#glenns talkative madness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nyxindustries · 4 months

Text

Want It Need it | Rick Grimes

Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV show)

Pairing: Rick Grimes x Reader, X reader insert, Rick Grimes X Y/n, Rick Grimes x Fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT SMUT, Sexual intercourse, Rough sex, Kinky sex, Name calling “degradation” (if you really squint), Oral Sex, Explicit language and Explicit Sexual Content, Soft Dom! Rick Grimes, Sub! Reader.

Word Count: 2000+

| Masterlist |

When the apocalypse happened, you were just 20 years old. You were scared out of your mind then you meet a group, a pretty awesome group on the way.

Getting stable at the prison and everyone getting ready to go on hunt. You were the youngest adult only at 23 years old.

You looked up to the group leader whose Rick Grimes. He’s quite amaizng to you and he had his downfalls and ups but that made him human and a better leader.

Walking around the prison as you saw Glenn and Maggie.

"Hey love birds!" You say and Maggie chuckled as he hands you your supply bag.

"What? Wanna join?" Maggie jokes and you laugh.

"Oh! Don’t tempt me with a good time!"

You say and she laughs as Glenn rolls his eyes playfully at you

"No no no I like it the way it is!" Glenn adds on and you laugh more as you smile.

"Thanks for my bag Maggie" you say and she nods as she began walking away with Glenn.

Throwing your bag over your shoulder as you pull your tank top down to adjust your ripped black pants as you saw Rick in your view.

Hearing Daryl rev his bike up and you wave to him.

"Hey pretty little lady!" Daryl yells and you laugh.

"Oh Good morning pretty boy" you say and Daryl smiled as he walks up to you, feelings eyes on you, looking around and saw Rick staring at you then looking away.

"You know keep calling me that people are gonna think some things…" Daryl says as he takes the cigarette from his lips as he grabs a wrench and sits on the concrete floor.

Sitting on the bike as Daryl looks up at you with a smirk.

"Hey be careful"He says and you nod

"I will be or what? Mad I can’t ride you like this" you say jokingly not noticing that Rick was right behind you.

"Oh whoa. I’m- Did I interrupt something?" Rick voice says, scaring the hell out of you, which made Daryl laugh as you turn to Rick, instantly getting off the bike.

"Oh no! You didn’t! I was just joking!" You say and Rick nods as he smirks at you.

"Council meeting happening in cell block B in 10. Be there." Rick says and you nod as you look at Daryl as he puts his tools down.

"Somethin’ happen." Daryl says as you watch Rick walk away, the council got created with original members like yourself, Daryl, Rick, Michonne, Herschel, Maggie and Glenn and Carol. You were all the trusted ones to Rick especially after his wife died. Rick leaned on you the most even though you couldn’t or knew how it felt to lose the love of your life. Right after that the Woodbury attack and taking in refugees along with people that survived. It became a community and quite large one.

Walking with Daryl inside the cell block as you saw Tyreese and few other people you learned to trust and love like family along. Hugging Tyreese and Sasha as they smile at you, then frendily waving to Bob and everyone else you passed.

You are quite known probably because of your smile and go lucky attitude. You felt like even tho the world ending and everyone losing something and hurting like you are, you have to be something to one of these peopl. So you smiled and let people trust you to them feel better and to laugh, your great leader when need to be. You took care of the children in the camp as well either giving up your rations for them or going out their way of playing with them.

You couldn’t help shake those lingering eyes especially when you talked to people especially like Tyreese or Daryl, even with Glenn and Maggie, those eyes that would burn holes into the back of head would watch and then stop once you stop talking to them. You never figured it who or what it was. It’s been happening lately and made on guard too.

Going to the cell block as it’s completely empty besides the council members.

"Finally the two of you arrived" Maggie says and you stick tongue out at her childish making Daryl laugh as you sit down.

"Okay, We have problem lately we’ve sending too many groups out and a lot of people aren’t coming back…We’ve tried using our strongest member abut a lot of you guys can handle so much. We barley have crops, there not growing." Rick says and everyone quiet.

"How about we do rotation of 5 once a week and if need to be Twice a week. It could be me , Daryl, Maggie and Glenn and Sasha for an example and we go out for thre week. We all trust each other and we all work together and we’ll know we will make it back alive….Next week a different group and so on…So we don’t use up all our good people to survive." You say and everyone looks at you.

"For the crops, I could help with that Rick, I grew up on a farm and my daddy loved growing his own food, I know few tricks." You say and Rick nods.

"I’ll take you up on the help and that’s good idea but we should plan that out more and see who works well with each other if we’re gonna do rotations like that for supply runs." Rick says and you agree.

"Oh what about the water source? It hasn’t been the greatest. The water been murky and brown and we’re all getting really thirsty lately." Carol adds on and Daryl sighs.

"I’ll got cheek out the creek nearly by and see if anything happened there and the rain water sprout too. " Daryl says and you nod.

"I can help with that too. Before the end of the world I was a Engineer major in college…I could fix something up for the rain water and add a homemade purifier if I get the right supplies. I did do the water lines we have with what we been showering and see the system their working on." You say and Glenn smiles

"I can totally help you that, Miss.Smarty Pants. I help build that system so most definitely can help."Glenn says and you nod in agreement.

"Great. We head out to the creek tomorrow then." Daryl adds on as he places his hand on your knee and you instantly felt eyes burning into you. It made you look and seeing Rick staring directly at you, making you nervous to swallow right now, it brought shivers to you.

This is what you’ve been feeling since you got here and meet Rick and this group. You thought it was Daryl at first but no.

"Yeah sounds good." You mutter out to Daryl

"Any other matter we need to deal with?" Maggie asks and Rick shakes his head and walks away without another word or a missed beat in his steps.

"Great. I’ll check the water today and see what it looks like and let you guys knows." Carol says and you nod as you began walking away with Glenn Maggie and Daryl.

"Does Rick seem to be acting werid today?" You ask quietly to them and they simply shake their head "no".

-2 months later-

You fixed the water supply but it’s still a work in progress and the crops are growing pretty good especially now that’s it’s into the warmer months. After the few tricks you showed Rick it’s been golden especially with the warmer seasons head now.

It’s late night and everyone turning in for the night at the moment.

Seeing Rick walk up to you, making you smile Rick and yourself got considerably close to each other within the past couple months especially helping him and Carl with the crops.

"Hey Rick." You say and he smiled at you.

"It’s getting late. Why are you still out here?" He asks and you nod as you look off as he stand next to you.

"I’m taking Sasha shift as gaurd tonight…she wants to spend some time with Tyreese and talk to him about what happened with the supply run." You spoke quietly making Rick nods.

" yeah that’s good. That’s good." Rick says and you nod.

"I want to talk to you about something…private." He says and you nod.

"Okay, now?" you ask and Rick nods, you can tell he’s nervous about something.

"Yeah what is it?" You ask Ri k shakes his head a she pulls you along heading towards the guard tower that’s not destroyed and where people keep watch.

"Whoa Rick clam down" you say as still pulls you along as you and him get into the guard tower. Looking at the empty gaurd tower as look at Rick now.

"Why did you drag me all the way I’ve there?" You and and Rick just stared at you.

"Are you with Tyreese ?" he asks and you stare at him in shock.

"With Ty? What do you mean by that?" You ask confused and very concerned for Rick at the way he’s talking and walking back and fourth.

"Are you fucking Tyreese?" He asks and you stare at him with a blank face.

"No! No I’m not! In what world did you get that from?" You ask

"Just wondering you and him pretty close to each other like you do everyone other guy in the camp." Rick says and you gasp

"Are you calling me a sl-" You ask him.

"No no no no no" Rick shakes his head, you can tell thoughts are just flooding his head and he’s doesn’t know how to deal. Rick wiping his face as he licked his lips glancing at you.

"Rick what’s wrong with you? Talk to me" You ask as you grab onto him making Rick look at you. Rick grabbing your face roughly as he kisses you softly.

Being frozen in spot as you felt his lips, your heart beating in your chest.

Slowly kissing him back as you grab his face as he kissed you more passionately and his hands traveled down to your ass squeezing tightly.

"Is this okay?" He asks pulling away slightly from your lips and all you could do is grab his face.

"It’s perfect." You say and kiss him more making him push you against the watch tower wall.

Rick taking your shirt off and kissing your breasts softly as he snaps your bra off with one hand.

Rick staring at your breasts as all he could do is smile making you blush in return. "You’re so fucking beautiful." He whispers to you.

His mouth meets them quickly marking them with his teeth and hard sucks on them.

Rick hands going down to your belts loops as he toys with them as he kisses you softly. His hand slipping underneath your pants reaching your pussy as his mouth quickly switched to one breast and the other.

Rick slowly pushing his two fingers in you making moan softly. Rick smirk even more as he pulls your panties down and lifts one of your legs onto his shoulders, placing you tighter between him and the wall of the watch tower.

"Fuck!" You moan out as Rick began thrusting his fingers quickly and his mouth meet with your clit quickly too.

His mouth to your pussy, licking your wetness in long thick strips. Finding his hair once more and pulling softly. He kissed around the clit, his licks sending you pleasure. Rick pulling you closer as he flicks and licks you in the areas most pleasurable areas, you didn’t know existed on you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, RICK!…please…please" You moan out loudly as your back arch more away from the wall as you grip Rick hair tighter as he began moving his finger again as he suck on your clit.

You weren’t sure how much you can take of this. You never felt anything this and knowing it’s the man you been in love with for months, making you feel this, sent you over the edge.

"Cum for me, sweetheart." Rick growls as he pulls away slightly from you and all you can do is just babble and moan due to the pleasure.

Squeezing your eyes shut as you breathing hitched and all you can do is yell "I’m cumming." Making Rick start thrusting his fingers even more in you. Rick lifting away from in between your legs as he lick his lips with a satisfied smirk. Staring at him with heavy breathing as he smiles at you.

"On the floor now." He says and you simply nod.

Rick smirking as he watched get the ground and that’s when you realized their bunch of blankets and you smirk softly, looking towards Rick.

The fucker planned this.

Getting in your knees in front of him as you began undoing Rick buckle as you lick your lips.

"Look at you…no more Ms.innocent anymore." Rick chuckles

"I never said I was innocent" you giggle out with a smirk on your face, that just make Rick stop you and push you to the blankets.

Rick getting onto of you with a wide smirk now as you wrap your legs around his waist. Rick kissing you softly as michevous shined in your eye.

Rick giving the same look back as he positions himself perfectly and slowly pushes in you.

"Fuck….Shit, Rick!" You groan out Rick thrusting his cocks in you slowly and he quickly picked up pace.

Moaning as Rick hand went to your throat and began choking you slowly making you moan out more the best you can as you felt Rick other free hand smack your breasts lightly.

Rick pulling out quickly as he flips you so easily onto your stomach, pulls your arms to your back, holding them in place as he slips his cock back into you and starts slamming into you now.

Rick slamming into you, as you began moving your hips with him, moving together with him as she slams in you.

"Fuck baby! You feel so good." Rick groans as he lands a solid slap on your ass making you jump in pain and pleasure but god you loved it. Rick landing few more hard slaps on your ass making your ass red and sore now.

"Please more." You moan out as Rick slapped your ass more before he grabs your hips and pulls onto his cock harder and began slamming into you as the noises of meeting your skin were loud and filled the tower.

Clenching around Rick as he knew your so close. You felt it bubbling up in your lower stomach.

"Fuck fuck!" You scream out as Rick pulling out again as you whimper at the lost of his cock.

Until Rick flips you again on your back.

"I want to see your face while you take all my cum." Rick utters out as his hand went back to your throat squeezing your throat just the way you like it, cutting abit of airflow, making smile slightly in response.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK!" You scream out now, clenching tightly around Rick cock now.

"Come on baby. You can do it. Cum for me baby." He says as he slams harder and faster.

Nodding with each thrust as your arms wrap around Rick and pull him close to your chest as your legs wrap around him.

Rick groaning as he kisses your neck gently. Your legs began getting more shakey as you began cumming all over Rick dick but that didn’t stop him.

"Did I tell ya to cum?" He says in your ear sending almost chills down your spine but it went straight to pussy as you shake your head submissively.

"Say it." Rick growls at you.

"No you didn’t." You say and Rick nods.

"Mhm you’re right about that." He says as he began slamming into making your grip the blankets tighter, but he soon stops as he flips you again to your stomach.

Lifting your ass as he shoved his dick back into you as he grabs our hair and pulls your head back to his shoulder as his hand reached around for your neck as he squeezes watching your face contort in more pleasure.

Becoming a Moaning mess and sensitive as you can tell Rick close as he slams into you, his cock twitching in you as he now hits your g spot, sending you over again. Cumming against his cock again as you felt warm cum in you, making you smile as Rick slowly pulls out.

"Fuck that amazing." He says and you nod as Rick pulls out and lays next you, pulling you close.

"I needed that for months." You say and Rick nods in agreement.

"Me too baby."

"And I would love to do it again." He says and you nod in agreement as you felt his cum drip out of you.

"Oh me too. I could go for another round" he says and you nod.

"Don’t tempt me baby." He says and you laugh as you kiss him slowly getting onto of him.

"Seriously the whole prison gonna hear us now." He says making you laugh as you kiss his neck softly.

325 notes · View notes

sin-sidejob · 1 year

Text

Insidious Inside Job: Halloween pt. 2

Note: Inspired by skoshibuns fanart on instagram + I have songs linked with each segment for the specific portion that goes with the monster, the plot, or both + reminder, I may be an english major but this thing is barely proofread

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI, AFAB + GN PRONOUNS, RAW SEX (wrap that rascal), monster-fucking, tentacle fucking, inhuman creatures, furry fucking? One brief scene of alluded almost sexual assault/assault (that gets stopped and interrupted) incredibly vague nothing actually happens, drug use/roofied/narcotics, I guess, werewolf (slight A/B/O dynamics), breeding kink, talks of missing body parts and death, cockwarming, somnophilia the undead, zombies, doctor play, doctor kink, doctor/fake patient, living dead, experimentation with cadavers and dead bodies, mention of illness/cancer, various Halloween-y phenomena + probably more

Content: smut, spooky scary spectral holiday smuttening, monster and inhuman creature fucking, usual debauchery you can expect from me, dicks and pussy, inhuman and monster genitalia, reader has AFAB nethers/genitalia and a cunt but I don’t describe about tits so folks are safe, I used gender neutral pronouns all throughout as well. Mentions of underwear and generalized clothing but no bras or gendered articles of clothing. Southernification of Robotus (you’ll see) + probably more

! ! ! This is part two, with Reagan + Brett + Andre + Robotus + Myc. Part one, located here, includes Gigi + JR + Glenn + a bonus character ! ! !

Reagan Ridley: MAD SCIENTIST

• songs: Evil Eye - Franz Ferdinand

- You were used to the chaotic cadence that came with knowing and loving the reclusive Dr. Ridley, enjoying the maniacal dynamic and aiding her in her experiments, helping her tidy up should a test go awry. You aided her in all her endeavors, even the unsightly ones, and that dedication and mutual trust blossomed into friendship and then eventually love and list. Simple creatures, you two were, and instincts were a gravitational pull as equally potent to magnets as to mankind.

- The latter half of the year, when the weather turns and the leaves change and shed their green covers to don the classic golden hues, is when she came alive even more. She found energy in the fall and winter weather, more likely to be within the confines of her laboratory and adding scrawled, scratch-like lines into her notebooks and texts, running about with her coat billowing behind her like a shadow tethered to her, fluttering beside her with the grace of a conspirator.

- There were times when she would not need your assistance and you would be free and left to your own devices, wandering about the extravagant library and traipsing through the halls, snooping where you shouldn't, and happily receiving your punishments. Life was good and continued to be so, almost mundane in an unnatural, phenomenal way. There was no dark side of the moon to you, only the light because the shadows were your home, and the person you called lover languished alongside you in Moonglow-shaded craters.

- But your favorite moments had to be when it was you she was examining, you who she was teasing and playing with, black patent leather gloves that were entirely unsafe and unethical in a lab environment used on your form, drawing out pinpricks of chills. Especially now as Reagan hums at the sight of your disheveled state, silent beside her idle noises and internalized dialogue as if she is annotating already-written notes within the confines of her brain of you as her hands draw out more data to analyze, almost pulling all your secrets pool forth from moaning lips via her ministrations.

- Reagan is seldom tender or ginger in her touch, not in a harshness but more in a neutral, guiding, directing manner. Like moving you about with the same grace as working with her equipment and tools, movements memorized and muscles well-accustomed to all that you are. She can be softer, in aftermath moments where your body and senses can not make heads or tails of where the two of you ended or began, fully enwrapped and enveloped in one another like coiled vines of ivy, cascading upwards and intertwining in great efforts. But now, her touch is not soft, but steady and purposeful.

- Cold gloves remove clothing and secure straps onto your body, across your limbs, and holding you tight against a weathered and soft wooden table, built with the intention to be used for medical seminars and demonstrations. You lay, naked and taut upon a staged table in the center of an empty auditorium for the use of educational experimentation presentations and viewing seminars for research and study. The arena on her property is empty, no event planned for today, just the two of you in the grand room and feeling infinitesimally small, yet powerful simultaneously.

- "Not too tight?" Dr. Reagan Ridley asks softly as she busies herself with hovering over the straps that secure your wrists and ankles to the examination table, gloved hands running along oiled leather seams. "Perfect." is your answer and her smile matches the word, pride in her eyes at her wonderful assistant, her previous lover. "There's my darling, now what are te rules?" she asks, unbuttoning her labcoat to expose her blouse and slacks beneath, slinky and clinging to her body in a way that makes your firsts clench just so, palms opening and closing with the yearning need to touch.

- "Nuclear is stop, gradient is slow down, and prism is keep going, or good." you answer, squirming a bit against the restrains for show and shuffling your ass against the soft wood, feeling the cool air caress your exposed, already leaking pussy. "Wonderful," the Doctor trails off, wandering away from the table and leaving you to lay spread and scan your eyes across the planetarium-painted ceiling above and marvel at the gold leaf details in the stars and constellations, drawing you back in when she returns and adjusts her gloves with a small thwack, "now, where should we begin?"

- You don't respond immediately, not knowing how or where to answer, unable to distinguish a clear mood in her dark eyes for what she wants and what she is planning to take from you. The hesitation makes Reagan decide on her own, a dark chuckle emerging from her lips and settling in the base of your spine, curling like a funnel stormcloud. "Alright then, guess it's up to Doctor's orders." She smooths softened leather against your inner thighs and parts your lips, blowing cool air in puffs against your exposed cunt and clicking her tongue in notes as her mind wanders in fascination.

- "I think I'll start here, test your sensitivity first hmm?" she asks aloud, mainly to herself, the table raised to her waist so she can easily maneuver around you and toy with you, like a doll. It feels all like a pleasurable version of The Princess Bride's pit of despair but mixed with a sex dungeon and none of the latex. "There, how does that feel?" it feels good, decent, not enough as the first portion of her pointer finger breaches your walls, the texture not adding much besides a cooler sensation. You answer the same, and she hums before moving on, shifting in a manner reminiscent of a cat's sly sway.

- "Space for improvement, good." she comments, a stray hair falling into her forehead from her tight ponytail, dark hair pulled back and away from her face and allowing you to fully watch her move and her shifting expressions. She thrusts the finger into you, slowly and watching as you clench around her, gaping and closing in a rhythmic pattern. "And this?"

- "its g-good too," you choke out, shifting your head from looking at her to nothing, eyes shut and you try not to squirm, letting her venture as she pleased, "but not good enough?" Reagan asks, and you nod in agreement, prompting her to curl her finger upwards, matching with her second finger, and smirking, brows arching as she watches you grow more and more disheveled.

- "ah," you moan out, lip tugged between your teeth as you bite down, fists clenching and unclenching once the pleasure begins to initially build, feeling it bubble forth in your belly like a tide pool on the beach, collecting and growing as more gets put into it. "Now that's a reaction, keep speaking beautiful." she directs, curling in upward strokes from within your walls

- You nod, mewling a bit as your voice breaks and pitches, feeling her slide in another digit, pointer finger to ring finger all slotted. Her gloves are thicker, making the stretch a bit wider than what you're accustomed to, and you break a tad, grinding your hips down and wriggling, aching to get something more, and that something ends up being Reagan's attention.

- "Oh this won't do, I think you need some more advanced methods." Reagan murmurs, enjoying the look on your face as she steps back and out of your line of vision, holding back laughter as you whine and make confused tones, wondering why she stopped when she had finally gotten to the good part. "Easy now, just a moment, you can be patient for me, can't you?"

- "Yes, Doctor." She whips her head around and drops the tool in her hand, and you're worried for a second she didn't like you saying that but she arrives moments later with a silicone dick and a small vibrator in hand, accompanied by a sly grin. "Doctor, hm? We're keeping that." she states as she sets the items in her hands down beside you on the flat table, now away from your sight before you could see any of the specific characteristics or facets.

- You squirm again, chills from the exposed air finally overriding the pleasure in your veins and cooling your body. Reagan tuts at that, smoothing her dry glove up your thigh in an attempt to warm you up, "phrase?" she asks, gentle and present as she looks at you. "Prism." she smiles and nods before her expression shifts, popping the cap off a bottle of lube and warming it between her hands as she looks you over, a small smile emerging once she spots your cunt, clenching around nothing from the show she put on of her rubbing her palms together with her exposed forearms rippling.

- "Ready for me?" she asks, adjusting her gloves and then sucking off the slick residue from her one hand, purposely staring you down as she does it with intent. "Always, Doctor." a shudder that she fails to try and hide rolls through her spine at that, not fully used to you ever calling her that, especially when you're bare and at her mercy.

- "good answer." Reagan responds, lubing up the silicone and sliding it through your folds slowly, watching as you tense and begin to grind. Her hand plants your hip down still, forcing it to stop as she fixes you a warning look while she props the dick near your cunt.

- Sliding it in, she sinks the silicone dick deep into you and watches as your cunt takes it in, noting aloud how the gloves prepped you better than what she does manually glove-free. Keening out, you force yourself still and feel her hand move to instead grip your hip instead of planting it still, guiding you along in a tempo that matches the ministrations of her other hand, fucking the fake dick into you over and over slowly, picking up the pace gradually.

- "That seems to be treating you better. You agree?" barely managing a nod, you respond with a grunting moan as she angles the silicone against a spot of nerves, making you jolt and gasp. "I'll take that as a yes." Reagan jokingly responds to herself, reaching the hand once on your hip to reach away and grab the vibrator, eager to get your pent-up self breaking and shattering like glass.

- You don't realize what's happening, too blissfully unaware due to how she continues flicking her wrist, rocking the dick into you at a pace that builds tension but doesn't get that knot of pleasure unraveling at all. When the vibrator comes to life and thrums in her hand, your head whips up in that instant Pavlovian response, knowing she's about to make you see God.

- "Holy fuck please use that thing on me." you blurt out immediately, drawing a laugh from her that's dark while she fixes you a warning look, a brow raised and you rush to find your words. "Please, Doctor." Reagan hums, pleased, and then reaches down to plant the vibrator on your clit, rolling it in circles and shapes that make your legs struggle against the stirrup-like straps, body wriggling and squirming as it tries to get comfortable to handle getting fucked this way.

- "Well would you look at that, pretty damn effective." She muses, upping the vibrator speed casually with one hand as the other splits you open on the silicone cock with ease. "Next time we're going to have to test this with having both of your holes filled, probably get you squirting in minutes."

- The idea alone that she planted like a seedling in your head blooms, making you even more turned on if possible. The way the dick nestled the spots inside that already got you seeing stars? Multiplying the effect. And now the vibrator rolling over your clit and thrumming incredibly sends you over the edge, barely able to warn her coherently before you cum with a squealing moan.

- "Fucking gorgeous," Reagan marvels, fucking you through it and lowering the setting on the vibrator, still keeping it there but rolling it in softer, smoother motions while she gently fucks the dick into you, working through an orgasm that she manages to draw out for roughly a minute or so. "So goddamn pretty like this."

- She keeps going for a while until your legs stop shaking, then she removes the toys from you and moves about, undoing the straps and stirrups holding you then grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping you up in it. You sit up and scoot over to the side of the table, legs hanging off as Reagan stands before you, smoothing your hair back and checking you over.

- She busies herself with rolling her fingers over the slightly indented marks where the straps were, double checking to make sure you were okay but she doesn't catch your adoring, sleepy look until you tap at her arm and then raise your hand to lift her chin, beaming dazedly at her. "Hi Reagan." you murmur, pressing kisses to her cheek and jaw lazily.

- "Hello yourself, feeling okay?" she asks, amusement in her tone as she looks you over, making sure you're fully covered in the blanket and warm, trying to prevent you from getting overly cold.

- You giggle and look up at her, grinning wide and honest, "I could not be any fucking better than I am right now, now gimme' a kiss." Reagan obliges, and everything fades as it always does around her, in the best and most comforting blur.

Brett Hand: FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER

• song: Body - Mother Mother or My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine

- Brett wishes he could manage to carve a place for himself in your life and at your side with as much ease as he has with loving you, completely enthralled and enamored with everything you are, all that you’ve been, and all that you’ll be. He’s fascinated by you and the intricacies in your movements and routines, the way your brows furrow when confused or frustrated, the smile you don’t show unless you’re caught by surprise and unable to remember hiding it.

- He gathers these little facets of yourself like river rocks and stones, wearing them down in the revisits of his memory, rolling them flat and small but soft in the way he reveres them. If only you loved him like he loved you. If only you actually knew him, not just of him. You’ve met before, known of each other practically since his initial creation. Yet he’s not satisfied because he doesn’t know what it’s like to be with you, only knowing you at the arms reach that he has from you helping him and fixing him up.

- You’re an assistant to his father, his creator, an up-and-coming scientist fascinated with his methods in Reanimation and modern-age necromancy, hoping to study his techniques and model some of his talents with your own. His father, Dr. Quentin Hand, made all of his siblings as initial creations and had Brett last, the youngest and most rushed one of the collection. He was an accumulation of spare parts, the battered bits left in the barrel, a literal representation of what comes from patchwork scientific craft and lacking interest. That’s not to say you didn’t treat him kindly or matched his father's lack of enthusiasm.

- No, you treated him carefully, just like the rest of his siblings. You gave him extra attention and care, sewing back on fingers should they get snagged and fall off his hand, making a few jokes all the while you thread the needle and fish it in and out of his flesh about how his hand’s should be better taken care of, especially since it’s his last name.

- his heart was monitored and he prayed you hadn’t caught the speeding up of the pace, the rapid ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of his pre-owned heart firing off in awe of you and your presence. If you did, you don’t mention it and you just continue hemming and stitching him back together, returning his ring finger back onto his left hand with care, humming all the while some song stuck in the back of your head.

- “there,” you nearly startle him, pulling him from his reverie with a pat to his knee as you sit up from your chair and clean up, putting your supplies away and disinfecting, “all fixed. Let me know if there’s any trouble with your seams again and I’ll patch you up — no sweat.” His eyes, one hazel and the other bright blue, peer up at you with nothing short of pure adoration. It’s always there, poor boy can’t do anything to hide it. He just loves you is all.

- "Thank you, I'm sorry you have to always fix me up all the time." Brett states, rubbing his arm subconsciously, truly meaning it and knowing it had to be at least a little redundant to mend him after every trip and fall or tumble down the steps. Poor thing had no balance, something you try to work on in your spare time between projects and lessons with Brett's father. You turn, taking your gloves off and disposing of them while looking his way, a sad frown on your face making his dissipate like smoke. "Why are you sorry for that? It's not something you can help, sweet boy, and besides --" you trail off while stepping near him and fixing his hair and looking down at his still-sitting form, "I'm happy to help you, its what I'm here for!"

- and with that, you depart, heading to another appointment to experiment under supervision, He dreads the days that come forward now, nearing when you would be leaving since your education under the apprenticeship of his father ends to a close. You'd be gone, with your own experiments and helpers, a life completely devoid of him. he likes to think you'd write him or call, maybe see his name scrawled in your looping cursive handwriting and hear your words drawn across a page and yearn to find your love within them.

- but even he, Brett, a lovesick optimist knows that would be too good to be true. Within the month, you'd pack and leave and the spanning acres of his family's estate would be empty of your presence. Your quarters would miss your belongings, the posters, and art on the walls, the little personal items and books littered about. It would be as if you were never there, but to Brett, he would always remember you being there. He may have been reanimated, but the days where you roamed the halls and came across his sight were the only days he felt truly alive.

- Little did he know that you had been planning your departure for years and hoped you would go about it, what exactly you would leave or sell, what you would pack, how you would pack, and who you would take with you. "Dr. Hand, I have a request," you start, making casual conversation while you've currently got your forearms embedded in a cadaver's inner organs, organizing things, "I was wondering if I could take one of the experiments with me when I leave early this week?"

- Doctor Quentin Hand is no meek creature, nor does his stature indicate such. he was almost frighteningly tall, but with age has developed a slight hunching slouch making him roughly 6'5 with the rugby player's stature. The man is thick and bulky, with a head full of auburn hair turning grey and the shade of sunned strands with his age. "Depends on which of the creations you'd call to you, and if they'd like to go. The eldest are off limits, but should one of the children agree, you are free to take them. But only one."

- he is currently invested in combining chemicals to inject within the bloodstream when reanimation is to take place later, and luckily so. He misses your entire face light up, beaming from ear to ear behind your surgical mask and eyes glowing with excitement. "I've already decided who I'd like to bring with me."

-"Oh?" he doesn't even turn, swirling an open beaker that smells of disinfectant and acid, "who?". Dr. Hand shows no concern and even that worries you, knowing there was little love shown to the creations, and none whatsoever to your favorite. "I was planning to take Brett, the youngest of them."

-He waves a gloved hand and nods, "Of course, pack his things if he hasn't already. Be sure to invest in a lot of sutures and sewing materials as well, you will definitely need it." if you didn't need this formal apprenticeship, you would've killed him with his own reanimating equipment. "Yes sir."

- later, when you have cleaned up, changed, and wrapped up the experiment which once again went as a success, you settle down in your room and continue backing up your personal belongings into extra bags and suitcases for the items you gathered in your time here. A record plays, crackling initially but still pouring out the cadence of the Lungs album from Florence + The Machine as you wander about, clearing your shelves and delicately folding posters and emptying the walls.

- just as you flip over the vinyl to the b side, a knock rattles against your door. When you open it, you didn't expect Brett's tear-stained face to be the first thing you see. Nor did you expect him to rush and hug you, drawing you into his form and holding you close while he buries his head in your shoulder. "Why do you have to leave?"

- You think it's cruel, but it was always going to be a surprise for you to take him with you. The feelings were obvious and only reciprocated a few months ago. Sadly, you couldn't act on them until you got out from under the eyes of Doctor Quentin for Brett's sake and safety. But now that's not a worry, and you leave after breakfast tomorrow morning with the patchwork babydoll of a man before you.

- The sight enough is heartbreaking, especially with the direct feel of his tremors shaking through him, and then through you with the closeness. It takes several attempts to ease his cries and pry him up from your shoulder, stepping back to close the door behind him then flicking the lock shut before you cup his cheek and lift his head upwards. "Brett, sweetheart, how could you think I'd leave without you?" you soothe, thumbs rolling over his cheek and swiping tears away. "I wanted to surprise you but I think you need to hear it now, I'm taking you with me. I was never going to leave without you in the first place."

- Brett blinks blearily, wiping the tears from his multicolored eyes to stare at you openly and dart his gaze between your own eyes. "You're serious?" he asks, still buried in disbelief, "why would you want to take me, you barely even like me." Brett's met with laughter, not caustic or harsh and at his expense like what he's used to, yours is lighthearted and kind, just like your eyes. "Sweetheart, I care for you a great deal beyond just liking you." you say, taking his hands in yours, the ones you've constantly tended to like the rest of him.

- "What does that mean?" Brett asks, squeezing your hands tight and finding it impossible to look anywhere in the room besides your face. "It means I love you, silly thing, and I refuse to let you stay here any longer when you deserve the world. Let me show it to you." His tears reappear again but its relief, the feeling that swarms his body and makes him feel shrouded in Moonglow. You care for him, you love him, that his years of pining after you and hoping, praying for a miracle were worth it. You loved him, your silly ragdoll.

- "Say it again." he says, his hands moving from yours to your waist, brushing the bare skin where your shirt has ridden up with ease, aching to feel more of your warm skin in his palms. "I love you Brett." you murmur, forehead pressed to his as you press your palms to his chest, fingertips tracing the material of his henley while humming in a pleased tone once his hands begin to wander.

- "One more time." he whispers as he leans forward to catch your lips with his, admiring how your eyes flutter shut when he does. You kiss, lips shifting back and forth as you murmur how you loved him into his open mouth like a secret, and he'd cherish and protect it as such. Brett pulls back, palms cupping your warm cheeks just as you had previously with tender grace and you spot his tears have ended.

- "I will never let you down," he promises, smile bright and crooked, perfectly him and equally as charming, "I swear, you'll never regret this, never." and you know its the truth, not because he says it but because you've known for ages that there was no one else you'd care for this much. As if he was made solely for you, perfectly patchworked together.

- In an act of bravery or stupidity, you grab his hand and step backward towards your still-made bed, peering up at him from lidded eyes. "I know that, but how about you show me just how much you love me right here, hm?" you tease, loving how his mouth fell agape and his arms fled to your waist again, eagerness steeped into his actions like tea. "Can I?" brett asks, always the soft, chivalrous, perfect man. "Absolutely." you respond, already ushering out of the shirt and baring your chest to his hungry, heterochromial eyes.

- he spares no time in crowding you against the bed, climbing atop your languid form and pressing doting kisses at your lips then making his way down to your neck, eagerly leaving hickeys and marks while he undoes your belt and shucks your pants down. He bares your underwear to him and leaves you to kick off your socks with your pants, making a pile on your rug you don't mind at all. "Can I taste you?" he practically pleads, lifting up to stare down at you, beating you to the question you were just about to ask him, making you laugh once more, still that lighthearted sweet sound. "Maybe later, and then ill be able to suck you off. Right now I just want you in me, Brett. That okay?"

- he's torn between crying, busting a load in his jeans, or both. Brett just nods, lip tugged between his teeth and moving with all the enthusiasm of a hyperactive puppy, kneeling on the floor to help you slide off your underwear and nearly drooling the second he spots your bare cunt. He's running on more basic, bare instincts but wants nothing more than to flood your cunt with his cum and keep it there, keep himself there as long as he can. Never wants to leave you, and he never wants the marks and signs of him on you to fade either.

- "are you-" "yes I'm sure Brett, now can you please take your clothes off so I can ride you?" he nearly trips over himself in the process of standing and yanking off his shirt, which he does in that hot lift it from the back of the neck and tug it forward trademark style that has a new layer of slick pool forth. His jeans are mid-rise but are slung low, boxers peaking out briefly before he abandons those too, revealing one appendage you never had to mend. You're a bit glad, you ended up with a surprise too tonight, who would've thought?

- Brett returns, not knowing where to sit or lay until you shove him back to sit against the pillows upright, allowing you to sit on his lap and lay your arms over his shoulders while hovering, teasing before you to be gifted this man's virginity just like you were given his heart and soul. "You sure, baby?" you murmur, knees outside of his own and pressed chest to chest, "I can wait however long you need to." Brett grins, playful and teasing in his own way, and nips at your lip. "I'm okay, m'good, cant wait t'see what it feels like to be buried in you, probably even warmer than you feel right now." He emphasizes with a large and running up your bare spine, sending you arching and your knees threatening to buckle. You sometimes forget how big he is, and with the hefty dick bobbing near his stomach, you're not sure how you could have ever forgotten.

- "Take me then, babydoll" and he does, large hands encompassing your hips as he guides you to sit on his dick, slowly letting it enter and let you get accustomed, "there you go, nice and - fucking tight" Brett murmurs, voice deeper and getting you more riled up than you know what to do with. You had seen him bare plenty of times, but never fully, and the experience was doing you wonders right now as you rested for a moment and let him breathe before you started bouncing on him and making him cum way earlier than you know he'd like. You'd enjoy it anyway.

- He whines after a few moments, his hips shifting and making you both groan, his head falling back into the pillows and his fair falling into disarray, strands of auburn and reddish brown falling into his forehead. "Please, just fuck me, have me I just need you." Brett whines into your neck again, no tears this time as his arms wrap tautly around your form, allowing you to feel divinely sculpted muscles hold you tight and made your walls clench, relishing in his squeaking moan. You'd break him. good thing you know how to put him back together. "Easy baby, I've got you." you murmur, smoothing back his hair before you lower to your haunches and lift your hips, slamming back down and sending him yelling your name while biting his teeth into your shoulder.

- Oh yes, you were absolutely going to break him.

- You fuck yourself on him, feeling his hands grip and drag across your body as you use him, rolling your hips in shapes, occasionally spelling his name out through your gyrations and smiling to yourself as you watch him fall further and further into a mess, hair mussed, mouth agape and eyes tight shut. The skin of his lip is nearly broken open from how much he's bitten and tugged on it, puffy and reddened on his flushed and freckled face. Brett rises and clings back onto you, suddenly shifting his hips and fucking up into you, letting you hear louder slaps of skin against skin while he manhandles you. "M'gonna' cum, gotta' cum can I please cum — I wanna cum so bad, please." he begs, planting kisses at your collarbone and pulse sporadically between broken moans and pants.

- You never expected the reaction nor your own, unable to fight the feeling emanating from your soaked and silken cunt as he fucks up into it, stretching you wide in a way you'll never be tired of. "You can cum, go on and fill me, Brett, wanna' feel you for days. Please Brett, make me feel good." your boy delivers, jackhammering into you and making you cry out, tugging at his hair while his hands plant themselves at your waist in order to maneuver you around, biting deep at your shoulder when he cums with a broken, shattered shout of your name.

- The way his hips stutter in that frantic pattern, battering your cunt that has you squirming and grinding, you cum rapidly and heavily, whiting out and feeling your surroundings blur to nothing as you repeat his name over and over, clawing down his back as he slows and finally stops, holding you impossibly close. You take longer than he does recover and return to the world, head lolled back and breathing heavy, allowing brett to lay the two of you down and upon the pillows, wrestling the comfort and sheets over your sweat-slicked body and his.

- He always wanted to be a part of your life, and now, years later, he can't stop smiling and hasn't stopped since. Your silly, smiling ragdoll of a husband.

Andre Lee: W E R E WO L F

• song: Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

- Andre was superficially open, not talking of more intimate aspects of his life but being carelessly free with the rest, and the personal factoids and tidbits emerge in passing comments in conversation send your brain whirling.

- he’s never answered any of your questions as to why he avoids full moons or why he’s unreachable during some times of the month, closest you’ve gotten was Myc cracking a joke about menstruation but you know damn well from a fuck ton of personal experience that he’s absolutely packing heat.

- he’d been sick the past few days, not fully present in meetings and a bit light headed. It got shrugged off as side effects from any number of drugs but you knew better. The disregard and dismissals that came from him when you showed concern were what made that worry and concern grow, manifesting and sprawling into a thorny expanse of knots tugging at your conscious, fixated on helping him.

- so you stand before an older home, 1920’s brick masonry hidden behind modern day paint, sidled beside the other brownstones on the block and fish out your key on the chain he gifted you, a little cartoonish duck smiling brightly while flipping you off, and turn the series of locks in the door while balancing some takeout on the other side.

- after several moments, you make it inside and lock back up, setting your keys alongside Andre’s in the bowl near the door and spotting the matching fuck duck keychain and smiling before making your way through the house, easily navigating through the darkness and making it to the kitchen to drop off some takeout for the egg drop soup he always ordered when sick. “Andre?” You get no response, the house quiet and your brows furrow while your lips purse, that worry unfolding again, “sugar? Where are you?” You get no response and your words echo in the house

- you get no response but you hear a groan, muffled and heady, soft and barely heard. But it’s his, and you drop everything in your hands upon the counter and follow the sound, brain a slurry of what ifs and remembering his medical history should you need it. By the time you make it back further in the house and to his bedroom, the doors locked shut. Real shut. You knock harshly and call to him, voice a bit desperate “Andre honey, you okay?”

- “go away.” It’s him, but not, deeper and meaner that the Andre you’re used to. It’s not a deterrent. “Not if you’re not okay, let me in.” You try the doorknob again and he shouts out “it’s not safe for you right now, go away.” He says more but you don’t hear it through the door. “What do you mean it’s not safe, Andre let me in.” you cry back, banging the side of a fist against the door, beating it loudly trying to persuade him to let you in. Probably not the most convincing manner.

- “GO! You’re not supposed to be here, m’gonna hurt you.” confusion could not even begin to explain what was going through your head, throat taut with fear, “Andre, I could give a fuck, I’m not leaving you like this.” He’s pleading in a sad rage, like a storm with no lightning, all thunder, “I don’t want t’hurt you, please, please just go.” You refuse, and say the same before you break the lock on the door then try and come in, not getting through until you back up and ram a shoulder into it once, twice, finally busting it on the third impact.

- he had warned you for good reason, and the yellow eyes that meet your gaze from a huddled, shadowed corner solidify that. “Should’ve run.” comes murky from him, his mouth moving oddly and you realize with horror he’s not in his regular body. It’s a larger, hulking form of shaggy fur in muted brown and chestnut hues, dusted with black and grey into a slurry of fur. A fucking wolfman was not on your list. “Werewolf?”

- “Yeah.”

- “Considering our jobs — this isn’t all too horrifying.” He bares his teeth, canines glinting, “I take that back — somewhat.” Andre chuckles, darker but remains curled in on himself in the corner of the room, staying far away from you. “Why am I not supposed to be here sugar?” You ask softly, stepping hesitantly further into the room and eyeing him warily, unsure about the entirety of this situation and wishing Elliot fucking Mothman had better-prepped staff for other forms of cryptids.

- “‘cause I’ll fuck y’ and I won’t stop.” He growls out, nails digging into knees bare of clothing and covered in fur, “not safe f’you, I could hurt you.” He doesn’t meet your eyes this time, eyes turned away and trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner, wanting to keep you at bay before his senses and instincts took over and took you. Andre doesn’t see you, but he feels you in the room. The way you smell and he puffs of breath, the thud of your heart.

- so he immediately clocks the second your pulse races at his words and how your heart flutters, along with your cunt. Andres eyes snap back to you just in time to see a shy but sensual smile on your lips. “What if I want you to hurt me?” Is what he hears from your lips, and he forces himself to sit still, ignore the erection against his thigh and the urge to fuck you until your womb got stuffed to the brim and he got you knocked up. “You better mean that.”

- “oh,” you strip yourself of your shirt and other clothes swiftly, like a subtle strip tease but far smoother and graceful than anticipated, “I mean it. Show me how much you love me sugar, I can take it.” You walk over to the bed on the other side of the room, curling up against the pillows and grin, spreading your legs and exposing the entirety of yourself, eager to mark off this box on your sexlist checklist. “Fucking better.” Is what Andre responds with, rising slowly and missing the tall ceiling by merely a foot, taking his gangly form towards the bed and closing his eyes, sniffing visibly and having his body falter, your scent encompassing any logic he had left.

- “look at that,” he chitters, teeth making his grin a bit more daunting, “already spread for me. Cute. Now turn around.” Andre orders, lurking before the bed as you shift, resting on your folded forearms and raising your ass in the air. “Good,” he praises, a hand grazing your arched waist while he settles behind you, “couldn’t follow orders earlier, but that’s just because you were worried, hm? Going to be good f’me now. I know it.” Andre settles himself on his knees behind you, arms planted on either side of your torso and he leans atop you, breath fanning your ear as he teases you, makes the eager nerves alight as goosebumps trail across your bare, vulnerable form.

- “gonna’ let me fuck you? Let me bury my cock in your pretty cunt over and over until there’s nothing left in you but me?” He muses, erection tapping at your ass and feeling much heavier than what you’re used to. You hum, trusting him to take care of you and fuck you right. “Mhm, let you stuff me like a fuckin’ brood mare, now please, c’mon and fuck me Andre.” He swats your ass with his hand, watching the fat of it jiggle and your waist bend high, “don’t have to tell me twice.”

- You bite back a few comments the second he brushes his flared, sloped cockhead into the opening of your cunt, the tip alone bringing a stretch of pain. Burying your head in the pillows around your forearms, you mewl and whimper aloud tossing both your head and your ass back. Andre’s one hand is beside your torso to plant himself while the other is on your hip, guiding your hips back towards him so he can slowly enter and sink his cock into you. "Atta' babe" he croons, breath fanning across your back in a way that makes your spine tingle.

- He lets out a whine that huffs hot air across your spine, sinking in his cock as much as your cunt can fit, several inches still untended to between where the two of you meet. His balls brush your clit when he bottoms out, and he stills, Andre's restless lungs beating his chest into your back and you can feel him through and through. "Fuck, tight little cunt, gonna' fucking break it." Andre groans low and heady as he begins to rock back and forth, in a humping motion that sends his balls smacking into your clit with little pats, making you grateful a hand now plays underside and holds your belly while the other holds him up, your body on the precipice of collapse with the angle, the feeling, all of it.

- "fucking stuff me," you blurt, pathetically trying to rock your hips back into his and you cry out each time, bulbous cockhead nudging your cervix with each shift, feeling him in your guts, "breed me full, knock me up." These were words you had used previously during sex with him, the concept not being new, only to the situation at hand. With Andre being fueled by rampant urges and instincts, barely holding on, your words were like an on-switch that sends him immediately pressing you into the bed and snapping his hips roughly, snarling. into the skin of your neck like he's on a mission, and in a way, he is. Meant to mate.

- "ah, oh fuck, Andre." you keep crying out his name between crying out incoherencies, encompassed by the way he absolutely fucked the breath from your lungs, knocking everything out of you and then drawing it back in just as he slots in, and out of your drenched, dripping cunt, slick now sprawling from his dick and balls, your thighs, to the torn and tossed sheets beneath. There's a fleeting, barely conscious thought of now knowing why sex was called the beast with two backs, the words of Othello never even a full thought as you get plowed from behind.

- oh yeah, you were never going to leave him to deal with a full moon alone, not if this is what your good deeds and diligence get you - being bent over like a broodmare and fucked like it's a need to survive, to breathe. You are livin' good.

- "taking me so damn well, gonna' pump you full, fill you over and over until others no space inside that I haven't covered." he rambles, hurried and frenzied and deep in pitch, snapping his hips rapidly as the sound of skin slapping melts into a blur with the heavy pants and breaths, the snarls and moans and groans the two of you let out, animalistic and primal, fucking elite and top tier in your honest, raw-dogged opinion. "Gonna' give you a child, claim this fucking pussy, all of it, s'all mine."

- You groan out, burying your head in your forearms and feeling his weight atop you, the way he keeps bullying his giant dick into you and fucking you apart, working you like dough in the way he works you over. "Like that? Like me marking you up, being Andre's breeding bitch?" he snarls, sounding so potent in your ear where his head hovers, splayed across your back while his hips do the work.

-"Just feel that," he murmurs, hand pressing into the fat of your belly to press against where he thrusts into you, making you squeal into the pillows as he shows off, his demeanor so contrasting than how he usually is, even in a raging fuck, "gonna' fill you to the brim, baby, already stretching you wide. Belly full of me."

- "God, please — fuck," you're babbling, fucked out and quote literally drooling upon your forearms and the pillows holding your head up, as backing into his thrusts and mewling with the brush of his balls against your clit, everything wet and sloppy, "wanna' be bred, wanna' be yours — I wanna' be yours." Andre lets out snarling laughs, darker than abyssal skies, into your shoulder blades which he litters with nips and bites of sharp teeth, little pinpricks adding to the utter euphoria of getting absolutely pounded.

- "gonna cum, arent'ya?" he drawls, leaning to huff through his nose near your ear and you smell him, sex and musk and earthy amber, you wanna drown in it. "Go on, soak this cock so I can fuck you stupid." It takes a few thrusts later, but you do and you absolutely blackout, the world turning into a white canvas that slowly lifts as you feel Andre fucking into you, pace hurried and faltering as he babbles rapidly, stitching together curses and praise like an ornamental garland.

- Cum is absolutely pouring at that point, rivulets stuck in smears across your ass and thighs, drenching his balls and making them smack wetly against the mouth of your cunt. He's come already at least twice by the load of it and is working on a third orgasm that makes your ass ripple with the force behind his thrusts. "All mine, no one gets to see this, have this, my pretty mate." he's talking to just himself at this point, assuring insecurities while nearly fucking you through the mattress, hell it's a miracle the bedframe hasn't broken. Or the wall.

- You whimper and moan weakly, just taking it at this point because all you feel in your bones is the warmth of orgasmic bliss, full lethargy and no intent to move, feeling so sated and tender than you could simply pass away with a beaming, I just had sex grin that would out do anyone else's, besides Andre's. What plucks the strings of reality a bit is a moment his teeth latch onto your shoulder, marking rows of teeth into a bite marking you as his. He fucks you through it, coming with a shout of your name that is more of a gravelly howl than anything, cum literally flooding your cunt and dripping down everywhere, making a mess of everything.

- Andre's near whimpering, fucking into you weakly while his erection softens inside you, laying on top of your form before wrapping his arms around and having you both shift onto your sides, him spooning your considerably smaller form in his considerably sized state, completely enveloping you in his hold, warmth, and love, soothing your fucked-out and pumped-full state onto the precipice of slumber.

- "M'love you." he mutters into your neck, nuzzling against your pulse as his arms coil around your belly, ensuring you stay in his arms and snug around his dick, "love you too." is what you reply, sounding not like your own voice in the exhausted, airy lilt. It's the last thing you remember before being woken up in the morning to an apologetic and scruffy Andre, back to normal with a plate of breakfast in hand.

- "Andre, honey, we are definitely going to be doing that again."

Robotus Alpha-Beta: D E M O N

• songs: Devil’s Advocate - The Neighborhood or Have A Cigar - Pink Floyd

• fanart: by @olexxx right here

- you’re desperate, and tired of calling after things in the light and day that don’t answer. You now call out for and beg for something from the night, standing in the crossroads with a box of offerings in your hands and a plea so heavy on your tongue it weighs you down like an anchor to a boat, dividing the seas currents in cleaverlike strokes. Crying out into the night, screaming for an answer, yelling out that you’ve done the right things brought the right stuff, made the right calls, you’re frustrated and distressed in the middle of this night, clad in clothing that the wind whips around your form, slinky against your chest and thighs. You’re a vision of desperation in this witching hour, and who would he be to deny your broken-hearted, bargaining pleas?

- “mighty pathetic looking, aren’t you, pretty thing.” He strolls out from the tree line, hands in his pockets of the seersucker suit he wears, hiding his eyes in the shadows while he meanders his way over dirt path and dandelions, plants dying in the markers where his footprints lay. “Pray tell, what brings you to my spacious lay of the woods?” He drones, and you’re too consumed in your own ordeals to fully analyze his appearance and demeanor, ready to bargain and barter down to the bones should it go that far.

- “I just wanna’ deal. That’s all.” You start, laying the tin box down on the ground between the two of you where you stand in the clay dirt and ash of the crossroad, pitch black sans the one flickering, sad looking streetlamp. “What will you take for sparing someone’s life?” Is what comes from your lips next, and he’s almost surprised at the dedication you show in selflessness, musing to himself in the ongoing internal dialogue that you should get one of those flimsy gold stars.

- “Depends on a lot my dear,” the demon drawls, hands gesturing in a manner that reminds you of evangelical television preachers or cable game show hosts, “who am I curing and what ails your beloved patient?” He picks the dirt from his fingernails and you wish you pry out the nails from that tin box you got from a coffin, and force them one by one into his skull for his nonchalance, his disinterest in a deal that meant more than the world to you.

- “my friend, she’s sick. Cancer. I want her cured and for her to live a healthy life and die naturally of old age. What will you accept in exchange?” You’re direct, straight and to the point, shoulders squared and eyes flint and steel, fire flickering in the shards of your irises. Refusing to let him abuse a loophole, you’ve stressed every requirement and plan — ramming the nails in straight. “Straight to the point, I like that.” He drawls, crooked grin smarmy and slimy in the snake oil style, making you envision car dealerships and the price is right but shrouded in brimstone and fire. “The question isn’t what I’ll ask of you, but what you’re willing to offer, dear.”

- he claps his hands together, a MontBlanc pen appearing in his hand and a weathered paper, looking older than your entire bloodline in the way it looks like if the wind blew a fraction harsher, it’d disintegrate. “Alright pet, lay your offers on the table and I’ll see what I’ll accept — but remember,” the demon before you with sky blue eyes pauses, looking like a walking business advert with his suit and tie, shiny cufflinks and a glittering Patek Philippe watch, “no promises.”

- you bite back the myriad of things you’d like to say to this bastard in human flesh-trimmings, but you need your friend more than anything. She’s your world. You’d give your own up for her, and you plan to do exactly that. “My entire self —“ he raises his brows, lips splitting into an amused grin and attempts to interrupt, but you wave a hand and fix him a look, the don’t fuck with me while I’m talking stare, “for part of the week, for the rest of my natural, long and healthy life. You’ll get Tuesday through Thursday, and I will be free to do what I wish the remainder of the week, every week. Sans holidays which I get to myself.”

- he’s still smiling as if it’s within the job application but looks about as pained as if he’s suddenly contracted a bout of irritable bowel syndrome. “And you’re completely mine the entirety of those three days, the full 72 hours?” You nod, face as polished as stone, equally as cold and ungiving. Hes never encountered a wayward soul like yours. Intrigue mars his mind more that he’d care to admit, but it makes the results of bartering so much better. “We have a deal then.”

- he scrawls in loopy old fashioned cursive, slanted and sloped in a manner that reminds you of history class, and fills in the blanks of his document signing your life away to him. He flattens the paper, then signs it himself and hands it to you to sign as well. You spot the larger A and B initials, shortened to AB, but can’t make out the last name, only the large R and the mussed squiggles behind it. Doctorish scrawl, hasty and impatient.

- you sign your signature and life away, not regretting it the instant you get a series of texts from your friend, her energy and liveliness returning in an instant. You pocket your phone then get dragged forward by the elbows, calloused fingertips and softened palms cup your cheeks before drawing you into a fleeting kiss. He pulls away and before you can act, he vanishes in a cloud of ash and dust, the contract within your grip and an emptied tin box at your feet. A kiss to seal the deal.

- you don’t see him until the next week, spending your time with your loved ones and with your best friend, cherishing and relishing in how she’s safe and healthy again and she would always be. The chime of reality rings twelve times, the man appearing in a click of loafers against the tile floors outside your apartment and wraps of his knuckles against the front door, coming to collect you. You’re alone and have been, making sure to be in the comfort of solitude once your first day as a demon’s bitch begins. AB opens the door and strolls in, hands in the pockets of some pinstripe slacks and a chain dangling from near his hand to a slim pocket on his suit vest, thin white stripes against navy fabric making his already tall form elongate.

- the demon struts in with the casual air of devil-may-care, eyes like a cats in how they’re languid but attentive, drawing everything in and sitting until something interesting pulls his direct attention forth. “Quite a home you’ve got here, just you?” AB muses, sauntering with the air of a spoiled house cat. “Yes, just me, now can we get on with whatever you have entailed for my next 72 hours, the suspense Y’know, got me absolutely hooked.” You respond, end of your sentence dripping in sarcasm like a freshly immersed pen nib into an inkwell and equally as dark.

- “impatient too, aren’t you just a bag of tricks,” he muses, lulling and faux cadence in a demon's silver tongue taste, “all in due time. Best to wait and see you squirm.” AB stands before a bookcase, fingertips tapping along spines of books then dusting over a picture frame with your friend, weary Polaroids paling in comparison to this snapshot of her and you several years ago, faces lit in the warmth of lanterns in summer sunset. He holds it longer than he’d deem appropriate, and he doesn’t seem to care or know why.

- “are you always this articulate or does it come with the Armani suit?” You snap, knee bouncing as you sit on the couch, lips chapped from how frequently you’ve gnawed on them in your nervous state, wanting to lose your sanity but unfortunately finding yourself incredibly lucid and stable. Against all odds. “Naturally, pretty thing, some creatures possess decorum and manners — I see you speak from inexperience.” He teases, setting the frame down and wiping his hands on his slacks, adjusting the cufflinks that glitter with initials laid in obsidian and platinum.

- He continues speaking, giving you no opening once more to speak or further deride the demon before you, meandering about your home as if he was not just showing the place, but was trying to sell it as a realtor and making the process as painfully personal as possible. "Do you have a tendency to get squeamish or easily frightened?" "I doubt it, due to how there's a demon I'm casually conversing with, so I'm going to have to say no."

- He chuckles darkly, and you see a glimmer in those glacier eyes of something far colder, and you mark it down for later. "Clever, but such a costly trait. Mind your tongue." You sit and take it in stride, having been braced for an overgrown petulant toddler playing around in daddy's suits. "Since you're being so patient," he mocks, he rolls his sleeves to the forearms after shucking off his jacket and snapping it away in a move that makes you think of hammerspace, "we'll get started. You are to shadow me as I go about dealing. Mind your tongue, presence, and entire demeanor. You are here to help me, gain insight on a modern human mind and soul, not to aid anyone but me due to how I control something far greater than your own life."

- He doesn't hesitate to gut you in the way you've been hung out to dry, hollowed like a side of beef swinging from a hook in a walk-in freezer, dripping onto a frozen floor in tandem with your bravado slipping. AB glances over your expression and smiles, childish and juvenile in a charming, redeemable fratboy sort of way. "Alrighty, now let's get you started."

- and with a snap of his fingers, the two of you began the first day of deals. It flew by, as they all would, you watching from the sidelines or removed from sight to watch as a deal went down. You could clock the bastards who were overly cocky, thinking they could outsmart someone so much older than them it was like the universe looking upon Earth's moon. Planet to sand grains. Pathetic - no match.

- the souls would fade one by one and you would spend your hours prior to the deal observing them from the outskirts in strangers behaviors, deception now a part of your ensemble in equal to your rings or shirt. "Did you observe me before we struck my deal?" you had asked later on in the duration of your servitude, roughly a year into your partial work weeks under the eye and lens of the demon. He laughed, a chiding yet lilting sound that resembled when storm clouds rumbled when the sun still shone, "Oh absolutely I did, my dear, quite entertaining and almost heartwrenching the way you went about your plans. Absolutely precious."

- AB speaks over his cocktail, Pappy Van Winkle bourbon dark and syrupy in the basin of his Waterford crystal glass, sliding about the thick ice cube like molasses, "I will say you have been the most entertaining of my companions in a long time." The way he says it lingers and you assume it's longer than you could perceive, centuries being seconds to the being beside you. It is a fleeting moment of wistfulness before he clocks his newest wayward soul and stalks forward, running a hand through his hair and barely messing his strands up, the greying streaks in his auburn hair falling upon his forehead like a staged motion, queued up to go for a movie scene.

- You tried not to watch more than you needed to when having to help him with his deals, but this time in the low light of a seedy corner alley bar, he glittered like the cufflinks he always wore. Dark obsidian and platinum, simple yet something so potent about it resembled him. If you hadn't sold your life away to the entity, he'd resemble a side character from American Psycho, far too charming to make it into the main role. It was harder to hate him than how he looked, the manner in which you dealt your days away gave you your friend back and a more stable life, albeit the hellish tasks.

- You didn't quite care for how much you cared for him, why you get enamored with him and all that he encompassed. It was disastrous and bordering a Stockholm syndrome, or at least that's what you told yourself when indulging in ice cream and childhood movies. What worsened your situation was an event that occurred in your off hours, out with friends and enjoying yourself in a night of freedom and levity. It went wrong, as you assumed it could, but had not expected the situation to unfold as it had nor the end result to your night.

- "I still don't understand, you crushing on your boss? Understandable, not doing shit about it, perplexes the fuck outta' me." Rory, a friend from high school mentions and brought a series of laughs from your booth at the club. "It's improper-" You're suddenly cut off. "Since when did you ever give a shit about proper?" another friend chimes in, and you sigh before downing the remnants of the drink before you. You get up, go to the bar to get a drink and avoid the terrible topic along with trying to escape the environment altogether. It's not your scene, too loud and overwhelming. It gets even worse after the initial sips of your drink when the world turns hazy and you don't know where you're going, nor whos leading you away.

- "Move them this way, out of the light - there, I told you no one was going to find us here." one of the two figures surrounding your hazy, barely conscious form voices, the other laughing along as they work at your shirt before a dark laugh comes from the opening of the alley, and a glint of polished silver meets the glare of a streetlamp. Its something out of a noir film but you're relieved when you hear his voice, trying to sit up and failing. His name falls from your lips, faint and sad sounding, and his glacier eyes melt away into a darkness never seen before even in the furthest of depths within the oceans.

- It takes no time for him to dispatch the two who had drugged you, the rage pouring off of him in waves you can almost see, even in your bleary state. It's as if someone coated your brain in a fog and dipped it in some liquid nitrogen. "Oh, pretty thing, what have they done to you." is what he says when he crouches near your form, bloodstained but almost holy, a savior without wings. You try and answer but he shushes you, lifting you into his arms securely with the strength beneath his tall, barrel-chested form. The two of you dissipate from the alley and leave behind blood trails no one will find, bodies gone as well to languish on hooks in rings of hellfire AB will personally see to.

- The next thing you recall after being saved up in his arms is waking in a bed far too luxurious to be your own, and enveloped in silky sheets and even silkier pajamas, deep navy blue wrapped around your form so comfortably you just snuggle back into the pillows before you fully wake to reality with a start, remembering what almost happened and sitting up, flying out of bed and wandering out to figure out where the fuck you were.

- "there you are, dear, feeling okay?" is what greats you, AB sitting at a couch reading from a book that once again looks more ancient than your entire bloodline, genuine concern feeding into his expression and making you blink, sleep still laden in your heavy eyelids begging you to go back to sleep. "You saved me." he shrugs off your comment, rising to meet your form in the doorway and taking you by the shoulders, trying to turn you around back into the bed you left. "Go on to bed, I'll bring you something-" he fixes you a look, "its an order, go rest. Your loved ones know you're safe and sound. Now, bed."

- You fall back asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow, and the next time you wake there's a change of clothes on a chair near the bed, a plate of food on the nightstand, and a pitcher of water with clean glasses readily available. In no rush, you take your time eating and then getting ready before padding barefoot out into the home you find yourself in, spotting AB finally in a kitchen you'd drool over in an issue of Architectural Digest. "There you are, rested?" you nod, cupping your glass of water in your hands and seating yourself down at a barstool beside the kitchen island, glancing around at the sprawling chef's kitchen, "they've been taken care of." AB trails off, in a casual button-down and slacks, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed over his chest, taking a second before he looks over at you with steely, ice eyes.

- "No harm will ever come to you." your brows furrow at that, wondering why he would care so much about a person he literally owns. You voice it out loud and he guffaws, looking at you incredulously as if the answer was always there, and in a way, it had been. "Dear, you're mine. Contract bound and now, by design. No one ever lays a hand on you let alone exists a second afterwards." The glass in your hand is set down and you lean back in your chair, staring at him and wondering if the entirety of the past months of partnership you were not the lone one pining. He validates it when he approaches and falters, warming once you breach the gap and take his hand into your smaller one.

- You finally break, grasping for him and hugging him close as his bulkier form bends to hold you, knees bent in order to acclimate to your seated position. He rubs your back as you shudder and shake, warm broad hands soothing you down and facing you until he kneels and looks up at you. "I promise you, you're safe." and you want to say you believe him, but you still don't feel it, just take his hand off your knee and imbed it into your heart so he can feel how it beats, how the fear creeps into your lungs like an infection. there's no need, for he cups your cheek and tilts your chin to meet his gaze. Then it's over.

- the waiting ends, and he kisses you, tender and delicate and something so utterly unlike him that it takes you aback, almost slack-jawed for a millisecond before you realize it's him kissing you and you relish in it, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him closer until he's caged you in, safe from harm. He groans, and you part your legs at the sound, letting him fully press against you in the chair and wrap around you. "My pretty thing." AB groans against your lips, and you whimper at the sound of it so broken on his tongue, so different than the calculated and meticulous tone he took.

- "Prove it" is what flies from your lips as you bite his, feeling him grin darkly against your mouth as he lifts you into his, different from the bridal carry form the other night with how he hefts a handful of your ass into his palms while your legs wrap around his waist while he carries you into the other room. "Gladly." is whispered once he deposits you into a lavish dark bed, his own, and strips himself of his shirt and bares a chest scattered in auburn hair matching in grey streaks like his head, making you wonder about what lies lower.

- He doesn't make you wait long, and he strips himself of his boxers and pants, planting himself above you and grinning at how you observe his body and movements, letting you gasp in surprise once he lets a shudder roll through and some red markings reveal themselves, cuffs and bands of red marks paired with inscriptions of languages so old they outdated writing itself. You trace a few as he undresses you, mouth over them lavishly and kiss them tenderly, trying to show and give all the love you can to make up for what he's missed.

- "Never going to let anyone touch you," he murmurs, breathless against your skin as if he's the one rendered weak before you, "only mine, m'all yours. Gonna' keep you safe and sound." AB's wrecked already and he's hardly touched you let alone himself, the evidence leaking and resting heavily upon your now bare thigh. You feel not just safe and content, but powerful and hungry, greedy for what lies within arms reach. You get granted a freedom in his presence finally, and you take every step in stride.

- "All mine," purrs your voice in his ear, tugging on auburn locks and feeling your body thrum like musical cords when he groans low and deep, reverberating from a barrel chest that covers your form, "going to make me feel good? Treat me right, make a mess of me? Show me just how much you actually care and that I'll always be yours? Go ahead, AB, give me your all."

- "All?" he growls darkly against the column of your throat, nearly snarling if it wasn't for the pleased smirk present with teeth with slight points, "oh dearest, ask for more, don't you know I'd give you everything?" he murmurs low stripping you fully bare and letting rough and calloused palms from another lifetime's work wander your body, mapping out your skin like a cartographer. At that moment the words were euphoric enough, but his hips grinding against yours until he slotted against your weeping cunt was the emphasis to your already wavering body, the final blow to your grip on reality. Oh, what a plunge it was.

- AB rocks against you, forehead knelt down against your collarbone in a piousness akin to prayer and nudges his swollen cock against your cunt, hips grinding once, twice, before he slides into you and fills you. It's a stretch that makes you cry out, nails embedded in his skin near his markings as you whimper and cry out his name. Your chest squirms and your hips remain stilled, his broad hands encompassing your hips as he does so. With his head against your shoulder, he gets to see himself disappear into your slick-soaked pussy, and the sight is too moving for his eyes to handle. Thumbs bruise your hipbones while he stills then asks you questions he repeats several times before you process them, already hazy and fucked out and he hadn't even actually fucked you yet.

- "May I move?" your body reacted before you could even form a response, legs shifting so you can take him in deeper and fuck up back onto him, nearly squealing out as you feel him absolutely stuff your cunt, walls clenching and sending the both of you into a hurried frenzy. "There's your answer." you bite, literally and figuratively as your teeth sink into his ear. His hips stutter and you smirk, so proud of yourself before locking your legs and rolling him beneath you, still seated on his cock but now residing on top, beaming down at him with your hands planted on his marked, hair-covered chest.

- You don't even warn him before you slam your hips down, relishing in how he jolts and buckles, eyes shutting then opening back up, so torn between the feel of you and how you look, an angel of his own making seated above him and using him like a throne, getting yourself off and being nothing short of resplendent. AB thrusts his hips up to meet your grinds and ministrations, one hand splayed across your ribcage while the other snakes down to rub at your clit, beaming with pride when he feels you shudder and falter.

- "You're so pretty." comes broken from the demon beneath you, reduced to merely a man with the way you use him, treat him, love him and fuck him all at once, centuries worth of longing packed away emerging forth into glacier eyes now as warm as spring skies, and the look he gives you sends you over the edge as a crushing blow. He catches you, sitting up and wrapping his arms around you as the orgasmic, earth-shattering waves take you under. He anchors you, falteringly weak thrusts getting him to where you are in seconds, cumming and stuffing you full with a cracking groan against your heated flesh.

- He holds you, sitting upright with his arms wound around your torso and holding tight, hands splayed across your back and side as your head nestles into the crook of his, nose at his pulse and smelling hints of rosemary and bergamot and ash, and you burrow closer, wanting to sink into him like bed, he's more comforting than down comforters and pillows anyhow. It takes a while before the witness behind your eyes fades, his humming being what plucks you forth from an orgasmic abyss and you smile against his skin, soaking up the silence and him breaking it.

- "About that contract-" you joke, and AB laughs breathlessly before turning to you with a devious smirk, hands wandering and eliciting a squeaking moan from your lips, "I think I'd be open to renogiation." he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth before your lips meet his and he hums, licking into your mouth and staking claim to it just as he had you.

Magic Myc: Z O M B I E

• song: Under My Skin - Jukebox The Ghost

- You'd been there when Myc's dead body got carted in. There were more people making jokes, cruelly grateful for his absence compared to the small group that actually missed him, and mourned him. And you were one of the very few who loved him enough to grieve his loss in such a manner it would even overpower the longing of the moon should it ever lose the sun and stars.

- He wasn't everyone's taste, hell, he was barely your taste. But you still loved him anyway and trying to work, eat, and live without him got harder and harder since he got eradicated from your life as swiftly as one strikes down a cleaver against a cutting board, final, irreversible. Permanent.

- You had thankfully been granted leave, getting enough pitying looks to send you to the comforts of home only to realize that home made it worse. All his things were there, little knickknacks and gag gifts Myc had gathered over the years, polaroids taped to the walls with glimpses of misadventures. One that gutted you the most was a picture of you, Andre, and Myc, the two of you smiling wide while Myc lifted the two of you up for the picture, all flipping off the camera and laughing like hyenas.

- Andre had been a rock of support, the two of you leaning on each other to cope and work through the loss, not knowing how to handle the loss, Andre losing a best friend and you losing a lover. It crushed you, the chasm of grief and depression consuming you whole, entangling your ankles and dragging you down in the depths like being snared in a siren's trap.

- the point where you broke down wholly and entirely, letting out ugly cries with the snot and tear tracks, getting puffy with reddened eyes in the freedom of your home. A formerly shared home is now all yours. The brownstone mocked you, once an inviting and fun space now too bright and whimsical to be fitting for one mourning a lover. A friend. A soulmate.

- in the midst of your breakdown and rattling full-body tremors, you don't hear the back door locks slowly turn one by one, the keys only belonging to one person, long dead. You don't hear something entering your home and locking back up, in the perfectly redundant routine that belonged to an everyday pattern. You don't hear Myc return into your life because you're too busy crying about him leaving it.

- "I leave for five seconds and you've already gone batshit - damn and I thought I had problems" his voice startles you, making you nearly fall off of the couch when you whip your head around to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in disbelief. "You're not real." is the first thing you utter, terrified to move in case the illusion your grief-wracked mind conjured would dissipate and vanish, leaving you alone in your loss and the empty house, pathetic and sad enough to best a wet kitten.

- "You'd think that, but here I am, alive and unwell." Myc responds, sarcasm prominent but still an underlying fond tone only belonging to him comes out. It's rougher, dirtier almost in a backroad gravel kind of way like his vocal cords got tossed through a concrete mixer. "Gonna' say hello or what?" he teases, gesturing with a tendril or two and extending them, wanting a hug from his favorite person. You practically leap over the back of the couch in an effort to reach him, launching yourself into his body and nestling your head on the underside of the mushroom cap, feeling fanning gills brush the top of your head in addition to the bulbous partial veil that glows and humms against your head.

- He still smells like earth and musk, pollen and petals. and weed, and you've never been more relieved to smell the absolutely pungent aroma of weed in your life, laughing while you cry into where his neck would be. "You think I would just ditch you? No way, stuck with me for the rest of your little life, shitheel." Myc mutters, bumping your nose tenderly with a blunt nudge of a tendril, making your nose scrunch and a smile appear on your puffy, crying face.

- "wait, how are you even here?" you ask, leaning your head back enough to look at him in the dim light of your home, shadows cast over his form and hiding the majority of it sans little segments and divots of bioluminescence and ornate patterns. "You died Myc, how in the fuck are you even alive?"

- he doesn't immediately answer, and you step back to pace with a hand running down your face, immediately ranting and getting wrapped up in the concept of Cognito Inc. doing another stupid and silly science project without considering ramifications and wondering just how this will blow up once more when it concerns the love of your life, Myc.

- when he's remained silent, not saying a word in the midst of your rant about Reagan and how she's got to stop playing god, you realize he hasn't said a word and turn to find him standing very still and looking down to his tentacles as if in deep thought. Worrying, consuming, deep thought.

- "I-," he starts, moving to turn in your direction, almost looking past you, or through you, making your anger fade as concern takes over, "I don't know."

- You haven't been this worried in a long, long time. "Honey, what do you mean you don't know?" Your concern multiplies, swarming nervous moths within the cage of a chest you have, fluttering in your ribcage and making your bones itch. "Myc, do you remember getting here?".

- the uncharacteristic silence speaks enough volumes to have filled a home library, making you send a few hurried texts to the gang group chat and ignoring the silly contact names in lieu of finding a solution to this as fast as possible and trying to keep Myc stable. You turn and flick a lamp on, unable to find reason in the darkness, and barely stop the scream that almost fled your throat.

- "I just wanted to see you, I don't know how I got here-" he pauses, unaware of the terror in your eyes and the tears welling along the seams of your lower lids, threatening to overflow with the sight of him, "I just wanted you."

- You wish you were crying for other reasons beyond the sight of him, maybe even some happy tears with how he came to you because he loves you, dragged his undead self all the way to your backdoor to you.

- You cry instead at the state of him, the chunks of flesh and tissue missing, the greenish ghastly hue to his surface, tears and gouges in places where his body's mass would fill. He is dead. undead technically, and in your shared home's living room sounding close to tears himself with how confused he sounds and you're just about to break down at how butchered he looks. He is yours, and he was supposed to be fine always. Why did this happen, and why to your Myc.

- He says your name, and it is so broken it doesn't suit him. Myc's a jovial, mocking asshole that makes you feel loved, even with pet names accompanied by curse words and expletives. You respond to a few more texts and enlist the help of Reagan and ask Andre and him to come immediately. You barely have the energy to continue standing, so you absolutely don't have the strength to deal with this alone.

- You gather him close, sitting the two of you down on the couch and just try and breathe, sit there with each other and pretend things will all be okay and wait in the meantime for Reagan and Andre to appear in order to get some ideas going on what to do or how to go about this entire situation, the others on standby and there for support should you need it. You've never been more thankful for the friends you have.

- "M'not going to leave you." Myc says, determination steady within his now weathered voice, as if it was skinned and tanned like an animal hide in the sun, "I don't wanna' go." Your hands grip him tighter as your fingertips trace over patterns and textures on his surface, humming a note against the light within his partial veil beneath the cap.

- "Nothing could take me from you, and I won't let anything take you from me either." is what you choose to comfort him with, knowing that humor was a strong suit and that comedy wasn't something to include just yet, reality to raw to disinfect with the sting of punchlines.

- Andre and Reagan soon arrive, disbelief covering their features the instant they enter the door and a litany of questions follow with Andre's tears as he and Myc hug, bubbly watery giggles erupting forth from both him and you at the relief. Reagan pokes and prods, then takes notes from what you could tell, and remains as confused as you are.

- after a while and many frustrating moments, the two leave back to their respective lives. Andre promises to come the next day and Reagan plans to run tests bright and early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the night is yours with him and the two of you alone. You try and make the best of it by familiarizing yourself with the way it felt to be enveloped with Myc, to feel those tendrils around your frame holding you close.

- and as with all things with Myc, it turned sexual suddenly and rapidly, making you appreciate his ease in removing you from a current situation with his attention, touch, and care. A gift tethered in mycelial networks and fungi.

- the two of you don't even make it to the bedroom, Myc being so eager to have you in any which way, he fucks you on the floor against the plush living room carpet, letting you know how thankful he is for your precious ass in his life (both literally and figuratively) as he fucks you to delirium.

- next thing you know, you have his voice in your ear while two tendrils splay your bare thighs open, tentacles notched in the crook of your knee and thigh as he pumps the tips of three appendages in and out of you, commenting and praising you for how slick you are and how welcoming your cunt is to him, like a homecoming once your greedy pussy sucks him in like even your spongy inner walls missed him.

- "god you're so fucking wet, all for me right? getting all gushy and messy for me only." his words hit just the right buttons, perched and murmured right beside your ear as he thrums, twisting the tips of his appendages within you and barely showing signs of him being affected. The two little tendrils that have collected droplets of slick tease and prod at your ass, occasionally breaching the tight ring of muscle and allowing Myc the pleasure of hearing that broken, higher pitched cry you moaned out with his name on your tongue, grinding into his ministrations and begging for more.

- "mhmm, all for you Mikey," you moan softly, brokenly, in a way so soft it competes against battered butterfly wings, "all yours, always yours, even m'pussy." He laughs, fucking you harder at that like a reward, groaning happily and letting the waves of pleasure spread rather than him holding back and halting his own enjoyment. Now he can fuck you.

- “damn fucking straight.” He curses, fucking you with earnest while he sits behind you, feeling flush and warm while he feels you tense and clench around him. Then follow suit once he breaches your ass, fucking into you shallowly and slowly there, easing himself in and loving the way your jaw falls slack and your hips seem to have a mind of their own. You prop your feet at an angle and use it to better fuck yourself on the makeshift cock and tendrils of Myc’s appendages, loving how you felt him in both holes and stuffed full, practically gushing around him and soaking the couch cushion beneath the two of you.

- good thing they’re washable.

-“all mine, always gonna’ be mine.” He mutters, movements stuttering as he nears orgasm but tries to hold out, “my baby gonna’ let me stuff them full? Until it leaks, hm?” You nod, voicing a yes against the skin of his closest to you and cry out once his tendrils brush at your cervix as you grind down and thrust back and forth against him.

- “please Myc, wanna’ cum, want your cum, want you to make me feel good.” You drawl in a plead, hands smoothing over him beneath you and sliding up and down his cock, reaching a hand to play with your clit until he smacks it away and replaces it with an appendage and shakily strokes and he gets closer to cumming. He shakes beneath you, Myc shuddering and stuttering once he voices his nearing euphoria.

- he cums, flooding your cunt and having it spill forth, pollock-like flecks of cum splattering your inner thighs and allowing you to slide better and take him in, cumming shortly after with a scream of his name and an orgasm that lasted nearly a solid minute, senses gone and world as white as fresh snowfall.

- there’s silence for a moment, your back resting against his front, tendrils not still inside you caressing and tending to your sweaty, tired body. “Hey, hon?” He draws you out of your reverie to turn to look at him, “pretty good for a dead man.”

- “fuck off, dear god.”

- Myc cackles and leans back into the couch cushions and pillows, and the joy that thrums in your heart soothes the ache of his death, loving him in any state, even when he’s being a little shit.

—Happy Halloween—

Tags: @cognitosclowns @radioactivebowtie @mollicutes @carnalcringe @bluebaronness @flyingspicerack

1K notes · View notes

catt-leya · 1 year

Text

07/05

rick grimes x fem!reader

warnings: angsty (reader getting stabbed), blood, handjob, age gap, dirty talk, crying Rick and smutty stuff

💗 This fic is a second part but it's not "necessary" to know the first one. That's why it's called Thoughts and not mainly Dirty Pt.2 (together it would be Dirty Thoughts hihi)💗

request, part I

Before you can even say a word, you notice how he closes up again. You notice him stiffening between your legs before he takes a big step backwards.

Without his body heat, the room is far too cold and you stare at him with huge eyes, "Rick?"

Stripped bare, you sit in front of him and ice chills run down his spine.

Fucking hell, he can't bring himself to do that.

Fucking you is one thing, admittedly completely morally reprehensible, but still explainable. But falling in love with you a completely different.

An old guy who likes to be in a 22 year old pussy is sick, but maybe still understandable.

But loving a 22 year old completely inappropriate.

He shouldn't have done that. He's the older one and should have brought you to your senses and not given in to your first touch.

You would never let a guy like him screw you if you had a choice.

He's sure of that.

And now he's standing here, staring at his cum slowly dripping out of you, knowing he's going to hell for this.

Rick takes another step back and he feels like he hit you.

Like he rammed his fist right into your face.

He bends over and yanks his pants up over his ass like the little room is on fire.

Almost in a panic, he yanks the door open behind him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in the room.

Alone.

The feeling of being abandoned in this way is beyond description.

For a few minutes you are not even able to move an inch.

Stunned, you sit there thinking about what just happened.

Sure, you kind of seduced him, but he wanted you.

Again and again his words flit through your mind and you wonder at what point he had decided to leave you lying there like a piece of used meat.

"Spread your legs for me."

"That's good. Your pussy is so wet and all this just for me."

"I want you to cum on my cock. That's why I stopped."

"Do you realize how deep I am inside you. I'd love to stay right there forever."

Tears well up in your eyes.

It's not like you were expecting a declaration of love or anything like that. You're sure that for Rick, it was nothing more than physical attraction that led him to fuck you in the end.

But you expected a modicum of respect.

At least to be treated with respect to the extent that he doesn't run away from you while his cum is still leaking out of you and you're sitting trembling in front of him.

Slowly, you stand on your feet and reach for your clothes.

You move as if in a trance and as you open the door and blink, looking into the sun, the only evidence that the whole thing with Rick really happened is your sticky legs.

Used and discarded.

That's how you feel and that feeling isn't going away anytime soon, especially since you really like Rick.

Yes, crushing on him.

Two weeks go by in which you hardly get to see Rick.

In which he avoids you at every opportunity.

If anyone around you notices, no one brings it up and you don't say a word about it either.

It's weird because you guys have always been relatively close and now he can't even look at you.

You should be mad and wish him the worst, but every time you catch a glimpse of his dark curls, your heart stops for a brief moment and you have to restrain yourself from running after him.

Even now, you scan the place for him, even though you should already be sitting in the car next to Glenn.

From the second floor window of the jail, Rick watches you walk around the car and get in on the passenger side.

One last time, you lift your head and look straight up at him.

It's as if you've felt his gaze on you.

Hectically, he takes a step back and leans his back against the wall.

With closed eyes he stands there and doesn't get your gorgeous face out of his eyes.

Your face that was still beautiful even when you looked at him with tears in your eyes as he forcibly pulled up his pants.

If he was a good man, he would tell you the truth.

Oh fuck, if he was a good man, he wouldn't have fucked you in the first place.

But he's scared, way too scared of what might happen and some stupid part in his heart might have that little bit of hope that you might want him as much as he wants you.

He's acting ridiculous and he knows it, but he's not a good man.

As planned, you and your people search the small abandoned town you just discovered the other day and find a surprising amount of stuff, considering the town was looted long ago.

You wander from house to house and in a small room overlooking the surrounding forest you stop.

The house is gorgeous and you can imagine how a small family must have lived in this pretty place.

Maybe they are still alive too, who knows.

You run the flat of your hand over the dusty windowsill and stare at the little specks of dust that you swirl into the air, not noticing at all that you are no longer alone in the house.

Your people are a few houses away and you have remained alone in the house, as you assumed, but when you suddenly hear strange voices downstairs, you flinch.

You quickly look around.

You can't get out of the window without breaking every bone in your body, and the only other way out is blocked by the people downstairs.

So it's a choice between broken bones and possible direct death.

You choose the broken bones.

As quietly as you can, you pry open the window and hear a deep male voice from below, "I'll check upstairs."

Now you're getting frantic, you may only have a few seconds before the guy comes up the stairs and looks straight into the room where you're standing.

You shoulder your backpack and there's the guy standing in the room, "Hey, guys. Here's a chick."

He wants to reach for you, but you're already hanging on the other side of the window with one leg.

But before you can swing the other leg to the other side as well, he grabs your lower leg and you stagger your upper body further out the window.

Pure will to survive shoots through your veins as he hisses, "Come on, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."

You kick at him, not caring that you'd land head first on the ground, but the guy doesn't let go and pulls a knife from his pants with his free hand.

You scream out as a second guy appears in the room and you kick again.

You're lucky he lets go of you this time, but with his other hand, he tries to grab you again and rams the knife into your thigh.

Blood splatters your face and the guy's hand slips off.

You don't even have the chance to scream, because you already fall.

You are lucky that you landed in a bush and only got a few scratches from the fall.

Limping you get up and hear the men shouting something, you run as fast as you can in the direction of your companions.

The fall has ripped the knife out of your thigh and now the blood is running unhindered down your leg, praying that the guy didn't nick any major artery.

You're not fast, but fast enough to reach your group and you gasp, "Another group...two men...knife."

Arm dragging, the others pull you to your car and all you hear is, "It's going to be okay," before you black out.

Rick is helping with the new posts for the fence when he sees your car.

Even from a distance he can see that something is wrong.

You're speeding toward the fence way too fast.

"Maggie! Open the gate!", Rick's voice echoes across the yard and Maggie, standing closest to the gate, does as he asks.

With screeching tires, the car comes to a stop and the driver gets out, panicked and covered in blood.

Immediately Rick thinks the worst, "What happened? Where is she?"

'She' could have been anyone, but everyone knows who Rick means.

The door to the back seat opens and Rick hears your faint voice, "I'm fine. I just need to get some sleep."

The whole car smells of the iron in your blood and in his whole life he has never had such a panic as the moment he gets to see your pale face.

Immediately he pushes everyone aside and somehow squeezes his big body into the car without hurting you.

"Baby?", pure panic drips from that single word and you smile weakly at him, "Oh, so I have to be stabbed first for you to talk to me again?"

You lazily close your eyes and immediately his rough hand is on your cheek, "Don't fall asleep, yes? You have to stay awake."

"I'm so tired though," you don't even realize how weak your voice is, but Rick is almost cracking up, "Baby, look at me. I know you're tired, but please look at me."

It's exhausting to keep your eyes open, but you oblige, whereupon he reaches under your legs and mutters, "Just look at me, okay? We'll patch you up."

Slowly he lifts you out of the car and you mumble, "Are you going to stay with me this time or are you going to leave me alone again?"

A twinge of guilty conscience presses against his heart and he whispers softly, "I'll never leave you alone again," and he is completely serious.

He expects an answer, but nothing more comes from you and when he gets out of the car with you in his arms, your eyes are closed.

"Baby?" his voice whips up to unimagined heights and his heart threatens to leap out of his chest.

No.

Oh no.

Please don't.

He has no idea if you're even still breathing.

If he looked closely he would see your chest rising and falling but naked panic and fear pumps through his veins and he runs to jail with you in his arms, "Hershel!"

The older man is on the spot and with just a glance at the nearly motionless figure in Rick's arms he shouts, "Put her on your bed!"

The blood from your leg soaks his shirt and as he places you on his bed, his shirt sticks to him like a second skin.

As Hershel comes rushing into the small room, Rick makes as much room for him as the older man needs without leaving your side.

At the head of the bed, Rick kneels down and brushes a few sweaty strands from your face.

"Is she dead?", Rick's voice breaks and Hershel growls, "Calm down, son. She's just passed out."

Immediately Rick fixes his gaze on your chest and for the first time he doesn't look at it suggestively, but waits for the faint breath that lifts your pretty boobs.

When he sees with his own eyes that you're actually breathing, he rests his forehead against yours, gasping, and murmurs, "Oh my God. You're alive. You're alive and you're with me. You're alive."

He would never have forgiven himself if you died and your last memory of him was that he left you alone and vulnerable.

He never would have forgiven himself if he never told you the truth.

Rick presses his face against your neck so that his nose presses against your pulse and murmurs in a choked voice, "Baby, I love you. I'm sorry I've been such an ass. I promise I'll never leave you again. I love you so much. I love you."

"Rick?", Hershel's voice is soft, "You should tell her that when she regains consciousness."

Face still buried in your neck, he can't hold back the tears and while Hershel saves your life, Rick cries like he never has before.

Groaning softly, you open your eyes and try to adjust to the light conditions.

You're in prison but don't remember how you got here.

Darkly you remember Rick begging you to look at him and the rest is completely gone.

Lazily, you try to turn onto your side, but bump into something.

Confused, you turn your eyes to your hip and blink several times, thinking it's a dream.

Completely drenched in blood, Rick is sitting on the floor next to the bed you're lying in, his head resting on the mattress next to your hip.

His soft snores fill the small room and you wonder how long you've been unconscious.

"Rick?" your voice is raspy, but immediately Rick startles out of his sleep and stares at you, "You're awake."

Groaning, you frown, "Obviously, or I wouldn't have woken you up after all."

Sliding up to you on his knees, he murmurs softly, "Doesn't have to mean anything. You kept calling my name all night, but you were never awake."

Grumbling, you close your eyes and Rick reaches for your hand, "How are you?"

It's strange to see Rick so interested in you, and the way he clings to your hand feels like he's expecting you to get up and just disappear at any second.

"I feel like my leg was put through a meat grinder, but other than that, everything's top notch," you lazily open your eyes and Rick nods, "Okay, I'll get Hershel."

He stands up, but you squeeze his hand so tightly that he stops beside you, "Wait a bit. I want to be...alone with you."

Slowly, he kneels back down beside you and murmurs, "That can wait."

You roll your eyes and mumble, "No, it can't, because I don't know if you'll slip away and I'll never get to see you again."

Under his lashes, he looks at you, "I'm not leaving. Ever again."

Surprised, your eyebrows twitch up, "Oh yeah? Where'd that change of heart come from? Do I have to almost bleed to death for you to realize it was shitty of you to just leave me sitting there after you had your dick up to your balls in me?"

Rick winces like you hit him and in a perverse way it feels good.

It feels good that you can hurt him, too.

He doesn't even dare look you in the face as he whispers, "I'm sorry. There were so many different ways to handle the situation and I chose the asshole version."

Now you have his apology, but you still feel so hollow.

Not expecting anything more, you let go of his hand and nod, "Okay, thanks."

He wanted your young body, you're sure of it, and he got it.

That's all it is, and that's all it will ever be.

"Go get Hershel," at your words he looks up and stares at you like you asked for the moon.

You don't care that he admits to being with you all night.

You don't care that he called you baby at one point, and you don't care that you'll never be anything more than a nice pussy to fuck.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

A few seconds pass with no one stirring until Rick murmurs, "If you think it's disgusting or perverted, tell me and I'll shut up and never speak of it again."

"What?" you have no idea what he's talking about, but he slumps down and whispers, "I love you."

The silence is oppressive.

You're not even breathing anymore.

Apologetically, he looks at you with his pretty blue eyes, "I love you. I know it's sick and I'm sorry. You don't have much choice when it comes to sex and probably between all the others, I'm the best choice because you've known me the longest. I don't know. But I do know that I shouldn't have fallen in love with you. I mean, I've been thinking about fucking you forever. Way before that incident two weeks ago and even then I had a little crush on you. But finally holding you in my arms was…I was cracking up because I realized that I love you. With all my heart. And I felt like a pervert and then I acted like an ass. Then I held you bleeding in my arms and thought you were going to die thinking that I treated you like shit and not knowing how I felt about you, so I'm telling you now. I love you."

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then you lean forward, and Rick flinches as you place your lips on his.

For a brief moment, he stiffens again before leaning in toward you to put more pressure into the kiss.

You can practically taste the fear he had for you on his tongue and move a little closer to him.

Half erect, your torso brushes his and immediately he releases the kiss, "You should rest, baby."

The endearment, makes your cheeks warm and your lips brush his graying beard, "Hmhm."

Even dirty and sweaty, he smells so incredibly good that you press your nose against his neck and your heart does a somersault because he doesn't pull away from you and instead murmurs, "Baby, please."

Your leg screaming in pain completely fades into the background as you start sucking on his neck.

Rick flinches and digs his fingers into the edge of the mattress you're lying on.

Damn, you know exactly what you're doing and you should take it easy, especially since you weren't even conscious a few minutes ago.

As you bite into his neck, he squints his eyes and tries one more time, "Baby-"

"You know, I haven't been completely honest with you either," your voice is muffled and he only manages a soft "Huh?".

You press your mouth to his jaw, "I told you I was attracted to you because you're so manly."

He tilts his head to the side a little so you have better access.

"Were you just trying to boost my ego and actually think I'm a wimp?" his voice has dropped an octave and you suppress a whimper at the harsh tone in it.

How can it be that he doesn't know the impact he has on you?

How easily he can make you drool.

Gently, you lick over the new glowing spot on his neck, then whisper, "No, that was the truth. But it's not the only reason I'm so attracted to you."

You move away from him a bit and blink up at him, "You're good. You're a good man and your heart is in the right place. I don't care how old you are, and in a way, maybe your age turns me on a little bit, if I'm being honest. But I didn't want you just for sex and certainly you weren't one choice out of many. In fact, you have no competition at all because you were all I ever wanted. Always."

You bite your lower lip, "You know, I've had a head over heels crush on you forever. I...well I didn't think you could even like me like that."

He stares at you like you've grown a second head and you smile shyly at him, "Well, what I'm saying is that I love you too, Rick."

Blush stains your cheeks and only makes you more gorgeous.

You love him.

You.

Love.

Him.

Without thinking, he presses his lips to yours again and you moan in surprise into the kiss.

Gently, he straightens up a bit and presses you back into your pillow this way.

His beard scratches over your soft skin and you lift your hands to his cheeks to stroke the stubble.

He runs his tongue over your lower lip, "Should I shave my beard?"

He always had to do it with Lori because she had hated the way the stubble felt on her skin.

After that stopped being an issue, though, he let it grow.

But if you asked him to, he would still get a razor today just so he could keep kissing you.

What he didn't count on, though, is your soft laugh, "It doesn't bother me, Rick."

You tug on his beard, "Besides, it suits you."

Somehow you like the way the stubble feels against your skin.

Especially at the thought of how they would feel between your legs.

Rick's gaze softens and he leans further over you, nudging your leg a little, and you wince.

"Sorry, baby. I'll get Hersehl right now," chuckling, you stop him, "Relax. If I don't move it, it'll be fine."

Skeptically, he looks at you and you slide a hand to his belt, murmuring softly, "If you don't touch me, we'll be fine."

"You don't have to do this," he says, but in his eyes you see once again how much he wants to.

That's the interesting thing about Rick.

He can make his voice sound cold and impassive and look like he's about to rip your head off, but his eyes give him away.

Every time.

Because they're so bright, they also stand out so incredibly and it's playfully easy to read him in them.

Slowly you undo his belt and he doesn't budge an inch as you breathe, "I want to."

Hectically, his gaze slides to your bandaged leg and you purr, "Just relax. Think of it as a reward for taking such good care of me."

"Okay," his voice is soft and uncertain.

Frantically, you try to suppress a grin because it's so unlike him, "Stand up."

Immediately he looks you in the face again, sure you've changed your mind and want him to go get Hershel after all, but you whisper hoarsely, "If you stand, I can get to your cock better lying down."

He swallows a whimper.

When did he become such a wimp?

But your wide eyes and soft hand stroking his lower belly make him tremble and he nods.

With soft knees he straightens up to his full height and immediately you pull his pants down enough to get at his cock.

This innocent touch makes him moan harshly and he clings to the bed frame of the bunk bed.

Your eyes are glued to his upper arms, where his biceps now bulge strongly, and you whisper, "Say it again."

Rick looks first to your hand around his cock and then back to your face, "I love you."

You stroke his hardening cock and he moans, "Oh God, I love you so much."

He thrusts his hips at you and you just can't take your eyes off his face, not when he opens his blue eyes and looks at you like you're everything to him.

Maybe you even are, "I love you so much."

When he fucked you, you were so distracted by your pulsing pussy that you barely paid attention to how gorgeous Rick looks as his whole body shakes and he squints his eyes as if by willpower alone he won't manage to cum in your hand right now.

How could he behave at you any other way when you're lying in front of him, practically begging to jerk him off?

You try to straighten up a bit so you can breathe a kiss on the tip of his cock, and the way he flinches at the brief contact of your lips is enough amends for the stinging pain that emanates from your leg as you move.

Briefly, you think about what would happen if Rick were too loud.

If someone came into the small cell while you lay flat on the bed and Rick towered over you, fucking your hand.

The thought makes you whimper softly, "Fuck me."

As you expected, he shakes his head, "No, baby. You wanted my cock so jerk me off and I'll fuck you as soon as I can push your legs apart again."

Your grip tightens and you whimper softly, "Please don't talk like that."

Irritated, he frowns and when he sees you slide your free hand between your legs, he grunts, "It turns you on, right?"

Hesitantly, you nod and he grins at you, "Then keep your hands off yourself, baby."

Your hand freezes in mid-motion and Rick continues to fuck your hand, "Good girl. Imagine all the things I'm going to do to you because you're finally mine."

You moan softly, "Rick, please..."

"Shhhh, just jerk me off, baby," he teases you and you know it.

His cock is hard and swollen in your small hand and every time you graze his tip it twitches in your hand.

His knuckles stand out white and he moans harshly, "Where do you want it?"

Greedily you open your mouth and he growls, "Shit you're dirty."

He pushes your hand aside and aims for your wide open mouth as he rubs his shaft and he rests his forehead against his forearm to look down at you as he cums.

Some of his cum hits your mouth and the rest runs down your cheek.

You swallow what he gives you and gather up the rest from your cheek to put your finger in your mouth and suck his cum from your finger.

With his mouth open, he stares down at you.

You are perfect.

In every way, shape, and form.

With a 'plop' you pull your finger on your mouth as you hear Hershel's voice from outside, "Are you done?"

Smutty May Masterlist

Taglist: @hail-yourselves @bean-is-reading @chanlvr2 @criminalwalkingsupernatural @sunshinevirus @toxic-ink @kingtwhiddleston @bloodycherry22 @vane28282 @bamslover @revesephemeres @emo-potato-virgil @mrsashleybarnes18-blog @starsaroundmyscxrss @starkstiless @easystreet07 @darylsonlylove @your-shifting-gurl @strnqer @dreamtofus @lincolnswidow @rickswh0r3 @iluvdixon @sinsandsweetness @beekassyy

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #twd x reader #twd #the walking dead #request #andrew lincoln #smutty may 2023

435 notes · View notes