I mainly focus on CoD writing right now, but I might expand in the future with anime or manhwa depending on my next hyperfixation
I'm willing to try to write almost anything at least once. That being said a few things I don't really feel comfortable writing about are: descriptive sexual violence, incest or paedophilia.
I don't do tag lists, but I keep my masterlist updated.
Please do not consider adding any of my writing to AI.
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If you wanted to hear a heartbreaking love story search on YouTube, "Richard Feynman's letter to his wife." It really is the sort of love any girl would hope for.
Why you gotta send me this when I was already reading A little life? 😭
This would be such a good idea for an angst ghoap au, maybe Ghost that keeps writing letters to Johnny even years later after his death. Writing in them all the things he never had the courage to say to him out loud, keeping the ring he didn’t have the chance to give to Johnny on a string around his neck, saying he is married even if there was never a wedding.
There's nothing waiting for you beyond the bars of your enclosure. Ripped away from anything you ever called home, your days are spend waiting for something outside the daily fear and boredom. It all finally comes to a halt when someone is brought in the cage next to yours. You finally got what you wished for, but at what price?
cw: captivity, dehumanization, violence, eventual smut (more to be added as I write)
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Would you like to go home? What a question, of course you want. The dwindling hope that someday you might be reunited with the people dear to you or just walk through a park, enjoy the rain was what kept you going from losing your mind for the past year. After the initial incredulity that you were at the disposal of something that your mind couldn't begin to comprehend, you somehow gotten used to it. You suppose it's probably some part of the human brain that in the end tries to make sense of everything and lets you get used even to the most unimaginable things. Those who adapt are the ones who survive, that's how evolution goes.
It was that small voice in the back of your mind after the first few months that would whisper just how futile struggling was. For all they knew your friends and family probably thought you dead, mourned your loss and tried moving on. Seeing you now would be akin to someone who came back from the dead, a ghost of a past they left behind.
There's also the fact that they may no longer be alive, your understanding of how time and space worked was limited, but if this place was light years away from Earth, even if they were to send you back, there wouldn't be nothing worth coming back to. The state of the planet, wars and political regimes that come and go, social collapse, history and culture, all those detached from everything you knew. You would go back to a place that might make you feel even more alienated than here. To your absolute horror, this is the first time the thought of going back brings you more dread than comfort.
You spend the next hours sleeping fitfully, getting caught in the same dream over and over again. You walk towards a group of people, their faces are fuzzy, but you have the clear feeling that you know them. When one of them turns around, a voice that sounds like your mother's, but not quite right asks you who you are. When you open your mouth to tell her your name, nothing comes out, you can't remember the shape of your own name and you wake up gasping.
When the morning alarm sounds, Johnny's already waiting for you, drawing shapes with a stick on the ground. His whole face flushes when he notices you, smiling sheepishly when he greets you, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you noticed more than once. You feel like it's better not to sugarcoat it and explain the situation to him as it is. So you tell him everything, about the doll and the message and what it all means. He listens intently, a crease between his brows, his features arranging themselves into something you can't quite figure out what it means.
"Then will stay just like we are now and that will be enough."
"Johnny?"
"Hm?"
"Don't you want to go back home?"
"Of course I do, bonnie. But not like this and as you said yourself, there's nothing waiting for me there."
"You don't know that."
He gives you the saddest smile you've ever seen, but doesn't elaborate and you're afraid to press more. All you can do is take his hand in yours and hold it tight and that seems to be all he needs in that moment. The two of you stand like that for hours or for minutes, the multiple pairs of eyes peering above the cages feeling distant.
The days start bleeding one into each other and as time passes you feel something that closer resembles happiness making its place into your heart. For the first time in so long you're looking forward to something, the heavyness that would usually keep you tied to the bed for hours, now almost gone.
It all comes crashing down the day Johnny doesn't show up. After the second meal of the day goes by, you can't wait any longer and make your way to his quarters. You tentatively call out his name, but no one answers so you go ahead. The space is a copy of yours, white walls and barely furnished, a sanitary look that reminds you more of a hospital room. Still, there are bits of pieces that hint at what kind of person lives here. The bed unmade as if someone thrashed through the sheets, a pillow thrown to a corner of the room near some weights.
Going to the bathroom the image of your fractured reflection meets your eyes in the broken mirror. Carefully stepping around the shards on the floor, you look at his scattered belongings through the bathroom: an uncapped bottle of shampoo, a half-empty one of shower gel, some remains of shaving cream next to his razor on the edge of the sink. You touch them in passing, lingering for a moment on his aftershave, the smell comforting in a way that manages to trick your brain that he's sitting right next to you. Without thinking about it, you put it in your pocket, holding yourself from touching the shape of it during the walk back to your sleeping space, afraid that they might notice.
Day after day passes and still no sight of Johnny, after a full week you can no longer bear to go to his side of the cage and be confronted with his absence. Every night before you go to bed, you made a little ritual for yourself: putting a bit of Johnny's aftershave on your finger and smearing on one side of the pillow. When another nightmare jolts you awake or when the fog in your brain gets thicker while turning around in bed, for one traitorous moment you feel him next to you, but knowing better than to reach your hand through darkness just to be met with nothing. On one such night after a long silence do you get another message from them. This time it's a single word: "PUNISHMENT". The laugh echoing through the room it's yours, yet your voice comes out hollow, that it takes a moment to recognize yourself.
cw: smut, MDNI, misogynistic behaviour, power imbalance, boot licking, foot job/boot job(?), use of the word "cunt"
This was a bad idea, you don't know what possesed you to say yes and go along with it in the first place, but now here you are. Palm pressed against the wall, feeling each and every crevice where the paint chipped, nail scratching at it even more to hold yourself up, kness threatening to give out at any moment. John is right behind you, plunging himself deeper and deeper with every thrust, the buckle of his belt hitting the back of your thigh in an increasing rhythm.
Maybe it was all the teasing during the day, him calling you into his office every 20 minutes to lecture you about the error in the report that was fine an hour ago when you gave it to him, the way you brewed his coffee or how your uniform was innapropriate even if you've been complaining for weeks that they gave you the wrong size.
The tension has been accumulating for a while, all the little comments and the mocking glances towards you every time it was your turn to do something. Making you feel like you needed to prove that you actually deserved your place amongst them and when you did it again and again, it was treated like some happy accident. All your qualifications and years of experience on the field pushed aside and ignored. It was infuriating, every chuckle making you grip the handle of the gun so tight, you were afraid it was gonna snap. Laswell warned you before your transfer that even amongst the elite task forces where everyone's talents were proved by their presence alone, you were gonna be pushed aside. "Grown men playing it like it's a boys' club" she said disdainfully.
Maybe it was naive of you to still hope for people to be reasonable, but the first time during briefing before a mission when Price said that a coffee would be nice and pointendly looked at you, it was hard to hide your dissapointment. All the moments when you would speak up and have your ideas and suggestions ignored only for Gaz or Soap to say the same thing a few minutes later and get an approving smile and a pat on the back from the captain. It didn't matter that you could hold your own during missions, your sniper skills on par with Ghost's, they would give you an indulgent smile at best or an exasperated sight at worst like you were some small dog barking at them and it was starting to go from cute to annoying.
You curse yourself for falling so easily into this trap, perhaps all the days of having to stay overtime to make up for errors that weren't yours, all that frustration and loneliness finally culminated to this moment. Mistaking Price's change in attitude for acknowledgement, desperately clinging to every crumb of approval tossed your way just to end up with your pants around your ankles and Price behind you in the supply closet.
His talk about you finally stopping trying to play soldier and behaving like a proper cunt sending a wave of shame all over your body and something else. All that fury that was buried under clipped smiles, pushed aside for the sake of keeping the peace at your expense. It's in the bits of old paint gathered under your fingernails, the grind of your teeth as your jaw clenches, the bitter taste in your mouth that you've gotten tired of swallowing.
When you hear him saying that he's getting close, your body moves on its own. He isn't ready for your hand pushing him away, stumbling on his ass on the cold floor. Before his shock could make way for anger, you press your boot over his cock, not outright painful, but firm and start moving your foot.
"Come on, didn't you say you were close? Go ahead and finish like this."
Price looks like he's about to argue, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is broken moan. A smirk starts streching on your face when you see him moving his hips against your boot, groaning all the way as spurs of cum get all over his uniform. His breath is heavy, a dust of red covering his cheeks. The small sound escaping his lips when your hand goes to the back of his head, fingers interlocking through his hair and pulling hard, only encourages you further, bringing his head closer to the concrete floor.
"Clean it up." You say it almost bored, the meeting is in 10 minutes, you should probably finish up here quickly and go.
A part of you expects him to refuse, to pull rank and throw you out, make all the years of your career amount to nothing in less than an afternoon. What he does instead is lower his head even more, obediently licking up the cum on your boot in slow motions. When he's done you let go of his hair, throwing his own words back at him, telling him that he finally behaves like the cunt he is. Before he can say anything more, you turn around and leave him there on the floor with his cum-stained pants around his ankles, the dark obscuring his erect dick. You leave the supply closet with a lightness in your step that makes any kind of future consequences worth it.
Have you ever watched the 1970s version of "The Planet of the Apes?" In that movie, there has always been a scene that interested me where a family of apes goes to an "adoption center" and looks for a pet human for their daughter. Really, the whole movie is interesting to me thinking about what if the roles were reversed and animals hunted us down instead of the other way around.
Anyways, I've thought about what if Hybrids or Shifters became the dominant race and humans were seen as primitive or simply inferior. Maybe you could make a story like this with the 141 and a human reader?
I did see it some years ago, I don't really remember this particular scene, but I like the idea. I'm thinking of reader maybe being part of some kind of governmental program in which they distribute humans to hybrids groups as a way for them to not lose connection to their own human parts. This being especially required to the hybrids working in the military who risk leaning too much into their instincts and become unstable and violent or have a hard time integrating back into society.
cw: implied past abuse
The first thing you see as soon as the cover of your cage is lifted are four pair of eyes staring intently at you. Still feeling a little woozy from the sedative they gave you before ending up in the cage, it takes a few seconds for the blurry shapes of their faces to arrange properly into discernible features. The closest one to you is a bear hybrid, big and hairy arms crossed to his chest. Looking you up and down, not with outright disdain, but more like you're another responsability that got handed to him, trying to measure how much trouble you're gonna be.
The two behind him, a wolf and a panther hybrid look much more friendly, smiling curiously towards you, but that doesn't help ease your anxiety. A lot of carers from the center would smile when handling you too roughly if you were deemed too difficult or uncooperative, their smiles so large so that the sight of their fangs would make you stop squirming away. The worst part is that they weren't especially malicious, maybe too bored and with little patience for how slow or clumsy you were to perform the various tricks they would give you. A normal part of your training they would say, even if your bruises tell another story so you no longer trust smiles and hands that hide fangs and claws and brute force to which your body just can't stand a chance to.
To the left and a bit away from the cage the fourth hybrid stares blankly at you, a snow leopard you notice. He seems to be the least interested in you, but you don't miss the way his tail is swishing around a little anxiously, his clipped ears flicking around as if he's always on his guard for any danger that might come his way. It's the bear hybrid who you correctly assumed to be the leader that speaks to you:
"We are your new handlers and you'll be living with us for the foreseeable future. We will treat you well as long as you don't cause any troubles. Did I make myself understood?"
"Yes, sir."
You think you hear a muffled "At least this one has some manners" that you don't bother to find out from who it comes before the cage door opens with a loud screech that bothers more the hybrids with their more sensible hearing than you. No point in delaying the inevitable so you get out slowly, belatedly noticing the wrapped snack in the panther hybrid's hands probably meant to gently lure you out. You don't go for it, but can at least appreciate the sentiment.
After that they sit you down and their leader whose name you learned is Price lays some ground rules for you. It's the usual: don't go outside by yourself, don't make a mess, always wear the identification bracelet on your wrist in case you ever end up getting lost and most important of all don't cause trouble while they're gone. You nod your head to each one, trying to hide your relief at the fact that no punishment was mentioned until now, but not missing the heavier tone in Price's voice at the last rule. It's clear it wasn't their choice to have you here, but won't take it out on you.
Soap and Gaz are definitely the happier ones with your presence, both having little interaction with humans in the past. Ghost is still keeping his distance, his posture more relaxed now, the creases between his brows less deepened than they were a few hours ago. It's clear that they don't really know how to behave around you, oscillating between leaving you to your own devices and get used to the new environment to bombarding you with questions regarding your diet and routines.
They seem especially worried about where you're gonna sleep, your arrival was earlier than expected so they didn't prepare the space for you properly.
"I'll just sleep in the cage tonight."
The looks on their faces are something between shock and anger and that gets you worried, not even a full day here and you're already messing up. If they send you back to the adoption center that'll be a permanent stain on your record and future adoptions will be much more difficult. You scramble to smooth things out:
"I am very quiet, sleep soundlessly the entire night. You can lock the cage if you're worried about me wandering around while you're asleep."
"There's no need for that, little one. Why don't you sleep on the couch and tomorrow we buy you a proper bed, eh?"
Price says the words with a gentleness that surprises even Ghost, only when none of the others argues back do you finally say something:
"Thank you, sir"
"Only John is fine."
"Thank you, John."
For the first time since you arrived, you see the smallest begining of a smile streching on his lips, his eyes arranging into something softer. A tentative hand goes towards you and it takes all your self control not to visibly flinch, still, the way your body goes rigid is plenty visible. He gently pats you on the back of your shoulder, his palm lingering for a moment longer:
"Get some sleep now, we'll talk more tomorrow."
They are about to leave the living room when John turns back one last time:
"Good night, little one and welcome home."
He doesn't wait for an answer and you're not sure you have one. You get under the blankets, looking at the shadows from outside dancing around on the wall, the horn of a car in the distance. Can this place really be your home?
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I'm at a Mexican rodeo right now watching them lasso some bull calves and it made me think about just how good looking the 141 would be dressed as cowboys. Maybe there's some fan art out there somewhere.
There definitely is! Here are a few of my favourites:
💬 9 🔁 212 ❤️ 1749 · Decided to render that doodle of him from before. I'm so in love with this man. I've never felt this way so fast about
This artist especially has a lot of absolutely gorgeous western art
💬 7 🔁 812 ❤️ 5505 · bounty hunter ghost on his rare day around the ranch
Helping your husband relax after a long deployment
cw: smut, MDNI, oral (giving), swearing
You wake up before your husband, cuddling into his side, not ready to begin the day yet. It starts slow, from touching the stubble on his chin, he always let it grow out during deployments, to his Adam's apple and then down his chest. When he moves a little in his sleep, kicking the rest of the blanket at the end of the bed, that's when you see it.
The bulge in his pants looks almost painful and despite all the videos and pictures the two of you shared during the time apart, you know it wasn't enough. So you slowly bring the band of his boxers down, kissing along his happy tail until being greeted by the sight of his erect dick. Without meaning to you blow some cold air over it and watch his member stiffen just from that, your eyes glued to the bead of precum at the tip.
Suddenly feeling much bolder you take a tentative lick, the slightly salty taste pleasurable on his own. Maybe just a little more until your husband wakes up, sucking first the tip and then slowly making your way down his member, jaw already aching a little at the strech. You almost jolt up when you feel a hand gently patting your head, but firmly keeping you in place, fingers curling through your hair, but not yet pulling it, nails slightly scratching at your scalp.
"That's certainly an interesting way to start the morning. I guess last night wasn't enough for you." He says in a teasing tone.
"Just wanted to do something nice for you."
"You're always too nice, darling. You'll end up spoiling me. How would I be able to leave then?"
The thought of him leaving again on another deployment in a few weeks has you both sad and a little angry. Maybe that's why you surprise him by taking his entire lenght in your mouth, barely supressing the reflex to gag and then slowly lifting your head up, sucking a little harder on his tip, the way you know he likes it.
"Having fun down there, sweetheart?"
"Mhm... "
"Now don't let me spoil your fun. You know I like watching you enjoy yourself."
He leans against the headboard, legs spread to give you more space, an inviting look on his face and that's your cue to get back to what you were doing before. Now that he's fully awake, why not tease him a little? With one hand you lazily stroke his cock, cupping his balls with the other, watching his body stiffen, a whispered "fucking hell, love" escaping through his lips followed by a breathy moan.
Part of you thinks about teasing him a little more, but it's clear he might not last much longer. As if on cue his hand goes back to your hair pulling on it, not hard, but firm:
"Do you mind if I get a little rough?"
"Go ahead, dear."
"Tap twice on my thigh if it gets too much, ok?"
As soon as you nod he starts setting the pace, his hips bucking upwards into your mouth. Everything is messy, spit and Cum dripping down as the hand on the back of your head keeps you in place. Small hairs tickle your nose. You feel it before it's coming, his eyes roll back as he lets out a string of curses broken by moans and that motivates you further. Digging your nails into his thigh, you ignore the need to breath properly for just a few more moments as hot ribbons of cum spill into your mouth. You do your best to catch every drop and swallow everything and cleaning him up with your tongue to see him whimper a bit more.
Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and gulping all the air you've been deprived of, you finally look up at your husband. He smiles at you a little embarrassed, his features arranging themselves into a grateful expression, his posture finally fully relaxed since he came back home. Next thing you know you end up on your back as he pins you to the mattress, legs spread to acomodate him. Your husband lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his face that means trouble:
Could we get how shifter!141 would each react to a trespasser in their territory only to find you a seemingly lost hiker? I know it's a very loose idea but I think it has good potential for creative storytelling about instincts, scents, shifter behaviors, how human reader reacts, etc.
cw: dark 141, yandere 141, reader is not safe with them
When you passed the same marked tree for the second time, you thought that you just took a wrong turn and that meant the other route was the correct one. Except that after another 20 minutes of going through spiky bushes you finally get to a clear patch only to see the same tree mocking you for a third time. You don't get to start drowning in desperation when you catch a shadow in the corner of your eye. It moves too fast for you to catch a better glimpse at it. You hear a rustling sound in the bushes behind you before something heavy lunges at you and throws you to the ground.
shifter!Price smelled you since you took the first step into his territory, perhaps that's why he didn't mauled you right then and there. Under the chemical smell of sunscreen and deodorant that made him curl his nose in displeasure, he could feel something else, something sweet like overripe fruit. As he gets closer and closer while you're turning around in circles, the smell gets stronger. His assumption about you being an enemy or a spy sent into his territory are quickly dissolved after seeing your unproper equipment for the terrain. He easily subdues your trashing around and that's when he finally discovers where that sweet smell is coming from, right there at the base of your throat. He licks you there and up your jaw, humming in pleasure. John thinks he might just keep you for a while.
shifter!Ghost looks almost dissapointed at the way you stop squirming so easily, your body too tired from the hours long hike, the last remains of precious energy consumed running around in circles. He has missing patches of fur along his body that never grew back even when his injuries healed, leaving behind gashes and scars. One of his ears it's more than halfway chopped, but his hearing's still sharp by the way his ears react to every little sound around. The sight of the tears falling down your cheeks gets him even more excited as he licks them hungrily. Your bewildered expression only amuses him further. He looks at the blisters and the small cuts littering your body that you've gotten by running through the spiky bushes. Human skin really is so fragile, it would be so easy to just bite down and draw blood.
shifter!Soap enjoyed scaring you just a little during your hike. Of course, that was just a little lesson for you to pay better attention and not wonder into someone else's territory, but each jolt of your shoulders and panicked look only made him want to tease you more. The others liked to say about Ghost that he leans a bit too much into his instincts, but he always pointed towards Johnny calling him the real mutt. If he gets called one, he might at least act like one, the chase was fun, but he is ready to put an end to it. Even when you still can't see him, he can clearly hear the rapid beating of your heart, the blood in your veins surging through your body in a way that makes his mouth water. The moment he pounces on you, he thinks he likes your scream too. Don't be scared now, he might play a little rough, but he always takes care of what is his.
shifter!Gaz looks almost proud as you manage to get out of his hold at the last moment and start running for your life. Silly human, you already took that route twice. Don't you remember it will just get you back to what you ran from? Maybe he should change his approach, it would be easier if you don't struggle. When you get to that same tree instead of the beast you are met with the sight of a very looking worried man asking if you are alright. You are so glad to finally get some help that you don't notice the way there's something predatory about his eyes, his teeth longer and sharper than a human's should be, maybe it's just a trick of the light. The blood on his ripped shirt is harder to ignore and when he extends his hand that for a second resembles a claw and tells you he'll take care of you, the words sound wrong, but what other choice do you have?
You take the doll and throw it into a corner, ignoring John's confused look, hands trembling as he get closer to the bars, your fingers clenching the material of your shirt, stopping only when you hear the sound of ripping fabric. You close your eyes and take a few breaths in an attempt to try and calm yourself, the feeling of something lightly touching you making you open them. Two of John's fingers are over yours, moving slowly as he studies you, probably wondering what happened, but not daring to ask, afraid that you might turn around and leave.
"I dreamed about ice cream last night."
"What?"
"I was in an ice cream shop and wanted chocolate and raspberry, but every time the owner would try scooping out any of those flavours, they would just melt right off. At some point I got so frustrated that I leaped over the counter, took a spoon and ate the ice cream soup as it was."
For some reason the image of a grown man slurping furiously over a pot of melted ice cream manages to steal a chuckle or two out of you:
"I would give anything right now for some good ice cream or proper food in general."
"What's your favourite type?"
"Mint chocolate chip and no it doesn't taste like toothpaste."
"If that's what you like to believe, lass."
The two of you spend the rest of the day there talking about everything and nothing, ignoring the food dropped every few hours. Johnny as he later told you to call him tells you about his years in the military, speaking fondly of his teammates, wheezing with laughter when you call Ghost a tryhard for the skull mask and skeleton gloves because do they actually just let people in the military dress like it's Halloween? You tell him about friends and old annoying bosses, but everything feels so far away that it's like you're telling someone else's story, at some point unsure if some of the things you said are actually true or were just dreams your mind conjured in desperate moments of loneliness.
You separate when the alarm for going to sleep sounds off, only then realising that they have already dimmed the lights. The next few days go like that, your little routine something that you start looking out for, unaware of the multiple pair of eyes monitoring your every move. It's not until one morning when there are no longer any bars separating the two enclosures that you remember what bringing Johnny to you was all about. You don't have the heart to break his spirits as the first thing he does when he sees that the bars are no longer there is running up to you and hugging you. And what else can you do other than reciprocate it?
After that he starts spending more time into your half of the enclosure, talking and eating together, one day he even timidly tries lightly intertwining your fingers as you make your daily rounds around the perimeter of the bars, now taking advantage of the bigger space to roam around. You let him do it, telling yourself it doesn't mean anything, that the two of you are just two lonely creatures light years away from their home at the mercy of something too powerful. You can let yourself have at least this much, right?
You're not that naive as not to see the way Johnny sometimes looks at you, the reticence in his step when the day is over and he has to go back to his own sleeping space. Even if he never says anything, the silent plea in his eyes before he turns around and leaves is getting harder to ignore every day. You cling to each other a little longer after every night spent apart, him tickling the spot behind your knee, your fingers going through his grown out hair as he leans more into your touch, his head resting on your shoulder. You find that you can't bring yourself to push him away.
It feels nice, you can't deny that, you find yourself tracing old scars and counting the moles on his body. Perhaps that's how it finally happens. One moment you're laughing at one of his terrible jokes as you walk beside him to where the separating wall was and then you see it in his eyes before it happens. Maybe it's the way they adjusted the lights, making it look like a sunset, shades of pink and orange dusting Johnny's face as he looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.
He moves slowly, giving you time to push him away and scream at him, but you do none of those things. He places his palm on your cheek, his thumb moving slowly, eyes searching for any kind of discomfort in your features. Johnny's face stops a few centimeters away from your own, feeling the warmth of his breaths on your lips when he asks you:
"Can I?"
The only answer he gets is you closing up the remaining space between the two of you, both moving clumsily like it's your first kiss all over again. Your palms are on his chest as he places his arm around your waist, bringing you even closer if that was possible. It's hard to tell if the kiss lasts hours or just a few seconds, but when the two of you finally part, breathing a little heavy and lips a bit swollen, it feels right.
Only a few minutes later when you're alone back in your sleeping space, touching your lips every few seconds do you see it. The smile on your face dies down when the screen in your room lights up unexpectedly as a message appears: "Would you like to go home?".
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