#the dove is half alive maybe eat

[bunnystalker]

feline delight (18+)

albert finds you on the streets. too cute to pass up, he takes you home against your will.

a/n; sorry this took so long! hope it was worth the wait :D

cw; half-alive dove maybe eat, cat hybrid!reader, afab!reader, owner!wesker, kidnapping, captivity, stockholm syndrome, drugging, dubcon/noncon, body betrayal, leashing + collaring, reader doesn't wear underwear, manhandling, breeding kink, wesker likes seeing you in pain sorry, no prep (please prep irl), unsafe sex (p in v, clitoral stimulation, creampie, implied multiple rounds)

tags; @4inchfae @thatgirlgames @whiskers-my-beloved @icecream596

albert never had a penchant for pets, let alone a hybrid like yourself. bringing you in may have been the best thing he'd done in years. you needed a home desperately, regardless of how much you scratched and clawed at him when he'd carried you off to his research facility without so much as an introduction. you hear him rustle around in his pockets with one hand and then, the uncapping of something. before you can look at what it is, a fine needle pierces right into the muscle of your neck. your vision fades within seconds, and you stop scratching.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

you didn't know what to expect, but waking up in a cage clean and clothed hadn't been on your list. you thought you'd surely be dead. but, there you were, with a black long sleeve shirt and skirt, thigh-highs adorning the better half of your legs, and a black leather collar around your neck. looking around, a small bell attached to your collar rings. not moments later, you hear footsteps. you look up at the man who has taken you in- tall, blonde, and very intimidating.

albert crouches before the kennel you're cowering in and looks you over as if he didn't get a good enough look when he bathed you. you hiss quietly and shrink into one of the corners furthest from him, cool metal digging into your back with each attempt to get further away.

behind his shades, his hazel eyes thoroughly examine you. the fear you give off is aromatic with a faintly sweet undertone of something more. gratefulness, perhaps. he did bathe you, clothe you, and put you in a very nice kennel of your own. your collar is a perfect fit, no less, and even though you didn't ask for any of this, it's more than you know what to do with. you've no bruises, no gashes, no injuries. how strange.

he's pondering what to say to get you to calm down. to trust him a little. maybe come out of the kennel, but that would be for later.

"hello." he places a gloved hand on the kennel's top rather carefully, so as not to startle you, and leans in just a bit. his voice is nicer than you would think. a bit nasally, sure, and the accent is cheesy, but he could read you the yellow pages and you wouldn't mind.

"…" your silence makes his jaw clench by a fraction. he'll have to fix that. for now, he'll ease you into things.

"what's your name, little one?"

"haven't got one." you rasp, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin atop them. ears flat against your head, your tail swishing- cautious and afraid, you are, and well within your rights to be.

he nods.

"we'll have to fix that, won't we?" he forces a little smile on his lips when you nod. you're not sure why you do when, two seconds ago, you'd have run off if the kennel door was opened. he's smart, he's thought this through. you're not leaving the kennel until you trust him, unbeknownst to you. your tail is ramrod stiff on the cushioned floor of your captivity, and at least he was kind enough to furnish it for you.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

it's hard to trust him even though you know it would be smart to pretend.

he only lets you out to feed you, and from the start, he'd made it clear that if you tried to run, you'd be dead. at the same time, twice a day, he opens the cage for you to crawl out of. he extends his hand to you, looping his gloved fingers around your collar and guiding you to sit by his feet. he links a leather leash through the d-ring attached to your collar and walks you through his home, the environment sterile and hardly lived in.

it's when he puts you in his lap at the dining table and force feeds you that he fills the tense silence. the food itself is good, and you wonder if under different circumstances, you'd want him to be your owner. as you eat, he talks. you are, to some extent, grateful that he feeds you, even if he is only doing the bare minimum.

"have you been good, dear?" he asks, and you nod as per usual. it's rare that you decide to talk.

"good girl." he scratches the spot behind your ear, forcing you to lean into his hand and purr. he chuckles quietly. as he pets you, his stress melts away. you're so cute. a meek, naive little thing that he loves taking care of.

as dinner finishes, he picks you up and keeps you in his arms as he cleans up. you're silent, sedated by the drug he's put in your food, and you're bodering on falling asleep in his arms. a swell of pride of warms his chest as a little snore escapes you, followed by your tail wrapping around his arm.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

day by day, bit by bit, you miss him. he keeps you company when he's not at "work" or whatever that is, he talks to you, he pets you the way you like, and it's nice when you forget about how you got here. the only thing you've come to dislike is the lack of underwear. it's not that he can't afford some, it's that he enjoys your discomfort to a worrisome degree. he likes its easy access, even if he hasn't taken advantage of it (or you) yet.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

he comes around and you find yourself less defensive, thanks to your breeding cycle. you press your face against the bars of your enclosure.

"owner," you whine as he walks past, a spark igniting in your gut. his scent is stronger than it was this morning, and you're hyperaware of the growing warmth filling your body.

"yes, dear?" he stands at his closet, his back to you as he strips himself of his work clothes.

"can i come out?" you paw at the door of your cage, ignoring the rattling noise it causes.

he doesn't respond immediately, letting you stew in your silence for a moment as he finds something more casual to wear. you don't normally ask to come out- this is progress, proof of your trust.

"in a moment. let me get dressed, darling."

it's enough for you to stop whining. your tail swishes happily and your ears perk up when he approaches the cage in grey sweatpants and a black shirt and crouches down to undo the lock to the cage. you practically jump into his arms, purring loud when he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

"thank you." you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. his smell, like poison, makes you dizzy with desire. the warmth is growing uncomfortable, your ears pinned flat against your head.

he hums in response as he strokes your hair, a purr emanating from the depths of your chest. the heat spreads the more he touches you, pooling between your thighs. he tries not to notice when you rub them together and mewl pathetically.

"is something wrong?" his voice is a match to the flame in your gut.

it's your turn to be silent, trying to even out your breathing despite the overwhelming urge to lean in and take a nice, long whiff of the pheromones he gives off.

"darling, answer me. you know better." he says in a more stern tone, looking down his nose at you.

"… i'm in heat." you state quietly, avoiding his gaze. if you could see his eyes, you're sure they'd be wide and a little bit dark.

"are you, now?" he hoists you up in his arms as he stands, his forearms just under your ass. you're bent slightly over his shoulder. "we'll need to remedy that, won't we, pet?" he chuckles. a chill runs down your spine. just what have you gotten yourself into?

he's not a mean lover, just a little rough. he sets you on his bed and pushes you down with a cold hand to your chest as he moves on top of you. anxiety cools your blood, makes it like ice pushing through your veins.

"wh-what are you…?" he presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and kisses your cheek.

"i've been waiting a long time for this, darling. it would be wise to avoid making me wait more." there's a threatening undertone to his voice, the burn of discomfort making itself known in your shoulders. he wedges his knee between yours, forcefully parting your thighs so he can trail his hand up them, pinching here and there just to see you flinch, and smooth two fingers along your weeping slit. a hint of a smile makes itself known as you shudder, thighs parting wider to accomodate his hand. his cold digits stop at the very top, feeling for your puffy clit, and rubs slow, tight circles around it.

you hate that it feels good, and you hate yourself for having a breeding cycle. a soft moan leaves you at his light touch, your eyes locked on the hand rubbing your clit. he presses down a little firmer, eliciting a whine from you.

"look, doesn't that feel much better?" he croons, his voice low with his lips so close to your ear. reluctantly, you nod, and that earns you the reward of his fingers rubbing you a little faster. you squirm a little, trying to get more than just surface-level pleasure.

"words."

"y-yes. that feels good, thank you." a hint of malice laces through your tone, but you're grateful for what he's giving you. your face is on fire as only the pathetic wet noises from your cunt fills the air, and you (try to) hide your face in your hands, only to be met with a sharp slap to your cunt. you flinch, the pain subsiding after he continues playing with your cunt. your hands come down from your face and instead grab the sheets.

your stomach tightens, twists into a coil that winds tighter with every pass over your hardened clit. but you can't cum like this, not when your breeding cycle is ongoing.

"owner- p-please, need more." you whine, and albert kisses your cheek as a response, denying you of what you need.

"such a needy thing. fine. you'll get what you want." he takes his hand from your pussy and to the waistband of his sweats, pushing them down rather impatiently, as well as his boxers. weeping, his cock is bright red at the tip from want (how long has he been hard for?) and large. you're worried.

he chuckles at your fear-stricken expression before grabbing your legs and pressing them against your chest.

"be a dear and hold these for me, hm?" he says, and you do as you're told. you hold your legs by the backs of your thighs, pressing them so your knees hit your chest. he strokes himself once, twice to the sight of you spread out for him, your cute cunt drooling. slick drips down your perineum, inviting him.

you watch him slot himself in place, the tip of his long cock dragging through your folds to bump your clit, making you gasp. your entrance clenches around nothing, a pitiful whine leaving you.

"greedy." he shakes his head softly as he lines himself up, and without warning, thrusts himself entirely inside you.

the stretch is worse than you imagined. you flinch away from him, but he grips your thighs and tugs you right back onto his cock. it hurts, and the burn is something you hadn't accounted for. tears prick at your lower lashline. he leans down, his frame practically engulfing yours, and kisses your cheeks.

"don't cry. struggling only makes it worse, you know." he coos, tapping your jaw. you nod softly and wrap your arms around his neck for support, sniffling as the tears trail down the sides of your face. to ease your discomfort, his hand works itself between the two of you again and thumbs at your clit, dulling some of the pain. another moment, and your tears have disappeared.

"y-you can move. m'okay." you mumble to albert's delight. he starts slow, mostly on your behalf, and hisses at just how tight you are around him as he thrusts shallowly into your aching cunt.

the moment you make a noise, he grips your thighs tighter and starts bullying his cock into you quite intensely. the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every single harsh, downright mean, thrust. he's not doing this for you, and that becomes readily apparent. still, you can't deny that it feels good to be fucked.

albert's quiet, aside from small huffs and hisses of enjoyment. you're so wet, it's making a mess of his lower abdomen and thighs. the lewd slapping of skin on skin combined with your precious mewls and whimpers of pleasure spurr him on, his nails digging into your thighs. his cock brushes against the spongy spot inside you, making you cry out and arch your back off the bed.

"there- a-again, please!" you grab the hand not rubbing your clit and lace your fingers together as the pressure in the pit of your stomach builds and builds, leaving you dumb on your owner's cock. he complies with your request, if not to feel you cum then just to see your pretty face when you do.

he bullies that spot relentlessly, to the point where some of his hair falls in his face. gummy walls squeeze and suck him in more, a loud cry leaving you as you reach your peak. slick gushes from your already crying pussy, thoroughly coating the both of your lower halves. it's dripping from you as he continues pumping into your hole, the schlick noise amplified now.

"w-wait- wait-" you grab the hem of his shirt, but he ignores your protests.

"we're not finished until my precious girl has her cunt filled with cum." he moves your hand away, forcing yourself further into the mating press he's got you in. you can feel every single inch, and how the throb of his dick indicates his climax. a few more sloppy, mean thrusts and he's spilling his seed into you. decidedly, it's a good feeling, and you need much, much more. your heat ceases momentarily, however, as he keeps his cock inside to ensure that nothing leaks out. your tail wraps around his thigh, the end flicking happily.

"i mean filled in every sense of the word, darling." he gathers some of your slick that's coating his lower abdomen on two fingers and pushes them in your mouth, watching with delight as you kitten-lick them clean. a dark grin forms on his pale lips, his length twitching at the sight. it's then that you really give in, that you decide it's better to be this way- fucked full of his cum and brainless. a familiar heat flares in your gut once more.

#bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ #bunny's fics ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ #100 follower special #albert wesker #resident evil #albert wesker x reader #resident evil fanfiction #hybrid!reader #owner!albert wesker #hybrid au #albert wesker fanfic #albert wesker smut #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw kidnapping #tw stockholm syndrome #tw drugging #dead dove do not eat #dead dove kind of #the dove is half alive maybe eat

[proxima-writes]

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started.  Joel clears his throat. 

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!” 

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult." 

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips. 

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person. 

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it. 

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs. 

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!" 

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees. 

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?" 

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree. 

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover. 

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses. 

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire. 

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says. 

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize.  You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks. 

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off. 

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway. 

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark. 

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window. 

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop. 

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.” 

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary. 

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half. 

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating. 

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head. 

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?” 

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave. 

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.” 

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you. 

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space. 

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves. 

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin. 

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says. 

“From what?” 

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him. 

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap. 

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel. 

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says. 

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room. 

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back. 

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands. 

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel. 

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully. 

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm. 

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael. 

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night. 

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships. 

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down. 

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips. 

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish. 

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses. 

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer. 

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #dark content #cult leader!joel miller #cw age gap #cw dubcon #cw age difference #dark!joel miller #dark!joel x reader #dark joel miller

[johnwickb1tsch]

John Wick x You │Tarasov's Daughter

You are the eldest daughter of Viggo Tarasov. You’re smart enough to take over the family business, but you’ve always been overlooked because you’re a girl (their loss). But John Wick sees you. In fact he saw a lot of you, once, when he’d been your bodyguard for a brief time during a turf war back in the day. You’re not sure who seduced who really, but you’ve never forgotten the feeling of his big hands digging into your hips or his teeth in your shoulder while he fucked you against the marble top of your bathroom sink, watching you go to pieces for him in the mirror. Maybe he was even your first! You seethed with jealousy when you heard he left the Underworld to get married to a nice normal American lady and settle down in domestic bliss. You were actually allowed to DO that? No one in this life ever really got out. You can’t help but think that you could have made him just as happy as some boring middle-aged photographer. Helen. What a stupid name. So when the shit hits the fan after your dumbass brother Iosef disrespects John Wick (and kills his dog, what the actual fuck?) you wonder if John will come after you.

Pick your poison: Canon!John Wick │ Dark!John Wick │ Yandere!John Wick

18+, all the warnings, dead dove do not eat! Predator kink, size kink, kidnapping, dub-con, brat taming, dark!john, mean!John, yandere!John , jesus fucking crist tumblr u have broken me…🙃

Canon!John Wick

John doesn’t hurt women unless they are really REALLY giving him no choice (Looking at you, Perkins!). But you are the means to his end, so he doesn’t hesitate to take you for bait for Iosef and your father’s men. He is raw and back in full predator mode after taking a hiatus for five years. Of COURSE you piss him off, and when you try to escape he snaps. He still calls you moya milaya printcessa (my sweet princess)tho while he fucks you against the wall with his hand on your throat. When the idiots your father employs do finally come for you John kills them all, and your brother, and your uncle after taking back his car. He lets you go, and a part of you forever wishes that he’d kept you…

Dark!John Wick

You were always such a fucking brat back when he had to watch over you, and finally he can get his revenge. When you mouth off he undoes his tie and uses it to gag you, something he’s always wanted to do, and as you watch him whip off his belt with such calculated flourish you are practically sliding off your chair. He bends you over his knee, the way someone should have a long time ago, and he taunts you when he finds you’re soaking with slick in between whipping you. Is it just you, or is he not hitting you half as hard as he could tho? You don’t know and you don’t care, you’re 98 percent sure you’re not getting out of this alive, so you at least want to die having had his magnificent manhood inside you one last time. You are delirious by the time he soothes the welts on your ass with the light touch of his fingers. “Are you going to be my good little girl now?” he demands as he tosses you on the bed like you’re just a ragdoll. Like he wants to hear your reply, he removes his tie from your mouth.

“If you fill me up with that big beautiful cock of yours.”

He laughs at you, and you get the feeling he’s delighted by your sass, even in this cruel mood. “You don’t get to make the demands anymore, milaya.” He slaps your thighs apart and goes down on you, licking you relentlessly, bringing you to the edge again and again but never letting you cum.

“Please, please, please,” you beg and tears stream down your face as finally you watch him undo his pants. He has utterly broken you.

“You always were such fucking whiner,” he hisses, pulling your hair hard as he plunges himself inside your swollen cunt. You hate him for how good it feels as he fills every last inch and corner of you, and if you ever get your hands free you’re so going to make him pay for this.

Yandere!John Wick

John always carried a torch for you, but you were so off limits. The boss’s daughter. A sure death sentence, but it almost would have been worth it. He’d thought about you constantly for a good long while, your beauty and your body was burned into his brain, but then he met Helen, and that fire smoldered to red hot coals he kept in the back room of his twisted black heart. But when Iosef starts shit there is absolutely nothing to stop him from taking what he’s always wanted. He’ll make you his perfect little pet, one last bit of revenge against the Tarasovs for disrespecting him after all he’d done for them.

When you see him materialize from the shadows in the mirror behind you, you try to go for the gun you keep in the top drawer of your vanity. You’re half certain he’ll kill you for it, but you’re y/n Viggovna Fucking Tarasov, and you will not fucking beg like your little bitch of a brother undoubtedly did. You’re not surprised when he manages to disarm you in the blink of an eye. You wait for the blade in your throat or the gunshot in your gut but he just holds you in those inexorably strong arms, looking down at you with those burning dark eyes. He’s so tall, he’s so much bigger than you and that always turned you on.

“You’re mine now, printcessa.”

You know you’ve always been his but you hate being helpless. He kisses you hard, unforgivingly, possessively, and you try to bite him but he knocks you out with a headbutt. Ouch!

You wake up in a luxuriously appointed room that you just know in your gut is now your new prison. Wick is no fool. There are digital locks on the doors. There are windows that you know will be unbreakable. Your hands are bound above your head, and though you try to worm free it’s impossible. After a while John enters, straddling you on the bed. Even though your legs are free his weight pins you down, you are trapped, and you’re embarrassingly certain he can feel the heat that’s pooling between your legs for it. His face is covered in cuts, his knuckles are torn. He’s been through Hell, but he came out the other side, the way you begrudgingly knew he would. “Your family’s dead,” he tells you. “No one’s coming for you.” He doesn’t really seem to take any joy in it, his handsome face stoic as stone. “You belong to me now, and I hope your father rolls over in his grave every time I defile you.”

You try not to enjoy it while he rails you into the soft mattress, or when he touches you while he does it, his long fingers so exacting. He is a master of manipulating the human body, for pain or for pleasure. You think he makes you cum out of ownership over anything remotely tender, but he makes you see God so often it almost feels like he cares about you. He becomes your dark deity, the altar you worship on, even if just in the deepest depths of your heart. You still have some pride.

You still try to fight and still try to run, even though he punishes you every time. Maybe you’re made bold by the fact that he hasn’t killed you, where he killed everyone else. They were kind of assholes though. John kept you, after all, and you can’t fault his taste. You think he secretly loves the chase, maybe even admires you for fighting him when there really is no hope. He loves reminding you who is in charge though too, and on nights when he’s in a particular mood you know you won’t be able to sit without feeling it for a week.

#john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you fic #keanu reeves #yandere john wick #dark!john wick #john wick imagine #john wick imagines

[qrevo]

So. Cat came out, I feel like Kazui ALSO wants to come out, and I need to talk about it.

(Spoilers for Cat) (Also TW: suicide mention)

First off, the style of the MV was great! Kazui going full crazy at the end was so cool. The song was a banger (as always). Now that we know he was a cop, some of his actions inside the prison make sense, like protecting the attacked prisoners, and trying to punch Es in the first trial.

My main guess now, going by enerything we have (MVs, VDs, Timelines) is that Kazui is a closeted gay man (or maybe aro/ace), and never had any real love or attraction towards his wife, only platonically at most. On the VD he says "I can't live unless I lie. That's how I was born...", and seeing as Japan has some big problems with homophobia, this really strikes off as him trying to hide this side of himself so that he can live a peaceful, "normal" life.

In that one timeline with Yuno and Mahiru, they asked about his preferences, and then after he answered Yuno said that was total bullshit. What other reason would he have to lie about his relationship preferences?

Also, "Cat", or "Neko", is a slang used by gay people in Japan to refer to bottoms or submissive gays.

The white dove represents his marriage, since he transformed his marriage ring into the dove (right before doing an "I Love You" reference). That scene of him eating the bird can be interpreted as him finally telling the truth to his wife, who he really is, and suggesting a break or a divorce, ruining/destroying their marriage.

By what he said in the VD, Kazui didn't cheat, or at least it didn't reach that point. He also said that we didn't find out his true crime/sin, since our base assumption was cheating. He also said that she died when he stopped lying. Of course, these could be more of his lies, but assuming they aren't. The only thing that I can think of, that would make her so desperate to jump off the balcony, is that his love never existed in the first place.

So what happened, in summary, was: He married his partner in the police, Hinako, to try having a normal life and conform to society. The marriage was a lie to him, but it was real for his wife. He tried to repress that side of him, hoping it would go away, but those feelings he repressed only got stronger, until he realized he couldn't keep lying forever, and decided to ask for a divorce, coming out to his wife, before he reched the point of cheating. His wife got upset, as seeing that their relationship was a lie, that he never truly loved her like she loved him, and jumped off the balcony.

But there are still a lot of questions that weren't answered.

If he didn't cheat, WHO IS BAR GIRL?? Is she important? If she is, why didn't she appear in the new MV? Is she even REAL, or is she a fabricated memory, or an idea, or a metaphor??

Is that guy in the wedding really the bartender from half? If he is, that means he is important, somehow. Was he his childhood friend? Does Kazui have a crush on him? If so, in bar girl scene, was Kazui actually flirting with the bartender before she arrived? Is he the same man he was arguing with in that scene from half?

For now I'm planning to forgive him, but is that really the best choice? It appears that, when we forgave him in T1, nothing really happened, because we actually forgave his persona, the lies about himself, instead of his actual true self. If he wants us to expose his lies, maybe an unforgiving veredict would be what he wants?

But also, if he is unforgiven, he won't be able to help defend other prisoners from attacks. We need to be careful when voting, as Milgram is starting to look like a strategy game where the goal is keeping all of them alive.

Anyways, going to listen to Cat for like. 3 days straight. Or 3 days gay, if that fits the theme better.

#milgram #kazui mukuhara #mukuhara kazui #milgram theory #HE IS SLAYED SO HARD #def one of the top 3 songs from T2 #kazui simply flying off the charts in my character tierlist #i still think there are a lot of lies that we didn't uncover #and i'm kind of worried it will be too late when we uncover them #i have a feeling T3 is going to be brutal #i don't want my blorbos to die 😭😭 #qrevo.txt

[draconicsparkle]

Here comes the boy!!! Hello boy! Welcome! There he is! He is here!

Nagizuru!!!

Let us all take a moment to bask in his glory. And maybe give him something nice for once, cause man, he goes through some crap. Imma pretend like I have nothing to do with that for now though. Just focus on the nice stuff, Nagizuru!

Also! Gaze at this lovely artwork by @duckybathperson!

It had taken him far longer than he had wanted for him to accomplish this task. Far too long, but he hasn’t wanted to risk getting caught. However, he had finally managed to snag the last thing he needed for his plan.

Carefully concealing the small half dozen carton of eggs, Hajime quickly ducked into the elevator. He sighed as the doors closed, taking him up to the fifth floor and to safety. The cameras on the fifth and sixth never worked anymore. After a few attempts to repair them only for them to break, the staff had given up trying. They saw it as a waste of time and money, so Hajime was able to get away with sneaky objectives from time to time.

And he was ecstatic that after such a long time, he could finally accomplish something he had been wanting to do since the very beginning.

Make something nice for Izuru to eat.

The staff here were very strict on the types of food their experiment was allowed to have. Light food that provided just enough nutrition to keep him alive and stable, but the options were very limited. Hajime had done his best over the months to try and ease the monotony of the meals, throwing in whatever spices were provided and changing it up as much as he could, but it never felt like it was quite enough. And although Izuru had never complained about the food, it didn’t take a genius to know that he was bored with the menu.

So, Hajime had been determined to give him a decent meal at least once. He was careful and managed to sneak into the food storage for the other staff’s cafeteria. Slowly, he gathered ingredients and stored them away on the fifth floor, away from prying eyes and blabbermouths. The eggs had been last, and he had them in hand now. Therefore, Hajime rolled up his sleeves and got to work in the kitchen.

For the first time in a while, he was excited to make his charge’s meal. He dove into the task with excitement and motivation, expertly handling the kitchen equipment as he created his dish. And soon enough, he had the dish plated, warm, and ready.

He really had to hold himself back from rushing up to Izuru’s room as soon as it was done, knowing that he had to be careful to not jostle it. He placed a metal cover over top of the plate, which would help to keep the food warm. And perhaps add an element of surprise for the Ultimate Hope, to make things interesting for him. He took a deep breath, placed his hands on the cart, and began pushing it to the elevator.

Finally, he scanned his card and walked into the room, unable to keep the excited grin off his face. “It appears you have something new to share or provide,” Izuru observed as he sat up in his bed. “And what did you manage to sneak by the fools below?”

“You’ll see,” Hajime replied, grabbing the clipboard. “Let’s get these tests over with so you can have your surprise.”

“Very well. Proceed.”

So they did, Hajime writing down the results and administering the sedatives, though a little quicker in pace than usual. But Izuru made no comment on it, eyes occasionally flicking over to the cart to analyze the contents. It hadn’t taken long for him to notice the covered dish on the bottom, his gaze honed on it upon discovery. It made Hajime even more anxious to get to it. But he knew he had to do the boring parts first, then they could spend more time on the more interesting portions of this session.

Hajime couldn’t help the relieved sigh when he was finally able to put the clipboard back down on the cart. “Done. Now I can give you this.” He knelt and pulled the covered dish from the bottom shelf, pleased when it was still warm. He handed it to the white haired man, who gazed at the shiny metal cover with interest. Hajime grabbed the top of the cover, lifting it and revealing what he had made. “I was able to gather enough ingredients to make you a fresh omelet. It has bits of ham, grilled peppers, melted cheddar, and is topped with parsley. I… I hope you like it.”

Izuru hummed as he took a fork from his caretaker. “I can imagine how difficult it was to gather everything to make this. Let it be known that your efforts are noted and appreciated.”

The words made a genuine smile creep onto the brunette’s face. “Well, wait till you try it before praise. I want to see if it matches your palette.”

“Then I shall not waste a second more. Thank you for the food,” Izuru said as he cut a corner off and delicately ate it. His ruby reds locked with Hajime’s hazel. “My dear caretaker, you have done very well. This is the tastiest food item I have consumed upon my awakening. Take pride in this.”

Hajime found himself fighting the urge to pump his fist in excitement. Izuru liked it! He even praised it! It was the best possible reaction he could have asked for. “I am truly honored, sir.”

Izuru then seemed to get an idea, his smile morphing into a smirk. But before Hajime could ask what it was about, the experiment had cut off another piece of the food and speared it with the fork, raising it up and towards Hajime. “I know I am not the only one deprived of variety in the food category. Come now, give your creation a try.”

The brunette shook his head while feeling his cheeks redden. “I couldn’t possibly! It’s entirely yours to enjoy. I don’t deserve it.”

But instead of backing off, Izuru reached forward and grabbed the chain on the metal collar. It was tugged so that Hajime was forced to lean down, face now inches away from Izuru’s. “I insist, my dear caretaker.”

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Hajime gave a small nod of understanding. It was now a request he dared not reject again. So he allowed the Ultimate Hope to feed him the forkful of egg. He had been correct, it was pretty good. It made him want to try and recreate this again. Provided, of course, he was able to obtain more ingredients.

Izuru didn’t immediately release him after he finished chewing. The grip on the chain remained solid as the other hand released the fork and rose to caress his cheek. “I can see the thoughts running through your head. If you desire to attempt more creations in the kitchen to provide for us both, I shall send you off with my blessing. But it would be wise for you to retain your sense of caution. I wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you. After all, you are the only one I will allow this close without consequences.” Then the grip on the chain was released, the experiment returning to eating with pleased hums.

Hajime took a step back and covered his mouth as he failed to control the heat in his cheeks. Whenever Izuru spoke to him like this or forced them to be close, it made him react strongly. And he was sure that his reaction was getting stronger and more obvious with each new action. But he knew Izuru enjoyed eliciting such reactions from him. And who was he to deny the Ultimate Hope of sights he clearly wanted to see?

He had received luck’s blessing. That was the least he could do for such a gift.

Masterpost

#danganronpa #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #komahina #fanfic #au #drabble #nagizuru #nagizuru au #lighthouse au

[foxilayde]

The Stranger Part 2/2 Jack from Mojave x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Dark themes, DARK. CHASING, NONCON SMUT

Summary: 100 second head start in a game of chase. Is it enough time to get away? Probably not.

A/N: I hope this is what you nasty bitches wanted lmao enjoy I love you guys.

How many seconds do you have left? 70? 60? Who is to say he’s even honoring that time frame, he’s probably already kicking dust behind you and the only reason you can’t hear him is because of the blood pumping in your ears and your wild breathing. This is what it’s like to be a jackrabbit, bounding in the bush from the snapping teeth of a coyote. Luckily the moon is bright enough that your footfalls avoid large things like the prickly brush and snake holes. 

Fuck, you should have known better, should have known that everything comes alive at night in the desert with all its nocturnal-eyed creatures, the prowlers and the dwellers. Big fucking mistake going out here alone, the biggest of your life, and the last one you’ll ever get to make. Well that and the mistake you make when your heel lands on a piece of pointed quartz or granite and at the last second you swallow your scream and attempt to run though it, to push past the searing pain in your heel and the twist in your ankle. Fuuuuuck. You have your boots in your arms but when (if ever) is a good time to put them on? When exactly will you have sufficient space between you and Jack when you can feel free to take a moment to lace up? Not now. Definitely not now.

You think it’s a trick of the moonlight when you see the cave in the split of the hill. The hill looks familiar, but so does everything. That’s the thing about the raw desert of the Mojave. It all looks the same. No landmarks to go by, just moderate hill after moderate hill of even sparsity and plant species. You weren’t quick enough to clock the position of the moon or the stars when you took off running. You went forward, but forward can turn to the side and the side can turn into a full circle and a full circle can turn into a spiral, especially if you have a tendency to keep veering right at every tumbleweed. 

You head for the cave anyway because at the very least, it’s shade when the sun rises, it’s a place to put your boots on, maybe to check if you have a compass on you so you can start plotting a real way out of here instead of running with your eyes on the sides of your head right into the path of a semi. 

The cave is deep enough and tall enough that you stand up fully the whole way into the dark recess of it. It’s not the sort of prey stronghold that would suit any creature of the Mojave so there isn’t any fear of running into anything when you turn at the end and slouch down. You should have pulled out your flashlight from your pack while you were still in the moonlight. It’s going to be much harder to find it like this in the solid black of the back of the cave but you don’t care. You need to rest, you need a gulp of water, and you need to put your shoes on. All of which you manage to do relatively well, and in your hiking boots you feel much calmer already, with your ankles secure and the warm compression of your socks. 

You pull from your half filled canteen, spilling some water down your chin and you wonder when your next drink of water will be. Where it will come from. This bottle isn’t enough to last you more than one or two days in the Mojave before you start to get sick with heat. You’re more careful with your next sips. 

You dig around your backpack to feel for either your flashlight or for your compass, the latter of which you finally get and shove into the pocket of your sweats. You hear a little rustling deeper in the cave and the thought suddenly sickens you that Jack has been sitting in the cave with you the whole time, in the absolute darkness, listening to you gulp water and wrap your ankle, your cursing and breathing, rustling around to find your things… just waiting in the dark. For what? For you to find your flashlight and turn it on his face? Just to scare you? You don’t know him well but he does seem to be one for theatrics. 

Your heart speeds up and your stomach drops, your imagination is picturing him right next to you in the blackness, the hairs in your ear prickle with trying to pick up any hint of his breathing nearby, and your mind tricks itself into thinking that he is there. You don’t know if you should leave, or wait it, out or find your flashlight and shine it into the darkness to know for sure. One thing is for sure, is that if he IS in this cave with you, he’s not going to let you leave, so you have to be smart about your exit. You can’t let him know you’re onto him, that you’re going to jump out of here quick as lightning. So you make a big show about sighing and fake leaning back against the wall of the cave, you pretend to stretch when you’re really getting into position to bolt out. Fuck, how exactly are you going to do this, really do this, really outrun the coyote himself, in the dark, especially with your fucking ankle?

You’re stalling and if he has any good predatory senses, which you know he does, he’s onto the plan and each second you waste debating and faking getting comfortable in the cave. He can probably hear the way your heart thuds like jackrabbits legs. With his glittering nocturnal eyes, can he see the way your eyes dilate and fail to focus on anything for lack of light and reference? Is it real or is your mind playing tricks with you in the dark? 

You swear you feel the heat of his breath on your neck when you finally push off the cave floor and make your hasty exit out, your clumsy feet slipping on the loose rock of the mouth of the cave, you brace yourself surprisingly well on your hands and run on all fours for several beats before righting yourself and taking satisfying shoed-footfalls down the ravine. You’re hardly ‘running’ at all, the gravity of the downslope doing all the distance-making for you. You aren’t careful the way you would be on a hike like this; taking it heel-toe-heel toe. No you’re side sliding at this point. Paces between yourself and the cave being the prime directive and in your haste the side of your boot catches only dust on your compromised ankle, sending you rolling down the dusty surface. Your eyes are full of dirt, your hair snags painfully on a brush and you’re blindly reaching and scrambling for something to cling to on your decent, fingers digging into tumbling thin gravel when the sliding mercifully stops. 

You wipe your tear tracked eyes on your sleeves and hoist yourself up on all battered fours, spitting out grains of sand. You think you smell water, hear the rushing of water. But it could very well be the smell of blood in your mouth and the rushing of it in your ears. The mind plays tricks on you at night. An oasis would be too much to hope for. 

You rise to your feet and brush the dirt from your sleeping clothes, sighing and groaning heavily you sit back on your heels. There is water, the rushing water of a small Oasis but you can hardly appreciate the glittering blackness of it when a long knife makes contact with your gritty, sweaty neck.

It makes your blood run cold despite the dark resinous heat of the night and Jack’s arm comes to wrap around your chest, pinning your arms (not that you’d struggle to move anyway with the promise of the blade at the pulsing life of you). 

“That was quite a show, sister, quite a fucking show.” You’re wrapped within the wings of his coat, nowhere to run. Even if you were to escape it’s only up up up in all directions here at the bottom of everything, where the water rushes, where you’ll never be found. Your lip quivers and and you tremble in his grasp.

“Gotta hand it to ya sister, lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” He pushes you down then, your face to the side in the dirt, a knee on on each of your hamstrings, hands pinned behind your back. 

“What I don’t understand though, and maybe you can help me out with this, is why…” he uses his knife to cut a line up the back of your long sleeve shirt, exposing your bare back to the moonlight. “Why you took off out of that hidey-hole like a bat outta hell, hmmm?” He grabs your hair to pull your neck up, sliding his nose on the side of your cheek. “Something spook you in there?”

You choke on a sob when he kisses your cheek, “what was it, little sister. Answer me.”

“You.”

“Me? I was watchin the mouth of the cave from the ridge. Couldn’t’ve been me what spooked ya … oh wait… we’re you thinkin’ about ol’ Jack in that cave, sister? Wanting me in there all nice n’ cosy with you?”

If he is telling the truth, which you have no reason to believe he’s not, then it was all imagined, it was all in your fickle mind, seeing images in the absolute darkness, phantom breaths and threats. 

“Welp little sister. As fun as this chase has been, and believe me, it has been quite the diversion, I believe its come to judgement day, wouldn’t ya say?” 

Judgement day. Fucking death. All of that all of that scraping and clawing, running and hiding, only to be back at square one. You might as well be back at your campsite, shorn sleeping bag at your legs, forfeiting the hundred second challenge and letting him slit your neck like he’s done to your bag, to your shirt. What’s the difference if your blood spills here or there? Besides a more concise murder investigation.  

His knees continue to press into the backs of your thighs and he drags the cool metal of his blade up and down your exposed spine. 

“You don’t have to kill me.” You offer weakly.

“What was that, bright angel? Didn’t catch that.”

“You… you don’t have to kill me. Don’t you wan’t to keep playing?’

“Playing, you say? We did play. You lost. You don’t want to be a sore loser now, do you little sister?”

“What about a best two out of three?”

You aren’t thinking clearly, everything coming out of your mouth is an instinctual bargain to keep yourself alive for a precious few more moments, seeking this predator’s motivation. He said he liked the diversion, didn’t he? He must be bored out here in the desert by himself. If only you could prove yourself useful to him, to his entertainment. 

“Two outta three, huh?” This knife leaves your back and you can hear the way he scratches the stubble of his sharp jaw behind you. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t want to kill me.”

“Bold assumption, girlie, bold. Lets not forget who holds all the cards here. Bargaining 101? You’re gonna have to give me something I don’t got.”

Is this what he’s been angling for this whole time then? Has he been waiting to offer your flesh up to the buzzard on a silver platter. You hope that’s the case because that is a hand you posess, you can play that. But you’ll have to play it well. 

“A-are those the Deep Creek hot springs over there?” 

Jack growls a laugh, “Sharp eye, little sister. So you did get your little hands on a topographical before settin’ sail. That they are, that they are.” 

The little river flows only a few meters away and you start to form your plan. You lick the dirt and sweat from your lips and lower your voice as seductively as you can. “Let me wash off in that hot spring and i’ll… I’ll let you fuck me.”

Jack barks a laugh that brays to the moon. “Let me? You’ll let me? What hospitality, little sister.”

“Please, Jack.” You whisper into the dirt. He pauses a few more moments, dragging the blade up and down your spine again in a cold steel power move. “You wanna chase me? Into the springs? I can put up a fight if you want…” 

The offer hangs between you in a tempting shroud, you don’t know what’s going through his mind when he shifts his knees off of your legs and pulls the sweats and panties down from your ass and down to your knees, he glides the flat end of his blade lightly over the folds of your exposed pussy, bringing the blade up to his tongue to lick the frightened slick off the metal. 

“Mmmm, take your boots off. Go on, now. Get up, take those boots off, sister. I’m inclined to indulge in your little request.” 

You get to a seated position as quickly as you can, unlacing your hastily-tied boots and shoving them off along with your sweats and panties. Your shorn sleep shirt falls easily from your arms and you tentatively rise to stand, wobbling a bit on your twisted ankle, using his shoulder to right yourself.

“Providing you don’t try any funny business, you hear?”

You gulp and nod, hiding your chest instinctively behind shivering arms. 

He rises and licks his lips, scanning you up and down, tilting his hat up in a not so southern gentlemanly fashion.

“You want a head start, sister? ‘Fore I catch you?” His knife is dangling limply in his hand, he drops it in the dirt but holds his stare on you as he unlaces his boots, kicking them off along with his pants, duster and hat. In no time he’s down to nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and the bandana. He shifts his arms back in a swimmer’s stretch and cracks his neck side to side.

“Maybe just… just ten seconds head start?”

“Smart girl. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Everything the moonlight touches is mine. Includin’ that pretty rump of yours.”

You’re under no supposition that you’ll be able to fight this man off and as he counts “One, two, better skiddle de do darlin’, three—“  You rush into the cold water, sloshing and making your way to the natural heated stone pools just a few strokes away. The oasis is teeming with life and you feel the little fish graze your legs as you splash and hoist yourself into the hot spring bath. Moments later you hear Jack splash and swim with tenacity, and soon, much too soon, he grabs your ankle. You squeal and kick his chest, which only makes him grab harder, using your leg as leverage to climb into the hot pool with you. 

The warm volcanic water feels like heaven on your muscles and you sigh into the natural stone bench of the pool. It feels very much like a man-made hot tub and Jack splashes in. He ducks his head under water and wipes the water from his face when he emerges. A distinct and instinctual part of you scans him, appreciating his fine muscular form. If he wasn’t such a blood thirsty desert dweller, he’d do well enough on his own to ensnare women with more reputable means. But he isn’t, so he ducks his face halway under water and grabs your leg again, wrapping it around his thick waist. Your breath speeds up a tick. 

“Fair and square, babydoll, fair and square two outta three.” He picks up your other leg and wraps it around his waist. “You gonna give me a congratulatory kiss? Or you gonna make me take that from you too?” He presses his bandana-clad forehead to yours.

Your shaking hand comes up to grip him gently behind his neck and draw his face close to yours, the moment your lips meet he’s licking into your mouth deeply, as if to drink the precious water from your lips. The water sloshes gently around the both of you and his hands come to grab your naked hips. It’s… not so bad, it’s nice even, with the warm water… he’s a good kisser for a bloodthirsty fuck, and he draws your hips closer, your pussy meeting his hard cock through the boxer briefs. 

Both of his hands travel up your waist in tandem, over your ribcage, hot palms resting on the sides of your tits, he thumbs your nipples causing you to draw his mouth even closer to yours, licking into the smoky hotness of his mouth. He flicks your nipples with his thumbs and grinds deeply into the open and needy center of you. The spring bubbles with tiny streams of heat around you and you use your feet to push down his boxer briefs, releasing his predatory heat from the confines of the fabric. He groans loudly into your mouth, forcing you you suck up the hot dirty expletives into your own. His pushing hips notch his hardness at the core of you and he presses in with tight interference. His cock pushes through your tense fear, fucking you more and more open with every thrust of his hips until he is fully seated in you, until his snapping pelvis makes solid fucking contact with the junction of you, and you cry into his mouth from the stretch of him.

“Ah! Mother always taught me not to play with my food, but in this case, I’ll have to make an exception.”

His arms snake around your waist and using the leverage of the spa floor he fucks up into your needy cunt, rubbing hot and hard at the apex of your pleasure. The water sloshes around you and you can taste the faint sulfuric presence between your lips when you continue to lick into his mouth, using both hands now on his cheeks to keep him there, rubbing his tongue with your own. 

Fuck, he’s so big everywhere, inside of you, around you, his figure blocks out the moon and you screw your eyes shut anyway.

You can’t be bothered to care how technically wrong it is to give and receive pleasure from this man who wanted to kill you, who his now licking into your whining mouth and fucking into your wet hole. He rubs so well against your cunt that you’re almost sorry to admit he’s going to make you cum, and soon. 

You break the kiss with a moan and bite your bottom lip when you convulse on his bare cock, fuck knows where it’s been, fuck cares. Your body achieves an equilibrium with the warmth of the springs when you cum, perfectly matching the heat of your skin. Your fingernails dig into his back and his thrusts speed up.

“Gonna fill you up sister.” He pants and smirks just out of reach of your lips.

“No, please.” No, he can’t. You’re not on anything, you can’t let him— you break his sloppy kiss and use your hands to push his hips away to no avail, you squirm your hips, but he’s got you painfully pressed against the natural stone and he laughs with a coldness unbefitting the hot spring and the hot air.

“Wasn’t up for debate, princess.” He licks the side of your face before burying his nose in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, oh fuck, here it comes, take it all, ohhh yesss. Yess, sister thats right.” Jack shivers, throws his head back and pumps hot into your tightly pressed body as you continue to shove his thighs with your feet to no avail. 

He goes slack and your final kick to his thigh sends him stumbling back. For a heart stoping moment you think he’ll retaliate but he just ducks under the water once again, emerging to wipe his face and throw back his hair. He puffs out his chest and howls to the moon then, a sound that chills your overheated bones. 

“Mighty fine chase, little sister. Best I’ve had in a long time.” He goes to tuck a wet lock behind your ear and you flinch from the contact. “Gettin’ shy on me now? Gettin shy on ol’ Jacky when you got my seed in your little belly? Nuh uh, none o’ that.” 

You drop your shoulders in defeat and close your eyes as a tear trickles down your cheek. 

“What are you going to do with me?” Your voice cracks feebly, realizing he’s had his fun and has no need for you now. There’s so many places to hide your body and you’re so far from your site it’s unlikely any recognizable part of you will ever be found. 

Jack climbs out of the pool and wrings out his sopping boxer briefs on the stony dirt patch on the side of the spring, stepping back into the soaking fabric, tucking his limp cock into the them with a groan.

“Well, I did have my heart set on slitting that pretty little neck of yours, full transparency sister, full transparency.”

You choke on a sob.

“But.” Your heart lifts. “Circumstances change, don’t they? Yessir. God help me, you look so pretty all fucked out and full of me, don’t you?” He bites his bottom lip and grabs your upper arm to hoist you out of the spring. The water sluices down your naked body and the rivuleting water glimmers in the moonlight. You stumble on your twisted ankle, using his bare shoulders to steady you.

“Choice is yours, little sister. I can cut your pretty neck right here, leave a feast for the buzzards… I can let you stumble back to your empty campsite all on your lonesome, or you can come home with me, choice is yours.”

Before you can think or answer he grips your chin between his palm. “Now, full transparency, like I said, I wouldn’t recommend option two, on account of I will be taking your clothes.” He gestures to the bank where your clothes lay. “Those are mine now; you’ll have no water, no way to find your way back. You’ll be dead by noon, garun fucking tee. Shit, if you pick option two I’d probably do you a mercy and just slit your fucking throat regardless.”

He’s right. There’s no way you’d survive without him, not that he’d leave you any loophole of staying at the spring to circumnavigate his stipulation; that you make your way back to your campsite. There’s only one option. 

“I’ll… go home with you?”

“Smart girl.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Like I said. Smart. Girl.” His teeth glint in the moonlight and he pats your cheek condescendingly before gesturing to your ankle with a nod of his head. “Can you walk on that thing or is ol’ Jacky going to have to assist?”

You hold your chin up high despite your nakedness and your vulnerable state. “I can walk.”

His only reply is a grin before he turns around, back to the direction of your scattered clothes. He pats his naked thigh and whistles at you like a dog to follow. Which you do. 

END

tagging if you interacted with pt.1

@andromeda-dear @muunliight @lovely-cryptid @ophelialoveshandsomemen @bear-na-leabharlainne @theoddballinyourcloset @sharin4readers @h0unds-of-h3ll

#Jack #John Jackson #Jack from Mojave #Oscar Isaac #fanfic

[sexyinaratkindaway]

If Only You Knew Just How Much Better Things Could Be

Rating: E

Fandom: Dream Smp

Pairing: Alexis | Quackity/Charlie Dalgleish | Slimecicle

Tags: Trans Alexis | Quackity, Slime Charlie Dalgleish, Charlie Dalgleish | Slimecicle is Called Slime, and also charlie once, Jealousy(minor), Menstrual Sex, Period Cramps, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, stone top charlie slimecicle, ace charlie slimecicle? maybe?, Making Out, unsanitary sex, lovejoy title and wil is nowhere to be found?, maybe. whats it to ya, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: Slime finds Quackity in an uncharacteristic moment of human weakness.

And offers help, in his own way.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47461189

Full Text Under Read More!

Quackity was at his desk. Like always. Always at his desk, always in his office, a half-drunk tumbler by his hand, papers and playing cards scattered on the deep, dark mahogany, a pen or a poker chip flying idly between his fingers as he scowled down at documents like he could make them magically fill themselves out  with the force of his eyes. Quackity was at his desk, messy with papers, but his hands were empty. No pen, no chip. He’d lifted his face from the wood, just briefly, lips twisted and curled around a growl, single live eye trained on whatever poor soul had just decided to further ruin his night; and found just little ol’ Slime grinning at him from the door. His head slumped back on the desk, in the warm embrace of his arms, and he let out an unusual sound, exhausted and wheezy and, if you listened carefully, just a little whiny.

Slime walked through the office door. A door that he had opened by turning the handle with his hand and pushing, because last time he’d gotten in by gooping through the cracks between mahogany wood and shining marble floor and iron lock and Quackity had squeaked out a very loud, shrill noise; he’d shot him with his pistol, then, and proceeded to start severely freaking out as he watched the hole on the left of Slime's chest slowly close in on itself, followed shortly by white cotton knitting itself back together into pristine, unmarked perfection.

He was opening his mouth to say something, breath ready to come out in the whistling, cheery shape of his boss' name, but something stopped him in his tracks. Something low and heavy hanging in the air, sugary sweet, rotting flowers and rusty iron and fresh tilled earth, filling every crevice of the room and hitting Slime like a slap to the face. Slimes couldn't… smell, per se. They didn't need to. A sense of smell was made for things that fed on things that were still and that could rot, with such frivolities to take into account as delicate, breakable digestive systems, and slimes didn't do things that way. They ate very little physically, and usually only as a matter of showing dominance. Why hunt, when moonlight was so abundant? When the dew dripping down stalactites was so refreshing and pure, painting caves in thousands of minuscule pin drops of stars? 

And now, especially, he was glad he had no sense of smell, even if it meant he could feel the rotten sweetness stick to the pretence of his skin, permeate the thin membranes that he called clothes and hair, until the very core of him felt stained.

Quackity huffed out a noise, halfway between alarm and offence, jumped to his feet, uncaring of the rough scrape of the chair’s legs against the floor.

“Good evening, Quackity from Las Nevadas,” he said, ever dutiful, “I just came here to inform you that Foolish and I finished digging out the spawner room underneath the city sign like you asked us to! Are you alright?”

“Of fucking course I’m alright, Slime, I don’t see why I wouldn’t be.” Quackity said, a bite in his words that immediately made Slime reconsider the gravity of the situation back into almost normal levels. If he was alive enough to swear and be defensive and forget his own mortality, then whatever was plaguing him wasn’t all that serious.

“You just seem to be really tired and in pain surprisingly early for the night!” Nonetheless, he explained himself, took a few steps towards his boss, hands lifted up, placating. “Not to mention this whole room smells bloody. Are you wounded?” 

“Wait, fuck, you can smell it?” The panicked lilt in his  voice told Slime that that had been the wrong thing to say. The sticky sweet feeling had gotten worse now, acrid and pungent with stress.

“Well, uh, yeah, kinda? Where are you hurt?” Slime said, slower this time, clearer. Wounded humans panicked, and panicked humans were less likely to understand normal-paced speech. Quackity, however, shook his head. He’d taken his beanie off; his hair, freshly cut and shining in moonlight, followed the movement.

“No, I’m… I’m not wounded, buddy.” 

Slime liked Quackity’s sighs. The way air chuffed out through his nostrils and his shoulders slumped down minutely and his eyebrows knitted was very amusing to watch.

“But… I smell blood. Is there a body here you need me to dispose of, Quackity from Las Nevadas?”

“No, no, there are no bodies here, Slime, you…” another sigh, “You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of it on my own.”

As if on cue, Quackity hissed, suddenly, and keeled over, curling in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle. In a moment, Slime was at his side, quicker than even he knew he could move, a mess of limbs and goop that Quackity had gotten used to by now. 

He placed a hand on Quackity’s shoulder and one on his wrist, slow, placating, the way he’d seen people do; not gripping, not harsh, soft, fingers barely closing around skin.

Quackity deflated in his arms, sighed again, tilted his head to lean into Slime. His cheeks had flushed darker; he was hiding behind his fringe.

“You are wounded, then.” He said; he was surprised to hear the wry admonition in his voice. It sounded eerily similar to Quackity’s, who, once again, shook his head.

“No, no, I’m not fucking wounded, Slime.” And yet, the words were wheezy, like someone had punched them out of Quackity’s chest. “I swear to you I’m not wounded.”

“But you’re bleeding, and hurt! That’s kinda, uh, the definition of wounded.”

“I’m not wounded.” He sounded very final. “The bleeding is, eh, normal, the pain is normal. I’ll pull through, I’ve run this rodeo before.”

It was a very weird thing to say, because there were no bulls, and he definitely wasn’t running. But he had admitted to bleeding and being in pain. Half the battle, already won.

“Show me the bleeding, then?” He said, a pleading edge in his voice that was only slightly exaggerated, “I want to help.”

Quackity tilted his head up to look at him. There was something unreatable in his dark eye, that, slowly, melted into defeated realisation, the kind that hit him when he remembered that he hadn’t taught Slime a particular lesson about the world just yet.

“It’s…” another sigh, “I can’t just show you. It's... I’m on my period.”

Slime tilted his head. Confusion was apparently evident on his face, because Quackity bristled.

“It’s, uh, every month I… piss blood–”

“Piss blood? That’s no good! You’re supposed to piss piss! Why would you piss blood?”

“Because I’m not… pregnant.”

“You can get pregnant?”

“Well, yeah, but I’d rather not. So this bleeding is good, actually. it’s, like, the only good kind of bleeding there is, probably.”

Slime hummed, and could hear the doubt in it, “I don’t know. You seemed to hurt pretty badly.”

“It’s not a walk in the park, I’ll admit.” Quackity said, and he sounded choked, bit his lip and folded over himself again, “But I’ve been dealing with it my whole life. I’ll live.”

Slime twisted his lips. “Is there any way I can help?”

“No, there isn’t.” Quackity disentangled himself from Slime’s arms. “Just go.”

Together they stood, for a moment, staring at each other. Quackity looked the very picture of dejected acceptance, just about ready to keel over and sleep for a thousand years.

Slime thought, and thought, staring at his tired eye and slumped shoulders, hands clenching and unclenching around nothing.

“Oh!” Suddenly, inspiration struck. “Orgasms can help with muscular pains!”

That woke Quackity up, for sure. He jolted up, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head.

“What?”

“If you’re experiencing muscular pains, then I could help you with sex!”

Quackity blinked. His bad eye disappeared and reappeared, like a winking full moon. Addictive. Slime wanted to drown in the pale grey of that dead iris.

Quackity opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

“Right. So you’re propositioning me in order to alleviate my period symptoms, is that right?”

“I don’t remember teaching you about sex, or cramps.”

Slime shook his head. “You didn’t! Natasha from the strip club did!”

Well, she’d taught him about cramps, and how sex made them better. The sex part was more something he’d picked up on his own, by means that Quackity had once defined ‘creepy’. In his defence, gooping in the cracks of the walls and listening in to human activities had been his favourite pastime for thousands of years, and also what managed to land him in Quackity’s good graces. Not to mention, the businessmen that frequented Las Nevadas’ entertainment centres had a tendency to be pretty loud and very talkative during their time with dancers and workers.

Quackity blinked again. He sat back in his chair, landing on it with all his weight, a wheeze punched out of him that could be a sigh or a laugh. He buried his face in his hands, hiding away the moon nestled in his cheek.

“Alright,” he wheezed, “Alright, you know what? Yes. Fuck me.”

Slime nodded, smiling wide. Quackity looked up at him, from between his fingers. He was frowning. For a moment, he got stuck staring at the dark, chipped polish on his nails move and ripple. 

Then he shook, wracked by another cramp. He brought his knees up, wrapped his arms around his middle again, his face contorted into a pained sneer.

It felt weird to hear those two words coming out of Quackity. Usually he only heard it from the sex workers of Las Nevadas, all saccharine lies and fabricated desire, pitching their voices high and whiny to appease their customers. When Quackity said it, it wasn’t a grovelling plea. His voice was still and perfect; it was a command. An order, final and grave even in his pitiful, pained state.

Slime nodded, and slowly, carefully approached the chair. Quackity was looking up at him, trembling with the aftershocks of pain. He leant down, to run his hands along the flat planes of Quackity’s body, until he was on his knees in front of him. Slow, methodical, he loosened his crumpled tie until it could slip off his neck, the bloody splash of cloth leaving room to pristine white, slowly pulled down one suspender, then another; he stopped short of the first button of his shirt, and looked up at him. Quackity was staring at him, intense. His good eye was wavering, stuck on each movement he made; their eyes met, and Slime thumbed at the button, pointed. Quackity nodded, cheeks red, and that was all it took: he went immediately back to his task, focused on not leaving any stains on the white linen as he slowly undid each button, uncovering more and more tan skin, old scars, constellations of moles and freckles rivalling the most beautiful cave ceilings. It called his name, and Slime answered, placing a hand, careful, on bare skin. He didn’t have it in him to slip the shirt fully off those tan, angular shoulders, not yet, not when the contrast between warm, live skin, blushed faintly pink, and white cotton, and his own pretence of flesh, green at the fingertips, was so incredibly alluring.

Quackity didn’t seem as amused, because he squawked a sound that someone else might have called ‘undignified’, curled in over Slime to card his fingers through his hair and pull.

“Jesus Christ, man, your hand is fucking cold.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, demure, “I am a normal human man with a normal body temperature and circulation!”

“Fuck,” he wheezed, “Slime…”

That made Quackity snicker, which was nice. He loved hearing his laughter. It was so rare, like brilliant emeralds deep under mountains, any instance of it a surprise to treasure forever. He smiled back at him and leaned forward, just enough to nuzzle Quackity's skin; he delighted in his shiver, and opened his mouth to lap at him, laved his tongue flat over the slight divot between his pecs, dove lower to tongue at delicate, pink scar tissue, and he must have done something right, because Quackity shivered under his lips, his fingers tightened around his hair. Just for his sake, Charlie made sure it was extra hairy, gave him something to grip on as he made his way towards the dark little nubs on either side of his chest. 

Nipples. A funny thing, really. Delicate little endings full of nerves, made to be sucked on. He’d read somewhere that sometimes, sucking on them made milk come out, but that just seemed stupid. Nonetheless, he closed his lips around the left side of Quackity’s chest, teeth barely grazing the thin lines of scar tissue, and was rewarded by a full-body shiver, a chittering of teeth above him that said Quackity had just had to bite down a moan. 

Slime frowned. He’d never heard Quackity moan, but now that he was hiding his noise away, he really wanted to. So he wrapped both hands around his waist, slipping under the shirt; Quackity wasn’t small, despite his height, strong and toned and cruel, but Slime was much bigger, and his hands fit around him like they were made for each other, and he rubbed cold fingertips at either side of his spine, low enough for him to arch his back right into Slime’s teeth, and hiss and keen when those teeth closed around his skin and sucked.

Oh, yes. He could get used to that breathy quality, curling around his name like smoke. 

Instead of replying, he dove deeper, some remnant little part of him, animal and mindless, wanting to envelop Quackity and absorb him completely, until he was nothing more than a memory of calcium and sulphur fire inside him. Instead he switched to lathe affection on his right nipple, just as red bruises in the shapes of teeth started to bloom around the left, underneath a thin, greenish film of sticky saliva. He suckled and licked and bit, harsh enough for Quackity’s scarred nerve endings to feel, and every thin noise that left his lips, pressed together tight, was its own special victory.

Then, Quackity started moving. His hips shifted against the shape of Slime, and suddenly he remembered the position they were in. He was kneeling on the ground, perfectly bracketed by his thighs, slim and strong and infuriatingly encased in worsted wool, creamy pinstripes sharp and long against midnight grey. Quackity seemed to realise their position too, because suddenly there were legs around his torso, pulling him closer, crossing at the ankles behind him.

As if to make that point clear, Quackity’s legs tightened around him, pulled him closer until his torso was flush with the welcoming warmth of his crotch. He was very warm there. Warmer than everywhere else, and he should know, wrapped in him as he was, with his warm hand on his head and his warm chest under his lips and his warm legs around him. His crotch was the warmest part of him, and he wanted to feel that warmth close. So his hands left the warm body above him, to go fiddle with his trousers, pop the button, undo the zipper, together they managed to shove fine wool and scratchy cotton underwear away in one fell swoop, uncovering soft skin, a fine dusting of hair on scarred legs and too-slim hips, leaving him bare, if not for the white cotton still hanging from his shoulders, useless in protecting his dignity. And then, Slime’s prize; the smell, like this, was much stronger, close to the source as he was, an aftertaste of medical gauze and chemicals made to trap away smells, behind musk and iron and copper and rotting flesh, bursting with pheromones; there were red stains on the delicate inner part of his thighs, the dark curls hiding his sex were damp with sweat and blood; Slime inched closer, mesmerised by the way the wetness reflected moonlight; placed both hands on his shivering thighs, too big and too pale against Quackity’s skin, spread his legs a little bit to get a better look and found his lover moving with him, welcoming and pliant. Like this, he had a perfect view of what was hidden beneath the curls, cock full and pink between jagged, plush lips, slicked red. He glanced up at Quackity, found him staring down at him with wide eyes, lips ajar.

“Slime,” he tried again, “Slime, just get it fucking over with.”

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Quackity from Las Nevadas?” Slime said, voice tilting in a surprisingly genuine way. He really wanted him to enjoy himself. This was for his sake, after all. It would all be moot if he didn’t like it. 

“I am, I am enjoying myself,” Quackity said, and Slime felt the knot of tension holding him together loosen a bit, “a bit too much.”

“Slime,” he said, very low, very raw, “Slime, come up here.”

Obedient, Slime rose on his knees to meet him halfway, until their faces were so close their noses touched. There were warm hands cupping his cheeks, and mismatched eyes, dark and sun-warm and milky moon-white, staring at him. "Are you enjoying yourself, Quackity from Las Nevadas?"

Quackity closed his eyes, which was disappointing, but nodded. Exhaled, slow, opened them again. “Yes, Slime. I am.”

He pulled him in close, and their lips crashed together. 

Now that was an interesting sensation. Quackity’s tongue was a bit slimy, but unlike all the slime he’d ever touched, it was warm, so very warm, and every moment there was a gust of warm breath in his mouth, and it was ravenous, seeking, searching, licking his teeth, the inside of his cheeks, meeting his own tongue halfway and taking, taking, taking. Slime tried to follow his lead best as he could, but it was hard to focus when all around him Quackity was warm and squirming, thighs in his hands growing slick with sweat and more blood, when he was groaning in his mouth and sighing sweet and soft, and that smell was growing more and more cloying around him. So he just tilted his head into the touch and let Quackity take what was his, holding onto him.

One very pleasant effect of not being a human was that he didn’t really need to breathe. He could absorb oxygen through his skin. So, when Quackity broke their kiss off with a gasp, breath heavy, lips red and slick, Slime chased after him by second nature, lapping at his lips.

“Jesus, Slime,” Quackity said, but he was laughing, breathless, beautiful, “let me breathe, man.”

Slime hummed, displeased, and settled for placing a few kisses at the edge of Quackity’s lips, his jaw, his chin. “Was it good?”

“Yeah, yeah, buddy, it was.” Quackity swallowed, licked his lips, “... I didn’t expect your mouth to taste like limes.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

Quackity kissed him again, and again, laced his fingers behind his nape to keep him there, locked against his mouth, curled up even closer, a long line of terrible heat pressed against Slime, and now he understood what people meant when they talked about Heaven. It was this, a hot, sweat-slick body clinging to his, leaving his pretence of clothes a mess of red as Quackity moaned in his mouth, bucked against the stimulation of crisp cotton against his sensitive skin, and Slime wanted to give him the world. He wanted to give him every orgasm his fragile little human body could muster and then do it all over again when exhaustion took him.

He gripped his hips, and Quackity groaned again, licked his teeth, bit down on his lip until skin gave and turned back to goop, and he knew that tomorrow there would be indents in the shape of his fingers around his lover’s hips. The thought settled warmly in his belly, and he pulled Quackity closer until his butt was hanging off the edge of the chair, only held up by Slime’s arms, pulled away from his lover’s lips to bury his face under his chin, take in his smell, pheromones and lust-musk and blood, kiss and lick at the skin there and delight in the thrumming of his pulse, of blood beneath his teeth.

Slime brought a hand between Quackity’s thighs, just barely enough to brush a knuckle against his slick cockhead, and Quackity jumped, like a livewire, like two cars connected by jump leads, made a noise high in the back of his throat that Slime liked a lot; enough to brush him with his knuckle again. His finger came back stained with red, and Quackity keened, folding on top of him.

“Slime,” Quackity said, “touch me.”

“But I am touching you.”

A groan, and Slime grinned against warm skin, “Touch me more, you asshole, touch my–”

“God, fuck,” he slurred, “I am so fucking sensitive, fuck, please, Charlie.”

Now, that gave him pause. Sure, ‘please’ sounded nice coming out of Quackity’s lips, just this side of whiny, but… Charlie? Who’s Charlie? There was no Charlie on the server.

“Who’s Charlie?”, asked Slime, even as he didn’t give Quackity a chance to respond, thumb and forefinger curling at either side of his cock; he shot up straight, hands still tangled in Slime’s hair, a whine made its way out of his lips, and his cheeks immediately got redder than before.

“I’m–I… Slime, I’m, eh… S–sorry, sorry, it’s nobody, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

He looked guilty. It was difficult to see, in Quackity’s face, any sort of emotions, usually; he prided himself on being unreadable, on never letting anyone see what was going on behind the curtain of his brain, friend or foe; but Slime knew him, as much as he’d let himself be known; he knew the wrinkle between his eyebrows when he was too tired to be angry, the lopsided turn of his lips when something amused him, but not enough to laugh, and now, he knew the twist of his eyebrows, the way his brown eye wavered and avoided his face, before zeroing in on his eyes. They stared each other in the eyes, and something changed in Quackity’s eye, something melted into warm butterflies in his belly, and then the moment passed. 

There was something he wasn’t telling him, but, then again, there were a lot of things Quackity didn’t tell him. If he’d found himself another man to break his heart, well, Slime didn’t really need to think about that. It wasn’t his place. Not right then.

Anyway, now that Quackity needed support the most, where was this Charlie guy, huh? Nowhere to be found, and Slime was there, thumbing at Quackity’s foreskin and enjoying his mewling, so it couldn’t be all that bad. And if he could feel his finger pads get a little sticky, if he was rubbing at the soft, spongy head of his cock a bit too harshly, well, nobody needed to know why, and Quackity seemed to enjoy it, if the way he groaned was any indication, sweet and sticky and apparently glad the little slip-up was so easily forgiven.

Slime went back to wiggling his fingers, mouthing at Quackity’s throat, pressing his teeth against delicate skin, then lower, to suckle bruises into his collarbones, lower, lower, lower, until he was kneeling on the floor again and kissing the soft, fleshy pouch underneath his belly button, burying his nose in the trail of hair that led to his pussy. A cursory glance upwards revealed Quackity, staring down at him, lips bitten red, cheeks flushed, something painfully honest in his single, wavering eye that Slime knew better than to call attention to. So, instead, he nuzzled into that tangle of damp hair, pulled him spread open with his thumbs, and wrapped his lips around his cock, turgid and bloody.

Two things happened at once, then; his tongue was immediately coated with the tinny taste of fresh blood, straight from the source, and the pheromones went through him immediately, like a lightning flash; and Quackity cried out Slime’s name, followed by a garbled moan that might have been a ‘please’, and, yep, Slime really liked that combination of sounds.

“Fuck,” Quackity keened, breathless, “Yes, Slime, yes...”

“Fuck, Slime,” Quackity said, a trembling whimper in his voice, “Your tongue is so cold, don’t stop, Slime, don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on stopping, boss!” He heard himself say, cheery as all hell, before going back to his work, to lapping broad strokes against Quackity’s cock, before descending to lick his labia clean of blood.

He tasted quite unlike anything he’d ever tasted in his life, since before the concept of tasting became familiar, when he didn’t eat, he consumed, tasted like death and victory and rebirth, and he was obsessed. He licked and licked, went up and down, lapped at his lips until he was shaking with need before rising up to suck his cock back into his mouth and revel in the arching of his back, nails against his scalp and a litany of half-formed words surrounding him, some in English, some in some other language that he couldn’t understand, that didn’t matter, not when one of Slime’s hands snaked down to run his finger along his entrance, thumb just catching on the too-warm rim. It was the right thing to do. 

He slipped a finger in; around him, he felt Quackity quiver and clench, so warm it almost hurt, opening up for him, slick with blood and arousal. 

"Oh, you're tight."

Quackity keened, legs kicking around Slime's head, locking tight against his head, just in time for him to slip a second finger in, going deep, as deep as he could, revelling in the slick slide of skin on skin, blood running down Slime's wrist. He licked it off; lime and blood were a weird combination, but it didn't matter, because Quackity liked it, bucked into his face with a sigh, bucked again when Slime gave one last suck on his cock before lowering his mouth, face to face with his winking hole. He dipped his tongue in, finally tasted the blood at the source, sweet to hurting and acrid at the same time, and got lost in the flavour. Everything else faded away; the only things in the world were Slime and Quackity's slick, bloody cunt, the pretty noises that came out of his lips, sharp nails on his scalp holding him close. He ate, and ate, and ate, guided by the symphony of Quackity's moans, foreign to ache and hurt and fatigue, followed his lover through an orgasm or five, fingers and tongue and teeth, each time rewarded with a cascade of red down his chin, dripping down on his lap, until Quackity's voice was nothing but wheezes, his hands had gone slack on his head, thighs still and sluggish on his shoulders.

Only then he risked letting go of his cunt, slipping his fingers out, hazarding a look at his handiwork.

Quackity was very pretty, like that. Just a boneless pile of limbs and hormones, stark against the plush dark leather of his chair, rimlighted by the moon, eyes closed, cheeks damp. If not for the frantic up-and-down of his chest, one might have thought him dead. An eye opened, lazy, almost black in the dark, looked down at him. He hazarded a grin, and Quackity scoffed, reached a hand down to grab his chin, smear something across his lips with his thumb. Probably blood.

"You look like a fucking magma cube." Stars, his voice was shot. A trickle of pride ran down Slime’s spine.

"A magma cube!" He said, equal parts thoughtful and delighted, "I used to know a magma cube fella. Very interesting accent, he had, I tell you! Couldn't understand a word he said!"

As much as the delicate dance of pheromones, shifting, and gunk sharing that slimes communicated through could be called words, or an accent. That guy had been incomprehensible, anyway. He moved so erratically it was hard to even keep track of, and his goop stank of sulphur! Terrible manners all around.

They were still looking at each other.

He pulled on his hair, pulled him up, up, until their faces were level again, to taste himself on Slime’s tongue. This kiss was slow, methodical, careful, less the flurry of energy it had been before when Quackity was still keyed up, ready to spring into action. Slime let himself be kissed and explored, allowed himself a few little noises, more borne out of imitating Quackity than really needing to, and just savoured the coffee and whisky still on his lover’s tongue, growing bitter with each lick.

“So…” Slime said, and he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice, suddenly shy, “Was that good?”

A nod, and suddenly Quackity looked tired, bogged down with the force of a thousand suns’ worth of stress. “Yeah, Slime, that was very good.” 

“But,” Quackity murmured against his lips, “But you haven’t even gotten your cock out.”

Suddenly, ankles were crossing against his back again, caging him in, pulling him close, crotches level, and Quackity brought a hand down down down to grope at him. 

Well, now that was a bit of a pickle.

“Ah, you, um,” Slime said, and hated his own stammering, “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Replied Quackity, with that finality that said he was going to get what he wanted at any cost, “Let me show you a good time, too. Only fair.”

“Look,” he said, when he pulled back, looking into Quackity’s eyes, wavering with lack of oxygen, “Thank you, but you really don’t need to. I liked doing that. I like taking care of you. You don’t need to pay me back for anything, I promise.”

See, the problem was simple. In all his thousands of years spent observing humans, he had never seen their genitals  up close before that very moment, when he was buried for the first time in Quackity’s. He’d seen the genitals of many animals, but humans’ were probably different, and seeing as slime didn’t need genitals to reproduce… Well, let’s just say, his ‘cock’, as Quackity called it, was still a bit of a work in progress, and Quackity could absolutely not see it. Sure, by now he’d probably gotten at least a little bit wiser to the ruse, and with all the hybrids on the server, Slime probably could finagle it in his favour, but he didn’t want to lie, not to Quackity. Besides, despite how enjoyable that whole thing had been, he was still iffy on that whole ‘arousal’ and ‘erogenous zones’ thing, what with his whole lack of nerves.

So, before Quackity could get curious about the suspicious lack of any sort of imprint inside his trousers, Slime snatched his hand away by the wrist, crowded in close to kiss him again, kissed him silly until he was gasping for breath against his mouth.

“Alright, alright, just… I need to go to bed.”

That caught Quackity off-guard, staring at him with slick lips ajar. He was so pretty. He always was, but that night had cemented Quackity’s prettiness in Slime’s memory forever, probably.

Quackity stared at him for a moment too long, tormented, frowning, like he wanted to say something and was talking himself out of it. Shook his head, then, with a sigh.

Slime grinned, snaked his arms around slim, scarred thighs to lift him up, started walking to the elevator, uncaring of the undignified squeak that left his lover’s lips.

“On it, boss!”

#knight's notebook #dsmp #dream smp #dap duo #quackity #c!quackity #slimecicle #c!slimecicle #dapduo

[idioticcrow]

My Favorites of The Twisted boys reacting to an eldritch monster!Yuu

-------

Characters included: Malleus Draconia, Leona Kingscholar, Idia Shroud, Rook hunt, Trey Clover, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech, Ruggie Bucchi, Deuce Spade, Ace Trappola

Warnings: GORE LIKE VERY DETAILED GORE, body horror, impiled cannibalism in Yuu's past, cannibalism, impiled monsterfucker boys, cult, worshipping by a cult, human sacrifice, cursing, slightly suggestive, BEING EATEN ALIVE, Tortureing, POLIGAMY FOR THE TWEELS PART BUT THE TWEELS ARE ONLY DATING YUU, NOT EACH OTHER, established relationship

Info: established relationship, Yuu's "mask" is established,maybe ooc, (mask as masking, like in autism, Yuu is not autistic), Your race not mentioned but the monster form is very pale, Reader is a monster inspired from the "white spikes" from "The Tomorrow war". Idia has regenerative powers.

Red text: Gore, signs of being frightened, more voice on gore, like tone setters (like /s), suggestice things

Green text and ThIs KiNd Of WrItInG: You speaking in their monster form.

Light blue: Yuu's feelings/inner dialogue.

Purple: descibement of the monster form's features.

Reader mentioned as Yuu and Gn! Reader

!!!DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!

I'm not taking responsibility of what you decide to read.

Fandom: Twisted wonderland

Length: Long, very Long

----------------

Summary: You were an eldritch monster that was once worshipped, you enjoyed the first few years because their offerings and sacrifices were there when you needed it and it was always the right amount so the smell of rotting flesh wouldn't fill your altar room. Whenever they you would give you an offering they summoned you, you transformed into a slightly smaller and humanoid form as your worshippers watched you tackle the sacrifices and offerings one by one, ripping their hearts out with your strength and devouring the rest after. Then the time between offerings was getting larger and the amount and the quality decrees, you were livid and hungry, hungry for the flesh of mortals. You took the matter into your own hands, you turned into a human form and begin you spree whenever you were hungry, then you get hit by a carriage and get to a world where you are just a nobody, then you found yourself a lover but they didn't know what you were truly were.

------------------

The sun was setting upon the campus of NRC, and only 3 students were in that building well now 2 and a half.

Your dear boyfriend was searching for you.

-YUUU. - He yelled out and the halls only replied him his shouts of your name.

There could be only one noise heard in the hallway. Ace's steps and him opening doors left and right searching for you.

It was until he found a dim light pouring out of the door crack of a class room. He peaked in.

And there were Yuu in all of your humanoid horror of a form glory, your lower face and white shirt covered in the student's blood as you are sitting on the student's stomach and ripping at his ribs, finding for his heart and lungs.

Ace froze in his place, a monster looking like his dear s/o, no it was his s/o but in a color he never saw before, goosebumps soon coated Ace all over, he didn't know if he should stand there, or leave like nothing happened.

In the time Ace was debating on what he should do you moved onto the poor student's head, you ripped of his face and began eating the flesh on his face, not leaving anything, you cracked the student's skull open like an egg and started to tear out the brain.

The sound of tearing flesh, your chewing and quiet slurps filled the room. You slowly noticed that there were no longer noises of you boyfriend calling your name of his footsteps so you looked at the door.

Your dear boyfriend was standing there, dumbfounded, scared and surprised of what you did.

You didn't know how to react to this, you were aware of you couldn't explain this to him, like how would you explain to him how it was an accident of you tearing a particular Savanaclaw student's heart out, eating it along with his lungs, then eating his face of then cracking the skull open like and egg and eating the brain. Not to mention the student was the one who he always spoke to you about like how he was always on his nerves and never leaving him alone, bullying Ace when no one was around.

You acted fast, you jumped up pulled him in and locked the door with you extra limbs.

You were now towering over him, he was so small compared to you, he didn't know if he was more scared or turned on by you, the way blood was dripping from your now needle sharp teeth, down you jaw to your shirt that was bloody, your sleeves were tucked up and your jacter was long thrown to not get bloody in order to have something to wear after your feast.

He made a choice, he hid his head in your chest as you were kind of pressing him against the wall kabedoning him, leaving him no escape.

You buried your face in his hair and started to make noises like purring to try to calm him down from what he saw, you couldn't look him in the eyes as you were kind of scared of his reaction as it was nice to know that he looked at you as an equal and it was kind of nice to be able to live like you were not an eldritch monster with a power of a god and not treated like a deity, you missed it sometimes but it was nice not being a deity.

Ace heard your purring and started to gather his courage to speak. He started to lift his head a bit, you put your down from his on looked in his eyes and he looked into all the pairs you had on your face with a look of shock and kind of adorement?

-ArE yOu NoT aFrAiD dEaR? -you asked in a disorted voice.

-I'm rather confused on why you would hide being like this, it's cool but I don't really get the cannibalism part.

You gently grabbed his chin with your pointer finger and thumb and you kissed him, he kissed back and from there it was getting heated, your needle sharp teeth gnashing against his, while your inhumane tongue kept his company. In your mouth the taste of human flesh was still there as you were kissing him, Ace didn't mind it, it oddly reminded him of pork.

You undid his tie a bit to let him breath as you pushed your tongue pressing in his throat, as you have him more of the taste of human flesh and blood, you stopped so Ace could catch his breath, his mouth was also bloody now. He was huffing and puffing about how hot you look with all those teeth and now a bit more understanding the cannibalism part.

You ripped out a piece of flesh with your teeth and got back to kissing Ace as you gave him the piece of flesh to eat, it was getting heated again. You knew you couldn't hold back, because you were too pent up from Crowley's bullshit, you didnt want to hurt him.

You and your dear boyfriend were walking towards the botanical garden for a fight, how did it come to this?

You and your boyfriend were talking in the cafeteria earlier and a bunch of lowlives came to pick on you/ get you away from "their" table, so all 6 of you made a conclusion that all 6 of you will fight in the botanical garden at the sharp 16:00 (4pm) and of you and Deuce win they would leave you alone, nice deal right?

Well nobody knew that it would end up in a bloodbath, only you, you have planned this for a long time that in the next fight somebody picks... You are gonna murder them and get rid of their body in a unique way.......

You and Deuce were walking towards the Botanical Gardens, when you arrived you had a bit of time ahead of you, like a good 20 minutes, so you began searching for Leona while Deuce was warming up, why exactly you were searching for Leona he asked,

-Why are you searching for Leona?-he asked

-I'm making sure he will not hear the fight and try to step in. - you replied back with the half baked truth.

After 10 minutes, no sings of Leona, you returned back to Deuce.

-Is he somewhere around here?

-No sign of him, he won't step in.

-Amazing.

And with that you started warming up. Tossing your jacket down, you started with properly warming up your neck, your shoulder, then your torso, knees then your ankles. You didn't have bandage or any kind of cloth you cover your knuckles put you had papertissues you could put into your fists, so your nails won't dig into your palms, you took down your jewelry and checked you hair if it was enough tied up/short enough to not be grabable, you tried to tighten your pants and shirt a bit so it couldn't be grapped/ripped up.

You were as prepared as your dear boyfriend was next to you, you knew he had your back and he knew you had his.

The clock striked 16.

The 4 students were there, all prepared.

They did not wait, they started landing their first blows, Deuce immediately switched after he took the first hit, he looked nice while having his delinqent side out, but you were still hungry and was waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

You quickly took down one of the guys on you by landing a hit on his abdomen first, which he didn't expect since people always go for the face first, then you landed the final blow on his nose, you broke it, as the smell of blood hit your nose, you were hungrier than ever, you had to use all of your self restrain to not bit his face of right there at the moment, there were too many people to see.

You quickly received a hit back by the other guy on you on the nose, not breaking it but causing a bleed and a slight dizziness, you weren't used to your human body being this weak.

As you wiped the blood of your nose you noticed that the only guy remaining there was that hit you, the other 3 fleed.

The perfect time to pounce came, you grabbed the guy's collar and shoulder and bit right into the area where the shoulder connects into the neck, as you ripped out broken pieces of his shoulder, he was screaming, and Deuce noticed, you quickly shut the guy down and began tearing his arteries out while keeping him standing and in place for you to eat, you ripped out his collar bone, at this point there was a small puddle of blood beneath you, the smell and taste of blood, the coppery taste and smell that you had missed had made you hungrier and hungrier, you began eating his shoulder and chest muscle that you could reach by ripping it up, at this point the dude had fallen into a comma. You were eating him alive, this thought made you hungrier.

Deuce couldn't do anything he froze, he never saw you like this, he had no idea, while he was thinking you found you way to his rib cage, you grabbed his rib through his skin and just ripped it out effortlessly.

You found the heart, still beating and hanging from its place, having nothing the hold in, you took the whole beating heart into you mouth, you felt it beating on your tongue. As you finally bit off his heart from the arterie, the heart, still beating as you swallowed it whole.

You finished as you swallowed the heart, the blood shooting out from his arteries and trickling on the cement ground, you stood there in all of your glory, bloodied mouth, needle sharp teeth revealed and scales on your face.

Deuce was oddly, amazed by you, he had heard about cannibalistic creatures but never had seen on in action, even though his gang had a few cannibalistic people, he had always been amazed, even turned on by their morbidity, and how messy they became.

Deuce ran up to you to kiss you, you were surprised but you kissed him back as you were pushing farther back until you both fell onto the grass, as you stopped for Deuce to catch his breath you hanged your pointy inhumane tongue out and licked his neck and carefully started to light nip at his neck with the carefullity that you most had in you, you didn't draw his blood but you both were getting sweatier by second.

-I *huff* don't want to end this, but *huff* we need to take care of his body and clean up. - he said while huffing and puffing, trying to catch his breath after the kiss.

-And I don't think it would be a good idea to do it here anyway. -he said.

-FiNe. -you said a bit dismayed but you still stood up, and helped him stand up and began cleaning the body out, lucky there were endangered plants waiting to be planted there would you just dug out a nice hole, dismembered the guy's body and threw his parts in there, buried him and planted the flowers.

For your luck, there was water at the Gardens so you could was your face off and get you hands "clean", you picked up your jacket buttoned it up and went to find a mop or cloth to clean up the puddle of blood.

You knew you dear hyena boyfriend would be never the one who would judge you, he had seen all kinds of people at the slums. But he had never seen someone like you, quiet, never really speaking but when speaking making a point, and so calm and collected but unhinged and messy at the same time, you never failed to amaze him.

But at this time he didn't had time to think about you, he was being chased by 3 diasomnia students that were so sure that he stole their wallets, but this time it really wasn't him, but they didn't believe him since he was the main face of stealing in NRC.

So there he was, running in the woods behind the campus, chased by the 3 students, he knew this forest like the back of his hand from the beans festival and from that he used the forest as an escape route, but so did the 3 students knew this forest like the back of their hands.

But they didn't know one things, there was a shadowed clearing in the forest, "the forest's heart", aka your resting place when you got tired of your human form, your seal was burned into the grass and you would return to your original self there, but he didn't know about the seal part because it was a but time since he got there so he started running towards the heart.

As for you you were ripping your human body apart, in the middle of the circle, your human body's blood flowing into the shape of your seal, as your monstrously big body emerged from the locking tightness of your human form.

You finally shed down the final parts of your skin prison.

You were standing there in all of your glory.

Needle sharp teeth, large mouth rimmed with long sharp needle like teeth and large, grey, feline-like eyes, 4 arms downer 2 longer, 2 appendeages coming from your lower back that can look like a tail, armor like harneden skin and many spiker on your back and limbs, with a creepingly white skin.

You were familiar with this feeling of that would be frightening feeling to a mere mortal, you loved it nonetheless.

The remains of your human body turning into ashes in the wind you opened your portal to the dimension you were living in through the seal, as your blood lit up. . Your true home, the world that your followers came from didn't appeal to you, but this, full of magic, weird creatures and new "flavoured" mortals, you loved it. You never asked Crowley to find you a way back home, but he was always pressuring you to help him. You wanted to tear him apart but not this time, you tried to calm yourself, it would set the school to a bigger problem, the time that you would rise up and get worshipped again. Not this time but soon, soon, it will happen.

As Ruggie was running towards the clearing up he saw the light of your seal, scared but was still running.

-Don't run now, it's useless, face the consequences of your own! -yelled Student A.

-Give us back our wallets you fuckhead! - yelled out Student C.

-Why are you running anyways? You wont run into anyone who will help you! -screamed Student B.

They were wrong, Ruggie was running straight towards you unknowingly.

You heard the noise, who were those fuckheads who disturbed you. You were kind of suprised to hear your dear boyfriends running steps. But even more suprised when you realized that you were there in all of your glory and Ruggie doesnt know about what are you.

You are hungry anyways, you don't have to hunt your food down, instead it comes to your in the form of the 3 fuckheads chasing your dear boyfriend.

Shortly you seen your boyfriend's ear peeking out, he looked up, he saw how you looked in all of your glory.

You never failed to amaze him, you amazed him again, how were you able to hide your big hunching monster body, that he loves so much even on the first sight, it amazed him.

With one swift movement you lifted up you dear lover who was now kind of the size of toddler or a bigger kindergartener, you could easily break him, snap him in half in a blink, like a twig. The thrill of it was there and you didn't know what to feel about it, not like you hated your boyfriend, you actually held him very close to your heart, more than you have held anyone close.

You saw the 3 guys, they were bigger than your boyfriend but not bigger than you.

You murmured to him.

-Im GoInG tO pLaCe YoU iN mY pOcKeT dImEnSiOn, I dOnT wAnT yOu To SeE tHiS.

Ruggie nodded, you put him down closed off the dimension portal.

And you began your feast.

Tentacles sprut out if the ground, grabbing one of the guys and lifted him up. It began slowly pull on one of his arm and one of his leg. Then as you and the other 2 guys listened to the guys's screams as being thorn apart, you laughed, like a deep guttular good laugh you would get once in a while.

He finally torn apart, his guts and organs in his abromen fell out, right in front of his friends.

The other tentacles grabbing the other guy lifted the guy to above your mouth as you opened your mouth the 2 tentacles grabbing the guy started twisting him to opposite directions like you would do to a wet piece of cloth, you twisted his blood out of him to take your thirst away.

Then you just crushed the other guy with your tentacle, just the tentacle wrapping around him, tightening and tightening 'til his body exploded, after you dried your tentacles off into the grass.

As you finished you picked you dear boyfriend up from your pocket dimension and holding him close, as you shrinked yo a smaller and more humanioder form, but fortunately for your dear boyfriend you could only shrink that you would still tower over him but to a comfortable height, so you lifted him as he wrapped his legs around your waist while kissing you and still feeling the blood in you mouth, the coppery bit sweet taste in your mouth that he oddly loves so much. Both him and your were getting horny, you felt his bulge luckly he didn't really feel yours.

This was going as a normal Saturday, then your boyfriends invited to the Coral Sea as a way to spend time with you. You didn't have any other thing to do, so you passed Grim down to the ADeuce dou and went on your way with your 2 boyfriends.

What they didn't know that you could breathe underwater in you human form so, you gobled down the underwater breathing potion that made you able to breath underwater for 24 hours and just jumped into the mirror after your two dear eels.

As you jumped into the water you began to transform into your real form's "water style" growing your appendages and legs together to forms a tail and left your 4 arms as they was with the exception that you made the downer two to the size of your "human" arms, and there you were.

They were very surprised to say the least at your "water style", so the two began asking.

"- What kind of fish is what you are, dear? "

"- Nee~ Shrimpy what kind of fish you are? "

This is what you weren't prepared for so you just said it was a kind of fish in your own world. Then Jade asked:

"- What did the potion taste like? Like seaweed and mud or like or like scales and blood?"(I tried remembering the taste of the uwb potion from chap 3)

You, of course not being dumb said it tasted like blood and scales, so they would think they gave you the "wrong" potion, but either way you can breath underwater but one of the potions give you a merman form and the other doesn't.

They decided to leave this question alone and began "teaching" you to how to use your "water style form", they began realizing that you lied about the potion because you did things like it was this way your entire life.

Time skip

Overall you had a great day in the Coral Sea with your boyfriends but the Sun was setting and you time decreased, you only had enough potion time to get through the night and a few hours after the sun has gone up.

The Tweels had told you that at night, the danger will increase as more night hunting fish and merpeople come out of their hideouts to eat and hunt, and live.

This time was no other, you started to see more types is moray eels, giant morays with orange skin and black and with spots, these morays were bigger than the tweels by a few times, small little cardinalfish merpeople with yellow orange and light pink colors, some even slightly glowing, smaller and bigger squirrelfish and soldierfish merpeople with their radiant pinkish red colors, Porcupine merpeople, with their slight ballon like tails and bodies, lmost looking like pufferfish merpeople, Scorpion fish merpeople, that you could see settling themselves into the ground to hunt, Snapper merpeople with their vivid and vibrant red color coming of as glowing even, even more morays, Honeycomb moray merpeople with their spotted tails and fins and markings on their bodies, snowlake Morays with their with their light colored head and shoulders, changing to a black and a bit vibrant colored spots then white again, and octopus merpeople, changeing their colors to fit, changing their colors when they talk, the entire Coral Sea was full with life even at night, many many vibrant colored or even a bit glowing fish of Twisted Wonderland you don't know.

It was a sight to behold, not an everyday things to see even for some eldritch monster like you, you loved this sight.

But since there were giant morays and morays bigger than your two dear boyfriends at you 2 sides, you started to put up more guards, attacks could come, even though it's beautiful it's still full of danger, you three were chatting left and right as Floyd started get more excited and energetized than before, that's what the night does to the Morays, even Jade started to get more active and energized, you never saw Jade like this, another thing noted about him, but for some reason you were getting more energetized, excited feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline through your body, not like you are afraid, you are just swimming with your two boyfriends, then what sent the adrenaline?

This is what the night does to some, turns them active and vivider than before.

This was all great and good until you three wanted to see the night sky and went to a rock to sit out on it, but of course something had to go wrong, of course it had to.

You found yourselves winded up with 2 giant moray merpeople, a pair if a male and a female, they were hunting, anything, they could eat anything, so they decided on you three. Since they were much bigger than the twins and you, they thinked that it will be an easy meal, but they didn't prepare to be eaten themselves.

They pounced on the three of you, GiantM A went for your boyfriends and GiantM B went for you, but she didn't prepare for you to dodge her, since she ambushed from behind, this has spiked her on, turned out adrenaline junkie merpeople exist, and she was one.

She went toe to toe with you, or should I say fin to fin, or tail to tail with you, doesn't matter she went on with you in the sand, making a mess of sand, tails and appendages and blood, turns out creatures in this world can put up a good fight for you, opponents that you can have fun fighting with and not just run and pounce on them.

The water fastly turned rad around the pile you made with her, blood mixing with blood, she bit your shoulder but she didn't expect that when she tried to hit you, you swallowed her fist and just bit her arm right off, the blood shot out from her arm as you got a grip on her with 2 of your arms as the other two arms started to pull at the fins on her sides, ripping them off and eating it, the twins had already ended their side of the ambush since there were 2 against one, so they could only watch in horror as you ripped off her fins, bit her arm off.

The sand has settled around the two of you, the only sand coming up is from her struggling, she is screaming in pain, it annoyed you, it did very much so, it drew attention too, so you forced your fist into her mouth, piercing your claws into her tongue, than into her lower part of mouth piecing the outside skin, you left your thumb outside and with the hand that was still ripping at the fins, grabbed her lower jaw, swiftly moved it to the side, breaking it, so the hand in her mouth just ripped her lower jaw down, entirely,more blood shot out as you now started to claw at her chest with the hand that just ripped her jaw down, she was still not passed out, she desperately clawed and stuggled at your arms to let go of her, her tail moved, stuggling, making the sand flip, until your appendages pinned her on hand down and the other appendage pinned her tail, you felt her go limp in your grip as you started to choke her, your arm covered in bites and scratches, a chunk missing from you from since she bit you, the scratches from when you pinned her.

You were clawing at her chest to get to her sternum, you had a plan and you were gonna excetute it, you dug into her chest deep enough to get to the sternum, made your hand under it and bobbed it up high enough for a bite, biting into her sternum as you pulled at her sternum ripping some ribs with it, it tore skin, she went limp, she passed out, she began to die as she lost so much blood, and you were searching for the heart, you found it, bit into her heart and started pulling, it pulled the arteries around it, the arteries in her neck too, you pulled it out and gobled it down by unhingeing you jaw, you were done, you made a mess with it as the twins watched in horror on the sideline, seeing their adorable little partner absolute murder a merwoman at least one times their size, it was a sight to behold to see you this carnivorous as they used to see you be quiet and shy, they would never thought this of you but they are not dissapionted. They were getting turned on, their slits making themselves visible, Jade's even slightly opening up.

There you were in your bloody glory of your water form, mouth and teeth covered with blood, and it triclkeing down you jaw a bit, your hand bloody from your wrist a bit up to your elbows when you clawed at her chest and ripped her jaw off, the appendages let go of her.

You were there with a crazed smile on your face that could rival Idia's crazed smile, and they were liking, how you looked, they could make out your spine because of how you were hunching, they loved it, they loved every part of you, even thought they just say you brutally murder someone, but this isn't a rare occurrence in the Coral Sea, they were fascinated by you, how well you hid these urges to kill and eat ones heart.

Trey didn't really think that you are what you show yourself to be, don't get him wrong he loves every part of you, but has a slight feeling that you are not yourself, like Cater, and he feels that on both if you, but with the exception that he gets to see more if you let him because you two are dating.

He didn't mean to pry anything about you, he was particularly curious that day as you two were cuddling, and opening up to him about your past, how you were worshipped as a god eventhough you are not one, how you were praised, given offering and sacrifices up to, how you some kind of relief by everyone treating you as a somewhat equal, like you are not a deity to be worshipped.

-"What kind of offerings and sacrifices did they gave you"-he asked.

You were a bit repulsed by the question and retreated a bit back into a shell you created yourself, Trey took a notice of it and just dragged the theme off the offerings, and sacrifices.

As you began to drift off to sleep on his chest, he asked:

-"If there would be a way for you to get back home, would you take it?"

Now, this is the difficult question, you never thought about this, you had your own little pocket dimension, retreated there when you wanted.

"I don't really know, I have my own universe to retreat back to when I want to, and why I would go back, I have killed them, they didn't bring enough and they did bring that little in very longs of time, way smaller and way later they gave what they promised"-you simply replied.

He was taken a-back, you killed them. You had blood on your hands, he knew that you didn't show all of you, and he figured that's why, you didn't want to scare him or others with that you are a murderer, but if they promised something and didn't keep it they do deserve a punishment, but everyone makes mistakes, but what he didn't know that was the 5th pack of cult you killed in your living, that you have existed throughout your own world's history as a god of some sort when you aren't even one, he didn't know how old you were, he didn't know how you really looked like.

You decided, you decided to drop the Nuke, so you asked.

"Do you want to know what they worshipped? "

He was taken back again even more, what do you mean "what do they worshipped? " he agreed so you got up and teleported both of you to your pocket universe, and began transforming in the middle of your seal, as he watched in surprise as where he and you are and what do you plan to do.

You stood shakingly in the middle of your seal.

You grewed out your needle sharp teeth, your clothes ripping as you grewed your other pair of arms.

Your joint and bones cracked as your body transformed itself, your skin turning pale, as pale as your skin had let it, your skin tore and healed itself as your bones relocated tthemselves according to your biology, the two appendeages growing out their bonestructure, then it's flesh then the skin, it was a bloody sight.

He watched everything carefully with fascinatoon and fear, how you didn't twitch in pain as your knees broke and set to be in the opposite directions.

How you didn't even whince as your two other arms kind of shot out of you back like springs in your body, ripping the skin and flesh as it came out, at the flesh and skin tearing there was blood beneath you, then the tore skin fell off as it revealed perfectly connected skin like how your "original" arms looked.

There were spikes and armor growing from your spine, it tore your skin all over again.

It stopped, the sound of tearing flesh and skin stopped.

You stood there and watch your boyfriend comprehensive how big you were, and how different you looked. He loved it, he wandered off, he though about you just absolutely using him for your pleasure.

He surprisingly took it well as he held your hand between his, he looked like a small kid next to you.

This surprisingly went well.

You hoisted him up, as you looked him in the eyes as he stared in yours.

"This isnt what I imagined of what they were hiding, but it was a good decision to ask that. I think I understand now why did they worship them". He thinked to himself.

Leona was a patient man. He waited for you to tell him about what of monstrosity you are.

He could smell it on you, he could smell the blood of innocent on you, he could smell it on your breath, he could even hear the screams of their's while you devoured them alive.

When he first smelled the blood on your breath as you two were talking as while cuddling, he noted as you bit your mouth or something. The the next week your shirt and hands even cheeks were Stinking of blood, even though you washed it and showered 2 times, he could still smell it, smell the blood, and see the discoloration from blood on your teeth, he was taken-a-back, of course he was, his partner probably had cannibalisctic tendencies.

That was clarified once he walked the main street to the Hall of mirrors, he saw a hunched figure in the shadows, the shadow was dragging something, the scent of blood had hit his nose, he heard the cracking of sticks stop, he heard a crack, a load crack, like a bone exposed breaking, without the skin and muscle muffling the crack, he started to hear ripping of flesh and skin as he didn't see the figure, he was frightened, scared. Blood chilling fear creeping up his spine, it was a long ago he was frightened like by something. He doesn't even know. He literally hearing, someone's body being devoured by something, something inhuman, as he hears your jaws crackle and your skin rip so it can accommodate your mouth opening that far, he hard something really moist, and wet snaking out of said mouth, your wet and snake like tongue slipped out to lap at the blood, falling from the dead body, your jaw opened in two like your left and right part of your jaw ripping in two.

He was curious, he was curious because of the adrenaline running through his veins because of fear, and you know what they say about the curiosity and the cat.

He sneakes towards the noise, noise of ripping flesh becoming louder, the sound was making him gag, but he knew if he made a noise he could be the next.

Shock washed him over as he saw you, saw you rip at the flesh with your mouth, ripping out a chunk then bobing your head a bit towards so you can get a better hold on the chunk of flesh.

He was rushing to leave while he tried to not make a sound, he was successful, he began walking away, comprehending what happend.

He began wondering, if you wanted to eat you would have to hunt, and to hunt you needed seriously power to take down someone in enough time to them to not scream, and considering, you were eating someone twice your size you needed more power, and from what parts you are eating and left scars up om, he knew you had routine with this.

He began wondering, can you overpower him? How much could you overpower him? How easily?

How easily could you manhandle him? How easily could you bend him in all sorts of positions you would like?

Rook was very observant, he was a hunter. He took a special interest in you ever since you arrived at this Twisted one of a Wonderland. His curiousity and special interest made him want to date you first, then his feeling caught up and his platonic way of gesturing you was thrown out the window, you had to be very oblivious to not notice his interest in you, but you were an immortal being who survived through even if it was an apocalypse in your world, you had seen everything, but this time you had caught feelings too.

He was observing the treeline of the Main Street from afar, as always but this time something caught his eyes, you walking out of there with your jaw a bit red, buttoning your jacket up and your jaw forging into one as your teeth grew back to the humane size.

From that day, he watched your actions with a little more caution, he watched how you warned up to a random person, then after a few days or even 2 weeks, they were nowhere to be seen and he was last seen with you. He connected it, you were a cannibal and made sure you had food, you were hunting and anyone could be your prey to eat. Anyone could fall under the umbrella of your victims, it made him wonder, would you hunt him down and eat him?

He paid attention to everything you did to people you were planning to eat, but you did and said none of those things that you said and did to them. Maybe you needed a coverage or a person if it's a close call, to him you were an enigma, even with his very observant eyes he could figure you out, at that is what made him fall in love with you even more, he wanted to figure you out, no matter what it takes...

He would have watched you as usual from his destined place from his favorite tree. But no, he was curious, how did you look like in all of your glory, or how do you eat them? Where do you start to rip up their skin? Where do you start gnawing at the flesh of your victim? Do you open up the ribs or nah? What do you refuse to eat? He didn't care about the blood, he wanted to see it, see all of it. So, he took the matter into his own hands.

He watched, he watched how you bit into their throat. He watched how you ripped their juggular and severed the head. He watched how you open up the ribs throug the skin, how did you carefully placed your hand under the ribcage and then slid up your hands to the parts under the septum and how you just opened it, like a window, with how much ease. Weirdly the heart was still beating, it was beating, weakly but still beating. He watched how you just ripped the heart from its place, how you weren't afraid to get your hands dirty.

He watched as you carefully turned the person on their back and dig your clawed hands into their back and ripped the spine out.Ripping skin and flesh with it. He watched as you licked the spine clean and ate the skin and flesh of off the spine.

In his eyes, you were absolute beauty.

How your then clean skin turned into a rough clawed ending, how it had blood dripping from it, how did the blood vessels and bones were visible through the skin.

How your then perfect face became even more beautiful by the blood covering it, blood and saliva running on your chin as you are absolutely hungered out, this person was a tough shell to crack and you became hungered, but you didn't give up and searched for an easier prey.

He found this form oddly beautiful, an another level of beautiful he has yet to discover.

He loved how the color of blood looked on you. He loved how your teeth were covered in blood. How needle sharp were they. He loved that you have a jaw that has two pieces. How painlessly can you rip open the skin of your cheeks to accommodate your mouth.

This is the kind of beauty that he doesn't see evey day.

His partner, drentched In blood and eating, devouring, feasting on one another.

This kind of you struck him as beautiful.

Idia has seen all kinds of monstrosity in the S.T.Y.X going from failed blot experiments to hexapodic beast to Titans and Phantoms.

But the one thing he never saw was a creature of godly power turning into a human to hunt humans out of hunger, he never seen something like this.

He started speculating, maybe you were tested on a lot or some people are capable of doing this in your world or it's natural, he didn't know, he also didn't know that he was terrified or marveled at you and at the scene that is unfolding before him.

The scene where you literally ripping at some rando's skin with your hands, how do you just took a chunk out of the rando's skull like you just bite it and just rip it's exposing his brain as he just passed out from the pain, that fella had a high pain tolerance if he just passed out, after you have already bit his fist off earlier and ripped his shoulder, he just passed out now, as you bit his skull open. But you didn't seem to care, only if that you made things more morbid and grotesque, as if it was getting you going and it did.

Matter how grotesquely or morbidly you ate, he marveled at it from the CCTV, he began wandering off. How much kg/PSI is your bite force? How many people have you killed and eaten? How many people began using you as a boogeyman for their children, as they say the murders that you have concluded on the news? How many people's nightmares you are/were in? Would you bite him is he asked? What would you react when he tells you he can regenate himself?

Well he must find out..

He did know he will find an another cast out like him, a cast out that gets people frightened, he did know why they were frightened but no one seem to bother you after one of his dorm resident has gone missing, he couldn't care less about the resident, he was an asshole to other residents, and other residents of other dorms.

But after him going missing, you and your friends group was never bothered, and nobody had laid a single finger on you or any of your friends.

He found it fascinating, he had listened to rumors about some Savanaclaw students setting out to get you to the infirmary for a few weeks or even months, but THEIR rumors died down the minute after that guy from their group went missing, but not other rumours, not other rumours, so he decided to loom and look over you at your every step, he was your shadow.

He was just curious, he noticed that you knew he was there but you really care, except you tried to be a show off, we're you trying to court him?

He doesn't know how does courting in your species, or in your world works.....

But He Was Suprised When You Bought One Of Your Bullies Beating Heart To Him, As A Courting Present.

He was Suprised, marveled, and shocked at how you managed to do that, he was like your shadow and you just brought a heart to him.

He didn't know how to react, he just had a brain storm.

Malleus bit into the beating heart and kissed you.

This was the best outcome you could have gotten, he accepted your proposal of love and loyalty until death does you two apart.

----------------------

And it's ended, I thought I would never finish this but here it is. Please reblog if you liked it

#twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #idiot writes :d #rook hunt x reader #malleus draconia x reader #trey clover x reader #idia shroud x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #monster reader #gore #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #deuce spade x reader #ace trapolla x reader #twst x mc #twst x reader #heavy gore #dead dove do not eat

[xxiamtiebrousxx]

Chapter Six "Sandwich Surprise" (My Fortress Home | Tf2 x Reader)

After my whole two minutes I was gone in the real world, U/n kept a watchful eye on me. I sat on the couch and stared at the dark screen of the TV. I had to hide the lighter from U/n or else he would suspect something was up. I was staring at my reflection. I looked pale and sick, with bags under my eyes. U/n was making some phone calls in the kitchen. I was wrapped in my blanket. I wasn’t cold, but I needed something warm to comfort me. I was feeling icky inside, a little hungry. I stood up from the couch and waddled my way into the kitchen. U/n was finishing up one last phone call.

“Hey Y/n,” he said. He put down his phone on the counter. “Need something?” he asked. I opened the fridge and grabbed a wrapped up sandwich.

“I got it,” I answered, closing the fridge. I waddled over to the counter and unwrapped the sandwich. I took small bites from it. It was a bit soggy and chewy in a gross way. Heavy could do better than this.

“Um, is everything alright?” U/n asked. I nodded. “You sure?” I nodded again. There was nothing to talk about. I was fine. He sighed. “C’mon Y/n, talk to me,” he said. I scoffed.

“I said I’m fine!” I harshly replied. “I don’t need to talk.” I snatched my sandwich and ran off, slamming my bedroom door behind me. Geez, what was up with me? I wasn’t usually this angry. Maybe it was something in the food that was causing me to act this way. I made a whiny noise and collapsed over my bed. I wanted to go back and prove that I was sucked into a video game. I didn’t want to be considered crazy. I just needed to calm down and figure out how to get some proof. Almost on cue, my computer turned on. I lifted my head up. Last time I checked, that thing was off. I got off the bed. “What are you doing?” I asked quietly. I hit the power button. The computer refused to turn off. I groaned and held the button down. It finally shut down, making a whining sound. I smirked. “Hmph, you finally listened to me. Good.”

“Ah, jou’re awake!” a voice exclaimed. I yelped. The voice startled me. I turned around. Medic was washing his hands in the sink. Where did that come from? The room looked like someone tore two different pages and put them together. I looked behind me. My half of my bedroom was rapidly shrinking away.

“How long was I out?” I asked, turning to face Medic. He turned the sink’s faucet off and dried his hands.

“Oh, only for a few hours,” he said. He put the towel down. “You know, you were unresponsive to everything I did. It was like you were dead.” I pressed my lips into a line. That was something to add to my list of what was going on here. My side of the room had completely transformed into Medic’s lab. It was messy with medical supplies and trash littering the floor. There was dove poop and blood on the walls. That was gross. I felt a small pain shoot up my arm. I winced. Medic turned around. “What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “It felt like something pinched me.” He smiled.

“That should be the respawn chip,” he answered. “I put it in you while you were under. I also replaced your heart to handle the uber charge.” I turned pink. Medic cut me open without my permission. Classic Medic, I thought to myself. I rubbed the sore area. There was a small bump. I assumed this to be the chip. 

“How does the chip work?” I asked.

“Hmm? Oh, the respawn chip!” Medic happily answered. “Vell, jou see, the chip teleports you to this area where your body is restored. Your soul goes somewhere safe for jou to wait. After a couple of seconds, you are revived and good as new.” So that’s how the respawn actually worked. I just thought it copied and cloned you. Keeping the originals alive since 2007. The medbay door opened. Medic and I both looked up. Engineer’s head popped in.

“How’s our patient?” he asked Medic.

“They’re wide awake,” he answered. I gave Engie a small wave. He smiled brightly.

“Would you like something to eat darlin’? You must be starving!” Engineer exclaimed. I smiled. I was still hungry. That sandwich I made didn’t fill me up.

“Yeah, I’m up for eating,” I said. “You got any chips or something?” I asked.

“Heavy’s makin’ his famous sandwiches,” Engineer replied. I licked my lips. I would get a chance to try an actual Team Fortress sandwich! Medic patted my back.

“They are to die for,” he said. I followed Engie and Medic out the door. I was salivating at the thought of devouring that sandwich. But I stopped myself. I wasn’t here to have fun. I was here to get answers. I needed to know what was happening. Although, it wouldn’t hurt to have just a little bit of fun. I sat down at the table. Everyone there, not including Engineer and Medic, looked at me weird. Maybe it was because of what happened earlier today. I drummed my fingers on the table.

“So, you feelin’ better?” Scout asked. He broke the silence.

“Yeah, I am,” I answered. Heavy walked in holding a plate with a sandwich on it. But just as he was about to put it down before me, the doorbell rang. Scout was the first to get up and open it. Miss Pauling, the actual Miss Pauling, stood in the doorway. Oh man, I was giddy. 

“(Class name)?” she called out. 

“Here,” I answered. I stood up. “What do you need?”

“Someone important is here to talk to you,” she answered. “Come outside when you’re ready.” I snatched the sandwich off the plate.

“Good luck cadet,” Soldier said. “You’ll need it.” I scampered off, almost tripping over the chairs, and walked outside. I stuffed the sandwich in my mouth. 

“What do you need, Pauling?” I asked, closing the door behind me. My jaw opened wide, causing the sandwich to fall out of my mouth, as I turned to face the woman in front of me. The Administrator towered over me.

“We need to talk,” she said.

#Romance #Team Fortress 2 x reader #tf2 x Reader #Tf2 Sniper X Reader #Tf2 Spy X Reader #Tf2 Medic X Reader #Tf2 Heavy X Reader #Tf2 Demoman x reader #tf2 Engineer x reader #tf2 Pyro X Reader #Tf2 Scout x reader #tf2 Soldier x Reader #X Reader #Fanfiction #Humor #video games #tf2 #team fortress 2

[kylo-wrecked]

She's still cleaning up after herself when Ben lets himself in. It is his apartment after all. And of course he works on his birthday. She knows he loves his mother but the exasperation of a dinner performance cannot be high on his list of priorities. Maybe there's a reason she had to discreetly investigate the particular date. Despite years now there are still secrets he keeps. It only seems fair. She offers him a smile. Apologetic at the edges but bright and alive in her gaze as she looks up at him. "Hey." The cake on the counter is clearly homemade. By someone who can't really cook to save their life. Beside it, a brightly coloured box, and a gift bag leaking lavender coloured tissue paper. The immaculate box is a throw back to one of their earliest conversations, a glimpse of the people they are beneath and only he will understand why. The other is a riot of autumn colours. Hours and days and weeks of measuring and knitting, a signature piece no one else will have. She imagines it will languish in his closet until it gets eaten by entropy moths. She imagines her own arms around his neck all the same. "Made reservation f' suppah. Half-Nine. Pleny time for you to unwind, yeah?" By that she means she rented out the restaurant. His birthday, but her right to be selfish.

Friday night is like any other until he gets home. Then, it becomes his birthday again. Friday, the carriage that turns back into the pumpkin. He can kind of smell it as it creeps under the front door; sugar, butter, batter.

He stands in the vestibule, watching the bare oaks sway their freshly appendaged branches over the Prospect Park wall. Bony and violet against the plush grey sky. Just to catch his breath. To hold it for a moment like a dove in his hands. 

Ben doesn't turn on the outdoor lantern or the wall lights. Over several years of exhausted coats and long johns, he's never outgrown the fear of being watched. So, his key for Beth, rather than his window—a key no one else owns. So Ben knows it's her before he even walks in. 

"Hey," he says, sniffing. If his cheeks and nose aren't stung from New York's accostment by Toronto's cold front, Ben doesn't know his mother's city or his own face. And, after shedding peacoat, hat, scarf (*not knit, but Hermés; a fact that repeatedly makes him wince*), in quick succession on the floor, crossing his own threshold, and finding, in addition to Beth, the frill of lavender tissue, lurid in his realm of study greens, rich woods, and proper, ethically-sourced roasts, Ben finds, no, he doesn't know his face. It's articulating some muted, if exotic, expression of surprise. 

"Oh... oh, no." A sound one could reasonably describe as a chuckle stutters his words. Foreign and nervous on his lips. "You didn't."

But he—he, if anyone—would understand why Beth leads with Monster High.  

Ben goes for Lagoona Blue first. She's a good lure, non-threatening. The doll would be little more than a gag gift if it didn't make him think of Beth. (Lagoona Blue, or this variation of her anyway, even comes in platform slippahs.) Her bright Hollywood lights look tiny in his hands. 

Ben gives Beth a genuine smile in thanks. Certain words go unsaid.

"She can judge me when I watch Sopranos re-runs," he adds and wanders off, presumably to place Lagoona Blue on a high and heavy shelf in range of his flatscreen. He returns in a lighter mood to bury his nose in Beth's shoulder and all bantam physical maneuvers required of him to plant it there. 

Ben sees the cake from that vantage. The cake, which is the best part. Never mind that it's too dense or that the frosting is so LED, brain-tapping vibrant, Ben can tell exactly what hue it is. He doesn't mean to make Beth blush; it's just that baking someone an * ugly * cake "is a love language unlike any other." (And he'll still eat the whole thing.)

Ben says this with gravitas and kisses her while he's down there, nudging his cold edges into Beth's warm contours. And he's, in turn, flustered by their arrival at an empty restaurant, although it wouldn't take an empath to tell that he's pleased; it's no secret. He even wears the scarf Beth knit for him, keeps burrowed in it until she ushers him out from his overcoat and into a booth.  

So there. So, Ben alludes to wearing her around his neck later. 

#brooklynislandgirl #bornday 2k23 #prompt #m. au | modern!ben: the senator's son #{thank you fren <33} #{this was really sweet} #{in beth we trust}

[captainsweet]

I keep forgetting about this :sob:

Anyway, random drabbles with edgy titles I didn't feel like changing.

(TW! IMPLIED EMOTIONAL ABUSE AND PARENTIFICATION.)

(IT'S NOT GRAPHIC WHATSOEVER, BUT PLEASE KEEP YOUR COMFORTABILITY IN MIND REGARDLESS.)

These were also made during various stages of being half asleep so sorry if I don't make a single lick of sense lmao

|| Unknown Means to an End || AU: ITERATION LOE || MAIN CHARACTER: Dove ||

There was one thing he always knew no matter what.

He was her little Dove, she loved him, cared for him, saw him as her child for a couple of years. After all, he was a genius, a natural one at that, and he was useful.

Dove was useful, and Mama would love him as long as he'd continue to be.

That was fine though, he loved being with her, he loved the scarf she made him, loved the Dove pins even more. He loved the fact his Mama was considerate enough to get him glasses, considerate enough to let him meet people, to let him play, to let him eat, to let him be happy, to let him exist.

She was so nice to him, allowed him to breathe, to still be around, to let him help his twin brother.

Mama was always so sweet.

She was the reason Dove was alive, that Dove could get his little Mik walking again, that Dove was so happy to simply exist and breathe and be alive. She gave him that luxury, and he shouldn't take it for granted.

So, Dove made himself useful. He would be a good Turtledove for her, and she would give him what he needed to make his family happy.

No more Dad going out for days for food, sometimes coming back empty handed just because he was that worried. No more of his twin staring at them longly as they ran around or simply ate breakfast. No more tears flowing after Leo accidentally broke Raf's arm again.

No more pain, and maybe one day, no more hiding.

But that wasn't now. So all Dove had to do was be a good picture perfect son, and his family would be happy again.

|| There Comes a Time || AU: ITERATION LOE || MAIN CHARACTER: Dove ||

There comes a time where you have to stop holding onto the words of your parents and discover the truth for yourself. A time where you are finally no longer being coddled. A time where you are forced to be just like they were, but better.

And it fucking sucks. Dove can attest to that.

Except this wasn't his father, no, this was his own mother. He dreaded the thought of following in her footsteps, he dreaded it more than the day he lost his Mom, his real one, and he just knew he couldn't do it.

He has a family, people to look after, and he would've left long ago if being in this position didn't give him the chance to save his sibling. His Twin at that, and he'd rather endure this torture and life day by day than have to lose them.

Any of them.

So he stayed silent. He kept to his role of Perfect Son while grieving his Mom, and missing his family. He listened to whatever his Mother requested, gave her what she wanted tenfold and hoped to god it would be enough that she'd stay quiet when he left.

If there's one thing that always stays true, it's that no matter how much of a genius you are as a child, you're still a dumb and naïve kid.

Why would she ever let go of him when she has seen his potential? When she's seen how capable he is? If Dove knew that it mattered, he would've been just as useless as his Mom warned him to be, but he knew he was special, and he was desperate.

It didn't matter. When it came time to go, she had said no. She wanted him to stay, had cried faux tears over a child that was only briefly hers, had whined about losing the only person she had left.

And if there's one thing everyone knows, it's that no matter what, you always have to listen to your Mother.

|| Making Do With What You Have || AU: Robots, Robots, and– Oh! More Robots. (RROMR) || MAIN CHARACTER: Frida ||

She didn’t know what to think when her mother walked in with a little boy. She didn’t even know how to begin to process it when she was told that same little boy was just a robot. A nice little deal someone owed her mother as always.

He was silent, and freaky, and always smiling, and Frida didn't like him. Not at first at least.

If there was one thing clear, it was that he was supposed to replicate someone, but it was not a good job whatsoever. He was supposed to be the leader, he hardly said two words to her, and he seemed to look down on her in a way.

It was only the first time they fought that she realized, that they realized, he wouldn't compare.

It hardly took five moves before he was down, and even less than that the second time. He was made to be talented, but a robot can only compare so much to true years of training and work, even if it's booted in their brain.

That day.. was also when his look completely changed towards her. He didn't talk more, but he practically had stars in his eyes whenever she was around him. It was pathetic, and it showed just how utterly weak he was, how less than, how much better Frida was of a soldier.

And she cared for him.

Not because she wanted to, oh god no, but it was because of how utterly useless he was. He wasn't better than her, he provided no new ideas, no tactics, nothing. He was designed to be a leader, just like her other was, but he couldn't even compare to the turtle before, even if he was probably dead and died as just a baby.

He was a pathetic excuse of a remake and nothing more, but.. Frida could make him better. He was a hunk of metal that didn't matter, but they wouldn't get rid of him. She even got grounded for suggesting so! If that was going to be it, she was going to make him better. Make him worthy of being around her and working for her mother.

To be claimed as her mothers son. To call this robot her other, her brother at that.

He may be an empty shell now, but she would make him oh so much more than ever thought possible.

#Part of me wants to say these are edgy by it IS literally based off of my IRL experience so I don't think I can really call it that 💀 #RROMR is just an AU i created in my head and just haven't said anything about because I don't know what to do with it #I like it but it's a lil bare bones and I don't really even have an outline #I don't need to make it big or anything as it's just supposed to be silly and fun but I jus #Don't know what to do with it #I have a lot of thoughts about it but oh well #drabbles #writing #LOE #LOE AU #Laid Out Events #Laid Out Events AU #Dove LOE #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt writing #I don't know what to tag #RROMR AU #RROMR #tmnt au #RROMR Frida #Frida TMNT #rottmnt au #Robots Robots and More Robots #I just want to tag it all so it's easy for me to find if I ever want to look back on it #tw implied abuse #parentification #tw implied emotional abuse #I'm surprised most of these are surrounded around big mama.. can you tell I have mommy issues? #tmnt iteration

[lizhly-writes]

for the recent ask game: 1, 7, 19, 22, 36 :), 55, 73?

(sorry, these are just such interesting questions, i did try to limit myself i promise)

ahahahaaaa okay

1. Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

truly i'd like to say that i enjoy writing multi-chaptered fics more. my ambition is grand! alas: my writing stamina is weak. i'm more prone to comfortably writing 500 words and cutting it off there. nobody resents this more than me.

so i suppose it's accurate to say i prefer writing oneshots and resent the fact that i prefer i writing oneshots.

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

so for multi-POV works of fiction, i essentially switch when i get bored, or when i can't figure out where to go next. if i'm bored, then the next character should be more interesting; if i can't figure out where to go next, then i probably don't have a good grasp on at least one of the characters and need to get inside that character's head to do an examination.

for single POVs? it'll just be whoever I've decided will be the Main Character!!!

19. What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

...boringly enough, it's kim dokja. if you don't include characters, i'm afraid to say that everything is very, very even.

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

hmm. so i don't think i'll ever write anything that will require me to put a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning on it. any particular tropes themselves, i probably wouldn't shy away from at least implying, but it's incredibly unlikely that i would -- or even could! -- go far enough to say "YEAH I REALLY MEAN IT THERE'S A DEAD DOVE IN HERE", you know?

maybe the dove will be sleeping. maybe you will think the dove is dead but actually, surprise, it was alive the whole time. it is really hard for me to mean it enough to tell you this kind of thing, you know? i don't have the stomach for it.

36. How do you write kissing scenes?

I was WONDERING what the smiley face was for.

sometimes unromantically (i have described a kiss as tasting like spit more than once), but usually quite abstractly. there are some details thrown in - soft lips, warm mouths, hot tongues, this kind of thing. but am i describing what any of those are actually DOING? eh. not necessarily. does it work? who knows? not many of the kiss scenes i've written have actually made it out into the wild, i don't get much feedback on them.

sometimes i just go 'they kissed' and then i write about the panic that happens after that.

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

currently, it's my oc, yang haoran. i don't really have a favorite when it comes to fandom. for some reason, i haven't gotten quite the same joy out of breaking someone else's character in half, you know?

it's probably him because i definitely had some of y'all who enjoyed the story he's in and said some nice things about it. if i hadn't, it's unlikely i would have written him for long enough that i like him this much ahaha

73. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

this is frankly a bit hard because i'm not terribly self aware about my own writing. i would have to say that often times, i don't let tension last long. in longer works, it's unlikely i can stay serious for very long; there's likely going to be a one-liner or joke that's popping up.

i'm also pretty fond of using repetition, often times in the same sentence, to smooth things out or to really hammer in a joke. i REALLY like using hyphens. I have a tendency to start paragraphs with ellipses (thanks, orv), and this certain way of structuring sentences (THANKS ORV) like so:

"This type of phrasing, I'm told it's incorrect", instead of "I'm told this type of phrasing is incorrect."

send me an ask!

#asks #jihnari #ask games

[bardic-inspo]

2 4 17 and 28? Hier sind Bredeles.

Thank you! <3

[Fanfic Writer Ask Game]

2. Do you read/reread your own fics?

Yes! Not super often. I revisit the same few Deacon x MacCready x Natasha oneshots a lot, but have made a few rounds through my whole post-Institute OT3 series for them. I've only re-read BtG a few times. Part of that, too, is, I read the chapters so many times already before posting them. It's different to read for editing, but, still.

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

Two major ones! Which is more than enough for me.

Midnight Chimes is my Astarion x Cursed!Tav long-ish fic I recently started (but really it feels more like it sprang out of me of its own accord). I had intended to maybe write them a oneshot series. Or to maybe write a shorter multi-chapter set only in Act III. Naomi and Astarion took the wheel and told me otherwise. It's been fun so far, having the broad strokes in mind, but really letting the characters drive the adventure. And I get to write in a more traditional fantasy setting, which I haven't done in ages, and feels super refreshing.

The other is my moby dick-sized and counting Fallout 4 longfic for SoSu x MacCready, Bring the Gasoline. She's sitting at 29/43 chapters posted, and I am still chipping away at her. It's been a while since I plugged this one, so here's the summary:

“Six months, huh? How much fast talking did you do to get here?”   “Enough to keep me alive.” “Really? Cause you don’t act like that’s your goal half the time. Hell, you throw yourself at everything like you’re jumping off a cliff.” Sole survivor Natasha Sokolova is burning through friends faster than she can make them. Robert Joseph MacCready needs all the caps he can get. Problem is, the smooth-talking woman with a pistol and a job offer turns out to be more trouble than he’s counting on. They’re a match made in hell, but their little partnership might be the only thing that can see them through it.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Hmm, well, my partner has far more gun knowledge than I do, so I've consulted him a lot in the past regarding Fallout fic. One thing that springs to mind that he taught me is that a revolver will nearly never jam. The design of the gun itself makes it nearly impossible, because it's rotating each individual bullet into place one at a time, and you can easily/quickly remove the cylinder they're loaded into without digging deeper into the whole gun. I'm obviously very fuzzy on the technical specifics, but I understood enough to change the type of gun for a plot point where I needed it to jame (incidentally, I think I ended up scrapping that entirely and just going for 'the bullets ran out and they didn't have time to reload' instead).

28. Have you ever tagged a fic “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”?

I haven't! And idk that I've really had any potential fic ideas that would earn the tag. Definitely some ideas that would earn a lot of specific tags, but I don't think the doves are dead enough for that label.

#ask games #my writing #midnight chimes #bring the gasoline #megh fights the page

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (21/44)

Chapter 21: Breakfast in Bed

Ronny woke up naturally, a few minutes before his alarm was scheduled to go off. He turned it off and glanced over at the diminutive human on the pillow next to him. She was still fast asleep, curled up into a little ball. The blanket had slid off of her during the night. She looked cold, huddled up as she was, so Ronny carefully placed the blanket back over her, trying his best not to wake her. She twitched and murmured in her sleep, clutching the blanket in her fists, but did not awaken. Ronny found himself smiling tenderly as he gazed down at her. His heart was warmed at the sight of her, so cute and tiny, resting on his pillow. 

He slowly got out of bed, striving not to shift the mattress around too much under his great weight. He normally showered in the morning as part of his routine, but since he had showered last night he had some extra time. He tiptoed over to the kitchen, so as not to quake the ground beneath his huge feet, and started making some scrambled eggs with cheese for his tiny guest to eat. He started up his coffee pot so he’d have some fresh coffee to help wake up.  

He was in good spirits, even if he had to go to work. His sleepy mind wandered a bit as he thought through his agenda for the day. He needed to get Tanya some proper clothes, and maybe some human-sized objects for her comfort. He didn’t know where he would buy any of that stuff, though, on the large side of the city. He had never required any human-scale items before, and no shops that he knew of sold such things. He would have to look into it after work. 

He finished preparing the eggs and chopped up a strawberry into very fine pieces that he hoped were small enough for Tanya. The portions looked ludicrously small on one of his Giant-sized plates, but it was the best he could do for now. He carried the plate back to the bedroom, where he found Tanya still asleep on her pillow. He was about to wake her up, reaching out his hand to nudge her, when he noticed she was dreaming. Out of curiosity, he stayed his hand and watched as she tossed and turned, her eyes squeezed shut and her face straining with discomfort. It was quickly apparent that whatever she was dreaming, it wasn’t very pleasant. 

“No, no,” she mumbled, flapping her arm weakly. “Stop. Don’t eat me!” Ronny felt a painful knot in his chest as he realized she was having a nightmare about Bucky’s, reliving being eaten alive. He experienced a pang of regret for his part in her torment, since he had eaten her multiple times. He probably looked like a mammoth, beastly ogre from her perspective. How could he live with himself, knowing all the things he’d done? 

He didn’t want to witness her suffering, so he gently caressed her shoulder with his thumb to wake her up. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked a few times, flexing her fingers. She looked up to behold the Giant looming over her and her eyes widened with terror. With the vestiges of her nightmare still fogging her half-awake mind, she forgot where she was and failed to recognize Ronny as an ally. She yelped, jumped to her feet, and blindly ran, tripping over the squishy surface of the pillow and flopping onto the edge of the mattress. She scampered to her feet and dashed over the side of the bed. 

Horrified, Ronny dropped the plate of food and dove forward to catch her before she fell to her death. He was able to break her fall with his soft palms just in time. Tanya was about to scurry out of his hands but he securely pressed his fingers around her to prevent her from hurting herself. 

“Whoa, Tanya! Calm down!” Ronny cried. He winced as he realized his large deep voice would likely sound menacing to the tiny human. Dropping the volume down, he said softly, “Tanya, it’s okay. You’re safe. I’m not going to eat you, okay? Please, calm down.” 

His words were able to reach her, and she stopped struggling. Ronny could feel her tiny heart in her chest, beating against the pad of his finger. He loosened his hold on her with a sigh. She didn’t try to run. She had regained her wits. 

“I’m sorry, Tanya. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Ronny apologized. “Um… if it’s any consolation, I brought you breakfast in bed.” He flashed her a sheepish smile and glanced over at the plate. Luckily, he had dropped it on the plush surface of the bed, where the breakfast didn’t spill. He thoughtlessly placed her on the dish, then mentally kicked himself at the realization that a Giant’s plate was the last place Tanya would want to be after dreaming of being eaten alive. 

Tanya recovered quickly, however, and recognized she was safe from danger. Her hammering heart slowed down and she felt like she could breathe again. She saw the tiny breakfast that Ronny made for her, and her heart melted with gratitude at the sweet gesture. Here Ronny was trying to be so nice, and she had freaked out on him like he was some sort of monster. She felt bad for fearing him, even though she couldn’t help it. “That was very nice of you, Ronny,” she remarked. “Thank you.” 

Ronny smiled, staying kneeled down next to the bed so he wouldn’t tower over the human and frighten her. Tanya sat cross-legged on the plate and started to eat. Ronny figured he ought to get up and get ready for work, and he craved a cup of coffee, but he wanted to stay with Tanya for a moment first. He was fascinated by her. She looked so adorable as she ate delicate little bites. The strawberry bits that he thought he cut small enough looked like big slices of red toast in her microscopic hands as she nibbled on them. 

Ronny cleared his throat. “So, Tanya,” he began, “Did you want to come to work with me? I work a boring office job, so you could hang out with me all day in my cubicle. Or would you feel safer staying in my apartment until I get home?” 

Tanya pondered the question in her mind. She imagined being in Ronny’s pocket, or sitting on his shoulder while he worked, and she felt a pleasing warmth inside her. However, she was certain that Ronny worked around other Giants, and the idea of being around other huge people who might take the opportunity to snatch her up and eat her terrified her. 

“I’d prefer to stay here, if that’s okay,” Tanya admitted. “I’m not ready to be around other Giants yet. They scare me.” 

Ronny nodded with understanding. “Okay.” He winced with embarrassment, knowing that poor Tanya would be alone in his filthy apartment all day, with no human accommodations, but he didn’t have much of a choice. At least she’d be safe. 

Ronny stood back up to his full height and started getting ready for work. He carried Tanya into the bathroom and gave her some privacy while he changed into his suit in the bedroom. He poured himself a cup of coffee, melting into hot, dark bliss as he imbibed a healthy draught that heated his core. He rejoined Tanya in the bathroom and groomed his hair and teeth so he looked presentable. He felt bad, not having any human toiletries for Tanya, but she would have to manage without for a day or so until he could buy her some. Ronny was so deep in thought he didn’t notice Tanya staring up at him, enamored by his sharp, handsome, well-dressed appearance.  

Once he was ready to go, he whisked Tanya away to the living room and set her on the couch. He poured some water into a bottle cap for her and left snacks out so she wouldn’t go hungry. He stacked up some books and miscellaneous objects alongside the couch so she could climb down or back up as needed. He turned on the TV for her so she would have at least something for entertainment, lowering the volume and setting the remote next to the food and water on the couch cushion. 

“Is there anything else you can think of that you might need?” Ronny asked, kneading his hands as he stood over her. 

Tanya examined her surroundings. “I think this will do,” she answered. She smiled up at Ronny and her heart fluttered. She was charmed by his kindness in taking care of her every possible need. 

Ronny crouched down to her level and brushed her cheek with the tip of his index finger. She gripped his finger with her small hands and rubbed it in a gesture of appreciation. “Look… I’m sorry that this is all I can do for you, for now. I’m hoping to make my living space more comfortable for you soon. And… I’m sorry for the mess. I’ll clean up when I get the chance.” 

“Oh, Ronny, you’ve been so kind. I know you’re doing your best,” Tanya replied gratefully. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” Ronny gave her a tender smile. He stood back up, regarding the tiny human for a minute, before leaving for work with his coffee mug in hand. He made sure to lock the door behind him, so nobody could get in to steal Tanya from him. 

A pit of anxiety formed in his stomach as he thought about leaving her alone. He assured himself she would be fine. He hoped she wouldn’t try to run away. He had selfish reasons for this sentiment, but he was also genuinely concerned about her well-being. He was fully aware she was still frightened of him, despite all his efforts to assuage her fears. He sipped his coffee and ruminated. 

When he entered the gigantic Big Corp Inc. building, he found himself watching his feet so he wouldn’t accidentally step on any humans. He shook his head. He usually didn’t bother with such trifles. Caring about humans was a foreign concept to him. He could trample one, crush it under his shoe, and not even care. But now… thanks to Tanya, he was beginning to see them in a different light. Not as inferior, insignificant creatures, worthy only of condescension, but as tiny beings in need of help and special care. He wasn’t sure what to make of this new development. 

He rode the elevator up to the third floor, still thinking about Tanya. Where could he buy human stuff for her? He hadn’t a clue, but he knew some folks in the office who would know. Candy, his first human coworker, lived on the large side of the city with her Giant boyfriend Martin, so she had to procure such things for herself at some point. Her desk was close to Ronny’s.  

He paused at the entrance to her cubicle. She was standing on her Giant-sized desk, distracted as she prepared for her workday. Ronny observed her briefly, leaning on the cubicle wall. Candy sensed his looming presence and looked up. Her face contorted into shock and terror upon beholding the terrible Giant who had bullied her so cruelly in the past. She blanched and started to quiver all over, taking a step back. Ronny scowled and turned away, continuing on to his own desk. Candy would be no help to him. He hated her reaction, not that it was unwarranted. He had nearly killed her, multiple times, a while back after all. 

Ronny typed on his computer for a while, until he ran out of coffee. He went to the break room to refill his cup with the essential fuel he needed to drag himself through the workday. On his way back, he happened to run into Martin, Candy’s boyfriend. Martin would of course be capable of helping Ronny with his human dilemma, but the two Giants were not on good terms. Martin hated Ronny for tormenting his fragile little girlfriend, and Ronny hated Martin for beating him up and being a stupid, blubbering lunkhead. The two glared at each other as they passed in the hallway. Ronny would find no help there either. 

Ronny tried to think who else had human ties in the office. He was fairly certain Bianca had a human boyfriend, but she hated him too. Ronny had called her a slut too many times for them to get along in any capacity. The only others Ronny could think to ask were the newer additions to the office, two additional human coworkers. Ronny didn’t know them at all and couldn’t even remember their names. Not surprisingly, since all the humans in the office shared a special bond, Ronny’s reputation as a human hater preceded him. Candy had warned the other humans not to interact with him, since he was dangerous. Ronny was more than happy to play the part as a brooding, taciturn Giant by nature, so they would fear him and leave him alone. Up until now, he had no reason or desire to talk to any humans. 

The easiest way to engage one of the humans in conversation would be to ambush him during the lunch break, on the way to the break room. That way, Ronny wouldn’t have to go out of his way to locate one, and he could corner the human to prevent him from running or hiding. Ronny’s desk wasn’t situated in the most opportune spot to run into a human besides Candy, but he had a good predatory instinct for this sort of thing, so he stalked the hall, searching for his prey. He was lucky enough to spot one of the humans, a small man, trekking back to his desk after lunch. Ronny padded over, trying not to quake the ground with his great big clomping steps, but his enormous shadow gave him away. 

“Hey, you,” Ronny called down to the tiny speck of a man at his feet. The little human just about jumped out of his skin with alarm. He was carrying something in his hands—Ronny couldn’t tell what the infinitesimal thing was from his extraordinary height—and he dropped it on the floor. 

“R-r-r-ronny!” he stuttered, gaping wide. He tried to run, but Ronny anticipated this response and stomped his big black shoe in front of the man to block his escape route and herded him into a corner with his feet. Ronny crouched down to get closer, placing one hand on the wall for stability, still towering over him. The man pressed his back into the corner and trembled, his legs buckling beneath him as he realized he couldn’t get away. 

“W-w-what do you w-want?” the human stammered, struggling to speak. 

“I have a question for you,” Ronny said to the man with a dark smirk. The man stayed silent, continuing to cower in the corner. “Do you know where I can buy human things on this side of the city?” 

“W-what?” the man choked out, clearly blindsided by the unusual question. 

“Human things. Like furniture and toiletries and stuff like that. Any ideas?” Ronny cocked an eyebrow, looking down at the man with sharp intensity. 

“I-I don’t know,” the man squeaked. “I live on the human side… I just commute here… I don’t know anything!” He wiped sweat from his forehead with a clammy hand. 

“Dang. Too bad,” Ronny growled, and huffed with irritation. He looked over at the object the human left on the floor, which he could now see was an empty tupperware container from lunch. “Oh, you dropped this.” He pinched the container between his fingers and offered it to the man. He took it from Ronny with a baffled look plainly visible on his face. 

“What’s your name again?” Ronny asked. 

The man hesitated before answering. “Connie.” Ronny grunted in acknowledgement. He stood up to his full height, towering over the small human, and without another word lumbered off back to his desk. As the tremors in the ground from his footsteps faded, Connie sat in the corner in a quivering heap, stumped by the whole interaction. 

Chapter 22

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #Bucky's #fear play #gt fluff #gianttiny #gt writing #gt story #g/t story #g/t angst #gt angst

[kakashiswilloffire]

dysthymia pt. 13

another chapter to my series of drabbles of kakashi having depression. this one is kakashi planning his suicide

tw: dead dove, suicide, (nothing graphic), negative self-talk

wc: 645

ao3

pt. 12 / pt. 14

“I feel good, I feel stable,” he said to the therapist as they wrapped up the session.

The provider nodded, happy with his answer. “Great. Same time next week?”

Kakashi stood. “Sounds good.”

The counselor followed, leading the way out the door and back to the lobby. “We’ll see you next time!”

He offered his characteristic wave, then started the long journey back to his apartment.

It wasn’t actually that long of a journey. It just took a long time when his brain and body refused to cooperate and his feet dragged along the sidewalk, scraping pebbles along.

This was a day like any other, except that it wasn’t.

Today was his last day.

There was no significance to today’s date– no anniversary or occasion to prompt his decision. That didn’t matter. He simply couldn’t be a drain on the world any longer. It wasn’t fair.

As he passed it, he stepped into the corner store and headed directly for the small freezer, picking out a pint sized carton with practiced ease. Orange sherbet, his favorite. It was a treat he didn’t go for often, as he didn’t care much for sugar, but the sweetness level was so mild and the texture was so smooth and creamy as it melted and coated his mouth.

A perfect last snack.

Last night, he had gone to the effort of making grilled eggplant and miso soup, the way his dad used to when he was sick. He was sick, after all. That was what the therapist kept saying, that he had an illness, probably the same one his father had. Depression or dysthymia or bipolar disorder, something like that. No way to really know, due to his father’s present condition. He didn’t feel sick. He felt like a waste of space.

He was using resources that could be better used by someone else. His apartment could be inhabited by someone who wasn’t worthless. The time people like Gai and… well, Asuma and Kurenai sometimes– spent on him was being thrown away because he was useless. He didn’t deserve to be alive.

He found comfort in the fact that soon, he wouldn’t be.

Without him noticing, he found himself at the apartment, no clear memory of getting there. Inside, he was greeted by the familiar bare walls and lack of decor. Home, sweet home.

He toed off his sandals, leaving them by the door. Then he made his way into the kitchen, digging in a drawer for a spoon. Peeling the top off of the carton of sherbet, he slunk himself down onto a chair and began eating.

Kakashi really didn’t know how he had made it this far in the first place. The first time he tried this was after Rin died. The next was somewhere in his ANBU years, he had difficulty recalling exactly when he had made an honest effort in the midst of all the so-called suicide missions he was taking. Then a half-hearted attempt not long after Minato and Kushina’s joint funeral. This time, though, he was really going to do it.

Getting up, he grabbed the pen and pad of paper he normally used for grocery lists. He leaned over the counter and began writing.

I’m sorry. That I didn’t do this sooner.

You’re better off without me. The whole world is.

I wish I could’ve been better. Been worth anything.

Don’t be sad. They should be celebrating.

He ripped the top sheet off, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it in the trash. His father didn’t leave a note. Maybe that was for a reason.

He came back to the orange sherbet, took a final bite, then popped the lid back on and stuck it in the freezer. No use in it melting all over the counter.

Now, for the main event.

He looked around the apartment one last time.

Goodbye.

#tw suicide #kakashi has dysthymia

[takamikeiigos]

• though keigo tends to be loud, seemingly carefree, and outgoing, he's convinced himself that hero work is his #1 priority and he has zero time to be getting all up in a tizzy about feelings

• this man probably doesn't even know what a long, meaningful hug feels like. but what does it matter because he's a hero, he doesn't have time to be mulling over that kinda stuff

• now don't get me wrong, keigo has all of the basic human wants and needs for love, affection, companionship, etc. but has managed to tuck those thoughts away deep in the back of his mind

• so he spends his free time alone watching movies by himself while eating takeout, or finding somewhere high on the skyline to perch upon while the breeze caresses him and gives him comfort while he's deep in his thoughts

• when it comes to his avian characteristics and needs, he knows many people don't understand so he tends to them himself

• long tiresome processes of preening his own wings, often getting aggravated when he can't reach a spot or can't get certain feathers to lay flat

• or when it's that time of the season and he continuously chooses to go through his ruts alone because he hasn't allowed himself time to slow down and properly take care of it, because he grew up too fast and exploring his own wants and needs was never an option

• let's talk about keigo nesting during a rut bc of pure instinct but suddenly coming to the harsh reality that he has no one to share it with

• ouch

• imagine the first time he meets you

• you think he's probably the most loud and obnoxious motherfucker you've ever met but he grows on you over time

• its only after spending a bit of time by his side that you realize little things about him that kinda break your heart

• he smiles and jokes around a lot, but when you catch him deep in thought or slipping you notice the vacant stares that make him seem far, far away

• or the fact that he doesn't touch people unless they prompt first, whether it's a high five or a pat on the shoulder, but his hands mostly remain in his pockets or by his sides otherwise

• so it breaks your heart even more when you go to give him a quick hug before checking out for the day and he completely tenses up, clearly not sure how to react

• it occupies most of your thoughts that night, before it finally dawns on you that keigo didn't reciprocate because he didn't know how to (not literally, of course)

• from then on you touch him more often - like gently putting your hand on his shoulder when you're reaching over him, or placing your hand on the small of his back when moving around him

• over-all you're in his space more, always standing a few inches closer so your shoulders touch or your hands brush

• but let's talk about that one time you both go on a mission together and keigo gets knocked around a lil bit

• you're finally able to catch up to him and the idiot is standing there covered in bruises, feathers missing and his hero outfit almost torn to shreds, and he has the audacity to smile at you like he didn't just get knocked into next week

• he tenses again when you run up to him and pull him into a frantic hug, worry ebbing from your entire being but grateful that he's still standing and alive

• but the exhaustion finally catches up to him and its then that his wall comes crashing down, his arms wrapping around you like he's clinging to you for dear life, and his head is resting on your shoulder, coming free of all those heavy thoughts he's been carrying with him

• things slowly change after that

• months later you two end up together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were lost but finally found, a relief of a perfect fit

• he texts you constantly - whether it's of things that remind him of you, or a picture of a cat he saw while on patrols, or even just to let you know you mean the world to him

• when you’re both together he almost always ends up being the one to initiate physical contact now, staying close in your space and his hand always rest against you

• on nights after a long day of patrolling, he'll come over and you'll put a movie on, cuddling close together on the couch while eating the most unhealthy junk food you could find to take the edge off

• you catch him smiling to himself one of those times, and when you look at him curiously, he shakes his head and laughs quietly

• "'s nothing baby bird, just nice to finally have someone to do this with"

• on another tiresome evening of patrolling, he flies through your bedroom window (you always leave it unlocked and open for him) and perches on your windowsill

• you can instantly tell something is bothering him by the way he's holding himself, his wings twitching and his body tense

• so you beckon him to come sit on your bed with you, thinking maybe a back rub will ease the tension. but when he finally sits down in front of you, the disarray of tangled feathers is the answer to your unasked questions

• you tell him to relax and he does, but when you hesitantly run your fingers against his feathers he nearly jumps out of his skin

• you pull your hand away as if it was burned and when you ask if you accidentally hurt him, he flushes and avoids eye contact

• "no! no, you didn't hurt me. they're just.. sensitive. 'm just not used to people touching them like that. but it.. it feels good"

• so you continue running your fingers through his feathers gently, making sure they're all in place and pulling the loose ones from his wings

• he’s all breathy sighs underneath your hands and you swear you hear him cooing every once in a while and your heart melts at the amount of intimacy and trust

• it turns into a ritual after rough days, and neither of you mind it

《《 NSFW 》》

• so look, i’m not saying keigo is a virgin but we're gonna keep going with this little needy & touch starved trend we got going. to each their own

• keigo loves being touched, but he also loves touching you

• i’m talking always pressing up against you when you’re both alone, face nuzzled in your neck while biting and licking, hands on your hips and squeezing

• clinging to you when you’re about to get out of bed, or sneaking into the shower with you bc he misses your warmth and is craving some skin on skin contact, his head nuzzled into your shoulder and his arms wrapped around you from behind

• tbh he’s probably still half asleep as he does this, too. you basically have him completely limp in your arms when you turn to start scrubbing his hair

• i’m getting a little off topic, huh?

• he’s always trying to get your attention, especially when he knows you’re busy

• he’s almost always breathless when things get hot and heavy, nearly falling apart over a make-out session

• but when you finally get him out of his clothes and on the bed where you want him, the experience is one you want to relive forever

• he’s got this wonton facial expression, chest flushed and wings puffed out, lips parted with unspoken pleas as you touch him

• the first time you even touch his dick he nearly loses it, head tossed back and fingers gripping the sheets

• "fuck.. fuck that feels so good dove, please don't stop"

• he’s so sensitive, his skin feels like it might burst into flames because of how worked-up he's getting

• the sight of him falling apart from a simple hand job is a sight to see, something you weren't expecting to get you going but it is

• you stroke him slow, your grip just loose enough where he ends up having to work for it, all the while you're gauging his expressions

• keigo is a talker, loud and completely unashamed of the filth pouring from his lips as he fucks up into your fist, his jaw slack and his brown pinched in pleasure and concentration

• "please baby, right there. god, you feel so fucking good, please don't stop. fuuuuck"

• when you decide to touch his wings out of sheer curiosity, you weren't expecting to his reaction to turn you on as much as it did

• keigo arching off the bed with a broken "f-fuck!", yanking you forward into a harsh kiss as he moans broken please and appraisals into your mouth, whining

• he finally comes in thick spurts over your hand, his hips stuttering as he thrusts upward to milk the final drops of his come, chest heaving and breathy pants falling against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair

• touch starved, needy, and sensitive

don't get me started on my man's going into a rut. whoo, good stuff.

sorry this is so long!! i got very carried away once i got into it.

if anyone wants to request anything, please do?? i would love that, especially since I'm trying to learn more about this beautiful bird-boy. nonetheless i hope y'all enjoyed!!

♡ ky

#keigo takami #bnha hawks #bnha keigo takami #mha hawks #mha keigo takami #hawks headcanons #keigo takami headcanons #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #takamikeiigos #ky writes #headcanons #bnha #hawks