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You know since Eternal showed us the gaming pc in his personal room in the Fortress what types of games do you think he plays? I feel like FPS would be the boring expected answer but you know with him doing all sorts of shooting you'd think he'd try to stick to other genres that don't remind him of his actual life? Like what would be stress reliving games to him? Okay semi relevant ramble over.
(Gender neutral reader)
It started out innocent enough, late one evening sat in his desk chair with you on his lap. You two do this quite often as it really relaxes him, he can play his computer games with his arms caged around you and you can sit back with your back to his chest and either watch him play, or read, or do whatever it is you want to - your shoulder providing as a good chin rest so that he can look at his screen.
Down time. Down time was good, even if it doesn't happen often - constant demon slaughter crusade and all. But when it did you both take the time to appreciate it, even in the small ways like this.
The keys gentle click with each tap of his fingers, serving as rhythmic background noise that fills the room, his eyes don't leave the screen in considerated focus to hit each different colored note of the synergizing metal music that played, even softly humming to them every once in a while. You on the other hand laid there, even with the music, nearly falling asleep. Though knowing you don't get moments like this very much you try your best to keep your eyes open - even if sleep softly lulled at the corner of your eyes.
It nearly shakes you out of your skin at first when suddenly a large hand is on your stomach, patting and rubbing at you with silent affirmation; Sleep. I got you.
You feel bad about it a little bit, going on and passing out during your quality time together but it's really easy to win your sleep brain over when your lover so warm and his big, thick, juicy bosom serves as the best pillows - leaning back against him was so comfortable you could go to right there...
...
...
Okay. Almost comfortable.
You been sitting here for about three hours, your ass was a bit numb. Slightly sore. Distractingly so. But you know if you got up to relax it a little Flynn will make you go to bed proper without him and that's no good, lonely, and when pillowy chest is like heaven... no you had to come up with some other substitute.
You shift a bit in your seat and find lifting yourself a couple seconds at a time relives it a little. You try not to move forward too much and block the way of the computer monitor, only just a little bit then readjusting yourself and back just to ease the discomforting tingling feeling. The more you keep on doing it, the more-
The sudden hands that snap on your hips and hold you down nearly send a throaty gasp from your throat. Keeping you still. Suddenly the room felt a lot warmer than it did previously, you slowly look back over your shoulder to find how your lover looks flushed down at you, chest heaving a bit unevenly.
Oh.
Oh.
In that moment you finally feel the awareness of the stirring excitement underneath you, what you probably didn't even realize with your previous ass numbness that conveniently disappeared at this very moment just as all traces of sleep zapped from your eyes. You were now very aware of the situation you put yourself in.
"Oh, oh I'm sorry-"
"Fine." He speaks, awkward, bit flustered even if he actively was trying to shield it by looking away. But there was his lingering touch on your hips that interestingly didn't let go, that even... firmed up a bit.
With that realization the room that felt warm now felt hot. And with a long look towards him, that he slowly turns back to meet, eyes connected, silent conversation almost, you want this room to turn boiling.
The game on the computer screen was left forgotten; big GAME OVER flashing in big red letters with crying bunnies on the screen, as you roughly rock backward into him while keeping a claw-like grip on his desk, each movement making his chair squeak. Neither of you stripped - just layers of night clothes rubbed and slinked together until they were soaked with both of yours aroused thrill, friction so hot and wet it makes your world spin.
This wasn't the first time you two had explored each other - but definitely the first time like this. So wild and without second thought.
His hips snap and fuck with such intensity as if he were fucking inside of you deep instead of being pressing hard against your ass drooling and leaking so much it's creating thick milky stains on both of your clothing. He bites and ravishes your neck, moans low in your ear, one of his big bear-like palms cups, squeezes, pushes down on your crouch as he grinds against you while the other delicately trails up your front and to your neck. Never squeezes. He'd never forgive himself for accidentally hurting you - or worse. But you fully recognize it, your heart sings and aches with the action as you reach up and just hold his place hand there, you even pant, breathe, moan, cry louder just to reassure him your airway is safe and he's making you feel amazing.
He makes you come so many times your legs physically can't stop shaking and words are no longer intelligible from you besides: "More," whatever pants you were wearing now are totally ruined without a doubt, his either in the same shape or not that far behind. Speaking of, he completely controls your movements now, you now spun around straddling to face him, grinding you onto him so deep you can feel him throbbing further and further to the edge.
He grits his teeth whenever he's getting close - now he was baring them hard like snarling dog almost, eyes twitching every now and again while still keeping full eye contact with you, which he tries to keep until he can't help it but tug you into a sloppy kiss which you grip your arms around his shoulders tight.
When he comes he does so loudly, and tightly, keeping you pushed down onto him as come soaks his sweats and even leaks further onto your thighs. But you didn't really care at the moment, still coming down from your high, falling forward to lean on his weight.
"...you... okay?" Suddenly your lover asks, still catching his breath. He looked dizzy, almost.
"Mhm."
It's quiet for a long while, long enough for your mind to recollect itself and recognition to hit.
"I'm sorry for... suddenly springing that on you. I didn't mean-"
"S'fine. I enjoyed it." He pets the back of your head but you suddenly sit back up to properly look at him, still a bit flushed in the face.
"My ass was numb." He looks at you for a confused moment.
"Like during-"
"No, like before... I was moving like that because - my ass was numb."
Wide bronze colored eye stare at you for a minute before the man laughs - laughs. Fueling your shame and embarrassment before he swoops back in to softly press a kiss to your cheek, a calloused hand cupping the partnering one. He smiles at you, with that big dumb but genuine grin of his, making you lovingly smile back.
"I don't regret how it turned out now, though." You tell him. "Besides my ass isn't numb anymore thanks to you."
Sweat now further sets as a thick layer on your bodies, the afterglow moment finally passing for it to really set it for you to feel. You two were such a fucking mess - shower and fresh set of clothes definitely in order. Effortlessly, your love stands tall to his feet, lifting you up and for your legs and arms to wrap around his hips and shoulders as he slowly turns and carries up the steps and out of his room toward the bath, even peppering a couple more flurries of affection kissing and biting around your collarbone up to the bottom of your jaw. He actually stumbles and gets turned around a bit after your amused moan and light playful squirm clenched around his hips, only to recorrect his course towards your steamy destination.
Sparks sprinkle across his face as he mends the iron of his suit, dull green plating glowing with a deep neon orange as it tries melting together with the new - it bubbled a hot metalic liquid with a wafting smell he could tell wouldn't leave him for at least the next couple of days. He lets back with the torch and sits back in his chair to look over his work. The tear was repaired now, or at least it appeared on the surface, he wouldn't know until he puts it on. But now came the next issue, the major issue, the one he'd been dreading.
His bronze colored eyes drift over to the sleeve - or the lack of one, torn completely from the rest of the main suit and sat over on his workbench, clusterfuck of wires remnants in it's place around the shoulder of the suit. If he could fix it would he the determining factor if the Preator Suit could be salvaged.
It's not that he had emotional attachment to the suit, but it was the one gifted to him by the Wretch, the one he wore in Hell for all that time with in that cave with Valen, the one he was stripped of when he came to from the Sarcophagus on Mars, the one he's been wearing in his continued fight since, the one he saved and met you in... it was a good suit, served it's function as armor well. It'd be a shame just to toss it out. He huffs through his nose, taking another look over at it from it's suspension in the air hanging from the work-rack, his studying hands trailing down it with a firm grasp and-
THUNK.
The entire lower half fell off.
He sighs, feeling at his tired face. He'd have to talk to VEGA about crafting a new suit.
Maybe he could have a cloak again? But then he remembers what it was like fighting in Hell's heat with it on and is turned off from the idea, which sucks because cloaks are so cool... anyway even if he manages to salvage it he needs something to work in for the meantime and soon. It's not like he needs armor to fight - he certainly has plenty of times before, given his marine armor had completely gave out when he fought off the invasion of his original earth he did so in tanktop and stupid haircut - but it's both something he prefers and he knows you would absolutely put your foot down as there's no way in hell you'd let him leave so unprotected.
He's a shitty artist, he's aware of that, but he does manage to sketch out a couple ideas on some scavenged notebook paper. He liked the shoulder canon his Sentinel armor had, he put that in there, and glancing at his comics he had an idea of an extendable tonfa blade on his arm he could think a couple good uses for which sounded cool. He made sure it was at least the same similar shape as the Preator Suit for familiarity sake and feeling at the Argent implant at his chest he doesn't forget to doodle a spot commendating for it on the breastplate so VEGA and the suit can sync to his vitals.
...and maybe add short sleeves, let his arms breathe a bit. One thing he didn't like about the Preator Suit is how smothered he'd feel in it sometimes. His Marine uniform was short sleeved, the UAC given uniform post Invasion of Eath was short sleeved, his Sentinel armor was short sleeved - he was used to fighting with short sleeves.
It was getting late and he was finally getting hungry, notebook in hand he finally abandons his desk to make his way to the kitchen.
There wasn't much in the fridge, supplies were running low and he makes a mental note to go on a supply run in the near future - bring you along too, getting you human contact with someone other than himself was important.
"I was wondering when you were finally going to come out of your cave," Speaking of which, he turns to over his shoulder to see you in the archway, teasing smile on your lips. "-I see you found dinner."
He looks to the now half emptied tub of processed alien meat in his hands, looking at it and back to you for a moment before letting out a low hum in favor to keep chewing. He was hungrier than he originally realized.
"What's that?" You question the notebook slab on the countertop.
He swallows. "Suit."
"No hope saving the other one after all?" He hesitantly shakes his head, noting a sadden look on your face as you look at his scrawled sketch. The more you look at it the more genuinely hurt you look.
"...I haven't apologized yet. This is my fault, I got you distracted over coms and-"
"Don't." He bluntly states. You had nothing to do with it, he got himself locked in his own bloodlust and got in over his head, fought an intense battle and manged to win only in scraps. No serious bodily injuries, obviously - besides a few lingering bruises - but his suit took the severe force of the damage to an inoperable state. But you care and worry about him so much and since you were on call as Mission Support you've bared this blame onto yourself, hell positions were reversed and if he were in your shoes he'd do the same.
You don't respond, just continue to stare at the sketch, mind swirling in doubt. He quietly sighs and sets the tuberware back by it's lonesome in sparce shelves and closes the door with a quiet; thunk. He stands tall in front of you, slow hand finding its home to your cheek, you look up at him with dazzling eyes.
"You can help me finish designing it... if you'd like..."
The next couple hours go by slow, but a pleasant kind of slow. You two sat huddled about at the long ancient stone of the Sentinel dinning table engrossed in the little doodles and notes the two of you made along the page, spouting any ideas that stuck to build off the now established base, even if they were impractical or silly that wouldn't actually be considered it was just childish fun at this point.
It had to be green, obviously (it was his color! You argue) but what shades of green, what kind of built-in defensive weapons, and etcetera were discussed - interestingly not once did VEGA pop in to acquittly declare what were realistic possibilities or not but he had a sneaking suspicion that Ai purposely withheld just out the clear enjoyment it was bringing the two of you. And he appreciates it greatly as you sit with a dumb smile on your face, barely even able to contain your giggles as you doodle out a version of the suit adorn with a unicorn horn, obnoxious pair of wings, long tail, and a star wand in place of the tonfa.
...so maybe it had devolved just a little bit by this point.
"Doomicorn...?" He repeats.
"Yeah, Doom Slayer? - Unicorn? It-"
"I get the pun." If you could call it that. He just didn't know if the demons would either be confused or just want to murder him more by seeing him. Though, the latter isn't that much different than the usual he supposed. He points to the star wand and the decorated doodles surrounding it.
"I'd bet death by glitter and rainbows be a first. Or 'least make bloody guts a little more appealing." In concept.
You giggle then sigh softly to yourself, finally settling the pen down and falling closer against his side. Your fingers start tracing his arm, dancing over old scars, giving each one equal amounts of attention before moving to the next and circling back around again to the first. It's quiet. Dumb fun had died down and the air between you two had turned to a more tender state. He returns it by slowly pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head which rewards him a dreamy hum from you.
Suddenly you shuffle out of your seat and step over in front of his, wedged in between him and the table which he leans back to make room only for you to straddle his hips take your new seat on his lap. Your arms wrap lazily around his shoulders as you sink forward into his warmth. His hands are hesitant - instinctually they always are when it comes to handling you - but they gently set themselves anchored at your waist, keeping you supported, keeping you close. The two of you sit just like that for awhile until he gathers enough courage to bury his face into your neck.
Slow kisses. Up and down your throat he takes time to adore every inch of your vulnerable flesh to him and he marvels in the approving moans he receives in turn. Your loop around his shoulders firm and your hips back thrust against his lap, striking sparks like iron on flint. His hands inch down, finding at the hem of your shirt and slowly slipping underneath so that he can actually feel the flesh of your hips and rub them over with his large thumbs.
"Flynn," You breathily call, which he growls in return to answer against your neck. "-take me to bed."
He could do that.
He carries you all the way to the bedroom, your feet not touching the ground once. Your arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, your lips to his, you were practically glued together as he makes the blind track all the way there. You only part when you are pushed away and dropped onto the bed itself, soft cloudy mattress cushioning your fall, but your parting doesn't last long as his hands and lips are back on you and strip you of your clothes, tossing them in some forgotten corner of the room to be retrieved later.
He watches as your chest moves with each panted breath as you watch him trailing his lips down your body and how you squirm with each fan of his warm breath. You look like a vision that only could come from a dream. He lowers himself further and further with each kiss until he's down on the ground at the edge of the bed where you bring him so easily on his knees. He's not a religious man - if he was he would've lost whatever faith long ago - but being a man on his knees he is going to worship his idol properly.
You let out a startled yelp as suddenly he grabs you by the hips and drags you closer the bed towards him. His grip lightens from a firm grip to a more gentler touch as his fingertips brush across your skin, down to your thighs to your knees as he then cups underneath to guide your legs apart, bowing them upward and exposing your hole to him.
Still down on his knees on the floor he looks at you from under hooded eyes, slight head tilt as he draws closer, teeth grazing your tender flesh, never breaking that eye contact. He wastes no time.
He eats you like you were his last meal. No - actually, he eats you like the first meal he had under the capture of the Sentinels and Maykrs; the first meal he had in thousands upon thousands of years that wasn't demon meat or actual pure filth - instead it was actual meal, a meal where he ate so much he actually threw himself up and then continued eat some more that he actually passed out. But you tasted a thousands times better than what he was served when he was appointed as a Weapon of mass destruction. Those fancy meats, ripist of fruits, fluffiest of breads, dreamiest of ancient Sentinel wines had nothing on you. If you were the last thing he could ever taste, he'd die without regret of any other choice.
Both of your hands are tight on his head, your loud vocalizations bouncing off the walls that he continues to nurse out with each work of his mouth. He fucks you so deeply with his tongue he can feel just how tight your hole clenches down on it that he easily pushes through and drives you more crazy. He doesn't tease, he gives you exactly what you want and doesn't stop. His jaw feels numb at this point but that's okay, down his chin are both his drool and your juices combined and he absolutely revels it in and can just keep going and going if it weren't for suddenly your grip tightening in his hair so much you can actually yank him out of you with his head restrained back.
Breath finally returns to him in great big pants, as if he just remembered how to breathe again and seemingly is the reason you've got him to stop. That and to look down at him completely disheveled and red eyed with tears streaming down your face, but given in drunk-like grin on your face they aren't from any kind of sadness before you shove him back down to go right back to worshipping like a damned starved man.
You come many times and each one is a blessing to him, a blessing he appreciates by pushing for another one. Over and over. Over and over until your body physically can't stop trembling.
"Please, Flynn," You whine. "-can't - can't-"
His tongue pulls out and slowly laps over your throbbing sex. "One more?"
You look at him, chest heaving, but you quickly nod your head on board. Your eyes roll back and giddy grin appears on your lips, clearly getting high off on the idea. "One more."
He goes to on a mission. Come is already stained everywhere from your thighs, the sheets, to his face - a little more won't hurt. He debates on continuing the fast pace but this time he decides as it is the final of the night to truly cherish it - even more than the others - by taking his time. Savor every moment. Every second. He takes in every twitch, every hitch in breath, every hissed out curse that molds into a plea. But he still looks at your eyes the whole time.
Your sex throbs against his face, so wet - from both his spit and your leaking arousal - and so hot on the brink. Your hole clenches, it begs, it embraces him so tight that it spasms aching promises to not let go. He wouldn't leave if he could possibly, stay inside you forever and let every cruel thing this existence held in store fade away. What is out there does not exist inside these walls. Only you and him.
Finally your thighs shake as in a sudden jolt your legs wrap tight around his head, pushing him in closer - the sound you make is breathless, no whine, no scream, just the purest of pleasures as your whole body in one single moment stiffens... then completely melts back to the sheets below. You still tremble and shake, even if you don't seem to realize it as when he finally pulls back up, panting completely soaked faced, your eyes are lost in a drunken daze with lopsided eyelids you stare past up to the ceiling. Honestly it makes him very concerned at first until consciousness seemingly returns to you as you look back at him with a wide smile on your face.
Your next movements are slightly wobbly, as with you're boneless being you (with his help) push yourself up to sit and drag him into a very dirty kiss. Your tongues explore each other's mouths and finally he pushes himself off his tired knees and joins you on the bed, guiding you back down to loom over top of you. Feeling does seem to return back to you eventually as your actions become more solid, during your kiss a mischievous hand even inches slowly down to grope at his crotch taking him completely off guard that he has to groan against your lips.
You squeeze him, rub him, tug at him - all on the outside of his boxers. Only until you get him physically bucking against your hand do you truly do anything about it however, in a sudden shift you flip him on his back and scooch with your face down low against him, one hand pushing up his shirt and the other agonizingly slow breaching the band with your fingertips and easing them down.
You make similar eye contact just as he did with you, your tongue slowly lapping on the lower half of his stomach the slowly clad material of his boxers would dip further, further and further until you would get them off and he would be fully exposed and needy for you.
GULP AGAIN does this mean you take request for doom... if so can I get a smut w/ reader fucking Doomslayer on his fur cloak, maybe like by a fireplace? Or something like that LOL
(Holds out glass of water) you're gulping a lot that I think you might need this. Anyway porn time now. And a bit of angst because I can never help myself but there's comfort... smutty comfort but still comfort! ...and maybe a dash of more angst đ¤ then more comfort.
(Gender neutral reader)
It'd become a ritual by this point, late in the night he'd trudge his way through the empty hallways of the Sentinel Barracks to make his way to your quarters. He couldn't sleep, which wasn't exactly an unusual issue as he hasn't had a good night's rest in uncountable amount of years but recently things have been... worse.
He wasn't under Maykr control anymore, hasn't been in weeks, and while he obviously didn't miss it he did appreciate the nights not being left with own thoughts. Under their control he was left with nothing but the rage and hatred but not the reflection of why it is there in the first place but eventually that steel wall blocking that reflection eroded away reminding him of his purpose - that strange symbol on his shield flashing in his mind - being the reason he was able to break free. After that it's been a roller-coaster of events, he's barely been able to be alone clear with his thoughts. Hell he doesn't think he's been alone with them since the Seraphim put him in the machine.
But here he was, at your doorstep like a pathetic puppy. He holds on to his side - the pain of the injury had stopped hurting and has healed over long before but he can't help but to cradle it with scorn, another reminder of what he has failed to protect. But it does throb every now and again.
Every time he gets here he immediately thinks about turning around and going back to his room, scolding himself for wasting your time and ruining your sleep, you're a Captain afterall you have important work to do with the Sentinels, you deserve rest... but a selfish needy part of him desires your warm comfort to ease his mind away. Slowly, his gauntlet clad hand rises up and braps a couple times on the wooden door.
You don't take too long to answer, peeping your head out first before after seeing it's just him opening the door further allowing him to see you and a little bit of the room inside. You were dressed for bed, big baggy tunic that went just about to your knees and thick layered pants for warmth as it was now the winter months, speaking of, there was also a flickering glow behind you that with the opened door made the shadows of you and himself dance in the pitch dark of the hallway from the fireplace behind you - artificial blue flame that despite the cool light it brought was in fact very warm.
He swallows as he stares at you, he came here practically every night yet he always felt need to come up with a different excuse dispite not being able to ever verbally voice them, but it never matters as you're so gentle with him and you grab him by the hand and tug him inside. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, not to wake any of your neighboring officers as he awkwardly reaches up to remove his helmet which you then take from him to gently place it on your desk. While you're over there you go to straighten up some hologramic 'paperwork' that floated above your desk that you flick and scroll through, a task it looks like you were doing before he arrived.
"You know, it'd probably be easier if you just came straight to my room at night instead of your own, you wouldn't have to sneak around - potentially wake Valen, I know he's like a bear when he's woken up." You clearly tease but when you look back at him still in the doorway and had not moved an inch does it drop, you turn back to your reports. "I still don't mind though. Go on and sit down, I'm nearly done."
His footsteps are always heavy, they make a metallic clunk every time he steps, slowly he inches over further into the room to where he is in front of the centerpiece of the whole room, what tied the bedroom part and the office part together at the head of the quarter; the fireplace. He didn't truly notice how cold the rest of the Barracks was until he stood in front of the warmth in comparison, heat licked his skin real nice, it was a tolerable if not enjoyable heat not unbearable and overwhelming like Hell's that he's use to, so nice that he decides to crouch in front of it.
With a waver of your hand the screens flicker away, leaving you to stand there and look over to the man over your shoulder, a look in your eyes he doesn't allow himself to focus on and he forces himself to stop looking at you from the corner of his eye and back on the blue pit in front of him. Not long after he hears you move around the room, gathering the items of 'rite' before kneeling down beside him and placing them in between the two of you on the floor.
Books.
The Argenta language was still so strange to him, due to Samur's... freakiery that he can fluently speak and understand it now and in turn the Maykrs can understand his original language - he stopped questioning the insanity of all of it long time ago - but the written language was... different. Strange symbols and letters so alien to his eye that was all natural to your own, but he supposed it would be the same for you if you saw written English... maybe he should show you sometime, he thinks. But anyway, for these past couple weeks since of Azhrak's invasion had come to an end, to escape the trap of his own thoughts at night you have been giving him private lessons - since you were shocked to learn he wasn't taught.
It was a very pleasant distraction, having you basically just read to him and try your best to teach him how each sigil functioned together as letters to form words. You would also get to passionately tell all sorts of stories that were famous in Argenta folklore, cool stories about battles and heroes that fought against the odds, fairytales but due to the warrior-like mindset of the Sentinels they probably wouldn't like hearing that label but still they were interesting nonetheless and a part of your culture so he was more than happy to hear it. And it hasn't failed to take his mind away from the creeping darkness that haunted him.
Until one story.
There was once a hero named Torek, a brave Sentinel who once defended the Holy City all alone with nothing but his hammer. He fought countless battles and gained the King's respect and was pointed to lead as the head of his armies. He had the most majestic, powerful, fierce dragon to serve as his faithful steed, flew into many great legendary battles with it. But one battle was tragic, a battle against a most conniving of foe led the hero and his steed into a trap and ultimately got the faithful beast killed. No Sentinel had seen true pure wrath than what Torek expressed that day; the entire battlefield turned into massacre of their enemy, not a single soul was spared, a war that was estimated to last ten years lasted a mere three hours.
It was clear you didn't really think of the ramifications of telling this story, you were more focused on sharing one of the origins of where the Sentinel's respect for their dragons came from until it hits you at the tail end - your words drifting off into dead air as you look over from the ancient book to the man beside you who clutched onto his side. It then hit you embarrassingly quick.
"Oh-" You quickly slam the tome shut, heat and guilt zapping to your face. "-oh - oh - oh I'm so sorry, I-"
"It's fine." Hearing him out loud startles you, which he doesn't feel the best about and then just shakes his head, still feeling the dull ache in his side and can't help but to slightly curl in on himself. His brows narrow together tight in thought.
The air was tense, unignorably so, but the two of you sit through it. He sits perfectly still while you fidget with the creases of the books. It's like this that he thinks he should get up, retrieve his helm, and make it back to his lonely cold chambers as ultimately because of him the night is ruined until it's you to stop him in his place.
"I'm sorry," You repeat. "-I really mean it. I know... how much he meant to you."
"..."
"I know us Sentinels aren't the most... welcoming or accommodating of people. That partnership and bond the two of you shared isn't replaceable, I'm truly sorry it ended the cruel way it did. And I know that - that you coming here isn't really to learn but it's been a distraction from the hurt. Now I'm doing a shitty job at that, huh?" The saddened way you look at him... melts his heart.
Slowly, hesitantly, moving to closen the gap between you, fearful as if one wrong move and you'll break, he reaches out to cup your cheek. He shakes his head.
You continue to look up at him, meeting his eyes before briefly flickering down to look at his lips, face seeking further into the embrace of the cold metal of his hand. Small. You looked so small compared to him. You look at him so gentle, he has to - has to - say something, anything.
"I appreciate-" His voice strains his throat always when he speaks but he fights through, this was important. "-I appreciate what you do for me, taking time to - spend time with me when you should very well be resting, it... this all... means a lot to me."
He looks at you, so soft, so caring and loving, hanging onto his every word no matter how shittily they're spoken out. It relieves him to voice his next sentiment. "...you mean a lot to me."
It goes by so fast he isn't sure who kissed who first. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and hands in his hair while he holds onto your waist like the most delicate of glass before slowly it melts more grounded - passionate. Through your constant interactions and budding friendship, one that started even before he was put in the machine and made a divine weapon - you were the first person here to actually give a damn about him as a person and not his strength, you actually cared and he really appreciates and respects and admires you in turn.
This was a long time coming and the both of you knew it.
The fire crackles loudly in the pit in tandem with your breathy moan as your night tunic has been tugged off you and your head is lunged back and dangling as your only support is your knees digging into the floor and your hands clutching desperate on the man's armor - kisses and bites littered and peppered down your neck and chest in almost an animalistic like capacity. Your moans are practically heaves as your back arches seeking into his mouth while at the same time your hands on his shoulders work desperately to further claw down onto him that you accidentally unclasp the cloak from its attachments on his back that it comes tumbling off him and behind him on the floor, but it didn't matter as everything was coming off eventually.
He loudly - louder than you were both expecting - moans when you squeeze his crouch through the leather and chainmail of his suit, he bucks into your touch as you roughly grope at him that he curses his teeth. He throbbed so hard in your palm he's threadbare on loosing his mind. He needed everything off. Not eventually. Now.
His armor tumbles off one piece at a time and loudly clangs on the floor and tossed to several different corners of the room to be recovered later. He's completely bare before you as you join him in slipping out of your pants, which in this moment of reprieve even in front of the fire reminds you of the lingering cold draft pulled from elsewhere that your body instinctively shivers from. Seeing this your lover pulls you in close, inclosing you in his body heat with his arms wrapped around you tight and his lips clumsily meeting yours.
Lost in kisses you just barely register your back meeting soft pelted fur, being so keyed up and sensitive that it creates an adorable gasp from you that breaks the kiss that with a smile he can't help but to immediately leap back in as your fingers find their way tight in his hair and his hands begin to wonder and explore your beautiful wonders.
His fingers are gentle and tentative around your sex, caressing you at first before breaking the kiss you share, guiding those same fingers back up to your lips, politely prodding them against them asking to be invited in. Your lips part to draw them in, keeping eye contact him as you suck them to create a good layer of coating on them that with that goal completed he pulls out of your mouth with a nice satisfying sounding pop.
He works you thorough. Thorough enough with his rough battle-worn hands he has you absolutely leaking down into the fur of his cloak underneath you absolutely drenched. He takes his time with you, taking in every single noise make, hanging onto every word you shakingly plead out. He puts all the attention on you that he hasn't really thought about himself until your begging to relieve him.
He isn't sure what to do - his body stills and his movement stops. He looks wide at you... not really-
But you reach up and touch his face.
Your thumb brushes over from the scar on his upper lip to the corner of his mouth.
How you look up at him.
He would give you the entire universe if you wanted. All you had to do was ask and he'd fight anything and everything just to give it to you.
His breaths are heavy as he takes you on his lap, hands gripped tight onto the meat of your hips as he has you bouncing and practically screaming riding him. His back is bleeding with how hard your nails clutch onto his shoulders but the wounds register nothing but added pleasured fuel to take you further. He's made you come so much it's made his own thighs sticky and caused the wet sound of meat colliding even echo louder throughout the room - and he wears each time with a badge of honor and hulls him to push another out of you.
Your whole body convulses, on the verge of collapse, clearly from exhaustion from sitting up for this long but you still verbally beg him for more. He's quick to remedy you, flipping your positions and turning your body around to be on your stomach but arching your back so that your ass can be in the air as he still ruts against you but this time with his whole form curled against you like some kind of weighted blanket.
Your fists clench tight fulls of fur from underneath you. Your breaths are shotty. Voice nearly hoarse. Cries and curses desperate.
Teeth are nerve blowing on your throat, entangled with wide broad-stroked laps of tongue and low rumbled mumbles of praise against your skin - and you tell him this, your words might be slurred and broken all to hell but you make sure to tell him how good he's treating you. Reassuring how good of a job he's doing. One trembling hand let's go of the sweat and come drenched cloak on the ground to make its way up to tangle in messy brown hair.
"Good boy, good boy," You tell him. "-s'good job."
It's like you relieved a long standing desire he never knew he had. It made his knees weak, head light headed, face on fire. He has to bite down to contain it - only drawing out a louder cry from you, your fingers squeeze tighter. Harder.
"Good fucking boy,"
He has you pressed down further, your face in the crook of his hairy arm he holds you down and fucks you like the demons were close to wiping everything from extinction and this was the last moments you had with one another and he was doing so good fucking your brains out this fast and hard. Even sobbing and barely able to breathe you give him praise and encouragement, as it clearly got his rocks off and only made him go faster - nearly rabid - with how he practically was shaking hovering above you he was close, very close, and loud drawing with it, trying his best trying to fend it off to last even a couple moments longer. He didn't want to stop having you like this.
"Please," You suddenly beg underneath him, sincere. Wanting him to give into it. "-let go."
And with ease, willing to obey your every command, he does.
He falls back on his knees barely able to catch his breath. His chest rocks and sweat drips down every crevice of his body that becomes more of a solid settled feeling once he's back in reality and easing out of his high, thigh slightly still shake.
You look back at him, your eyes lazily half lidded, your head turned off to the side as your body is still slumped over with your ass hanging in the air - come drips from you and trickles down to the fur below in thick puddles, heavenly sinful image that cements itself to never leave him that frankly is the reason he currently isn't giving the slightest damn about the impending tormented hassle that is the task of getting that cloak cleaned. You're a vision. A pure vision.
He slow dips back down for you as you sluggishly make it back on your back so that you can meet him for a clumsy kiss, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he once again hovers atop you. You pull him further, encouraging him to lie on top of you which he makes no effort to fight against as he is once again your blanket. Once the kiss is broke he does hide his face in your neck however, tired, last remainders of lust leaving his veins and replaced by back to his own placent thoughts.
It's quiet. Neither of you two dare to say anything. A sigil not broken. You do pat at his head, comb your fingers lightly through his hair. It was relaxing - it does ease him, if a little bit, as realities set back in. The realities of what laid outside this room. Reality that had to be faced the moment this silence breaks.
"You okay?"
...
"...yeah."
He raises himself back up to his knees, ending your embrace. But you still look up at him from your place on the floor, from on top of his cloak. His eyes hesitant on you for a moment before he forces himself to look away. Reality.
Reality.
He pushes himself up to his knees, still crouched down but with intent of retrieving and putting back on his armor and leathers scattered on the floor. He does not look at you.
"I... apologize for keeping you up so late - and - and - disturbing your night."
He doesn't have to look at you to see the wide shocked look on your face.
"Flyn-" That name he can't allow himself to hear. The name no one in the Sentinels or the Maykrs knew or cared to know. The name he had told you in trust.
"I ruined your night. I'm sorry - Captain."
You still look at him, now sat up, silent. He reattaches his gauntlets, flexing his hands back into the gloves with a metallic shink. He was a weapon. Rearming himself.
"You think I fucked you out of pity?" You draw, your tone narrow and offended that your tone of voice grows louder dispite the lingering hoarseness. "You think I did all of this out of pity?! Tell me right now that's not what you think!"
He never said that - never suggested that - but a knot stabs in his throat at the most inoperable of times. So he stands there. Tears swelter in the corner of your eyes.
"Well I didn't. I thought - thought you might've... realized... or... dammit was I reading this whole situation wrong?"
With that he can't help but look at you.
You looked so small on the floor.
Slowly, he steps forward and kneels in front of you. You flinch in shock, seemingly not expected him to do so, as he sits in front of you and just... lets his forehead fall on your shoulder. You look at him for a long moment before your arms come to cradle around his form. Neither of you had to further say a word, it seemed... things clicked for you that you suddenly understood his turmoil. You pet his head.
"You're scared." You suddenly voice. Then silence seeps back through, dancing in the air for uncountable amount of time.
"I'm scared too." You confess, voice low but draws him to peek wide open at you from his perch on your neck.
"The men and women I lead into battle, my comrades-in-arms, my family, my friends, the civilians I fight for. I'm scared of loosing them too. Every day." There's a heavy pause. "I'm scared of loosing you too."
"(Nam-"
"I know that parts foolish, you're the strongest out of any one of us but... in the back of my there's always something. And when... when... when Azhrak-" He silences your next thought by kissing you. When that kiss breaks your eyes slowly open to stare at him, looking so... soft, reflective. You clear your throat.
"My point is that I get it - somewhat." Your hands are gentle placed upon his face. "If we understand each other can't we do something about that? About this? If you feel it too - can't we fight it? Together - us."
He looks at you and his lips part, full words yet empty over his lips as his brows narrow fustrated at himself for struggling to push them over. Yet you look so genuine, patient, and loving at him. He looks down towards himself.
"(Name), I have lost... a lot."
"I know. I know and-"
"I don't know. Not yet." No he does know, he knows how he feels but there's fear. Pure fear of what voicing this emotions into being what bloody consequences and it might bring... to you. Shadow of death always looms over him.
He looks at you.
His fingers slowly reach to intertwine with yours on his face, leaning into your touch. He grips them tighter and brings them closer to his lips so that they gently brush against them as a phantom kiss.
"...give me time..."
That's seemingly all you needed to hear. After awhile in each other's arms do you pull back to motion his armor, he does look at it and debates with himself before ultimately goes right to removing it a piece at a time once more to where he's stripped down again. You lie back still on his fur, arm outstretched to invite him to join you which after his eyes flicker down to remind himself of the state of his cloak does he sigh (slightly amused, tomorrow's problem he decides it'll be) and he takes you into his arms and holds you against his chest where he feels your bones relax, finally succumbing to exhaustion.
The fire still crackles in the background, even if it's a touch more dimmed than it was prior but surely to last for the rest of the night. It set a good mood. And with you next to him? Good comfort. His mind began to race less. His side long stopped throbbing. He felt at peace for now, here instead of dreadful lingerings on their deaths he thinks how Daisy and Serrat would be playing together in whatever afterlife they were in - a rabbit and a dragon, even with how absurd it sounded it brought a smile to his face, a smile you catch and return tenfold.
And seeing that makes him even more wanting for a better future. He'll fight tooth and nail for it. Things will be different this time.
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Itâs moments like these you thoroughly enjoy. You're in a comfortable bed, the room is dark, there are no responsibilities that need tending to, nice and comfy. Just you, a comfy bed, and Doom Guy. Yeah- you're still not entirely sure how this happened- but it did.Â
When you first entered and became part of his life, you wondered why he even had a bed in the Doom Fortress. It seemed before that the bed was rarely touched; you were very tempted to check the bed for dust, you didn't. You did- however- run your finger across the dust on the headboard.
The man never seemed to sleep, he always seemed to be on the hunt. Ripping and tearing his way through hellâs legions, like a bloodhound with an unquenchable thirst. As far as you're aware Doom Guy doesn't technically need sleep.Â
As for you, in the last few weeks, you've been growing more comfortable here in the Fortress. This place has started to feel like home, comfortable in ways only home can offer. Where you can be yourself unapologetically. It lets your mind be at ease, relaxed to the point where you have started to sleep in the untouched bed.
But ever since youâve started sleeping in the bed he never used, you've noticed him quietly following along. As in, heâd try, and fail-Â to sneak into bed with you. Itâd sound like a bass drum walking down the hall to the room, and muffled vibrations through the metal floor could be felt as it got closer. Youâd press your face into the pillow trying to ignore everything, the opening of the door, him entering- then the rustle of clothes as he changed into something more appropriate for resting. Most often just a pair of sweats you bought him, no shirt.
He's a furnace enough on his own.
Your hand massages the wide expanse of his back, every now and then putting more pressure into tense areas of his back, trying to work out the tight knots. Occasionally youâd feel a rough patch of skin where scarring has occurred, deep old scars that you avoid dragging your fingers too hard into. Feeling the dip of his spine inclines you to scratch along the slope of it. His back arches beneath your touch, pushing you deeper into the bed. Youâre attempting to get him to unwind further, to get his muscles to loosen up from slaughtering demons for God knows how long. Your hand wanders absentmindedly up his back, fingertips tracing idle circles along the line of his spine, then up to the hair at his nape.Â
His short brown hair is surprisingly soft. Perhaps you should look into the brand of shampoo he uses, you hope it's not one of those three-in-one shampoos. If it is- then you would have to intervene next time he's about to wash up and actually get him into a proper hygiene routine.
Burying your face into his hair, you take a breath and get the faint smell of eucalyptus- and a bit of mint, you hum into him. He definitely had taken a shower before sneaking into bed.Â
Every night he tries to sneak into bed, slowly, in an attempt to try not to wake you. All after finishing up with whatever task he had taken on for the day. It doesn't work though.Â
Youâve become a light sleeper over time, any shift in the bed would wake you and since he started to sleep in the bed with you, it's nearly impossible to sleep without him. So youâd be slipping in and out of consciousness, up until the point he decides to try sneakily joining you in bed. The attempt does amuse you though.
Although mornings are much different, sometimes youâd wake to find that breathing is harder and you're overheating. Blinking away the sleep youâd look around to find Doom Guy completely lying on top of you. His weight is fully over you, like a weighted blanket, his legs are sprawled all over yours and his arms are tucked firmly against your back. Like youâre a life-sized teddy bear for this giant furnace of a man. Youâd be unable to move out from under him until he wakes and moves himself.
You did try once- with a wheeze, you had tried to sneakily crawl out from under him, only for his arms to tighten around you in a vice grip. Holding you still underneath him. Like someone is trying to steal you away instead of you trying to preserve your body temperature and freedom. Chest to chest, youâd hear a grunt and feel it vibrate deep behind his ribs, which is currently crushing yours.
That escape attempt ended fairly quickly.
Your hand runs through his hair to the back of his nape, playing with the short hairs there. Seriously, why is this man's hair so soft?Â
You'd think wearing a helmet all the time would be cause for some damaged hair, maybe some helmet hair- having it be flat pressed up against all that padding and wires inside- but no. When he took it off- his hair would always be fluffy, not messed up in the slightest, it made you kind of jealous.
You run your fingers through his hair, dragging your fingernails lightly over his scalp, which gets you a shiver. So, you keep doing that.
This bed is nice, where you can lie and rest together. Even if you're not sure if he really sleeps. Being able to feel his warmth and the movement of his chest as he breathes relaxes you, you hope it does the same for him, he needs it.
Moments like this- are far in between with him going out to slay demons and you working.
You move a hand down to his back, continuing to massage the muscles there. You feel the Slayer shift, then a hand travels up behind you, his hand slides up and down your back, returning the gesture. It's soft and appreciated, especially from such a man. Dipping your head down, you plant a soft kiss to the top of his head, and his hair tickles your nose. You love that he feels comfortable enough to be gentle with you, well- heâs naturally gentle with humans. This time with him feels extra special because he chooses to let down his walls and rest with you. Even if he doesn't really need sleep. He pulls you impossibly closer into his chest.
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â˘starts off slow and gentle, he holds back out of fear of hurting his partner
â˘mostly doms and tops, doms and bottoms as well kind vocal, grunts and groans
⢠very rarely submissive but when he is he is very vocal, moans when his partner dominates him
⢠loves it when you call him by his name not his nickname but his real name, Flynn
⢠the god of after care, he would run his partner a hot bath and join them, give them massages and makes them meals and cuddles, if out on the field he would clean his partner up with wet wipes/￟baby wipes
⢠very handsy and love fore play. Ass, thighs, brest (if his partner has any) he loves grabbing and fondling around
⢠oral, he loves to go down on his partner and loved it when his partner goes down on him
⢠loved picking up his partner and fucking them especially against a wall
⢠praise, he loves getting and giving praise
⢠possessive, but not like in a crazy jealous type way. But he will make it clear that his partner belongs to him and will protect them from anything
⢠marking, he will leave his partnerâs neck, chest, and thighs covered in hickys
⢠he listens to his partner, if they say no, he will respect them and not bother them about it, he respects consent and his partner decisions and they do the same because consent is the most import thing when it comes to sex and also respect ￟￟
"The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering." - Slayer's Testament
Alright, as we all know, he doesnât really speak. Not even a peep of pain leaving him as he gets wounded from minor or severe injuries. He is like a brick wall, and itâs almost like talking to one too, but that doesnât mean he isnât listening in on you. You are at least humane enough that you just⌠ramble to him at points whenever he is around, and it rather makes him feel more⌠included in life than he was.
He was unsure of you at first, like any other soldier or person that has found another survivor of an apocalypse, but he eventually gets used to your presence. Sometimes he even turns a bit, expecting you to be next to him when he was out slashing demons. He gets a bit⌠saddened each time when he sees you are not there. Though, I believe he would have some voice recording of you in his helmet to put him at ease.
Eventually, he likes to be around you more and more. Always finding himself coming to your house/base and watching you doing something mundane. Something this is something else rather than killing and hacking demons. He⌠he enjoys the simplicity of life. Itâs very much different from his usual order: slash, kill demons, rip and tear until nothing is left, repeat. He likes watching you, and in return? You watch him as well.
Either he follows you around like a big protective puppy or you follow him around like a mewling kitten. This is no in-between. You going out to rob some abandoned joint? Heâs coming with you if he is there with you, no matter the time, dusk to dawn. You following him? He grows to enjoy it, but just because he lets you follow him when heâs out slaying doesnât mean heâll let you every single time. Itâs very possible he will stick you somewhere if youâre adamant enough to follow him. Heâll come back for you, donât worry.
Big ol protector, is one of the things heâs being great at in a gore-like way. Donât expect him to be all pristine after tearing all those demons apart either. That is his job, donât disintegrate it for he is really good at it, and well⌠I donât think he would appreciate you bad mouthing him. Despite that, he would protect you to the fullest. Being your leader once he learns of your pathing between abandoned cities and factories, and demons know full well to not get in the way. At least, not without a powerful hoard. (That will still fail, but there are possibilitiesâŚ)
Speaking of the possibilities, he is brutal when something happens to you. The slayer has lost so much already, he is not going to be kind on whatever hurt you or is perceived a threat by you. Itâs x10 worse when he finds you gone and he finds out about it himself. His livid, but again, silently. That is until he gets his hands on the demons or even humans that have captured you or perhaps even killed you. If they have put you 6 feet under, expect the aura of this silent behemoth to go up.
Honestly doesn't like seeing you gone from his sights for too long. It gives him a weird feeling of dread after a while. Sure, heâs focused on his task, but whoâs to say that a brain doesnât multitask? This slayer can think of you all day long, and many days he has. I mean, what if there is a demon hoard around your base/home? Getting through you to get to him? He wouldnât put it below a demon to do soâŚ
Likes helping you out quite a bit with most of the mundane chores of the world. You going to wash the dishes, including his plate? No, let him do it. You made the food, itâs only right for him to help you clean up. You need to travel to get more supplies? Expect a hefty amount in your pantry/storage the next day, maybe a few hours. He just likes providing like he human again.
He definitely likes to jam out with you. Sharing each others music tastes. He even listening to your music while he fights off demons. Mercilessly tearing down his enemies as a rather cute song plays. The blood of the his opposers staining his armor while he just continues on his way. Somehow even sending you recommendations when he out slaying. You encourage him to focus on his set task and he just sends you another song in response, despite your worry.
Encourages you to defeat your enemies when you to battle together. He helps you to know your weapons, slowly teaching you how to weld what you hold. Doing some combos and tactics: thrust, dodge, slash, thrust. A simple combo, but it sure is amusing to see you trying to use what heâs teaching you of. It never fails to have you a bit⌠dazed in your training, and perhaps⌠underneath him.
đđđąđŽđđĽ/đđŚđŽđ:
For those who veiw the Doomslayer in a religious light. I would say he would like wait until you are both married to have sexual intercourse, and at that certain point I believe he would take it slow at first. You are both testing your boundaries. Itâs usually not good to rush unless experienced with your partners body. Also, heâs definitely huge and would not like to ruin you the first time. No matter if he had tempting thoughts of you.
Worship can both ways in this one. With him? He likes to caress and massage you. His tongue and teeth gently giving kitten licks and nips to test your skin and nerves before starting the main course. Do it on him? Best believe he would be a bottom for a bit. His hands squeezing your thighs gently while you focus your attention on doing your treatment on his own battle hardened skin. You can hear him sigh out a couple of times to your affections.
In my opinion, I think he would like biting more than praise. Heâs more hands on than all talkative, but he wonât object your praise to him if that is your subconscious duty. He will grow to love it. Though, back to biting. He loves to mark his partner. Sinking his teeth into their skin just hard enough to leave a mark, and he absolutely doesnât mind if you do the same. It will surprise him at first, but heâs not against it with how his member twitches.
Definite size kink. That man is what? 7ft? Almost? Ones has to have a size kink of being such a powerful size. So, with a smaller partner he would absolutely thrive on how tight you feel around him. Your body unable to take any more that what you have already inside of you. Bigger partner? He loves just how much you can take him. To see his cock disappear within you as you take him greedily.
Belly budge kink, if he liked watching himself going inside of you, heâs going to like watching that bit of skin the creates a budge inside of you. Telling him of how much you are taking him, and itâs impressive. His hands usually wandering over that bit of skin and gently thumbing it. Watching you closely as you wither and whine at the sudden touch.
I see him having a lingerie kink. So, it would become a great surprise to him if he sees you in nothing but lingerie. He wouldnât expect that of you, but he certainly isnât declining your clear invitation of your body sitting so pretty upon the bed with sighs of his name falling from your lips while you pleasure yourself with your fingers. He is quick to not leave you unsatisfied.
Ough, chastity. This one can last a while as he would not have a high limbo. This can be torture for you and more like a walk in the park for him. So, I would advise you to plan this one carefully. Perhaps even challenge him (and well yourself) that you two canât fuck each other, but you two can tease one another. Itâs mostly you teasing, but once he does it? Itâs hard to keep your hands to yourself because he knows you like it when he gets back to you and takes his armor off to show the hidden muscle underneath. Bastard.
You could ask him to be bottom for a night, but he would be a power bottom. His hands grasping at your thighs and thrusting up into you with impeccable timing. Your mind going a bit frazzled at his actions as you thought you were going to have him withering but it seems he keeps you in your place in either position. He also likes it when you look exhausted above him. Your hands splayed out on his chest with your heated breathes coating his skin.
There are times where this man gets needy after having you has a partner. The chastity maybe a hard one to get him on, but it honestly takes a lot of time for him to become needy. He is more of a war machine than a sexual one, so it makes sense he isnât, but when he is? Expect him to be curled around you with his cock deep inside of you. His own, hot breaths breathing into your ear as he stuffs you slowly with him. Taking you deep and slow, savoring you.
It takes a long time for him to do chastity, needy sex, and so does rough sex. He really isnât that much keen on that one as he doesnât like to imagine on hurting his partner, but he does obey your cries for more. For him to go âr-rougher!â And by god does he deliver, drilling into you with huffs and growls. His hands squeezing tightly at your waist just enough to create a bruise later. No doubt leaving you bedridden for the next days to come. Youâre lucky however, that he cares for you afterwards with love.
Blurb: Where you and Carl just need to let go for the night.
Minor spoilers for book 6 and 7.
Carl's head only ever got silent in these moments. That river constantly running through his mind slowed to a trickle when it was just the two of them, away from the chaos, the destruction, the horror of it all.
Donut would pout knowing this, but yes, even away from her and Mongo.
Sometimes Carl just needed to let go. He was a human male, after all.
He cradled her face, her back pressed into the mattress, propping himself above her. He kissed her with a quiet intensity that left no room for words. They rarely talked during these moments. Sex before the dungeon had been fun. There had been a time when she would laugh with lovers, cracking jokes mid-fumble.
She never did that now. There was a silent understanding between them that this was something different. This was connection. In a world that felt so relentlessly alien, it was good to feel human again. Sometimes it was quick and rough. Tonight, it would be slow. They had both survived another day. Others had not. This was a reminder to both of them that they were still here, this was real, they were alive.
Their lips moved together, her hands wrapped around his wrists. Slow, deep kisses that made her stomach flutter and her thighs press together. His new, long hair fell around his face like a halo, and she hadn't told him yet, but she loved it like that. He made her feel small and safe in the best possible way.
Carl pulled back. "I don't get to tell you how beautiful you are enough."
She smiled and leaned back into him.
His right hand left her face and began trailing down her body, soft but deliberate touches that made her squirm. When he reached the waistband of her pants â some loose leggings she'd been gifted in a loot box near the beginning of the crawl â his hand slipped beneath it. Her back arched. He circled her clit slowly, dipping his fingers lower to ease the way, then began alternating between that and pressing one finger inside her. Then two.
"Can you take another one for me, angel?"
She breathed yes, and he gave her a third.
The combination of his mouth on her neck and his fingers working her over gradually became too much. She came quietly around his hand, her exhale shaky and soft.
"There you go," he whispered, like he was in awe of her.
He held her gaze as he brought his fingers to his mouth. She stared back, lips parted, and then laughed despite herself as he moved to pull her pants off.
She pulled her tank top over her head. The dungeon, in its sick sense of humor, had outfitted her out in something that looked like a fashion-forward workout set. A nod, she assumed, to her old habit of 6 a.m. Pilates classes that felt like they belonged to her past life. There was before the dungeon, and there was after. She quickly moved on from this thought. There was only now.
Carl knelt at the edge of the bed and looked at her. Just looked.
God, let this never end.
She looked back. She imagined he must have been impressive before the dungeon, given everything she knew about his past, but the crawl had built him into something else entirely. He looked like he'd stepped out of one of the romantasy novels she used to devour on the surface. She let herself admire him unabashedly. The cut of his abs, the breadth of his shoulders, the solid muscle of his thighs. His body adorned with the various tattoos heâd gotten over the various levels. And now, with the newest addition of the eye of Shi Maria on the center of his chest. All of it, for now, was hers to enjoy.
He slid toward her and lay down, grabbing her hips and flipping her over him in one smooth motion so that she was straddling him. He propped himself against the wall and pulled her mouth back to his.
Her hips started moving without her permission. They moved together, slow and grinding, and it should have felt silly, two adults dry-humping like teenagers, but it didn't. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
"Need you inside me," she told him.
He helped her lift up slightly, and used his legs to kick off his boxers, the white ones with the little red hearts that she had never once commented on. One benefit of Carl's signature pantslessness, she thought, was that his cock was always easily accessible. He took himself in hand and guided them together.
She felt him begin to ease into her and closed her eyes, both to savor it and to adjust. Carl was a lot. "You okay?" he murmured, watching her face. She nodded, small sounds escaping her that she couldn't quite help. She knew he wouldn't move until she said so.
"I'm okay."
He gripped her hips and began to move her against him. The rhythm was familiar between them, well-worn and sure. Neither of them were loud, but her soft moans and his low grunts filled the quiet of the room.
His grip tightened. In one careful motion he lifted her and laid her on her back, settling between her legs. He pressed her thighs up and forward with one arm, and his free hand came to rest flat against her stomach. She felt every slow, deep thrust in her core.
She glanced down, following his gaze, and understood. She looked at the faint press of him against her stomach, visible through the skin. Oh. She looked back up at his face and found him already watching her.
He was slow, but not passionless. She could feel the emotion behind every movement.
When his pace finally began to build, he let go of her legs and gathered her into his arms before he finished, holding her against him as he came. She felt him, and moaned softly, and wrapped her arms around him while he came back down.
He held her there for a long moment.
Then he reached over and brushed the damp hair from her forehead, pressing his lips to each spot his fingers touched. He cleaned her up without being asked, gentle and unhurried.
"Carl, what in heaven's name is going on in there?" Donut's voice cut through the wall like a hot knife. "I was promised a brushing!"
"Fuck off," Carl muttered into his palms.
She laughed from the bathroom doorway, Carl's eyes finding her before she'd even spoken. "No pregnancy and no UTIs," she said, leaning against the frame. "Honestly, the dungeon's not all bad."
Then it hit her. A warm, familiar, deeply unwelcome sensation.
NEW ACHIEVEMENT!
Occupational HazardÂ
Nuh-uh-uh, Crawler. The System giveth, and the System taketh away. Please report to the nearest medic. Theyâre going to love this one.
Reward: Nothing. This behavior is not endorsed. Might I suggest using feet next time? Asking for myself.
"Hey!" she shouted at the ceiling. "The AI just gave me a UTI!"
Carl's laugh started slow and then absolutely collapsed him.
"Better get to Mordecai," he managed, wiping his eyes. "I want to be there when you explain this one."
Rating: 18+ SMUTTTTT (and a whole lot of backstory)
WC: 5kish
BOOK 2 SPOILERS!!!!
Sorry for the wait, everyone!!! I love you all thanks for the patience!!!
Blurb: Incubus Mordecai and Reader fuck. Thatâs it. Well, not reallyâI took a lot of creative liberty with this one SORRY ITâS SO LONG. I had so much fun writing Mordecai, that I genuinely couldn't stop.
Three hundred years of strings, and she never noticed they all led to the same place.
A reimagining of Mordecai reappearing after the "I was going to fuck a grandma" scene.
Mordecai was no stranger to suffering.
The dungeon had been his cause of mental and physical anguish for centuries. Every new day that passed, every new cycle that started, every new crawler that came through his door did nothing to alleviate it. And so his routine never changed: he suffered, and he drank, and he drank, and he suffered. During the off-seasons he'd mourn without the distraction of crawlers to manage. When he had crawlers, he mourned with the distraction of crawlers to manage. The addition of new ones never seemed to change the equation.
The conditions of his contract were simple enough. Help crawlers through the first three floors as a Game Guide, then get transferred to a deeper floor to run a magic guild for the remainder of the season. He had come to make friends on that deeper floor. After failing another set of crawlers, he enjoyed wallowing with them. The only things he'd managed to hold onto across all of it were his mother's ashes and the picture of him and Uzzi. His brother had been his best friend. The guilt and the grief of losing him had led him straight to the bottle and kept him there for centuries.
This was his final season. Sweet, sweet freedom âeven though he knew it came with strings attached. There was never true freedom for those who were part of the crawl.
He stood in the gold-bricked entry hall, waiting for Carl and Donut to arrive for floor selection. The light bouncing off the walls gave him a mild headache. He rubbed one hand along his strong curved horn and groaned softly. This season had been unconventional. He reflected on his sorry life as he thought of his crawlers. Carl and Donut had been causing quite a stir amongst the NPCs and the general viewership. This made him nervous, but there was something satisfying about watching them stick it to the Syndicate. He just wished they'd tone it down enough for him to get out of here in one piece.
Naturally, his thoughts drifted to her.
She had been a crawler from a planet subject to Borant's control. Around the ninth floor, when most of her lupine-like species had been wiped out, she had taken a deal. There was always a choice, she'd told him onceâshe'd just chosen indentured servitude over the alternative of dying to entertain viewers of intergalactic television. She had chosen to be a changeling, which caused her form to shift every floor and every cycle. Like Mordecai, she always started as a game guide, then got transferred to a lower-level open air market where she specialized in selling trinkets. On her home world, she had been an antiques dealer. Of course she had. The girl found the deepest comfort in the treasures that reminded her of her past life.Â
She had met Mordecai on the exact first centennial anniversary of him taking his deal. He was drunk off his ass, stumbling through the market much to the chagrin of the vendors around him. On that floor, he was a tall, handsome, short-haired blonde human priest. After stepping on a humanoid mouse's tail with a heavy black dress shoe and collapsing directly onto the china tea cups the mouse was selling, the resulting squeaking and cursing snapped him out of his drunkenness.
On that floor, she was a High Elf. She had tied a scarf around her nose and mouth to protect herself against the thick red desert dust. She watched him haul himself out of the magic guild door and into the open air, hazel eyes squinting against the sun. She took pity when Kona, the mouse tea cup seller, started bitching at him. She had been on the receiving end of that annoying squeaking before.
She exited her stall and went to help the drunkard.
"Kona, stop the squeaking. Nothing you're selling here matters anyway." Kona's furry face glared at her as he began pawing at the china shards. She grabbed the priest's arm and hoisted him up. Her strength came from her race. "Come this way."
And so began an easy friendship between the two.
The market changed form every season. Sometimes it was an open air market, like the one they had met at, sometimes something resembling a mall, and even once a floating bazaar that neither of them enjoyed, but they always found each other. Mordecai's magic guild's entrance was always within the vicinity of her stall, and he enjoyed sorting through the trinkets and gadgets she collected and set up for sale. Each time they saw each other, they caught up.
And after a couple of cycles, if they happened to be compatible speciesâthey'd fuck. The friendship had crossed into that territory the cycle the market had taken the shape of a farmers market. They had both been Sirens that season, and after a night of drinking, Mordecai had confessed that he needed her. Then. Like that.
Their physical relationship existed alongside their friendship without disturbing it. It was a separate thing, a primal thing, something they both needed and neither of them questioned. It was hard. Messy. Freaky. Often involving some degree of masochism, the pain grounding both of them to the dungeon, to reality. Sometimes, sweet and tender, where she'd often end up crying when they both came down from their highs. But together, they knew they were real.
They would often recount times they spent together when they got to see each other. These were some of their favorite highlights of their long friendship.Â
Cycle 1. The Open Air Market. She is a Wood Elf. He is a Priest.
After the incident with Kona, he had started coming by on his off hoursâjust to look, he said. Just to see what she had. She never believed him.
He would settle himself on the small wooden stool she kept behind the counter, uninvited, and begin sorting through whatever she had laid out that cycle. He never bought anything. He rarely said anything. He would pick something up, turn it over in his small hands, and set it back down. Occasionally he'd grunt. Her germaphobe tendencies flared as she watched him grab at everything she cared for so dearly.Â
"You're going to smudge the inventory," she told him once.
"You sell things that are already smudged," he retorted, without looking up.
She was mildly annoyed at the exchange, but didn't argue. She went back to her book. He went back to the trinkets. The market moved around them.
He came back the next day. And the one after that.
Cycle 7. The Underground Cavern Market. He is a Spider. She is a Pixie.Â
Her hands grasped at the paper received by all active guildmasters, courtesy of Borant Corporation. They were on a planet called Zorc, and these newsletters were distributed every few cycles, budget permitting. Her eyes ran over the page, her fluttering wings lifting her slightly off the ground.
THE BORANT CORPORATION OFFICIAL GUILDMASTER NEWSLETTERÂ
REMINDER: Crawlers are not your friends. Emotional attachment to crawlers is strongly discouraged and any emotional damage caused by such attachments will neither be compensated nor addressed in therapy.
REMINDER: The magic guild supplies budget has been reduced by 40%. Please adjust your wallowing accordingly.
REMINDER: Borant Corporation thanks you for your continued service. Your contract has been extended. Details to follow.
UPCOMING: Season opening for next cycle has been moved. You will be notified when we feel like it. Regardless, you will know when it starts.
When his spider form crawled to her stall, she slid her copy across her stall's stone counter to him without commenting on it the cycle after it arrived. His eight eyes read it slowly. Then he read it again. He wasn't sure if the cave's dim lighting was playing tricks on his spider eyes.
"Supplies budget," he said.
"Reduced by forty percent," she confirmed. "Please adjust your wallowing."
He set it down. She watched his face do several things in quick succession. She knew how much being able to experiment helped ease his emotional pain. His pincers moved up and down as he thought.
"They're not going to tell us when the next season opens, are they," he said. It wasn't a question.
He picked it up and looked at it one more time. Then he carefully folded it and put it in his coat pocket.
"To adjusted wallowing." One of his hairy limbs raised his flask.
She raised hers.
They never mentioned it again. They didn't have to. For the next several decades, whenever Borant did something particularly egregious, one of them would just mutter something about adjusted wallowing and that was enough.
Cycle 15. The Skyscraper Market. She is a Vampire. He is a Wraith.
It had started as an ordinary enough cycle. She had found him at the market as usual. They had caught up as usual. And then she really looked at him, and realized.
"You're incorporeal," she said.
"I noticed," Mordecai replied, flatly.
He was a translucent, smoke-colored ghost. Present in every way except in the one that would have been useful, she thought. She could see straight through him to the stall behind.
"So we can'tâ." He cut her off mid-sentence with a grumble. "No way."
She considered this.
"That's okay, I like just chatting with you anyways. Can you touch anything at all?"
"I walked through a wall this morning," he said, the annoyance evident in his tone. "Accidentally. Three times. Walked straight into Polar taking a shower"
She pressed her lips together very hard.
"Don't you dare." He tried his best to scowl at her.
She laughed anyway. It echoed through him and something in his translucent expression twisted.
"Next cycle," she managed to wheeze out, when she had recovered from her laughing fit.
"Next cycle," he agreed.
He sat on the stool anyway. Or rather, he hovered approximately where the stool was, which was close enough. She went back to her inventory, and he sorted through what he could.
It was, somehow, still one of the better cycles they had experienced together.
Cycle 19. The Mall Market. She is a Feline Hybrid. He is a Skyfowl.
She had posted something in the vendor corridor outside her storefront, right after her materialization into the deeper floor. Her crawlers had died on the first floor, and she had plenty of time to kill before boredom set in. The crudely drawn poster read the following:
NOTICE TO ALL VENDORSÂ
The individual pictured below has been observed loitering in the past market districts during business hours. He does not buy anything. He has stolen a brass compass, a handful of metal flecks, and a flask (my only good one) and has not returned any of them. He will tell you he is "just looking." He is not just looking. He has never just looked at anything in his life.
If spotted, do not engage. Do not offer him a stool. Do not let him touch the inventory. Report him straight to the appropriate authorities.
â Management, Stall 7B
A hand-drawn portrait of Mordecai's eagle-face, crossed out in red, was taped below the notice. All the vendors who walked by it commented on its extremely accurate likeness. It turns out, she is a really good artist.
He found it a couple weeks later when he finally joined her. He stood in front of it for a long moment.
"This is defamatory," he argued.
"The flask," she held out her hand.
He reached into his coat and produced it. He set it on the counter without a word. She put it back on the shelf.
She picked at her black, claw-shaped nails as she impatiently waited for selections to begin. She had tucked her silky, pin-straight black hair behind her ears, her fingers grazing the small elegant horns that curved just above her temples. Her tail twitched behind her, the barbed tip catching the light. Her dusky gray skin seemed almost luminous against the gold-bricked walls of the selection room.
One thing about being a succubus was that it was very easy to succumb to that lizard part of her brain that controlled her carnal desires. This led her mind, inevitably, to her dearest friend. She wondered what Mordecai was up to right now, imagining his annoyance at having to help more crawlers through race and class selection made her smile. Mordecai liked bossing her around, and she loved it. Sometimes he'd let her take control. She shivered as she thought back to that one time, around their fourteenth cycle, when he had let her put it upâher stream of consciousness was cut short as her crawlers barged into the selection room.
"Welcome to the third floor, crawlers," she purred. All they could do was ogle the beautiful succubus in front of them.
Which is how they found each other here now.
One of her crawlers had chosen the manager benefit. Fuck my life, she thought. After sending them off with a growl, she stepped onto the third floor herself. She had taken the form of a succubus, where she appeared as a disgustingly beautiful demonic creature in a short, tight red dress and tall black heels. In this form, she was very much the stereotypical vision of sex. Her long pointed tail twitched behind her like it had a mind of its own. Her bat-like wings were tucked neatly against her back as she made her way through the city.
It had been a long time since she had walked in heels, and she was tripping every other step. Her stilettos clacked against the poorly-laid wooden slats, the escaping steam tickling her ankles. What a shit town.
She approached the gates of the NPC village, the two guards letting her through without comment. The dense, polluted air cast a reddish glow over the medieval buildings around her. She swiveled her head as she walked, knowing exactly what she was looking for.
She still felt bad about chewing out Alyssa, her crawler who had chosen the manager benefit, and now needed a stiff drink. She found her target and sighed with relief, pushing open the heavy oak door. The bronze handle was cool under her touch. A small bell announced her arrival.
The first floor was a tavern, with a bar tucked into the corner, the rest of the space filled with a mismatched collection of wooden tables and chairs. A variety of fantastical creatures occupied those seats. A set of stairs led to what she assumed were the rooms on the second floor. A female ogre descended the rickety steps, ducking to avoid the ceiling. "Welcome! Have a seat anywhere, I'll come help ya." The succubus smiled as she watched the green woman walk behind the counter.
The seating at the bar was empty save for one patron, sitting with his back to her.
She started laughing the moment she read his description.
"Mor!"
He swiveled on his stool. His face brightened instantly.
"Oh, baby," Mordecai grinned as he saw her. "Of course I'd find you at the tavern."
Around the pub, patrons gawked at the two beautiful demons approaching each other. They embraced, Mordecai squeezing tight, the way he always did. He towered over her even in her heels, and she relaxed into his broad body completely before they pulled apart.
"Manager benefit too?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm pissed. Let's not talk about it." She turned to the bar. "Mishka, I'll have what he's having, please." The ogre's name tag caught the light as Mishka nodded and turned to the bottles.
They spent the next hour catching up properly, Mishka making sure their glasses never went half empty. Their laughter got loud enough that Mishka snapped Mordecai with a bar towel more than once to get him to quiet down. The alcohol moved through both of them easily, their kind particularly susceptible to its effects. And, in their current forms, it had a particular way of sharpening certain appetites. They had each gotten occasional messages from their crawlers, but they ignored them. The humans would be fine. Probably.
"Although," she said, when the laughter had settled into something quieter, "not to laugh at your misery, it's a little funny that you're here too. Your final crawl. These guys must be something."
Mordecai huffed. "I know. I was going to get the hell out of here."
"Good thing I get you for one more night, then." Her voice softened as she looked into his dark eyes.
As the night fell and the other patrons began filtering out, the energy between them shifted. It always did, eventually. They had been doing this routine for decades.
"Last call, you two," Mishka called from across the tavern as she wiped a table.
Mordecai glanced up from his glass. He licked his lips slowly as he held her gaze. "Let's go, pretty girl."
She raised an eyebrow, amusement evident. "You already got a key?"
"Mishka hooked me up earlier." He twirled the green key ring around one finger, the silver key catching the light. His eyes narrowed. "You better get moving before I rip that ridiculous dress off of you."
The breath left her lungs. Her cheeks flushed a pinkish hue that read clearly even through her gray-toned skin.
He grabbed her hand and started pulling her through the tables toward the stairs. They stumbled up the steps, making their way through the dimly lit hallway to the door matching the key. Mordecai fumbled with the key as she stood behind him, looking around the hallway. After a beat, the door creaked open.
The room that Mishka gave for them would do for tonight. It was small, but it had a bed, and that was all they needed. A twin-sized mattress covered in an itchy grey blanket. Bare beige walls. A single candle throwing unsteady light across everything. She told Mordecai to give her a second and slipped into the small bathroom off the entrance.
She splashed cold water on her face. She was hot from the alcohol, hot from his presence, hot from centuries of knowing exactly what came next.
Mordecai was her dearest friend in the dungeon. The thought arrived simply, the way true things did. Someone who understood her at her core, literally. She ran her fingers through her hair, readjusted her dress, and kicked off her heels before walking back out.
Mordecai was standing at the window, his back to her, hands in his pockets. His tail moved behind him in slow, anxious arcs. She crossed the room and stood beside him without saying anything.Â
The city below was ugly during the day, full of wooden slats and sulfur and creatures who didn't know they weren't real. At night it was something else. The reddish glow had softened to amber, and the smoke drifting up from the gaps in the slats curled lazily into the dark like it had nowhere better to be.
She thought about what he'd said downstairs. His final season. After centuries of this, Mordecai was almost out. But she didn't say any of it, and neither did he. They had always been good at that, holding the real things in their hands and onto the now of the dungeon, not the what will be.
His tail found hers in the dark. The barbed tips caught briefly, then settled. Neither of them moved away.
"It's oddly pretty at night here," he said, his gaze drifting over the moonlit town.
She hummed in agreement. She looked up at him. His sharp jaw was shadowed with stubble, his gaze fixed somewhere out in the amber dark. He got lost in thought like this sometimes, and had for as long as she'd known him. But then he came back, the way he always did, and turned to take her face in his hands.
His left hand cupped her cheek. She felt him bend down into the kiss. She grabbed at his face and pulled him closer, and he began walking her back toward the bed. Their tails tangled between them, moving like they had minds of their own. Her wings tucked tight against her back as her knees hit the mattress edge. Mordecai steadied her descent, then moved over her, his broad wings blocking out most of the candlelight.
He kissed her again without hesitating. Their tongues brushed together. Their teeth clashed occasionally, pulling small laughs from both of them. They had never been gentle with each other. His hands moved over her dress and raised goosebumps along her skin. She kept her hands on his chest, nails pressing through his dress shirt, and started working at the buttons. She got three undone before Mordecai sat back and brushed the hair from his face.
He settled on his knees, hands on his thighs, and looked at her. The erection pressing against his dress pants was obvious. His eyes narrowed. She shivered at his hawkish stare, her underwear already damp.Â
"Undress," he ordered, the firmness in his tone exciting her.
She sat up and began pulling the tight straps from her shoulders. Her bare breasts caught the candlelight, her pert nipples drawing his attention immediately. His mouth fell open slightly as she continued, unhurried. The dungeon had been generous enough to provide a black lacy thong, and that was all she had left as the dress bunched around her knees. She laid back to pull it free, and that was when Mordecai moved.
He buried his face against her underwear and inhaled deeply. "Gorgeous," he said. His tongue began tracing over the fabric, his gray skin a striking contrast against the black lace. His breath alone was too much, and he hadn't even started properly yet. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and kept exploring, unhurried, thorough. She let out small sounds she couldn't help, her hands finding the sheets. He suckled at the fabric, her clit getting caught by his teeth through the lace.
It was all building too nicely when he dropped her thighs and ripped the underwear clean in two.
"Are you serious?!" she said, caught between shock and laughter. "I don't have a spare in my inventory!"
"Even better," he answered, with no remorse.
He didn't give her a chance to object. When Mordecai ate her out, he ate her out; usually with her thighs over his shoulders, his tongue working her with the precise movements he knew she likedâlong licks alternating with slow sucks. At the same time, his hands palmed her ass. His tongue was everywhere: her clit, her entrance, everywhere in between. Even after all this time, he always knew exactly what to do.
One finger pressed at her entrance, then sank in slowly. He added a second when she made it clear she wanted it. As he worked in and out of her, one of her hands found his horn and the other threaded into his hair. The tug pulled a moan from somewhere low in his chest.
The flutter in her belly built until it was all she could feel. Her breathy sounds told him everything. Her back arched off the mattress, her grip on his hair tightening, the other hand going flat against the blanket. His fingers worked her through it, her walls pulsing around them, her whole body going tight and then loose all at once.
He drew his fingers out slowly, moved over her, and licked them clean while she watched. His wings spread as he tasted her.
Her eyes narrowed. "Not too shabby for someone who hasn't done this in a few years."
"You're leaving me reviews now? Since when?"
She kissed him hard. They worked together to get his shirt off, the fabric slipping easily through the slits cut for his wings. He stood to step out of his slacks, leaving them crumpled on the floor. He wore nothing underneath. She took a moment to look at his stance, realizing he was showing off.
"You're a fucking peacock," she laughed.
Mordecai grinned. "Take a good look, sweetheart." His tail swished behind him.
He came back to the bed and kissed her once, deep, before pulling back to look at her.
"On your knees."
She turned and lowered herself onto her forearms, her wings folding flat, her tail curling at the base of her spine. The sheets smelled like fresh laundry. She felt his hands find her hips and glanced back over her shoulder as he guided himself to her entrance.
He pressed in slowly, letting her adjust, watching her face. Both of them exhaled at the same moment. He murmured against her back as she took him, his hands moving in slow strokes along her wings and spine.
"Move," she begged. "Please."
He started to thrust, quickly finding a good pace. His grip tightened on her hips, hard enough to mark, and his pace was relentless. The sounds he made filled the room. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her nails pressing crescents into the cotton. Everything was full and overwhelming and exactly right.
He reached forward and gathered her hair, wrapping it once around his fist and drawing her up against his chest. She leaned back into him, her wings pressed flat between them, the end of her tail tickling his stomach, as his mouth found the left side of her neck. He worked from the base to her earlobeâsucking, licking, unhurried despite the pace of everything else. His horn grazed the top of her head and she moaned at the sensation of all of it happening at once.
The flutter in her belly came back, urgent. Mordecai's face told her he was getting there too.
He pulled out smoothly and laid back on the mattress, drawing her with him. She straddled him, took him in hand, and lowered herself down. Even though she'd had him moments ago she still went slowly because of his size. She threw her head back.
"Your cock is insane, Mor."
He looked up at her with a grin, his white teeth still bright in the moonlight. She took that as her cue to start moving her hips up and down, bracing her hands on his chest. His face went slack with pleasure. She found her rhythm and let herself have it, grinding slowly, taking her time.
"Come here, baby." His voice had gone low and rough. "Gonna fuck you properly now."
She leaned down to kiss him. He gripped her hips and took over from below, driving up into her with a pace that made thinking difficult. Her body was feeling too much, too fast. She broke the kiss and dropped her forehead to his shoulder, reaching down to press her fingers against her clit. The sounds she was making were past embarrassing at this point.
"Mor, I'm going to â." He shushed her gently. "Be a good girl and come for me."
Her walls clenched around him in waves. The sensation pulled him over with her, and she felt him finish, felt him fill her completely, his hands gripping her hips hard as he worked through it.
They stayed tangled together for a long moment before cleaning up, dressing, and settling back onto the narrow mattress. Mordecai lay with one hand behind his head and the other wrapped around her waist, fingers tracing slow patterns along her arm. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to him breathe.
"Thanks for that," she said, after a while.
"Anytime."
A beat of quiet passed between them.
"Mor." Her voice came out smaller than she intended. "I'm really going to miss you. With my luck, my crawlers could be dead by tomorrow."
His hand didn't stop moving on her arm. "I will find you after you leave the dungeon." He said it matter-of-factly, like it was already decided.
"But what if we're not compatible. Out there."
"Then we figure it out." A pause. "Don't make me list the options of sex toy technology available to us. I've had centuries to research."
She laughed despite herself.
Her tail wrapped around the wrist stroking her arm, almost without her meaning it to. "Looks like we're strung together," he murmured.
She considered all the strings. The market that had brought them together. Twenty cycles of showing up for each other in whatever form the dungeon had decided on that season. Incorporeal or not. Compatible or not. 300 years of thinking of one another. It hadn't mattered much, in the end.
The dungeon had strings on both of them. It had just never occurred to her that some of those strings led to the same place.
"Have been for a while," she said.
His arm tightened around her waist. Just slightly.
"Besides," he whispered, quieter, "I like you for the company too. If I never got to touch you again, I'd manage. Because you're more than that to me."
Her eyes stung. She pressed her face into his chest and didn't answer right away.
She was about to when the bed dropped out from under her.
"Fucking hell!" She landed hard on her ass as she materialized in the safe room, Alyssa and her group staring down at her with wide eyes.
She looked up at her crawlers. They took in her disheveled appearance, her crumpled dress and knotted hair a stark contrast from how they had left their manager.
"Not a word," she growled at them.
At the same time, across the floor, Mordecai was not having a better time. "What the fuck!" he shouted, as Donut and Carl stared at him.
The incubus looked dangerously good disheveled, with his dress shirt crumpled and hastily thrown on, a black bowtie hanging loose around his neck. His trousers were still being pulled up. His saving grace was the tight black underwear he had managed to get on first.
"Mordecai," Donut lectured at the incubus, "you really must learn to control yourself. Mongo is simply appalled at seeing you in your underwear."
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a chance encounter leaves you and carl with a 'nasty' debuff. takes place during part I of bedlam bride.
pairing: carl x fem!reader (slight use of Y/N sorry)
rating: 18+ (extremely horny, 5 peppers teehee)
word count: 4.1k
author's note: i told you all sex pollen was coming. i hope you prepared yourselves. @cmonmoony this is for you :P
Havana, even in its reconstructed state, was beautiful. The architecture was bright and colorful, enhanced by the warm weather and clear blue sky. It was nothing like you had ever seen before. What you and the Posse had now started calling âmemory ghostsâ floated up and down the sidewalks and streets. It was still hard to get used to them.
You and Carl walked down the sun-soaked streets of the city, looking for lesser mobs to farm experience. Flora and fauna dotted the sidewalks in splashes of vibrant color. Your head craned up at the sky. There wasnât a single cloud in sight.
âYouâve never seen the sky before?â Carl quipped, a light smirk in his voice.
âNo actually. Never. Not once in my life.â You retorted, trying not to laugh at his remark. Looking up, you could just barely make out his form in your periphery.
âYouâre going to walk into something.â He shot out his arm in front of you as the road bent to stop you from hitting a tall bush. He had most of his equipment on, the cool metal of his gauntlet hitting you in the sternum.
âMaybe I wanted to run into this bush. It looks plenty softâŚand inviting.â The bush was covered in spiky thorns. Carl nodded, completely unconvinced. He looked at you and started to laugh when a notification from Donut popped up.
Donut: GUYS. MORDECAI SAYS YOU SHOULD BE HERE TO HELP ME.
Carl: Donut. You will be fine. Y/N needs a bit more experience so she can use her spells with the deck. Weâll be back soon.
Donut: FINE. I DONâT THINK I SHOULD BE HELD RESPONSIBLE IF THINGS GO WRONG.
You both ignored that last one. You laughed at Carlâs frustrated groan over Donutâs love for the caps lock key.
So far, you had killed a small handful of lesser mobs, including this weird minotaur-like creature, but instead of the body of a bull, it had the body of an elephant. Despite its size, it went down quite easily.
Rounding another corner, you spotted something before Carl did. Or better yet, someone. Leaning against a bar table outside what looked like a Cafe was one of those memory ghosts. This one was different, though. It still had a transparent quality to it, but its form had color, like someone turned up the opacity. It was âspeakingâ to another ghost sitting at the same table, but the second you entered its field of vision, its attention snapped to you.
Oh fuck. Oh no. No no no. Despite the distance, you examined its properties.
Andrew. Ghost of Y/Nâs past.
Level 52 City mob.
This is a ghost recreation of Crawler Y/Nâs ex-boyfriend from Earth. Heâs really not happy with how you left things.
âOh no, absolutely not,â you yelled up towards the sky, âwhat did I ever do to you?â
âWhat the fuck?â Carl asked. Andrew was already making his way over to you. It felt like a horror movie.
âWe need to go, I donâtâI canât, Iââ
Combat Started!
This wasnât a normal battle with cards on this floor, but rather a mini boss battle, where you still had access to your skills and inventory. You stood frozen in place as the uncanny recreation of your ex-boyfriend from Earth approached you.
âBaby, please! Iâm sorry about everything, let me make it up to you.â The voice you remembered had a distorted quality to it. You couldnât move as he got closer, in shock from the utter insanity the AI was laying on you.
âFuck! Move, Y/N!â Carl yelled. You could see him loading his xistera to lob something at the ghost. Something about the tall, real man fighting to save you knocked you out of your stupor. You stepped back and readied Ice Punch, which would freeze an enemy in place for 15 seconds. Those two attacks combined, Andrew froze in place and began taking damage from Carl. Despite his state, his mouth could still unfortunately move.
âWhat? Is this your new boyfriend? Running around in his tighty-whities? Heâs nothing. You know I could treat you so much better than him.â He had the kind of snark in his voice that made you cringe. Once upon a time you had found it attractive.
âFuck you, you cheating asshole!â You screamed, sending a bolt of magic lightning into his head. He took more damage, but he wasnât dead yet. He exploded out of the frozen cocoon you had wrapped him in. The explosion was so powerful, it knocked you and Carl off your feet, flying backwards through the air. You both landed in one of those prickly bushes from before. A puff ofâŚpollen or something poofed up into the air around you, causing the both of you to sputter and cough. Fuck. A hot sensation flooded your body immediately upon inhalation. Before you even had time to figure out what the hell that was based on the notification that you waved away, you both scrambled out of the bush and readied more attacks on Andrew.
Carl lunged forward and attacked him with Powerful Strike, bringing his health down dangerously low.
âDamn,â Andrew started. âYou pack a punch. Bet you canât fuck her hard like that. She likes it rough!â He rubbed the side of his face, then hit Carl back.
âWhat the everloving fuck!â You screamed, sending another bolt of lightning at him. This was utter insanity. Your cheeks were red, not just from the exertion, but from that last comment the ghost had made. He tried to throw you two off your game, but Carl wasnât having it. You could see his face had reddened too, but he kept throwing punches until he was down. Without hesitation, Carl smushed the ghostâs head in with his foot, not letting him get in a single word. It was short, but it was over. The experience went to Carl.
âSorry.â You couldnât even comprehend his apology. What the fuck just happened? Why was your whole body tingling, like a fire had started in your chest and was burning you from the inside out?
âWe need to go. Back to the safe room. Now.â You said, in between pants. Besides the battle, something was really, really wrong. Your feet began to move before you could even process anything.
âWait, who was that guy?â Carl asked, still reeling from combat. If he was feeling whatever this was too, he did a good job at hiding it.
âSome sort of ghost recreation of my last ex from Earth. He was such a prick. I really shouldnât be surprised at this point, with all the fucked up shit happening to us.â You pulled up your map on the HUD, looking for the nearest personal space access. You two had actually travelled far enough on your walk that a new one populated a mile or so north. You began to speedwalk in that direction, Carl following behind.
Fuck. That hot tingle running through your body was travelling south, pooling between your legs. It stopped there. Energy coursed through your torso, hot and electric.
âHey.â Carlâs voice stopped you dead in your tracks. It sounded⌠different. Sexier. âDid you read your notifications?â You shook your head no. During the battle, you had been so worked up that you waved away any and all notifications. Carlâs face was still red. He looked at you so intensely, like he was hanging on for dear life to whatever you were about to say next. Pulling up the messages, you began to scroll through. One caught your eye, the message from when you both fell into the bush. The system AI read this one in an excited tone, similar to the one it used when it talked about Carlâs feet.
WARNING! You have been poisoned! âŚor have you?
You have come in contact with vernonia libidinis, otherwise known as the Fuck Bush! Imbued with the strongest natural aphrodisiac we could find, the bush you just fell in has covered you with the sexiest pollen known to man. You are now insatiably horny! The only way to relieve yourself of symptoms is to get. it. on!! Find someone, really anyone, and just start bumpinâ uglies. The effects might last a pretty long time, but at least youâll have some fun! Hopefully.
Oh shit. You met each otherâs gaze. You were so fucked.
The walkâmore like runâto the personal space was silent. You couldnât speak, couldnât even glance at each other. The increasing arousal made it almost painful to move, but you were determined to get somewhere behind closed doors alone to take care of this issue. The AI had said you had to find someone to fuck, but there was no way it could be Carl. You could ruin any semblance of friendship you had. Getting yourself off just had to work.
Carl groaned in between pants. Fuck, you thought. The noises he was making were not helping you whatsoever. The warm Havana sun was exacerbating the heat coursing through your body. The personal space was close, just up ahead through the entrance of a place called Aleâs Taqueria. The streets here were significantly less crowded with memory ghosts, allowing a smooth path to entry. You two burst inside. You passed a ghost bartender, rounding the corner behind the bar to reach the entrance.
Donut had finished whatever training she was doing in the mock arena and was now pampering Mongo in the main communal space. She lit up at your entrance.
âCarl! Y/N! You guys..are⌠back.â Her sentence slowed to a stop when she could see how disheveled you both appeared. âWhat in the heavens happened out there?â You ignored the question.
âNot now, Donut. Whereâs Mordecai?â Carl asked as you made a beeline for your room, which was sandwiched in-between Carlâs and Mordecaiâs studio. You caught a glance of Carl's entire body as you ran away. He was sporting a full hard-on, straining evidently through his boxers. Woah. That added to your arousal immensely.
âIâuh, in his studio. Just why do you have an erection, Carl? And why does Y/N look like sheâs going to pass out?â
That was the end of that.
You shut the door behind you with a click, turning the lock into place. This was not the time for anyone to be walking in unannounced. You immediately went to work pulling off all your clothes in an attempt to cool the heat that was now burning you alive from the inside. The entire surface of your body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair sticking to your neck and forehead.
âGod, fuckââ you whimpered. You stood completely still, contemplating what to do. This was the most aroused you had ever been in your life. You werenât entirely sure one orgasm would fix this issue. In the next room, you could hear Carl and Mordecai whisper-yelling back and forth.
âVernonia libidinis. What the hell is that?â
âGod fucking damnit, Carl! Youâre always getting into some shit. Whatever the AI said to you, that's what you need to do.â
âIt told me to get laid. Over and over again. Thatâs the only way to satisfy it. How in the hell am I gonna fix this? Canât you make a healing potion or something?â You could almost hear him pacing the room. His voice sounded desperate.
âNo, Carl. It wonât work. Iâve seen it happen before. You just have to, err, do what it says.â âWho am I going to fuck, Mordecai?â His voice had raised in volume, but he quieted back down for that last part. âI feel like Iâm going to explode.â The room fell silent. The whimpering in his voice was driving you insane. Without you even realizing, your hands ran over your damp skin, begging for contact.
âNo. I canât. It would ruin everything.â âSheâs been affected too. Sheâs suffering like you. Itâs the most economical choice.â
âFuck economical, Mordecai! Sheâs my friend. She probably doesnât even think of me like that.â Silence again. Your hands reached your breasts, nipples hard and pointed.
âYou do, though. Donât you?â What?
âStop. If I even think about it, this is gonna get a whole lot worse. You canât help me, so Iâll just go.â Did Carl just inadvertently admit feelings for you? What was happening?
All of a sudden, a switch flipped. Whatever control you had left had fallen off the edge. You wanted Carl. Your hands couldnât fix this on their own. You suddenly felt very, very needy. Like you could just beg at his feet to get this over with. Your head pounded and legs throbbed with need. You heard him close the door to his own room, then move into the adjoined bathroom your rooms shared. Seeing as you two were the only people in the party who needed a conventional bathroom, the personal space placed it in between your rooms, serving as a connection without having to enter the main space. The shower turned on. Probably ice cold. You pushed the neediness away, bringing yourself to your bed to find your first release. The idea of him pulling his sweat-slick clothes off for a shower made your arms tingle.
Your hands quickly got to work. One palmed your breasts together while the other worked fast on your clit. While it felt good, it barely provided any relief to the hot energy coursing through you. Your breath quickened and your heart rate rose, like this was a true illness bringing you to the brink of death. The antidote only a few feet away.
âFuck!â You screamed, part pleasure, part frustration. It almost hurt. To please yourself instead of succumbing to the wishes of the AI. âFuck you,â You whispered to no one in particular, groaning and twisting in the sheets. It was starting to give you a headache. You felt sick. Carl must have been experiencing the same symptoms, if what Mordecai said to him was true.Â
The crawler invaded your thoughts. At this point, it wasnât worth the mental exertion to push them away. You worked again at your swollen nub thinking of the tall, rugged man. Thinking of the huge hard-on in his boxers earlier. Running your hands up and down each other. Thinking about how you wanted nothing more than to take him in your mouth andâ
Click. Your door to the bathroom opened. Carl stood there, clad in nothing but a small towel around his waist. Fuck. You forgot to lock that one. You removed your hand from in between your legs, not bothering to try and cover up.Â
It just had to come to this. There was no one else to fuck, no one else you even wanted to fuck. It was always him.
You were a hot and sweaty writhing mess on the bed. You probably looked disgusting.
To him, you were glowing.
There were no words to be said. You both knew what was about to happen. No doubt he tried to relieve himself in that shower. Despite it being ice cold, his body still radiated heat from the drug. His eyes raked you up and down, hungry. Between deep breaths, you nodded.
He moved quickly. His towel dropped at the end of the bed and you finally caught sight of it. He was a massive dude, of course his dick had to be huge. Your eyes widened. Fuck me, you thought.
âJust so weâre clear,â he began, his voice a deep rasp filled with lust, âwe both need to get this drug out of our system. No strings.â
âNo strings.â You agreed. In a swift movement, Carl reached over and grabbed your legs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. He wasted no time kneeling down in front of you, massaging your skin and kissing the inside of your legs.
This time, it was different. His touch was electric. It satisfied the burning under your skin, but it still left you needing more. One of his hands disappeared past the edge of the bed, and you could catch the repetitive jerking motion blocked by the mattress. It might just kill you to see it.
âWhy donât, fuck, why donât you letâlet me?â You groaned as he finally attached his mouth to your swollen pussy. He looked up at you with heated eyes and gave a subtle ânoâ head shake. His mouth felt fantastic. His other hand moved down your thighs towards your entrance. He separated from you for a brief moment.Â
âCan you take it for me, sweetheart?â His eyes met yours for consent. You nodded quickly. One finger firstâthen two. You were already soaked enough. He used his hands and mouth in conjunction for a few minutes to bring you to your first orgasm, which exploded out of you. Your head flew back, pushing deep into the mattress. Your vision went white.
âCarl!â you screamed, hands flying to his head to push him deeper into you. Heâd must think you were a crazed animal being let out of their cage for the first time with how your body writhed. He obliged in lapping up your first climax, licking his fingers clean too.
He stood back, looking at you. Coming down from your first orgasm, your legs unclenched, revealing the first of many messes to be made on this bed. His eyes passed over you again, still just as hungry. His cock stood straining at attention. Despite being drained of most of your strength, you lifted your hand and made a beckoning motion.
âIâI want,â you managed to squeak out. He smirked. He looked much more in control of himself than you were. Like the pollen barely touched him.
âWould that help now, baby? Getting on your knees in front of me and sucking me off while you play with yourself?â
âYou want it.â You said, a wave of confidence taking over. You slithered off the edge of the bed. On your knees in front of the tall, hulking man, you smiled. âTake me. Take whatever you want.â It was like a sex demon-spirit-thing had possessed you fully.
âYou canât just say that to me, baby.â
âTry me.âÂ
Before you even had the chance to finally get a taste of him, Carl grabbed you and threw you onto the bed. He flipped you so you were on your hands and knees, Carl behind you. Before doing anything, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and brought his mouth to your ear.
âIs what that ghost prick said true? You like it rough?â Gods. His voice was driving you crazy. He thrust into you from behind with no warning, almost knocking you over. His cock stretched you wide, burning with pleasure. You had broken up with Andrew months before the collapse, so it had been a long time since any sexual encounter.
âGod, fuck!â You screamed. Carlâs name spilled out over and over again like a prayer, equal to the pace of his thrusts. It was the most intense, and the most pleasurable sex you had ever had in your life. What had you said earlier, no strings?
The thought left as quick as it came.
Carl moaned your name back, reaching under your hips to use his hands on you again. For someone stuck in the dungeon for months, not having any free time for sex, he sure knew what the hell he was doing. He kept moving, in and out, hitting that perfect spot over and over.
âFuck me,â he groaned, âyouâre perfect. Such a good girl for me.â Nothing coming out of your mouth had any coherence anymore. He fucked you relentlessly, hard and fast. His arms were wrapped around your torso, one hand working your clit again, and the other tightly gripping one of your breasts. The slick sounds of your bodies filled the small room. Your face fell down into the mattress, unable to hold yourself up anymore.
Luckily, Carl had incomprehensible strength. He grabbed you again like you were nothing and spun you around. He held your body in the air and turned to pin you against the wall. His mouth attached to your neck, kissing and sucking as he rammed into you over and over.
âYouâve been driving me fucking insane, you know that?â He said in between kisses. âI think about you and this gorgeous fucking body every day. How badly I need you. Not the, fuck, not the pollen talking, baby. Pollenâs got nothing on the way I feel about you.â
What? What happened to no strings?
Your pleasure came to a head once again as, this time, Carl pushed through his orgasm. Cursing a string of expletives against your neck, his thrusts slowed. You were thoroughly wiped as a second orgasm coursed through you. The pollen made your highs so much higher. Another one might just send you into a coma. Your body crumpled, but Carl caught you in his arms. He murmured something under his breath you couldnât quite catch.
âAhh, fuck,â
Without you even noticing, you were suddenly down on the bed. Time slowed. Your vision faded. Carl was above you, then next to you, laying down alongside you. The heat had faded down to a small simmer. âItâs s-so warm in here..â A fan appeared near you, blowing cool air onto your naked body. His inventory had to be bottomless. When did he even get that?
Without another word, you fell asleep.
The last thing you remembered from last night was Carlâs sweet gaze as you fell asleep in your bed. Your head was throbbing as you blinked your eyes open. It felt like when you slept off a fever, drenched in cold sweat and fighting brain fog. Were you sick? What happened? There was a man sleeping next to you. Carl.
The memories came flooding back.
The battle with Andrew. The bush with the pollen. Carl back in the safe room. Your hands all over each other. Oh fuck. No no no. Carlâs confession. There was no way you could move without waking him, with his beefy arms holding you in place. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe you could close your eyes again and wake up somewhere else. Alone. It had to be a sick joke from the AI.
âHow do you feel?â A low rasp came from beside you. Fuck.Â
âI⌠I should probably shower.â The thin sheet thrown over the two of you was covering your still-naked body. There was no way out of this. Looking over at Carl, your heart fluttered. Last night, your body was aflame from his touch. Now, your brain couldnât quite comprehend the emotions wracking your mind. It was an attraction you felt for the man lying next to you. He laughed.
âMe too.â
âCarl. You said something last night. I remember it.â He turned to face the ceiling, like he couldnât bear to maintain eye contact for this next part. âYou said it wasnât the pollen talking.â He sighed.
âMy constitution is relatively high. It didnât affect me as bad as you.â
âThen whyâd you do it? Come into my room?â
âYou needed help. I couldnât just pawn you off onto a stranger.â You laid there for a moment, pondering what he just said. That couldnât have been the whole truth.
âWas what you said true, then? You know, at the end.â A beat of silence followed. When he turned to look at you, his face was red.
âI donât think I could lie to you.â The confession sat heavy in the air.
But you decided not to think about it.Â
In a quick movement, you leaned over and kissed him. Not surprising you in the slightest based on what he just said, he relaxed into you, his hands holding your face. Despite your naked state, there was no sexual intention. You kissed each other like that for a few minutes, slow and meaningful. You ran your hands past his neck down his arms, stopping at the Guild tattoo on his elbow.
âI hate all these tattoos. I feel so different from the man who entered the dungeon.â He laughed, in between kisses.
âBattle scars,â You replied. âProof youâre still alive. Still human.â He held you tighter.
A message took over your vision, the first one you had paid any attention to since before the battle.
Donut: ARE YOU GUYS DONE YET. ITâS LITERALLY THE NEXT DAY, AND FRANKLY IâD LIKE A BIT OF REST WITH NONE OF THAT DISGUSTING NOISE.
Carl finds you sitting in a dark corner of the Desperado Club holding something he's been craving for a very long time.
Pairing: Carl x fem reader
WC: 2.2k
Rating: 18+
A/n: My first fic, be kind cruel world. I have been a consumer of fanfic for years now, but never brave enough to post my own. Sorry if it sucks or makes no sense, the Carl x reader universe is just so Bare and I wanted to try to contribute for those who are obsessed with him (Me). I am trying really hard to not cringe out and delete this by reminding myself that this is just tumblr and who cares if my writing is ass. Anyways, enjoy Carl being a freak in the Desperado club.
Some might say its hard to find a moment of peace in the dungeon, but if you're on the verge of dying everyday, its important to find small escapes. One escape you have found, is rewarding yourself with a routine weekend visit to the Desperado club for the strongest drink you can order and a cherished cigarette.
You tend to keep the same routine. After entering, you approach the bar, grab your drink, then sit in a booth deep in the corner to smoke in peace.
The moment the smoke hits your lungs and you close your eyes, you get put into memories of when you'd spend the weekend at some musty dive bar with your friends. During those times, nothing could beat ordering a cold beer, having your legs stick to some pleather lysoled bench, and taking a smoke break halfway through the night, right before you had one too many drinks. You used to say that the smell of cigarettes reminded you of home. Now it just reminds you of the dungeon.
After taking a few drags with your head back on the bench and eyes closed, you come back to reality and spend the rest of the night people watching. People watching in this place is more fun than it ever had been on Earth, but you guess thats just what happens when humans are given the opportunity to change into things like 6 foot tall tigers that can talk.
The club is busier than usual tonight and with your eyes on the crowd dancing in the middle of the room, you notice a large cretin with a puffball on his shoulder maneuvering through the mass. You easily recognize Princess Donut, she's hard to miss with her tiara and consistence presence on the recap episodes. She's pointing at the stairs and speaking animatedly in the cretins face. You watch as he lightly shrugs and begins to ascend, taking the missile shooting cat to the second floor male strip club, the Penis Palace.
You lightly chuckle to yourself and bring your attention back to the main area with a long drag of your cigarette. With Donut here and on her way to enjoy the rest of the night, you can only assume her Royal Bodyguard is somewhere to keep watch. You catch sight of the white boxers dotted with red hearts in the crowd that the cretin had just traversed. Carl manages to emerge from the crowd a few feet in front of you with a confused look on his face. His head moves side to side like he's searching for Donut and then his eyes find you. With the cigarette dangling from your lips and drink in hand, you track him as he approaches like he's on a mission.
"Where'd you get that?" He stops next to the table, right across from where you're sitting, and points at your mouth.
You take the cigarette out of your mouth and knock the filter with the end of your thumb, ash falls directly onto the tabletop.
"Get what?" You say with a grin.
You've smoked half of it now.
"The cigarette. I ran out all the way on the first floor and haven't found a trace of them since." He sits down in the chair across from you. "I'm Carl, by the way."
You haven't had the opportunity to speak to Carl in person before, or his infamous cat friend, but you know him well enough. Usually you see him on the glow of a TV, but up close in this dim lighting feels oddly intimate. The lights coming from the dance floor are softer in the corner booth, they illuminate the short messy brown hair on his head and give him a glow around the edges. You try not to take too much notice on the way the lights highlight the top of his muscles and shade right underneath them, the dungeon can do extraordinary things to a persons body.
"I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, I suppose," You explain and hand over the remaining bit of cigarette so he can finish it off. "The dungeon opened up while I was sitting on a gas station curb. It was just me and the attendant nearby and he ran off the second he could. I figured if I was going to go down, I should probably take some stock from the store at least. Good thing I did, no one down here sells these things."
"You might just be the luckiest son of a bitch alive." Carl huffs with a laugh and you watch as a trail of smoke leaves his lips.
"Lucky in the sense that I have hundreds of cigarettes in my safe room, or the fact that one brought a man to my table?" You make eye contact with him as the corner of his mouth ticks up.
"Bold assumption I only came over here for the cigarette." He smushes the remaining burning filter on the table. "I actually came over here for multiple cigarettes."
You laugh and his eyes follow the movement as you bring your drink to your lips. The drink burns as you finish it off, no reason in nursing it, you could use the liquid courage.
Carl leans back in his chair and then stands up, moving to sit next to you on the bench. The space is big enough to fit you both, but just barely. It also doesn't help that the dungeon has turned him into some enormous super human. The bench squeaks and your thighs brush one another as he makes himself comfortable. Sitting side by side is making your heart pound and you look to the crowd for distraction.
"Nice undies." You nod to the signature boxers he's always sporting. "You come in wearing those?"
He shakes his head and puts his arm across the top of the bench, looking down at them. "No, I came in wearing a more normal pair, believe it or not. The dungeon seemed to think it would be a funny joke to keep me pantsless, but at this point I barely notice."
You look at the spot where your legs touch and then remember what he moved closer for. "I'll light another smoke."
He watches you as you take another cigarette out of your inventory and hold it between your lips. You pull the matches out next and flick one on the boxes striking surface, frustratingly it does not light. Nor does the next one. You give a sheepish look to Carl and he holds out his hand.
"Here, let me try," he says.
You drop the box of matches in his hand and groan as he strikes one immediately to life, because of course he does. He leans in with a smile and cups one hand around the end of the stick sitting in your mouth and lights it.
The end burns and you take two quick breaths in, then hand it off. "All yours big guy."
Carl takes a long drag then looks at you softly, "It's been a long time since I've done this. It almost feels like I'm back on the surface, but up there I didn't really get the chance to approach people like you."
"People like me?" You raise an eyebrow.
"You know, pretty and mysterious, hiding in the corner of a club behind smoke." He lightly brushes your thigh with his finger where your legs meet.
"What would you have done back then, if you did?" You follow the slight movement of his finger on the outside of your left thigh and lean closer.
"I'd probably ask to share some of your smoke." His finger stops moving. "Have you ever done that before?"
You look at him and shake your head. "I'm not sure I follow."
Carl hums and then turns his body to face you. "Here, close your eyes."
You also turn and then follow his instructions. It might not be a good idea to put yourself in such a vulnerable position in the dungeon, but this seems to be leading somewhere fun. Also Carl wasn't known for killing fellow crawlers.
Sitting with your eyes closed you listen as he takes a deep inhale, the cigarette makes a hissing noise and then you feel his other hand trail up your arm. He moves slow, and you can feel the rough texture of his palm as it creeps closer to your neck. His fingers splay across your throat as he uses his thumb to tilt your head back. Your blood is rushing in your ears and to your core.
The bench shifts as Carl leans closer into your space, his lips touch yours unexpectedly and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He uses the moment to blow a puff of cigarette smoke into your mouth. Your hands find the top of his legs and you understand what sharing smoke means. With his lips still on yours, you take it deep into your lungs then release the puff through your nose.
With the smoke gone, the moment has turned from two people shotgunning a cigarette, to a heated kiss. Carls hand moves from your neck to behind your head and presses his lips harder on yours. Your hands trail up his legs to his chest and a small groan builds in the back of his throat. The freshly lit cigarette is long forgotten.
Itâs been quite some time since youâve kissed anyone like this, heated and passionate. Carl kisses you like he hasnât been touched in years. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you let him in. He tastes like nicotine and you canât get enough. He runs his hands down your sides towards your hips and guides you forward, leading you to straddle him.
The thin material of his boxer leaves little to the imagination when you're pressed so close. He moves his mouth down your neck and you shift forward on his length, causing him to let out a soft moan.
"Fuck, this is probably so inappropriate." His voice rumbles in your ear.
"I'm sure worse has happened on that dance floor and the multiple strip clubs in this place," You say breathless as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck and look down at him.
His eyelids are low, cheeks red, and mouth puffy. It is absolutely obscene. His hands run from your hips to the top of your thighs and he gives a tight squeeze, causing you to press your body down further, you feel more of him. This is obviously not something he does very often either. It seems like he's holding on by a thread and the knowledge gives you more confidence.
With your back to the crowd, both of you hiding in the dark corner of the club, you start to move your hips in a forward motion causing Carl to moan and tighten his grip. Your fingers tug on the hair at his nape, while your mouth finds a sensitive spot along his neck. With the motion of your hips, pull of his hair, and work on his neck, Carls breathing becomes erratic. He uses his hands to guide you to a rhythm on top of him, the friction getting both of you off.
"That feels good," he says in your ear. "Fuck, keep going."
You speed up and bring your mouth back to his. The kiss is wet and sloppy, Carl groans into your mouth and uses his tongue to explore every inch. Each thrust of your hips brings you closer and closer to the edge and you know Carl isn't far behind. His grip continues to get tighter and you're positive there will be deep bruises on your skin for at least a week.
"I'm close." He moans, removing his mouth from yours.
"Carl, fuck." You squeeze your thighs against him as your body shakes with release. You can't think about anything but the man underneath you.
Carl holds you as the climax washes over your body. He moves his hands from your thighs and rubs them along your back, his touch gentle. You're both breathless and sweaty, unsure of how quickly things escalated. Carl is still hard and you reach to return the favor.
He catches your hand. "I'd rather not make a mess of myself here."
You raise an eyebrow at him.
"Well, more than I already have." He grins. "Maybe we can go check out those packs you have stashed in your safe room?" You move to slide off of him and he stops you. "I'm sorry for being so...enthusiastic. Its been awhile and I just got a bit ahead of myself."
"It's okay Carl, if I had a problem with it I would've stopped you. Don't feel bad for doing something fun." You smile at him. "Lets get out of here."
He lets you slide back to the bench as he readjusts himself. Both of you fix your appearances to the best of your ability then he grabs your hand and leads you out of the club.
"Are you going to say bye to Donut before you leave?" You ask halfway to the exit. "I saw her head up to the Penis Palace right before you found me."
"Eh, I would but I'd rather not see what she gets up to in there. That place will keep her busy for the night, and if she needs anything she can shoot me a message," He explains.
"Can't imagine its much different from what you just got up to," You joke and he lets out a laugh.
like. Come on. 6â3â muscles mcgee over here rolls up with a cute cat on his shoulder?? And his pockets full of bombs intended for rich powerful assholes??? And a canonically thick ass?? and youâre gonna tell me you WOULDNT risk it all for him?? Donât fucking lie to me.
I know his dick is big I literally know it in my bones. I also know that he eats pussy like heâs starving and WILL pull your hair if you ask him nicely. These are things that I know.
Heâd 100% be the kinda guy who needed some way to unwind after a long ass day of explosions and chaos and helping as many people as possible with increasingly complex tasks. His 2 favorite ways are:
-curling up with his head on your shoulder and Donut on his chest while you rake your nails through his hair until he falls asleep
-absolutely railing you within an inch of your life and making you cum 45 times in a row while he tells you how pretty you are and uses your body like a stress toy.
Blurb: Carl jacks off to the thought of Reader (and feels guilty about it).
Carl was sure the water temperature was going to send him into a hypothermic state. The freezing shower stream was supposed to snap him out of this mindset, but it was doing nothing to calm him down.
She had been the cause of this. Carl had been attracted to her the moment she had stepped into his line of sightâand that attraction only grew as he got to know her.
She was sweet, kind, and intelligent. She remembered things about them, and went out of her way to make sure everyone was comfortableâhe remembered a time she handed him some jerky because she knew he hadn't eaten. Any crawler would be lucky to have her in their party.
But most of all, she was fucking hot. And Carl hated himself for reducing her to her looksâthis was not the kind of man he was. He prided himself as a man who protected women, who watched out for them. This was all so wrong. She deserved better than this, being sexualized by someone who was meant to protect her.
Carl leaned his head back into the shower stream and tried not to think about her face. Or her hair. Or the curve of her ass under her leggings. He really tried not to think about the time she had to undress in front of him, and he got a glimpse of her cleavage.
I'm a pervert.
The thing was, he was pretty sure he started liking her weeks before all of this insane primal attraction urge had started. But now, his brain had tangled all of this information and was incapable of separating her from just constant feelings of horniness.Â
Think of Donut yacking on my pillow. His usual strategies to calm down his boner weren't working.
Carl knew this was wrong. He'd been thinking about how bad of an idea this attraction was. He was her leader, for fuck's sakeâbut his primal brain didn't give him a choice. The rewiring of his brain had made him more attuned to his carnal desires. It was like someone had cranked up a volume knob in his brain and snapped it off.Â
He had to get off, and get off now. He reached his hand down but hesitated. One last pathetic attempt to talk himself out of this. He grabbed his cock. He ran a finger over his red, leaking tip, the sensitivity sending a shiver down his spine.Â
So much for willpower.
Carl had found himself in the shower after his party had come back from a quest. They had run in panting and covered in gore, and when Carl saw her standing there, he forgot that they had just been fighting for their lives moments prior.
She had gore in her hair. Her chest was heaving, trying to catch a breath from the previous boss battle. Her back was against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. She was just trying to calm herself. She looked over at him and smiled. "I'm so glad we're back here. I'm safe."
That was enough to make him snap, and he had to excuse himself to take a shower. The image of her panting with her eyes closed was racing through his head.
It had been weeks of this torturous hell.Â
She had become too much to be around. And the worst part was, he knew he was being an asshole to her. She didn't deserve this treatmentâbut how could Carl let her know that every time he looked at her, took in her soft, feminine form, he wanted to pin her down and fuck her. Taste her, make her cum under him.
Carl was 27 years old. He jacked off. And now that he had the reprieve of his own room, he got to do it once in a while while the cat wasn't around. Donut had made that stupid comment about him watching Hentai, but that was only fucking once. His thoughts were enough to keep him at bay.
He moved to change the freezing temperature to lukewarm. If the cold water wasn't going to calm him down, there was only one way to do it.
He groaned as he pumped himself. Carl looked down at his cock in one more attempt to dissuade himself. It felt hot and heavy in his hand. He was pretty hairless, and light brown hair sparsely covered his pubic region. He knew he was bigâBea wasn't his first girlfriend to both love and hate it. A couple of freckles ran up and down his length, and one big hand was enough to fully cover his girth.Â
His forehead leaned against the cold shower tiles, one arm above his head as he started stroking himself. He liked a firm grip when he jacked off. His balls felt full, and he was ready to do something about it.Â
He gritted his teeth and started moving. For a second, he was still in his own headâhe was aware of the cold tile, the water, how pathetic it was jacking off in a cold shower to a woman 20 feet away from him. But then the bliss overtook him, and he stopped caring.
He thought of her soft, full lips, and how pretty they'd look wrapped around his cock. He thought about her hair, and ran his hand through it in his mind to guide her along his member. He thought about her small, manicured hands, and how they'd barely be able to wrap around him. He thought about how her eyes would tear up as she tried to take him all the way in her mouth, her gag reflex kicking in at his size and girth.
Carl's mouth fell open, releasing a concoction of sounds. He thought about how he would take his time eating her out, how pretty and pink her pussy must be. He would savor it. He'd savor anything if she ever consented to it.
Carl's moans and grunts became louder while the hand on his cock started to falter. The heat was pooling low and tight, his rhythm breaking apart. His palm was slick with his pre-cum, and he pressed his forehead deeper into the tile. "Fuck." The word came out broken. His balls tightened, and he came. Hard. His whole body shuddered with it, hips stuttering forward, a groan tearing out of his throat.Â
His seed spilled over his fist, the spurts slowing down until he felt drained. He leaned back, letting the warm water run over him, sending his spend down the drain. He picked up the soap and started washing himself, until the shame of it all hit him at once.Â
Carl stood there, soap in hand, and made the mistake of thinking of her, the real herânot the version his brain had produced. The woman who had dimples when she smiled. The one who Donut and Katia loved chatting with. The one who, when scared, looked to him for leadership. What kind of pervert was he to come just at the thought of her?
Regardless, he wouldn't be able to run away from this problem for long. His mind had hyperfixated on her. He was going to have to fix this, and fast. He had no idea what he was going to do other than just keep being a freak.
The options, as he saw them, were all terrible. He could say something to her, but that made his stomach turn. Hey, sorry I've been a dick to youâI can't stop thinking about you naked. Great. Perfect. Very mature and normal of you, Carl.Â
He could keep distancing himself, keep being cold and short with her, until she stopped trying to be friends with him. But the thought of continuing to do wrong by her was not pleasant.Â
He could do fuck all, and wait for this to blow over.Â
He turned the shower off, and stood for a moment in there dripping on the tile. He thought of facing her after this shower. Thought about how she was probably just sitting on the couch, laughing about something with Donut.
Moments like these made him wish he could smoke a cigarette again.
He had no idea what he was going to do. He reached for a towel to dry himself off, and bury his shame to deal with another day.
Have you ever wanted to read a book that asks the question âWhat if an emotionally constipated ex military man became a reluctant cat dad to his now ex girlfriendâs prize winning Persian show cat. And what if those two were outside right as the earth got hitchhikerâs guide to the galaxyâd, only to be told that if an earthling won murder death game show, DnD edition, they would get the mineral rights to their planet back. The cat then gets the ability to talk. She is very much still a catâ
Out of context spoilers to convince you
The cat starts a meth war between a tribe of goblins and their lama drug dealers, all in the service of committing her first (of many) war crimes.
The alcoholic mentor is a bird but is also a rat man and toad and hot motherfucker and the ugliest motherfucker youâve ever seen
Said alcoholic mentor has beef with big tiddy crab Oprah. Big tiddy crab Oprah knows about this beef, and feels guilty for it
The dungeon itself has a very obvious thing for the gruff dad, and keeps him barefoot and in toe rings for murderation and smooshing purposes
The cat has a signature cocktail she drinks while dancing at the penis parade, a male strip club
The cat commits a war crime of such incredible magnitude she can no longer make biscuits without wearing protection
The cat gets a godâs attention by shouting âHEY! DICKLESS!â In the strongest autotune youâve ever heard
You will cry. Full stop.
Tony the Tiger has a beanie baby collection, this makes him threatening
Carl vomits worms because he thought the main character of a telenovella was too hot
Explosions
The indomitable human spirit
There is a goat boy, he is both very proper and absolutely willing to kill you.
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Even when I write Salamanders I can't help but throw in a necron 𤣠But now that it's the new year I can reveal my Sanguinalia gift to Magistra on AO3! I've been wanting to write a Pariah Nexus follow up for a while, and I had a lot of fun with Sa'kan and all his angst (and his new sassy traveling companion)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So I just had to write this after I found out that the Salamanders had this special chapter serf who is known as a brander-priest, who marks the Salamander whenever he leaves, and when he returns. And as Sa'kan has like no stories writing about him.. I had to!
Cw: mentions of branding, otherwise fluff (I hope)
You never regretted choosing to stay with the Salamanders after your lord saved you, he pulled you from your dying world surrounded by fire and death. And he gave you a new life, sure it was not easy at first, so many new things to learn nevertheless you shall also not regret becoming his brander-priest. Even now knowing exactly what horrors he faced whenever he leaves with his chapter and brothers. You much rather be able to give the respite of coming back - to someone he can be sure is here.
As you prepare the camber, you think back to what your angel has told you of the past mission he went to. How many were lost and yet he still made it out alive, vile beasts he and his brothers fight to keep the rest of you safe. You watch as the flames flare around the hot iron, nearly ready to place another brand.
You turn as you hear the door open and your Lord enters, Saâkan will leave soon. Not yet clad in his armor, he reaches out to you with his fingers brushing the side of your head. âAlready a place in mind for this one?â He asks, his voice as soft as the touch he gave to you. âI thought to put it between your shoulder blades, to guard your back.â He gave you a small smile, nodded and turned to stand before the heating metal. âIt is nearly timeâ
The words of the Promethean Cult now fall easily from your lips, as you lift the now glowing branding tool leaving its mark on your Salamanders skin. It slots in perfectly next to all his others, never overlapping, never the same. No sound leaves Saâkanâs lips as the flesh beneath the metal smolders, as you lift it away and say the protective words your lips touch the burned area. Your Salamander takes a deep breath, while you continue the rights knowing of their importance.
In the newfound silence Saâkan turns to you, once more his hand lifts brushing against your temple. You know what he means with no words spoken, he will return if he is able to. As you watch him leave you know that it may be the time you see him alive, but when he does return he shall tell you what happened as you place his return mark on his chest. And after, he may celebrate the victory with you in private.
Off he goes, into the fires of battle, unto the anvil of war. You pray that he will return from Paradyce fast and whole again..
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