dull and tired but their head wouldn't comply to rest.
At first you gave into their demands for sleeping pills, of course their body soon started to withstand it and they were back at the infirmary door.
"I can't give you more, it's not healthy, you know there are other methods to help people fall asleep right?"
"W-well yes but what- or well..how do you get the supplies? Doubt they'll just give you the materials to help one soldier."
They watched you fetch a small container of dried herbs, fetching a small cup to fill with hot water.
"True, but I can just take them and there is always improvising. It is my job to make sure you stay in peak condition," You smirk handing them the drink.
"It's chamomile and lavender, helps the nerves and aids sleep."
It aided them somewhat, you giving them a bed to rest in while you did the rest of your chores around the infirmary, coming back to see them curled up somewhat asleep.
This began an odd routine, on night where flashes of what he saw in the machine weighed heavy on their thoughts, they'd come to you, conducting experiments to later compare which ones helped them sleep the most.
Being read a book despite how childish the method sounded, it had to be boring or else they'd become to transfixed on the story to fall asleep.
Tea was a close second if they needed to wind down before attempting to sleep.
Weighted blankets made from multiple layers of cloth worked the best.
All conducted in a spare notebook you two shared, thinking of other ways along with what worked now.
Mophead just failed to mention they had found the best way to relax was your voice, not just reading to them but saying anything was a lullaby to their senses.
Soon enough, the mere mention of the infirmary had them yawning and seeing you outside their visits in the night, they'd wave or nod in acknowledgment with a softeness in their usually anxio expression.
Of course you'd realized this pavlova effect by the third week, an ironic due to the common occurrence being around someone people trust makes them more vulnerable and susceptible to rest.
Neither of you mentioned it, just continuing the occasional visits, curled up on a cot while you write down records, talking about your day to them.
Eventually you'd definitely need to get the confidence to offer physical touch as another method.
Munroe
This was the last time you would try and save his sorry ass from his own carelessness, or at least that's what you kept repeating as you unbuttoned his uniform hastily.
Another case of forgetting his Lotus mask, you could only groan at the sight of him once again limp and lifeless before doing the same thing you did everytime since meeting him.
Most of the other nurses had given up on trying to manually revive his damaged lungs, but the idea of throwing him in the machine just to fix them seemed wasteful in your opinion.
Brushing away his matted hair to feel for a pulse, the stillness of his body laid on the cot didn't phase you anymore as you moved to loom over him.
Or maybe your stubbornness proceeded you, hands pressing over the side of his chest to begin administrating the practiced pace of chest pumps counting in your head, looking for any signs of life in his calm expression.
"C'mon, come back you fucking prick."
Hissing under your breath at the compressions not helping, cupping his face gently you bit back any hesitation despite having done this countless times.
Pinch his nose closed, tilt his head upright to open airways, give two breaths, repeat chest compressions til patient wakes up or doesn't respond after 20 minutes.
It just felt strange, knowing what his lips felt like from trying to save him so often, chapped and dry whenever you began, slowly growing softer with each breath you gave.
It was unprofessional by all means but once again...the machine would be worse on him than the countless bruises you'd pressed into his chest.
"I said come back, I haven't failed you yet have I?" You panted between compressions, sweat building on your skin looking down at him.
Still unresponsive.
Perhaps you were still scared for him, the only standing force between his life and the machine. Your CPR had been successful in the past, but it was getting harder, trying to revive him manually began to take longer.
His lungs would be replaced soon enough...you could only hope it'd be soon and from battle instead of his negligence.
Lips slotted over his once agaon, fingers tilting his head to push it down his throat into his lungs, half in desperation and your stressed mind forgetting how long you'd been at this.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Munroe's eyes snapping open in panic, coughing violently before you pressed his Lotus mask to his face to help filter out anything still inside.
"Deep breaths Munroe, like we practiced, in and out." Your strained voice demanded between labored breathing, glancing to the clock to check the time.
15 minutes.
His lungs needed to be replaced soon, you couldn't keep this up.
Munroe's hand found your arm as he tried to sit up, mask slowly slipping while looking to you.
It was hard to see through the dusty goggles, but he could see your ragged state, sweat staining the front of your apron as the familiar sense of shame followed.
The moment was over in a second as he was pushed down in retaliation to his effort, you tried to unwind your tense nerves, he was alive, you did your job.
"Hyack-! How...how long was I out?"
The only problem was trying to keep him that way.
"Fifteen minutes, your lungs are getting worse due to exposure," You forced out, hands fumbled for a stethoscope, Munroe's gaze stuck to you, taking in all the strife that sat on your shoulders the subtle shake in your hands.
"You'll need a transplant eventually, you'll be better off with someone else's. Deep breathe in for me."
He didn't try to sit up again while the cool metal of the stethoscope touched his warm but bruised chest earning a wince.
"Lucky me..."
Munroe wheezed somewhat at the pain in his beaten lungs, from the chemicals or the beating you gave his chest it was hard to tell.
But he sighed in relief all the same once you were done checking him over, handing him a glass of water to wash down some pills while you berated him.
He'd take this over the machine any chance he could get, coming back to life to see you loom above him was a million times better than the cold metal slate.
Even in the brief sensations of life and death, he could still feel the lingering imprint of your lips over his.
"You are lucky, just stop testing it Munroe." You sighed sitting down finally allowing yourself to rest.
Munroe only hummed in response, hand gently laying over yours in assurance.
Carrie
It was hard to tell if Carrie was scowling or not with those jagged teeth, but nonetheless he wasn't fighting Warwick which was a good sign even as you could hear him growling and cursing under his breath followed by an overly loud yell of pain.
Every other nurse grumbled about what he was a pain to deal with, always snapping back
If he came back from battle alive that is, you didn't think so, but you were bias, you knew how to handle him as the familiar figures of Warwick and Carrie entered the infirmary.
The boarfaced soldier making sure Carrie didn't try to brush off a major injury.
"He's got a crick in his jaw, noticed it just after lunch." Warwick informed as you pulled on your gloves with an appreciative nod.
"Thank you for the rundown Coperal, I'll see what's wrong." With Warwick gone and Carrie taking his spot at the cot, you could already see something amiss.
The gap between his jaw sort of sagged oddly on the right side of his face, even if it was hard to tell.
You held back a crude joke about the injury stopping his yapping for once, now wasn't the time for that as you sat in front of him. Hand reaching for his face and the other holding a small light.
"I'm just gonna check that gap in your jaw, that's all so bear with me and open wide."
It was always a delicate dance when it came to navigating around his teeth, being mindful of the tusks as he held still for you. Fingers sliding against the wall of his mouth as you shined the light into his gaping maw.
Not taking his eyes off your face, swallowing thickly watching your deep focus on his teeth, followed by a tilt of your head to get a better angle leaning closer.
What did you think of him? You'd worked with countless soldiers, probably far more easy on the eyes than him with a lopsided jaw and bandaged skin.
He could snap his teeth down with the painful strain if he wanted.
Take a few fingers of your pretty fingers too if he bit through your gloves.
Saliva pooled as kept his composure, an odd noise gurgling at the back of his throat at your prodding.
Looking deep into the mangled jaws of something that could hurt you filled him with tension, wondering what your blood would taste like between his teeth, of if you'd even look him in the eye if he did.
You pulled away before his thoughts could go any further, a string of saliva hanging between the fingers of your gloves to his teeth, not that you seemed to mind leaning back in your seat.
"It's not a crick, your jaw is dislocated. I'll need to numb it before I fit it back into place-"
Moving to fetch a syringe, your stopped by his hand gripping your gloved wrist.
Somehow few pained words made it through his oddly lopsided jaw. The numbing would make it harder to stay still, harder to feel your fingers, easier to bite without even realizing.
"Ghet it over with, m'not walkin out with a numb jaw. Shit'll bother me for hours."
Your confused look would have been a great opportunity to say something crude if he could say it without another flash of pain.
"You know at some point you need to confront your weird habit to inflicting pain, it's gonna hurt like hell and a half," You warn to which he only tightens his grip, the glare of his single eye unwavering like an angered animal.
"I guess it will be faster if you insist, just don't expect a reward by the end of this."
He didn't say anything, only leaned forward like you instructed, your thumbs sliding to fit between his tusks and press down on his tongue.
Palms fitting to the underside of his jaw, he didn't dare move his gaze away you finally looked up to meet his gaze.
A tense silence settling around the two of you, a calm before the storm.
Trust was an odd feeling, especially for a situation like this, you trusted him to not bite, and he trusted you would fix him, his grip slipping from your arm to not risk scratching you in the aftermath.
"What's your favorite color?"
He blinked in confusion, what a stupi-
A sick crack echoed through his skull with a wave of warm pain, his jaw fitting back into place.
"AAOWWWW!!!" He screeched, turning his head away to cradle his fixed jaw.
You'd thankfully pulled your hands away before any of his teeth got you, letting go of a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
Immediately fetching an ice bag for him like it was second nature, and for a second you were glad he could talk again, even if he cussed about the pain.
The Ascetic
You tsked reading the scale of your current patients weight, he was an odd one but then again they all were.
He was just a special kind of strange.
The hooded man merely tilted his head in amusement, waiting for your diagnosis as if he hadn't been here before for the same problem.
"How many times do I need to tell you? Your underweight, you need to eat, you didn't. That's why you fainted, hence why your squadmates brought you to me." You explained pinching the bridge of your nose, you couldn't see it but you knew he was smiling at your frustration.
You both knew he wasn't going to change his way, no matter how many times his unconscious form was dropped him on the doorsteps infirmary for you to handle.
"How knowledgeable, but I think we both know your remedy for my predicament...nurse." He hummed with false interest for your words leaning closer, the two of you currently alone.
The warm light above only highlighted the whites of his eyes teeth and nose, inky black pupils like eclipses looking down on you unblinkingly.
That familiar shiver ran up your spine before turning away to reach for something, a small cylinder container that could fit in his pocket full of pills.
"Hush now, you can deny yourself all the desires you want or whatever it is, what you can't deny yourself is nutrients & proteins,"
You said handing it to him but not letting go just yet as you glared up at him.
"And for your own sake, drink some water at least please? You won't be able to take care of all those animals if you keep falling over."
Somehow that please and mention of the company he keeps brought him to his senses.
A soft rumble of laughter spilling from his teeth like velvet as he stood, pocketing the container.
"I can follow through with that request, thank you." He nodded before getting up to leave, you stayed and watched just in case his body gave out on him, wouldn't have been the first time you had to catch him.
Thankfully he didn't, which you were grateful for before continuing onto set his file away when your eyes caught something.
A small bread roll with a small jar of jam from the mess hall perched on your desk.
A payment for your help.
You huffed with a small smile before taking your payment to bite into before anyone noticed the exchange, you could only hope he'd have the decency to come back when he ran out of pills than pass out again.
A/N: I hope I did The Ascetic some justice since we only got so little of him. Anyways hope you enjoyed and requests are still open! I'm probably gonna do them in hcs since this took me a while to make.
hey hey!!! im so happy that you write for ersatz, i've been clinically obsessed with it ever since it came out!
idk if you do multiple characters at the same time, but i'd like to request the main four(mophead, munroe, carrie and warwick) romantic headcanons with gender neutral reader.
thank yew so much and i hope you have a great rest of your day/evening. bye bye!
A/N:YESSS OFC I AM HAPPY TO PROVIDE! Again, this might be ooc but oh well. (Image credits to @/marshalllir)
Edit:This got fucked up for a second, hopefully it's back to normal now?
ERSATZ MOPHEAD, MUNROE, WARWICK, AND CARRIE ROMANTIC HEADCANONS
MOPHEAD
Double checks if you're okay with everything. Hugs, kisses, touches, nicknames, etc.
"Are...Are you sure I can do this" "Is it alright if I kiss you?" "You sure you- Do you want this? You can always say no-"
^ You will have to tell them that they don't need to ask for permission every single time. They may still ask anyway.
A little bit braver on the battlefield now that they have something to fight for.
Enjoys practicing shooting and hand-to-hand with you immensely. You might have to convince them to be more aggressive during said hand-to-hand though.
Not a fan of PDA mostly out of embarrassment, but they won't be mad at you if you engage it.
"What're you doing!?! I mean- I don't mind it- but-"
So so so so so clingy when you're alone together. You're the only bit of warmth they have in this hellhole, and the last thing they want is for you to be snuffed out.
Stays by your side when you're wounded in battle, and will give you their gas mask without a second thought.
"Please, I can't- You NEED to stay together. Please."
Their confidence does go up and their anxiety goes down thanks to you. Who knew one needed kindness to grow?
Says "I love you" as much as they can. They don't know when it's the last time.
"I love you so much, you know that?" "God, I love you." "I love you!"
Looks at you and anything you show them with such fascination. #1 active listener!
Shares everything with you. Rations, cigarettes, water, bullets, everything.
"Do you want this?" "Here, I don't need it." "Can you hold onto this for me?"
Kisses you like you'll shift away from them if they press any harder. They know you're not fragile, but they don't trust themself to not break you anyway.
Prefers cheek/temple kisses.
Lets you brush/braid their hair. They'll do the same to you if you have hair.
Asks you all the questions nobody else will answer.
"Where are we going?" "Do you know anybody on this list?" "We'll be okay, right?" "Are we ever going to get out of here?"
Mophead may have lost their memory, but at least they can live in yours
MUNROE
So so so SO in denial when he feels those butterflies in his chest. He's already lost Eriche, he can't lose you either.
Sticks to your side like glue. Wherever you go, he goes.
If you get hurt, he will quite literally seize up in shock and fear. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be different this time.
Carves your name into his skin, just in case the Machine doesn't spare him.
Constantly looking for excuses to interact with you.
"(Insert name) knows how to work these, let me ask them." "You wanna play cards with me? No betting or anything, Don't worry-" "Do you want to practice shooting with me?" "Can I join you?" "Mind if I sit here?"
Doesn't outwardly say "I love you" that much, but the way he'll hold you after a nightmare or a long day is very telling. It's like you'll slip through his fingers if he doesn't hold you tightly, securely enough.
Kisses you quickly but with a starving want. You're going to be gone.
Prefers kissing your shoulder, hand, or wrist.
Would be so grateful if you helped brush his hair/help with upkeep. He was considering cutting it with how messy it was getting.
He'd never hurt you on purpose, though. Will get extremely upset if he grazes you with a weapon by accident.
"Ah, shit- I'm so sorry. It was an accident, I swear-"
Munroe has lost so much because of this godforsaken war. He hopes you won't be lost too.
WARWICK
Panics.
This is so unprofessional of him, whether you're a higher up, lower rank, or the same as him. He can't do this.
Makes you a good example to the others. You're his shining star, the perfect solider (to him, at least.)
"Excellent work out there, (Insert name)." "I'd recommend asking (Insert name), they'd know what to do."
Will not-so-subtlely ask you on "dates"
He's a romantic at heart when it calls. Whether it be sharing some coffee, simply talking, or playing a game of dice or cards, quality time with you may not be a forever. He treasures it the best he can.
"Why don't you join me this afternoon? If I remember, you didn't finish that story from last time."
So. WARM. His hugs are perfect for colder nights in the base.
Randomly gives you his hat or coat.
Scary dog privileges. Somebody scum a ration off of you? It's back thanks to him. Somebody being mean to you? They're shrinking away in cowardice.
Will light your cigarettes for you with his own if you smoke.
If you don't smoke, he'll make sure to do it away from you.
It's very hard to kiss him thanks to the gas mask being melded into his face, so he prefers nuzzling into you or giving you little licks.
Prefers "kissing" you on the chin/jaw, hand, neck, cheek, anywhere really.
Kiss the side of his face or his "snout" please, it would make him MELT.
Brick wall of a man. Lay on top of him, he's the perfect mattress.
Manhandler. Will pick you up if he thinks you're being annoying.
Will get so so bashful if you call him handsome or compliment him in any way.
Warwick has lost a lot thanks to the war. You're the reminder that he's still human.
CARRIE
Long game with this mf.
Such a tease. Poking you, calling you nicknames, he grabs you by the back of the neck to watch you squirm. You need an iron will to deal with him.
If you're not comfortable with any teasing though, he'll immediately stop. He's not a monster, even if he looks like one.
In so much denial. Romance is unnecessary, it's going to get him killed. Oh, but you. You're ruining him.
Finds any excuse to talk to you, be with you, he's an absolute dog.
"Fancy seeing you here, you following me or something?" "I'm going with you too, you're going to get yourself killed out there."
Slips you extra things. Trinkets, cigs, food.
"Don't mention it. You're hardly resourceful."
Scary dog privileges number 2. Instead of intimidating other soldiers into leaving you alone, he just picks fights. He's bitten so many people for you.
Randomly just. Flops down next to you. He may not even say anything, he just sits there.
If you're wounded on the field, it's hell on earth. He's half calling you an idiot, half panicking.
"You dumbass! How did you get shot? The bastard was barely aiming straight! Hold still-"
Stops throwing himself into dangerous situations. You give him a reason to live.
He never says "I love you" with words. He says it with standing next to you with a hand on your shoulder, defending you when you get in trouble, listening to you.
"You're not...so bad, to be honest." (It's the closest he's ever going to get.)
Uses you for body heat, little shithead.
Kissing is a uh, challenge with those chompers. He has to be very methodical about it, so he prefers shoulder, forehead, and arm kisses.
If you're fascinated with his teeth, he's going to get bashful.
"Oh what, these? Ugly things, aren't they? Annoying as shit, too- What? You think they're....you're fucking crazy."
Hugs you in private, and they're bone crushing. He'll bury your face into your body and mumble sweet nonsense. He'll favor your scent over blood and burning flesh any day.
Playful biting. Sometimes you wonder if he secretly wants to consume you so you never have to go away.
Carrie didn't think he had anything to lose besides his rations. But he's glad that he has you to hold onto.
A/N:So so so normal about these guys! If you have any requests, please submit them!
Your shoulders shake as you press a hand over your mouth. Trying desperately to not laugh in Dude's face. He lays sprawled out on the too small couch, his legs hand off the edge. A ice pack wrapped in a towel placed right on his crotch.
"Don't … you fucking dare." Dude gives you a pointed look, cursing in Russian as he grips the small trashcan to his chest. He puts it to his face for a few seconds before the wave of nausea passes.
"I just …" You chock out, holding back laughter. "How?"
"How?!" He echo's in shock at your question. "I got hit in my balls!" His shouting causes another wave of nausea and he gags. You step up to the couch and press the trashcan closer to his face again.
"I can see that." You snicker. "What did you do to earn the ball hit?"
"I don't earn." He wheezes, his grip on English loosening in a rare moment. "Bitch hit me for no reason." You doubt that but you decide he's in too much pain to keep teasing.
"Do you need anything?"
"New balls."
"Anything I can actually do?" He pauses for a second as he actually things over what you said.
"A blow-?" You shove the trash can into his face. A satisfying dull thud sounds as it hits his face. He groans, grabbing the plastic container with both hands as he pulls it away. "Water."
You retrieve a glass of water for him. He tries to sit up to drink it but it's a struggle. His face scrunches up with pain at the slight movement. You shove pillows behind his back to help him. Once he is slightly elevated he takes the water taking careful sips.
"I'm going to die." Dude whines.
"Your not-" "Send my body back home. To the mother land." He dramatically flops his head back on the pillows.
"When the fuck have you ever called Russia that?!" You ask in disbelief.
"I can see my parents now, calling for me." Dude presses a hand to his head. He says something in Russian that you're pretty sure is him calling out for his parents. Even going as far as to reach out to nothing.
You stare at him with your hands on your hip. Letting him put on the display of a pitiful dying man. After a second or two you wander off to the kitchen. Returning with a fresh bag of ice for him, the moment he catches sight of you holding the ice he freezes.
"What … are you doing with that?"
"This?" You hold the ice up. "Getting you new ice since yours is melted." You walk over to him at a slow pace watching as he tense up.
"Thank you." He holds a hand out to receive the ice. You stop beside the couch extending the bag out to him. Then you slam it down into his lap earing a cry of pain and shock from the man. He rolls over his large frame almost falling off the couch.
More curses in a mix of English and Russian are directed at you. With a chuckle you go back to the kitchen to grab a beer and whatever weed he's stashed in the cabinets. It's going to be a long night and you are so looking forward to it.
pairing : reader x black noir (the first and better one)
summary : He broke into your house after returning from the abandonded Buster Beaver restaurant, drawing to take his mind off of Soldier Boy. You were worried, since he's been missing for days. A one sided argument breaks out and yet he can only focus on one thing you—or anyone since forever, called him for the first time---Earving.
warning/tags : established friendship, gn!reader, invasion of privacy?, set in s3, insults (one sided), sorta fluff, alcohol mentioned, soldier boy bashing, Homelander bashing, comfort angst, reader gives him a big kiss on the forehead :)
word count : 1.4K
AN : I listened to a lot of pinkpantheress (especially her song mosquito) writing this, also inspired by this amazing post by @lilacliquors . go check them out!
It was 3 AM.
A time of the night where most people are unconscious, dreaming about something—or nothing at all. All they likely saw was the void.
You wish that was you.
Ever since he went missing, all you could think about was him. Usually, after you return from work, you plop yourself onto your messy bed and simply listen to the silence. The silence that was so common from him. Before him? you hated the silence, actually. Always plugging in your earphones and listening to some song or the other.
But around him? Every breath, sound of his pen writing on paper, every single damn step he took. Most people barely even notice he’s there, but you’ve unconsciously studied every single sound he made.
He really appreciated you. Not even Homelander, who trusted him with so many of his bloodied secrets, would barely acknowledge him unless he did a favour for the man.
You took the time to look at him, to listen to him, to talk to him, to do more than a simple pat on the shoulder or a half assed hug. You didn’t even have to touch him, all you had to do was just look him in his soulless visor. You were a best friend to him, even though you two only knew each other for two weeks at the time.
Now? It’s been years. Years of keeping this unlikely bond together. But If he loved you so much, meant so much to him—why would he leave just like... that?
You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know.
Tucked away underneath the blankets, hugging onto a pillow larger than you, face smooshed into the soft thing. You were pretty sure it was as tall as he was. Fuck, stop thinking about him—it’s late enough!
But… how can you? He left. Without saying anything. You were sort of involved in Vought’s disastrous world, but not enough to know who’s trying to take them down.
But he… did get pretty antsy and stiff when Soldier Boy, a thing of the past was mentioned. How his shoulders became rigid, free hands turning into fists, and would straight up leave the room if he was mentioned more than twice.
He also had shown you a drawing of him bursting the man’s head into nothing but brains and guts—in that disgustingly cute art style of his. You wanted to know why he hated the guy so much, but you didn’t want to pry. It seemed so sensitive to him. Sensitive enough for him to just leave you and search for a dead man.
You took a deep breath, trying to not let the tears burst out of your watery eyes. No one was there, it was just you, alone in your bedroom. No one would see. Not even him.
Sniffling, you bury your face harder into the pillow—not even caring if the tears made a huge wet spot and that it’d take ages for it to dry. This pillow was the only thing close enough to resemble him, so same thing right? Even if it couldn’t hold you in its arms. Even if it couldn’t get up and get you a tub of chocolate ice cream while you sobbed. Even if it couldn’t pat your shoulder.
Same thing, right?
Fuck, you needed a drink.
Stumbling out of your messy bedroom and into your kitchen, opening one of the cabinets to take out a glass. Then you snoop around the kitchen, finding a bottle of wine that’s however years old. Unscrewing the cork as you pour the blood red liquid into the glass cup, a hum of relief could be heard. As you almost kept the glass cup back onto the kitchen counter, you see a shadowy figure sitting on the couch in your peripheral vision—flinching backwards on the ground as the rest of the wine splattered over your white shirt.
You hiss in pain, back hitting the lower drawers as you heard the quiet thumping footsteps closer—covering your vision and shrinking as small as possible out of instinct. You slowly look up, seeing…
… Noir? Holding a doodle on a piece of paper of you and him with a rainbow behind the two characters—words “best-friends” written in a multicolored pattern with an unusual amount of detail, although still childish.
“What… the fuck,” You blurt out, eyes squinting at the doodle to see it clearly—seeing a bunch of scattered crayons on your couch. How long has this man been here while you were trying to fall asleep!?
You sounded more disappointed than shocked he came back, especially with the lack of communication. You stand up, snatching the paper as you have a tiny smile appear on your face.
Then it immediately disappears, placing it back on the counter. “Your drawing’s nice of us and all, but where on gods green earth were you?” You cross your arms against your chest as your tone shifted from sweet to utterly serious, cornering him into the living room since he was nearly taking up all the space in the kitchen.
Noir looks around, grabbing a random newspaper as he writes on the blank spot with a black crayon, handing it to you. It read “I looked after solder boy. I came to meet you befor telling homander”
You try to hold in your anger, but you just couldn’t. The fact he prioritised looking after an old hag over his bond with you is outrageous. “Wow, and I’m supposed to act like everything’s back to normal? After you left for a whole week—without even telling me?” Noir shakes his head, about to write something down until you held his hand and stopped him from doing so.
“I don’t give one single fuck about your explanations!” You raise your voice, anger visible on your face as you point a finger to him. You don’t care that he could slit your throat in a millisecond, he’s too much of a wuss to do that to you of all people. “I was worried sick. His… nuclear bomb explosions could’ve killed you!” You pull him down to your level, him wincing at the sound of you so angry and disappointed in him. He doesn’t say anything, of course, until you finally utter that one word.
“You couldn’t even write a fucking goodbye letter, Earving!? Was that too hard for you—with… with all the writings and drawings you throw at my goddamned face!”
It’s like time itself froze. No one knew him, so no one called him that. Not even his old team spat out his name on contempt, all he is and ever will be is “Black Noir”. He’s not anything but his race that Vought outwardly denies and keeps ambiguous anyway. He’s not a man, he’s a machine that Vought can use and silence whenever they please. He doesn’t even remember his own name anymore, and no one cares enough to know what it is. Except for you.
You… cared enough. About him. You cared about him even when he had the intelligence of a child, a face mangled like it was mauled by a bear, or when he was too awkward to socialise with you properly. You cared about him anyway. He didn’t need your forgiveness, you simply being there—with him, even if you were absolutely disappointed in him, was enough. At least you cared enough to be mad at him.
He falls to his knees, sinking to the ground as he nuzzles his masked face in your stomach like a cat as he wraps his big arms loosely around your waist. Like a cat.
You raise a brow at the docile behaviour, he’s never done anything so affectionate unless you started it first. You slowly pat his head, holding in your tears as you sat down on his lap and bury your face into his neck.
“I-I was just… so worried,” you sniffle as you nearly broke a rib with how tightly your arms were wrapped around his torso. You swore you heard him sniffle too, his gloved hand patting your back as if to say he knows and that he’s sorry.
You press a kiss to his forehead, seeing the big smile on his face underneath the mask.
“Oh, I… I could never stay mad at you for long.”
thank you so much for reading! reblogs and comments are utmost appreciated <3
January Writing Challenge 2026 Day 5: Dialogue Only
Late Night Phone Calls
Fandom: Deadly Premonition
Relationship: Francis York Morgan X Reader
Tags: N/A
Wordcount: 219
A03
Ko-Fi
"Why are you calling me at … 3:21 AM?"
"I haven't be able to call you for a entire week! I finally got a moment to call you."
"York … my sweet beautiful boyfriend. I want to strange you to death."
"That would only lead the police straight to you. Strangulation is too personal. I'd recommend a shooting or perhaps poisoning. There are a few poisons that don't show up on reports if given slowly over time."
"York…"
"There was a serious of eye drop murders one after the other. Once the first murder was broadcast on the news it inspired the next one. Then when the second was broadcast it inspired a third. Really the mistake was not waiting until the news of the other murders blew over. With things still being in the news it was at the front of everyone's mind, quite a rookie mistake."
"Yorrrrrrkkkkk."
"What's wrong? Don't like the eye drop method. I'm sure we can come up with more. After all plenty of people want a FBI agent dead."
"I'm not gonna talk about hypothetically killing my boyfriend this late a night."
"Or early in the morning."
"…"
"…"
"I hate you, good night."
"I love you too, I will aim to call at more reasonable times."
"That's the biggest fucking lie I have ever heard."
