#Read the warnings and tags above y'all been warned

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[selfdiagnosedeyemotif]

hate to intrude but this isnt entirely accurate: in severe enough situations, potions of all varieties can be used as disinfectants. spraying them on wounds at high risk of becoming infected is a sure-fire way to prevent that from happening. does it also kill most of the skin cells that get caught in the spray? yes. but if straits are dire, potioning yourself up can do the trick

Hyper Potions are trending on twitter. Any idea why? Was there a recall or something?

people keep poisoning themselves by drinking hyper potions as a trainer challenge. this is a PSA.

they are SPRAYS. not DRINKS. do not DRINK THEM

they do not work on YOU. they work on POKÉMON. do not drink them x2

[hughiecampbelle]

Malignant (Homelander Oneshot)

((TAKES PLACE IN S4E4))

Character/s: Homelander

Word Count: 1,468

Warning/s: gore, sort of all the basic warnings The Boys typically has

Requested: Hii! I’ve just found your blog, read some of your works and loveee them! Especially The Boys Preferences and imagines! May I request a platonic Homelander x reader with the prompts: Fury, Shooting Stars, “Get away from me” ? Thank youuu! - anon

A/N: Y'all when I tell you you're not ready!!! When I say I love this I mean I cannot stop smiling!!! I am Victor Frankenstein and this is my monster lol. Thank you for requesting my love! I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Requests are open! 🔮

Get away from me. The words come out as a whimper, barely above a whisper. His features contort: insecurity, rage, struck dumb by your reaction. Despite himself, he smiles, trying make sense of it all. This is what we’ve always wanted. They deserved it, all of them. Why can’t- why can’t you see that? He takes a step closer and you react by moving further back, through the doorway. Your shoe makes a squeaking sound. Beneath the sole something squelches, wet and gummy. You don’t have to look down to know what you’ve stepped in. It’s splattered across the walls and ceiling. The entire room painted red. Faceless, headless, limbless bodies dropped across the floor. You’ve stepped on someones intestines, their insides strewn across the floor like shooting stars. Here and there are articles of clothing, a shoe without their twin, a name tag or Vought issued ID. You don’t recognize them. Many of them new hires. They weren’t around all those years ago. They took no part in what happened to you, to either of you. Bile rises in your throat. It’s the smell that’s the worst. Metallic. You can taste the iron on your tongue. Not just that, though. The heater was still on. Though the body was ash, the stench of burned skin and hair lingers. It’s thick, and hot, and disgusting. The warmth radiates off it, seeping into the rest of the lab. It leaves you fighting your nausea, your hatred, the two churning in your stomach. Why, why are you mad at me? He’s drenched in their blood. It’s dried across his face, his suit and in his hair. How long has he been with the bodies? You killed them, John. You killed them all. 

Despite what the media portrayed, your childhood wasn’t baseball games and apple pies. There was no mother to rock you to sleep or father telling you you were a great kid. There were no little sisters to play with or teasing from big brothers. No white pickett fence or a sweet, yet obedient, dog running around. There was sterility. There were test tubes, and locked rooms, and tests. There were knives, and guns, and fire. You and him, you were invincible. They wanted to test that. They wanted to see just how far you could be pushed before you broke. Your skin was impenetrable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t burn every time they shoved you into that chamber. You’d pound your fists against the door, begging and screaming, every inch of you engulfed in flames. Sometimes it still felt like you were burning. In dreams, maybe when the weather was warm. You were just a little kid. You thought (feared) this time would be the last time. This is how you would die. Your tears evaporated before they could fall. You’d call out for them, for the pseudo father figures. When that wasn’t enough, when they refused to move from their charts and lazy game of paper ball, you’d cry for John. Your companion, your brother, your friend. He’d be enclosed in his own hell. Eventually you learned to be quiet. Eventually you learned you would survive. No one was coming to save you. No one was going to stop this. You’d watch, day in and day out, first your skin, your muscles, until the fire kissed your bones. You’d come to hours, days later, completely healed. Not a single scar carved into your flesh. No evidence except your memories. 

If you were good, if you were well behaved, you might be rewarded. Taught a new game or trick. Tic-tac-toe had been an exciting discovery at the time. You’d liked playing O’s. John liked X’s. Hangman was another. Always with a dull pencil, just in case. You’d be sniffling, hiccupping, leftover from the sobbing, when they’d sit you on the lab table and ask you to guess a letter. They weren’t the kinds of words children should have heard, but how could you have known? Psychopath. Indestructible. Malignant. You didn’t know the meanings or, for a long time, how to spell them, but you heard them a lot. They were household names. If they were feeling generous, kind, they might give you more chances: add a face, a hat, a bowtie. Through tears you’d laugh at the ridiculousness, pointing out that the hanged man could not possibly be as accessorized as they were making him to be. You never liked when the game was over. Win or lose, it always meant the same thing. One man, much older than everyone else, would lift you up and carry you back to your cell as if you were his own. You’d cling to him, his shirt, clutching tight with your chubby, dimpled hands, watching over his shoulder as someone else would discard the pieces of paper, throwing them away. You wanted to keep them, have them to laugh at the silly stick figure when it was dark and you were all alone, but you wouldn’t dare ask. If not the man, then a young woman who’d lead you back, hand in hand, full of promises you both knew she would not keep. Talk of real games, with boards and pieces and cards. But when the time came again, when you did as you were told, all you were allotted was a piece of paper and pencil. 

Her body was the first you recognized. Faceless yes, but you knew her as well as you knew yourself. Barbara. She was like a mother to you. Albeit, a terrible one. A cold, uncaring, aseptic woman who studied you, who created you, made you the person you are today. Wasn’t that all mothers? She’d hush your cries, ask why you were so upset. You didn’t have the words, the vocabulary, and so she’d grow tired. Bored. When you could articulate yourself better, then you would be worthy of her time. Truthfully, you weren’t all that sad she was dead. She must’ve known what was going on. She must’ve seen or heard something. At night, when they came into your room. When they made you promise to keep it secret. Couldn’t she tell? Couldn’t any of them? Armies of psychologists couldn’t get the truth out of you, not that they were trying to. Their alliances rest elsewhere. Fear of abandonment had been ingrained into you. You’d cry even harder, begging her not to leave, not to go. She’d pretend she had no other choice, that it was your fault. You were a crybaby. A sissy. An imbecile. If you could not pull yourself together and act like an adult, she would have no choice but to get up. Beneath the hurt was a fury, a burning, but they had you trained well. Instead you screamed, begged, throwing yourself to the floor, into walls, harming yourself for an ounce of her attention. Affection. Circles of red stained the walls where your head had been bashed. Your clothes ripped and torn. Your tantrums were spectacular. Fantastical. Eventually you’d grow tired, exhausted. Bloody, you’d sit very still and breathe and wait for her to come back. Then, and only then, would she grace you with her presence.

You hoped the bitch suffered. 

Marty rests limp, his face crushed in, a hole lasered through his groin. You knew the story, the nickname. He tried to get you to call John that peculiar name, too. Try to get you in on the joke. You never did. He had names for you, too. Just as vulgar and perverted. No one ever stopped him. No one ever said it was inappropriate. You guessed when you were being gutted, sliced from collarbones to pelvis, turned into a living autopsy, harassment wasn’t such a big deal. You stepped over his body without a second though. Footsteps to follow from his skull (what was left of it) to where John stood. This is very bad. You find your voice again, inspecting the lab around you. The cake sits melted in it’s pink box. The lights flicker. There is an unsettling silence. But I, I did it for you. His eyes are wide, his pupils dilated. His grin is hysterical. John, you start, but the rest of your sentence clatters to the floor. He watches you, desperate for your approval, your appreciation. They did terrible things to you. They let terrible things happen to you, unspeakable things. Why should you be upset? Why should you mourn them? Why should their gruesome deaths fill you with anything but satisfaction? They deserved it. They were asking for it. You slide away the mans large intestine, wiping the blood from your shoe.  Thank you, you say finally, placing your hands on his shoulders, squeezing them. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Thank you, it means a lot.

[ambrosialdesire]

hedonic

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: laios x fem!monster reader word count: 5k warnings + tags: general yandere and/or dark themes, kinda gory descriptions, cannibalistic ideas/thoughts/temptations, probably ooc laios, delusional ideas, monster reader w/ large breasts (i mean, it comes with the kind of monster she is tbh but this is the only physical descriptor of the reader), brief bodily mutilation + removal mention, breast milk consumption, accidental peeping (?), breast fixation, blood kink kinda, biting mention, all characters are 18+ synopsis: he's always been the type with an insatiable appetite when it comes to any monsters, but he promised to never ever eat any demi-humans when it comes down to it. the temptation when it comes to you has became irresistible to try and ignore. a/n: in request of 🌷 anon and my fueled want for laios, i have made my first dungeon meshi/delicious in dungeon yan fic! i decided to do it in laios pov cause i feel it'll make for an interesting perspective. not really nsfw this time around lol since i'm still new and keeping up with the anime and learning about the characters SO IM ONLY CAUGHT UP ANIME-WISE OK LOL AND THE MONSTER I'M USING FOR THE READER ARE CONSCIOUS BEASTS THAT CAN COMMUNICATE AND SHIT LIKE THAT CAUSE IT'S SO VAGUE ON THE WIKI 😭😭 also i'm making shit up as i go okay so anything food related is like entirely made-up 💀 AND YEAH I MADE IT ABOUT BREAST MILK OKAY LMFAOOO tbh i've always wanted to try a dnd-related game but literally have no where to start (ik there's baldur's gate but i am a broke full-time student lol) hope y'all enjoy and hope i can make some more of laios cause he's so 🏃‍♀️💨💨 note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Laios made a promise to never consume a demi-human, no matter the circumstances. It made sense, they were on the cusp of something that was human but not. They could have similar features like the races they respectively belonged to, could bleed red and have had a beating heart, yet in the end, they were still a monster inside and out. Morally or ethically — whichever which belonged to which — according to Chilchuck, it was still wrong to try and consume them.

He understood that completely once it got explained and stuck into his head, but then you came into question.

When you came into Laios's party during the search for his sister, you were almost attacked from how you meekly approached the small group in one of the dungeon’s levels. They were right to be cautious of course, many human-like monsters had previously attacked them when their guard was down, but once they realized you genuinely meant no harm, they let you join in. Marcille was overjoyed that another girl had joined the party, though both Laios and Chilchuck had their valid doubts about you. Senshi didn't really mind, long as you could pull your own weight and never tried to attack them.

Were you trying to play the long game? Did it make them taste better when you waited to strike? Were you eyeing your pick in the group? Senshi and him both have a lot of meat on their person, Chilchuck was definitely the least desirable since he was so small and had less meat on his body; to be honest, Marcille was in a similar boat as him too.

Food-wise, you ate whatever Senshi made with a happy smile, not even being deterred once from having to eat something that was considered to be closely related to you. He wondered if it was something you were used to, something that you had to be doing in order to survive down here. Then, if it came to other parties that came before them and being forced to defend yourself, did you ever had to... consume them?

Laios hoped it never had to occur, but he couldn't blame you if you had no other choice. He could imagine you being trapped for days before your kind could get to you, maybe one or two bodies from an adventuring party were with you from a previous scuffle and the pangs of hunger were getting to you. The thought of the remaining party members finding the torn apart limbs and strewn, chewed on bones surrounding a bloody starving monster made his stomach flip and a shiver go down his spine. Maybe it's because that's how he last remembered Falin right before she teleported them out of the dungeon, her midst of her body trapped in the toothy maw of that Red Dragon.

Because of this now since your alliance with them combined with the many questions in his head about your diet, there was one that he can't quite get rid of, no matter how much he tried.

What did a human taste like to a monster?

It's been a few weeks since they've ventured in the dungeon and Laios still had some doubts with your intentions for joining. A monster is a monster and cannot be trusted no matter what, but you didn't cause trouble or held them back from their search so he let you be... for now at least. He'd be a hypocrite for not letting you stay since he's been keeping Kensuke around, but it's only temporary and it can't really harm him without the other parts of the Living Armor. You're a moving... person? Half of one. Actually more a third-fourth of one? He doesn't quite know but still rather fascinated by your existence.

You were similar to them in conscious thought and speech, as well as appearance-wise. Well, appearance-wise, you definitely weren't human. Small, bilateral curved horns made their home on the sides of your head, floppy brown ears swung around with every step you took, a long bovine tail whipped around the bottom of your legs, and finally, your legs were curved into two thick cow-like stumps with hooves at the end as a replacement of feet. Minotaur, or that's what you said what you were, though you were smaller than those massive farm animal adjacent beasts, about a few inches taller than Marcille.

And not to sound like a perv or anything remotely similar to that, but you didn't really have udders either, unless your more than well-endowed breasts compensated for the lack thereof.

"Ow! Laios!" He snapped out of his thoughts, looking down at his metal shoe and seeing the fluffy end of your tail on the bottom of it.

"Oh, sorry." Slowly, he lifted his foot off of it, the appendage whipping around and twitching. It wrapped around your waist, almost completely hidden as a fuzzy brown and white belt.

"It's bad to get distracted here, are you hungry? Thirsty? I have some bread and milk in the pack if you want to snack on it." As you walked on forwards, you pulled the bag off of your shoulders and began to rummage through it with one hand. You finally found what you were looking for, handing it over to him without hesitation, slinging your bag back where it belonged. He stared at the milk as he chewed on the bread, the texture soft and light with each bite.

Did... did this come from you? You mentioned to them before in the beginning stages of joining that they can drink your milk if they needed to, but the horrified looks of both the elven mage and the Half-foot locksmith prevented you from trying any further. Both him and Senshi was of course curious, Minotaur milk was both difficult to come across and retrieve, but the two told the dwarf that they absolutely refused to eat anything that he cooked if it came from your body.

"Gross, don't tell me that came from you Y/N." Chilchuck grimaced as he walked on by and you shook your head.

"No! Of course not. I know you people humans are a little weird but I wouldn't give something that came from me without telling you. It's just cow milk, er... not from me." Laios felt a little disappointed as he opened the top of the bottle, wondering if it tasted different from normal cow's milk. According to the Dungeon Gourmet Guide, Minotaur milk was thicker and sweeter compared to the average cattle's; then again, this precious book of his wasn't really that accurate unfortunately.

What about your flesh?

He came to a sudden standstill, almost causing Marcille to bump into him.

"If you're gonna stop out of nowhere, at least move to the side Laios!" She grumbled, moving past him as he stood there in confusion. What was he thinking? Why would he even go so far as to think that? He started moving again, carefully watching you click on forwards. His mind began to wander at the thought again, which parts of you would be edible?

Your legs definitely, there's so much muscle built upon you there. He'd seen you strike down stone pillars and enemies in a single blow without even flinching. Maybe even your thin tail, could be tough and stringy though. Your ears would take a while to feast upon, cartilaginous but still a good source of protein. Horns are a no-go, too small and were most likely hollower than meaty. Cow hooves are a delicacy in some parts of the world, so it was possible that yours were consumable too.

Would the "human" parts of you count? You hadn't revealed if you were full or half-monster, maybe even if you were cursed, so it was hard to truly determine what you were. If you were a full monster, that meant that every bit and piece of you was edible meat.

Meat.

Meat.

Meat.

"Laios, you’re drooling! I can hear your stomach rumbling too," Your giggling voice rang clearly in his mind, his gaze snapping downwards as he wiped his mouth quickly. "I have more bread if you want."

"No, no. It's better if we stop now and make something more nutritionally beneficial to continue forwards," Senshi stopped with the two of you, turning his head around to find a suitable room for cooking. "Think I still have some of those Harpy eggs and Kelpie flesh, would you two be so kind to try and find some more ingredients on this floor? Any vegetation would do this meal some good."

And here the two of you were, walking around the floor's grounds to spot for anything of use. It was almost completely quiet minus the shifting of his armor and the clicks of your hooves echoing throughout the stone hallway, reducing that awkward silence just a little. Your weapon, a sharpened scythe, swung around on your back as if you were a cow grim reaper; the thought of a cow dressed up in a black robe with a menacing skull mask made him chuckle in his head a little.

"Oh! Up ahead, I see something leafy." The hoof-clicking went faster as you picked up your pace, ducking your head from the fallen wooden structures that were in the way. Compared to the average Minotaur, you moved and reacted quicker, most likely because of your smaller stature and having a little less muscle in your body to heave around. That could make you vulnerable on the other hand, having less muscle everywhere else minus your legs meant diminished strength and being unable to defeat enemies in a more timely manner. Interesting.

"Laios, do you think this enough for all five of us?" You shuffled out of the crevice in a huff with bundles of thick purple, triangular leaves in your arms and he took a pinch from one of the leaves, inspecting it before placing it in his mouth. He winced, his face contorting to a pucker as you laughed at his expression. Dungeon oxalis, edible but strongly tasted similarly to citrus.

"We could work with it, could make up for lemons since they're pretty sour. Here, place it in your bag and we can search for other things." You nodded after wiping your eyes from your boisterous laughter, following his instructions and getting back up from the ground.

You dusted yourself off before picking the bag back up, smiling at him as the two of you began to move deeper into the dungeon. "I hope we find some Night Lucernes but I think since we're already so low underground, it's getting more unlikely they can grow here."

"Oh we can't eat those, they make us sluggish and gives us stomach cramps for weeks."

Blinking at him, you tilted your head in confusion. He never noticed how long your eyelashes were, is that common in your kind? "Really? They're like vitamins for me or was it something about the blood—"

"Why are you not like the other Minotaurs?"

"Huh?" The question was out of the blue, interrupting her talking as the two of you had stopped in the middle of the hallway, eyes locked with one another.

"Why are you not like the other Minotaurs?" Laios repeated, not skipping a beat and leaning down closer to you. "You're not massively built, you don't have a cow's head, you don't have large horns. You don't strictly eat vegetation, is it even good for you to eat monster meat so often? There's so very few things that are Minotaur-like on you, are you really one of their kind?"

Your eyelids fluttered in shock, each question wrapping around your brain before you leaned away from him, scratching the back of your neck. "Well... I-I don't really know why myself."

"...What?"

"Uh yeah. One day, when I was still young, I woke up in this dungeon alone without a single memory in my mind. I don't even remember who named me either, but I vaguely remember being told that I'm a Minotaur. Maybe it's the Mad Mage's fault but I'm sorry Laios, I really can't explain why I'm not more like them."

Did that even satisfy his question on whether you were edible as a Minotaur or not?

"I do know is that I am a monster," You put a hand over where your heart is, clenching it tightly into a fist. "I ain't like you people humans and I'm sure not like those other animal humans you coexist with, so I am nothing but a monster. I may look a little different from my kind but inside and out, I have the Minotaur’s blood in me. And the strictly herbivore thing isn't really true, I can eat meat if I have no other choice to, it's not all that bad though. Doesn't really freak me out and I'm always grateful to have the opportunity to eat a good meal."

"So have you eaten other adventurers before meeting us? I won't judge, I'm genuinely curious and I won't tell the others if you have."

You froze, eyes casting downwards suddenly as your fists gripped onto the coat you wore. "I... I don't really want to talk about it Laios, sorry. I'll answer your other questions but some things are better left off unsaid, okay? Please respect that."

His lips were pulled into a thin line, the nagging voice in his head still ever curious on whether you've eaten human before, but you really did seem uncomfortable talking about the topic. "Sorry."

He then put a hand under his chin, thinking about what you've said previously slowly. Inside and out... Does that mean you are edible? I mean, you basically said it yourself, despite you being more on the human-appearance spectrum of monsters. Then again, they met more human-like monsters like the Harpies and the Dryads, and they've eaten them before! (Well... sorta.) The mermen were edible too (despite Chilchuck stopping him from taking more of the parts), so that means—

"Can I drink your milk then?"

"Wha— H-huh?!" The apples of your cheeks glowed a dark shade of red, but his gaze remained determined, sparkling in excitement even.

"You offered it before, didn't you? Chilchuck and Marcille aren't here so they won't judge us and I've been curious since my book said that it's different from normal cow's milk." You looked around, even peeking behind him, before sighing and bashfully pouting.

"I did! I know I did! But, I have to make it fresh since I threw out the ones I had on hand a week ago and I don't have any on my person right now so..."

"It's okay, I can wait." He bluntly replied, oblivious to your wording. Laios just wanted a little taste, nothing more and nothing less.

You mumbled something under your breath, his ears catching a few words of him being 'too eager' and 'quick to answer'. Was he? He was just answering your question honestly, and he’s been ever so curious about it ever since you’ve offered it before.

"Let me find a room, just wait outside for a bit."

You were flushed, clicking away to find a place to hide out so you could produce what he wanted. Of course he followed shortly after you left, staying outside just like you told him to and it would serve as extra security. If Minotaur milk tasted as good as they say, he might just keep asking you for it when some certain party members aren't nearby. Hell, he might even be able to sneak some to Senshi since he's been curious about it too! It's only right to share a magnificent discovery to the best monster chef. Actually, he might be the only monster chef he knew but he was still the best by default.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited…

Laios started to sit down next to the door due to how long you were taking to produce a small bottle. Was it difficult to get milk out of the body by yourself? He had to ask about that too since he’s only seen male Minotaurs depicted in his book; there was nothing but a small and vague paragraph that explained about the female Minotaurs, but it was mostly about their milk.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the stone wall. You really were a strange individual, someone that he can’t quite understand. Your very being makes his mouth salivate whenever he thinks about you as a next meal, even if it shouldn’t. Was it because all they’ve been eating has been monster-related? His strange fixation on trying them was slowly being satiated with every step down the dungeon, so he chalked it up to just being morbidly curious.

It has to be that reason, it must be, because what kind of sick individual constantly thinks about consuming his friend?

Opening back his eyes, he took another quick glance at the wooden door. Laios was extremely curious on how the whole process worked, if you really had extra udders or if the hidden parts of your body were furry or skin. Plus, you really were taking a long time, one of the three were bound to come over soon and he wouldn't be able to try the milk! Actually... you know what? What if you had gotten attacked in there by a whole group of Mimics?! Or any other monster group, like the ghosts! You were strong but you can’t take all of them at once, and monsters aren't able to revive here. Wait...

Monsters don’t revive here.

He scrambled up on his feet at the realization, quickly knocking on the door, the sound of stumbling and thuds causing him to immediately panic and start pushing it open.

"Are you oka—" Laios froze, his eyes widening.

Your eyes were wide open as well, mouth partially parted open in dumbfounded shock. At least you looked okay and it seemed there wasn't any harmful enemies around, just some old furniture that had fallen over. It's weird though. There you sat on the ground in the midst of the mess, one arm covering your bare chest while the other was holding a partially filled glass. He stood there in puzzlement as your face grew redder by the second, placing the glass down slowly before reaching for your weapon that was right next to you.

Oh.

Oh...

OH!

"LAIOS!!!"

"I'M SO SORRY!!!" He slammed the door back shut as the scythe made its way towards his head, the sharp blade slicing through the old wood, the tip just barely missing his nose. His heart pounded against the metal chest plate like a beating drum, his lungs completely drained of all air. He began to kneel on the ground for some support since his legs started to give out from the revelation. His body was burning up, like he just got lit on fire from the Red Dragon or was a little too close to one of Marcille's explosion spells.

He just saw you naked. Not completely, but still, he just saw your breasts. He was used to and never cared about seeing others nude or topless, whether they be male or female — monster or not — it's just parts but seeing you?

Despite being here for most of your life, the skin from what he saw was quite smooth and rather mostly unblemished. It's like scars weren't able to attach onto the surface, as if they weren't allowed to. And the curvature of your heavy breasts, the noticeable suppleness of both when you moved and inadvertently squeezed them with your arm. They weren't udders at all either like he thought they were, they were undeniably humanlike, no fur included. He imagined biting into them, wondering if it'll be easy to sink his teeth into the squishy fat while he sucked on both the spilling blood and milk, thinking about the mix of sweetness and tangy that'll occur if he did. He'd be especially lucky to leave any mark on your pristine skin during the process, his body tingling at the idea of being the only one — the only human — to permanently leave something behind.

Laios couldn't stop salivating, a hand over his mouth to prevent him from drooling all over himself. He's shaking, why was he shaking? Was it from the fear of these unstoppable thoughts of his? Because of the leaf he ate not a moment ago? No. It's because of these recent developments and the answers he was getting from them, he was becoming... excited.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

The door finally creaked open, a small glass bottle being pushed towards him from the barely ajar entrance. He looked up to where your head would be, your eyes nervously staring down to the side. You started to apologize in a soft mumble as you slowly revealed yourself, now completely dressed.

"Sorry for throwing my weapon at you earlier, but this is all I can give right now. If I had eaten Night Lucernes prior, it would've been better quality. Um... enjoy I guess?"

"Thank you for the drink." Laios smiled and took the bottle in his hands, staring at the liquid. It was warm, which was expected since it just came out of your body, and it wasn't fully white like he thought it would be, the color just had the faintest tinge of yellow that could be missed if he wasn't looking close enough. He took the glass's edge to his lips and finally, he took a small swig of it.

Sweet, precisely as he thought it would be, but not as overtly strong to make him sick or give him an immediate cavity. The book was right to say that it was thick, almost similar to a honey-like consistency but still light enough to not choke at the heavy feeling of it go down his throat. He didn't realize that he quickly drank all of it at once, his tongue running across his lips to catch any remaining liquid left. You said that this wasn't the best quality, but he couldn't imagine it being any better than what he just drank.

"That was..." Laios paused, smacking his lips to try and remember the taste once more. Your face slightly fell, eyebrows worriedly scrunching together. "Amazing!"

"R-really?" The slightly-afraid look melted off in relief, your eyes glowing in happiness. "No one ever said that it tasted amazing before... Actually, no one actually tried it before except you Laios."

He... he was the first one that tried your milk? The fleeting thoughts he had prior ran through his mind again, his cheeks flushing a slight pink. If he really was the first one that drank something of yours... then it's only right that it would be specially reserved for him right? It's really selfish of him to keep this amazing beverage from his dear party, but something like this should be cherished by the one that adores you the most.

He quickly grabbed your hands, holding them up as he squeezed them tightly in excitement. "Can I have more later? I won't tell our party, it'll be our little secret exchange between the two of us."

Laios watched your expression turned from complete shock to shy awe, your tail twitching around and thumping against your legs. You were silent for a bit before looking up at him, a determined glint in your eyes. "W-what's in it for me? I can't just be the only one giving you something.

Shit. That was fair of you to bring up but him as a normal Tall-man, there was very little he could give you in return for your breast milk. "What would you want from me anyway?"

His mind immediately went into the gutter: you wanted to eat something off of him. It could be considered a fair exchange, consumable body part for consumable bodily fluid. Maybe you were getting tired of eating monsters, needing your actual nutrition from people. He started to get nervous, what would he be able to give you from his body? Would a finger satiate you or would you need something larger? Laios can't really give up his arms or legs, he'd need them in order to get through the dungeon and save Falin. Tongue was completely out of the question, he can't imagine not being able to taste food in both normal and monster dishes.

The idea of giving you his dick to consume suddenly popped up in his mind, the thought of trying to cut it off caused him to pale. He didn't use it much compared to his other body parts, only needing it to use to take a leak; he wasn't really the sexually active type either, being able to count the partners he previously had on only one hand. Technically and hesitantly, that would be the only large body part that he can give up for you.

Briefly, he imagined how'd you eat it. You weren't an messy eater when it came to Senshi's food — despite having to learn how to use utensils but still preferring to make use of your hands — so you'd probably be as neat as possible with it. You'd eat it raw, as soon as he managed to slice it off his person, warm crimson slipping down your fingers as you bite down through the layers of skin and muscle.

Or there was the possibility that you wanted to take it off yourself, kneeling right down in-between his legs, hands slowly sliding up his thighs to his hips as you approached his lower half. He'd be forced to watch you take his soft cock into your mouth, probably struggling if he accidentally got hard during the process. The last thing that Laios would feel would be your mouth's warmth wrapping around it before chomping down.

A shiver went down his spine, though it didn't feel as horrid as it was supposed to be.

With your big lashed eyes, you slowly blinked once more as a small smile grew on your lips. "Knowledge. I want to learn about the outside world. I've never left the dungeon before, all the adventurers that came before your party prevented me from ever trying."

Oh... That's actually not a bad exchange request, simple in nature. At least he gets to keep his junk, despite his heart still pounding from what his fucked-up mind just mustered up.

"Okay deal. I'll teach you about my world in exchange for milk." He put out his hand, letting you reach out and shake it. Your eyes relaxed as you smiled warmly up at him, finally letting him go. Laios then went over and patted your head, rubbing the top gently. You stiffened lightly at the gesture, his fingers brushing over the horns. They were smooth with faint ring-like indentations, almost an ivory-creamy color. Truly a fascinating feeling.

"There you guys are! You've been gone for so long that we were starting to get worried." Marcille. You batted his hand off of your head quickly, turned around with a tautly-pulled grin towards the elven girl.

"Must've lost track of time finding what Senshi wanted, sorry about the wait. You guys must be starving by now." The two of you started to chat walking back to the temporary camp, Laios watching and following from behind. You pulled out the oxalis in your bag to show her, a proud expression beaming off your face as you brought up his face when he first tried it. His stomach twisted, his hand resting on the top of his armor-covered abdomen.

There were very few monsters he found cute, most being out-of-this-world frightening to gaze upon, but you truly were one of the cuter ones around. He felt hungry again as your hips swayed from side to side, tail flicking around. He brushed the fingers that he touched your horns with against his lips, reminiscing on the texture. How sensitive were they? You did go rigid when he brushed against them, but it could be just from the shock.

Saliva was building up in his mouth again, and he could only harshly swallow back the feeling.

Deplorable he was with this appetite, the desire to consume you piece by piece. Would you accept that as one of your final fates? Rather than being killed and left behind with little to no chance of being revived, he'd pick up every raw part of you and eat it, savoring each bite in respect for what you've sacrificed to help him find his sister. Laios would try to bring the inedible bits of you with him — bones, teeth, horns, nails, hooves, hair — for the rest of this dungeon's journey and back into his world. Your wish would be granted, despite not being able to fully witness it yourself; you might even thank him for that bit of kindness too.

This thing the two of you had was special, unbeknownst to the others. A friendship that couldn't be understood by the other members of the party, but was completely comprehensible to only you and him. Symbiotic, just almost mutualistic. A love of one's flesh in exchange for the love of another's world.

Love.

Though Laios has expressed his heavy interest and passion in monsters, he never had said he loved them. Most were mindlessly dangerous, no matter how small or large they were, acting on base instinct. Yet, you were different. In fact, he could say that you were the opposite of him. Instead of being grouped together with your fellow monster-kind, you were more interested in being around outsiders. Different sides of the same golden coin.

A realization hit him, his eyes widening. The strange feelings in his body, the perverse, obsessive fantasies he's been having about you... It could only mean that he—

"Jeez Laios, you've been spacing out all day. Are you okay?"

He snapped out of it, staring at the concerned looks of both you and Marcille. Laios only smiled, his golden eyes focused completely on your form. Both your ear and tail tip was twitching, flicking in the air as if a fly was nearby.

"I'm just hungry, that's all."

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ Behind the victory is a spice / Ball tagged onto the prize / Then the touch is nothing but a vice / Inhaled not once, but thrice 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - The Alchemy

wc: 1.6k

genre & warnings: fluffff, tinier than a dust angst, college setting, football player!Riki, inaccurate game of football, cursing, mentions of beer, appearnce of other enha members, bisco and konon as special guests, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

The incessant knocking on your door made your head ache even worse, the scowl that greeted the person behind the annoying sounds disappeared when you saw who it was.

"Riki, I told you I don't want t- oh? Konon? What are you doing here?" you frowned apologetically at the girl, to which she only shrugged off.

"I'm here to give you this." she hands you a piece of clothing, a familiar one and you can't help the nose scrunch.

"Uh.. thanks. Take care on your way back." you mumbled, not believing that your boyfriend has to send his sister here in order to accomplish his mission.

"Wait!" she hurriedly says, stopping you from closing the door, "I know that my brother is an idiot for doing what he did. But he does love you, given that he's been sulking since your fight."

You laughed a bit at the snitching, imagining the tall boy pouting, "Thank you so much, Konon. Don't worry, we'll work things out."

She waves her hand, "I'm not worried in the slightest!" she giggles, "He deserves the silent treatment, but I do hope that you'll attend his game."

You nod, bidding each other goodbyes and you sigh. Looking at the item in your hand before spreading the oversized fabric out, a small piece of paper falling from it.

You raised an eyebrow, picking the paper up and examining its contents and it gave you a major facepalm moment. Still, finding it uniquely endearing.

Good day to the prettiest girl who is reading this! You have been given the honor to attend my (Nishimura Riki aka your boyfriend) game tomorrow at exactly 4 PM.

Please encircle your answer from the following options:

1. Yes

2. Yes

3. All of the above

Thank you! (ily)

You rolled your eyes at the silly content of his letter, tucking it gently on your coffee table and proceeding to your room to match the jersey with fashionable pants.

He basically wants you to come, so might as well give in. Besides, their team calls you their lucky charm. So you do have to attend either way, or else those rowdy boys will bust your ear out at uni.

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

Riki nervously looks around the stadium, eyeing for the familiar figure that he hasn't seen for days. (and it kills him deep inside but he would NEVER admit it)

"She'll come." one of his teammates, Heeseung, pats his back when the older noticed his anxious expression, "We explicitly told her to attend our matches because she brings us good luck. She'll come."

"True that." Jake butts in, giving the younger a comforting side hug, "Now stop pouting and let's do the huddle."

Riki gets hauled into the middle of the field, joining the nestle of hyping the team up, but he couldn't fucking concentrate.

Focusing was proven difficult if he hasn't seen or felt your presence before a game, and it shows.

It was clear to anyone with eyes that their japanese star player had something in his mind- you.

He is getting icky, his teammates were exasperated as well. They are 5 points behind and they are all shouting for Riki to get that touchdown.

Can he do it?

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

You took a deep breath when you heard the loud cheers inside the stadium. Wiping your clammy hands on your denim pants and boosting yourself up to go in there. 

Finally, you entered the arena, the bright lights blinding you for a second as you took some time to adjust. Moving through the plethora of watchers is a damn journey, finding the VIP spot that is always reserved for you. 

You sighed out of relief when you saw the seat was not taken because for real, you did overthink that someone might have stolen your place. 

Your eyes scanned the area, gazing at the scoreboard then towards the players. You hear their coach yelling, then you focus on the man that you had been avoiding for a while. 

Football is something that you never truly understand, sports in general, but your beloved is passionate about it. That is why amidst your studies, you put in the maximum effort to learn about it. That is why you can confidently say that you somehow understand the situation after analyzing what is happening.

Expanding your lung capacity, clutching on the metal bars that separate the bleachers from the field, you did the unexpected.

“Nishimura fucking Riki! If you don’t score a touchdown, I will not cook your favorite bungeoppang anymore!” you screamed like a madman, and it was like thunder struck the stadium as your voice echoed throughout the field. 

Who knew that L/N Y/N has the power to momentarily stop the whole crowd from cheering and the players to stop moving. 

Riki grins widely, scouting the bleachers and seeing you in the same seat that he has always saved for you during his games. 

The boy gave you a salute and even if you can’t clearly see his face due to his helmet, you know that he’s sporting a smug and victorious expression because you can’t resist him. 

Blood rushed into your cheeks and you tried to hide your embarrassment, concentrating on the game instead as the world started spinning again. 

You watched your school team defend like their life depended on it, more importantly, you stared intently at Riki’s running form, getting nearer to the end zone. 

You clasped your hands together, adrenaline coursing through your veins, praying for him to go for it. To win this and make you proud. 

And he did. 

Before the time ended, Riki successfully reaches the ball behind the plane of the opponent’s goal line. The side of your university in the arena went nuts when the broadcaster announced an overdramatic: "Number 10, Nishimura Riki, scores a touchdown! That makes Decelis University our champions for this year's league!” 

You clap your hands in celebration, beaming in happiness as you witness the chaotic scene in the field. The whole team is popping beers and splashing water, removing their shirts wildly, throwing their helmets, squawking like crazy and lifting the man who set the winning shot up in the air. 

Just then, Riki’s eyes meet yours and he immediately runs over to you, ignoring the trophy that was being handed to him by their coach. He does not give a fuck about the barrier separating you two, hoisting you above it, making you squeal around his arms. 

“Oh my god! Riki! No, let me go!” you laugh, gripping his shoulders for support as he walks back to his teammates.

“No can do, princess.” he smirks, raising you even further and declaring you as the team’s personal four-leaf clover. 

All members howl in excitement, agreeing with his statement because truly, ever since they met you, everything has been going their way. You are an amulet that blocks any ill-fated situations that might fall upon them.

“Put me down, Riki! This is embarrassing!” you covered your face with your hands and he finds it incredibly adorable how the tips of your ears turned pink. 

He follows you though, smoothly setting you on the grass field and gently removing the obstacle that interrupts him from getting a peek on your gorgeous face that he missed dearly. 

He holds your hands in his stupidly large ones, his fingers caressing your knuckles and he leans down until your noses are touching each other. 

“Thank you for coming, my princess. And wearing my jersey too.” he mumbles and you disconnect your intertwined hands, reaching to push his sweaty hair back and resting your palms on the back of his neck.

“I can’t possibly miss an important game of my MVP, right?” you chuckled and it was such a tender moment. Like no one was around you, well, in your point of view they are all blurry as the man in front of you invades all of your senses.

Riki hums, holding your waists and pressing your lips together without any further ado. 

He can’t help but smile into the kiss, the reality of having you in his arms like this outweighs any shiny prizes that he could ever dream of. 

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

You giggled when your boyfriend kept on leaving feathery smooches on the expanse of your neck, frowning when he suddenly stopped to look at you with such sassiness.

“By the way, you have to explain yourself, missy.” he says, tightly holding onto you as you two cuddle on the sofa. 

“About what?”

“About why you’re late at my game yesterday.” 

It was like a light bulb turned on in your brain, a wicked smile on your face that it somehow scared Riki despite being a menace himself.

“Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for the shit you pulled last week.” you admit and he groans, complaining that he only lent the jacket to some unknown girl to make you jealous. 

“Exactly!” you pout, grabbing his face and squishing his face, making him look like a baby duck, “So I have to do something about it.” 

Riki raised an eyebrow, suddenly curious at your story.

“What did you do?” a question that Riki regretted when you spilled the answer to it.

“I went and retrieved the jacket from the girl,” you put a finger on his lips, “don’t ask how I got her address. Then I gave the abomination to Bisco. He really loved playing with it, turning it into tiny little pieces of fabric. Very artistic.”

Riki’s movements came to a halt, his eyes slowly moving towards his pet who is currently chilling on the carpet, giving him a nasty side eye when he lightly glared at the Maltipoo. Then his gaze returned to you, gaping like a fish. 

“That jacket was expens-”

“The jacket smelled like a girl, unless you want it back?” the tight smile you gave Riki was enough sign for him to shut up.

“No, princess.” he hugs you closer to him, leaving a peck on the crown of your head, “I don’t want it. I can always buy another one.” 

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo @slutforjeno

[thesolarangel]

Spending a rainy day with Halsin

Halsin is just a big teddy bear who loves to cuddle with you. rating: G · fluff, comfort fanfic, no warnings · 293 words read here on AO3

It was a crisp day in January and it had been raining for hours. You could hear the raindrops falling onto the sturdy roof of the cottage, creating a soothing rhythmic noise that was probably your favorite sound.

The fireplace was lit and the heat and light made the living room extra cozy. You found Halsin draped comfortably across the big couch, a knitted blanket over his legs, and a book in his hands.

He had opened a window next to him, that way he could savor the smell of the wet earth outside while he was reading his novel. He was an elf of simple pleasures as he always said. 

Halsin looked up from his book, a smile curling his lips and his eyes lit up. “There you are.” he welcomed you in his deep, rumbling voice that exuded so much comfort and kindness.

“You look very cozy, can I join?” you asked as you approached him.

“Of course,” he peeled the blanket away and made space between his broad thighs. “Come here, my heart.”

You settled in his lap and he draped the blanket over the both of you. Leaning back against his large chest, you placed your ear against him to listen to his heartbeat and breathed in his scent. You snuggled closer into his embrace and Halsin hummed above you.

You let yourself be lulled to sleep by Halsin’s steadily moving chest, his heartbeat, and the sound of the rain. After a short while, you were fast asleep as Halsin continued to read his book, occasionally stroking over your hair. He placed a gentle kiss onto your forehead and let you nap like this for as long as you needed. He was only halfway through his fantasy romance novel…

Thank you for reading! I just wanted to write down a quick drabble that has been on my mind for a while and I needed something to cheer me up in this dark and cold season. I hope you liked it!

tag list: @lordoftheelves @starlady66 @orehuna @fenharel-enaste @aiwe-the-little-bird (I hope it's okay I tagged y'all. If not, please tell me and I'll keep it in mind for next time!!)

dividers by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Five

Summary:

Astarion can barely contain his jealousy when he sees you and Dr. Dekarios having a friendly chat over coffee, and you're really not a fan of how it makes you feel.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.9k Tags/Warnings: possessive Astarion, jealous Astarion, praise kink, rough sex, library sex, I might get too deep in the weeds about theatre in this one, sorry

Y'all we are well on our way to a pivotal chapter. I'm not sure if you're ready for it. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it. But for now, have some flirty banter and jealous library sex.

Both Gale and Astarion screenshots provided by our queen, @zipzoomzaria.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Ahh, we've given up on life then, have we?”

Astarion's voice pierces through the din of students shuffling and chatting as they settle for class. You're just passing through the hall on your way to get a much needed pick-me-up from the student union.

“C’mon Ank-yunín, it's college, we all wear PJs. Ain't no one cares how you dress.” Mol’s signature twang rises above the rest, and you can't tell if she’s deliberately mispronouncing his name or not. Knowing her, she probably is.

“Hells, Mol, are you positive you're registered for a 300 level English course?” The sneer in his voice is evident.

You poke your head in the doorway to watch him banter with his students before class. He is, in fact, particularly well-dressed today - and gods does he look good. He’s wearing a crisp and well-tailored white suit dressed down with a black v-neck tee shirt. He stands with one hand in his pocket and the other lightly sifting through papers on his desk. He's looking over his glasses with disdain at Mol and immediately your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes flick up towards you and your cheeks flush when you realize you've been caught. His lips curl into a mischievous smile.

“Oh Professor,” he calls to you, voice dripping with honey, “I was so hoping you'd stop by. We’re discussing iambic pentameter today, care to give an impromptu lecture?”

“Oh!” He's completely caught you off-guard and your heart speeds up. His smug little grin reveals he knows exactly what he’s doing. Not wanting to get roped into something you’re unprepared for, you hesitate, “Well, I'm not sure, I'm a bit busy…”

“Nonsense! You're not on your way to a class, are you?” He plants his hands on his desk and leans forward, grinning devilishly. You're not sure if he’s memorized your teaching schedule, but you wouldn't put it past him.

“I'm not, no,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“C’mon miss, you know loads about this stuff,” Mol chirps enthusiastically, leaning dangerously on the back of her chair. “Way more than Ank-yunín over here.” She jabs her thumb at him and rolls her eyes.

“I suppose… I have time for a quick overview,” you say reluctantly, and Astarion’s smile grows. You walk into the classroom and glare at him as soon as your face is out of view of the students.

“That heart of yours keeps giving you away,” he murmurs when you're close enough to hear. You ignore him and turn to face the class.

“Oh, Thaniel, I didn’t know you were in this class!” you say when you recognize your student’s face. “That's a lot of Shakespeare for one semester, isn't it?” The class titters and your face grows hot.

“Unfortunately for you, that's Thaniel’s twin, Oliver,” Astarion says behind you. You clench your jaw in embarrassment.

“I'm so sorry, I didn-”

“No big, it happens a lot,” he waves you off. His energy is so much more confident than the timid kid in your Classical Acting class. You feel even sillier for not having realized it.

“So how much have you all actually done on Shakespeare's meter?” You shift your glance between Astarion and the class, trying to assess exactly what he’s pulled you into.

“None at all, they're a blank canvas,” he smirks, enjoying your discomfort far too much. He sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms, watching you closely.

Fine. He thinks he can fluster you? You've taught iambic pentameter a thousand times, you can practically teach this lesson in your sleep.

“Fantastic, so I won't need to undo any of Dr. Ancunín's mediocre teaching,” you return his smug grin, a silent declaration of two can play at this game. “How many of you have heard the phrase iambic pentameter?”

A smattering of hands go up in the air. You nod and turn towards the white board. Not a single marker in sight. You turn to Astarion with a blank stare.

“Where the fuck are your white board markers.” It’s less of a question and more of an accusatory statement. He shrugs noncommittally.

“I don't need to write things down, that's what they do,” he says, jerking his head towards the students. You roll your eyes and shove him off the desk so you can rifle through the drawers.

“Does anyone know the first line of the prologue for Romeo and Juliet?” you ask once you've procured a marker.

“Two households both alike in dignity!” A redheaded girl calls out enthusiastically. You nod and write the line on the board.

“Awesome! What’s your name?” you ask.

“Yenna,” she states with a beam of pride that you’re showing interest in her. You feel like you can tell everything about her from this small exchange.

“Any chance you know the next one, Yenna?”

“No, that's all I've got.” She frowns a little, clearly wishing she could show off more.

“That's okay, let's talk about the first four lines.” You turn and write the next three lines of the prologue.

“Dang, d’you have the whole thing memorized?” Another student pipes up, a Tiefling with indigo locs.

“Well, I've been in R&J a few times, and I've seen it many more,” you shrug casually, and his eyes light up.

“No way, didja have to learn the whole thing?” he asks, just as another student chimes in, “Who did you play?”

“No, just my lines, but I heard the prologue a lot,” you say to the first kid, then turn to the second, “I played Juliet in high school, and a few years back I played Mercutio over at the Rosewood.”

Several students start to ask questions at once, and you hold up your hand to stop them.

“Woah woah, slow down, I'm only one person. Gods, do you ever talk to them about how these plays are actually performed and not just words in some dusty old book?” you ask Astarion incredulously.

“Who do you think Dr. Ancunín would play in Romeo and Juliet?” Oliver calls out from the back. 

“I think Dr. Ancunín would make an excellent Tybalt.” You flash him a coy smile. “Just the right amount of obnoxious.”

“Doesn't Tybalt kill Mercutio?” Yenna asks. Astarion looks at you more salaciously than he should in front of students.

“I'm certain I could offer a little death,” he croons in a low voice, sparking a flame deep in your core. You press your lips together, trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Aaaaaanyway,” you say quickly, moving the conversation back to the text and away from his flirtatious banter. 

You’re surprised by how much fun you have teaching Astarion's class. His students are lively and eager participants, if not to actually comment on the subject then at least to try to get in a jab at his expense. By the end of the three hour lecture, most of them have completed the scansion for the entire prologue on their own.

“Alright, we’ll meet again in a tenday,” Astarion calls over the sounds of everyone putting their books and papers back into their bags. “Don't forget that your soliloquy explication is due next class. And don't bother asking for an extension because you know I won't grant it.”

“I hope you enjoyed using me to slack off during your class,” you say to him quietly as the last few students trickle out. He lets out a throaty laugh.

“I do enjoy using you, it's true,” he hums, and you involuntarily press your thighs together. “Although you cannot deny that you had fun.”

“With you? Always.” You toss your hair and grab your bag. “Now I'm headed over to the student union for coffee because teaching your class wore me out.”

“Hmm, I would've thought you had a little more stamina than that.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and your ears grow pink. You start to move away to leave but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into a heated kiss. You need to force yourself to push him away.

“Astarion!” You hiss, panting and lightheaded. You whip your head around to see if any students are left, but the room is empty.

“Just wanted to remind you who’s in charge here,” he says with a haughty grin and you roll your eyes.

“Goodbye,” you say pointedly and make your escape, but not before he gives your ass a cheeky little pinch.

***

Of course the student union is swamped when you get there. The long line to the little university cafe is moving agonizingly slowly. The work-study students behind the counter are taking orders as fast as they can, but it's clear they don't have enough coverage for the between-class times.

After waiting for about ten minutes, you’re considering getting coffee off campus when you see Dr. Dekarios crossing the union. Reminded of the conversation he had with Astarion while you were trapped under his desk, you call out to him. He turns and there's a vague note of recognition in his wave.

You glance at the four people in front of you still and the half dozen or so orders hanging off the espresso machine. Deciding it's not worth the continued wait, you bound over to the arcana professor.

“Dr. Dekarios, I'm so glad I caught you. I wanted to chat about your theory regarding bardic magic and the humors,” you say excitedly. His face lights up and then falls confused.

“Oh, I hadn't told you about that, how did you-” he begins and your stomach drops when you remember that you were not technically a part of that conversation.

“Uh, Astar- Dr. Ancunín mentioned that you were looking for me,” you say quickly and your eyeballs feel like they're about to melt out of your head. Not wanting either of you to spend too much time remembering the state he caught you in with Astarion, you continue.

“Tell me a little more about this theory, because I think it tracks, but I want to hear the basis of it first.”

“Oh, but you were just about to get some coffee, weren't you? I feel terrible that you stepped out of line on my behalf,” Dekarios frowns, peering over your shoulder at the cafe behind you. It’s beginning to peter out as the time approaches the beginning of classes.

“No worries, I should probably save my money anyway,” you say with a shrug.

“Well then allow me to treat you at least,” he implores, and he beckons you back into line. 

The wait is significantly shorter, and when you approach the counter he says, “Hello, good afternoon. I'll have a small black tea with just a splash of that vanilla almond milk you know I love so much,” he says with a secretive chuckle and the poor work-study behind the counter plasters a pained smile on their face. Dekarios then turns to you and says, “And for the young lady?”

“I'll have a large iced double dirty chai with oat milk, thanks.” The student barista turns to start making the drinks and Dekarios’ brows pop above his wire frames.

“Goodness, that amount of caffeine this late in the afternoon would keep me up all night,” he laughs.

“The caffeine barely impacts me anymore, at this point I just need it to get through a rehearsal,” you respond with a polite joviality. 

The two of you sit at a small table in the student union to talk. For a pretentious arcana professor, he’s surprisingly easy to get along with.

“Walk me through your thought process, because I think you're onto something here, but I need a little bit more,” you ask, taking a sip of your chai. Dekarios gestures wildly while he speaks, clearly very enthusiastic about the subject.

“Well, we know that Shakespeare was responsible for a massive shift in how playwrights and audiences alike thought of characters, yes? From a balance or imbalance of humors to something more complex?”

“I mean, he wasn't solely responsible, it was more or less an inevitable cultural and technological shift, but yes, he was definitely at the forefront of that shift.”

“Oh fascinating,” he murmurs as his eyes grow wide and he leans forward on his elbows. “So do you think the advancement from from the College of Swords to the College of Lore was inevitable? Do you think they were related?”

“Related, yes, but not in the way you're suggesting, I think,” you muse, absentmindedly pressing your drink to your lips. As you're contemplating your next thought, you're startled by a hand on your shoulder. You look up and Astarion is looking down his nose at you, eyes gleaming.

“Dr. Ancunín, what a surprise!” you say in a strained voice, trying to decipher his body language. “Thank you so much for telling me about Dr. Dekarios’ theory regarding bardic magic, it's really a fascinating subject.” You lean heavily on the lie, although truth be told, all three of you know that you were in his office that day.

“Of course, darling, I thought you might find it intriguing.” As he speaks, he runs his fingers through the hair at the base of your neck, and the shiver that runs down your spine isn't quelled by the confusion blooming in the back of your mind. Why is he being so affectionate? And in public, no less?

He shifts his gaze to Dekarios and his eyes narrow.

“Dr. Dekarios, how are you faring? Well, I hope?” There's a slight venom in Astarion’s voice. Is he… jealous? The realization fills you with conflicting feelings of annoyance and arousal.

You can practically feel Shadowheart’s judgemental stare down from across campus. Possessiveness is not cute.

And yet…

There’s a thrill in the grip of his hand on your neck, the ice in his voice as he speaks to Dekarios, the flagrant PDA almost as if to say “This one’s mine.”

Maybe a conversation for your therapist later.

“Well, I'll leave you to it,” Astarion’s sharp voice breaks through your thoughts and you bring yourself back to the conversation. “Dr. Dekarios, always a pleasure. Darling,” his voice drops into a register that fills you with an intense heat. He pulls your chin up with his finger and plants a kiss on your lips that’s borderline inappropriate for being in public. It's certainly inappropriate for your workplace, but your head is too fuzzy to protest.

“I'll see you later,” he breathes and walks off. At minimum, he's left you flustered and embarrassed, but far worse than that, you are now insatiably horny. You press your legs together for some relief as you shake your head to clear it.

“I'm sorry,” you say to Dekarios, your cheeks unbearably hot. “I don't know why-”

“No worries at all,” he says, holding up a hand. “Far be it from me to get in the way of young love.”

“I don't know if I'd go so far to say love,” you murmur into your drink, but he seems to not hear you, or at least he pretends not to.

“Anyway, where were we?” Your voice returns to full volume as you try to expel the x-rated thoughts running through your head.

Your conversation with Dekarios - well, Gale, he insists - is delightful, in spite of Astarion’s peacocking. He's wonderfully knowledgeable about bardic magic, something you've always wanted to learn more about but struggle to find the time. Meanwhile, you're able to provide the cultural context and connections that are completely unfamiliar to him.

You eventually realize just how much you've lost track of the time.

“Oh gods, I need to go, I have to grab something from the library before it closes,” you say in a rush, picking up your bag.

“My apologies! I've monopolized your time, completely unthinkingly.”

“No worries, I enjoyed our conversation. And I will definitely check out that podcast that you mentioned. Remind me of the name?” You throw away your and Gale’s long empty cups.

“If Books Could Kill. Wonderfully informative, and the hosts are enchanting and amusing.”

You nod and mentally file it away for later.

“Great, yeah, I'll look into it. Thank you for a lovely conversation, we’ll chat again soon.” You wave as you scurry in the direction of the library.

***

You make it to the library about 20 minutes before it closes. You dash up to the third floor and make a beeline for the 800s.

You're scanning through the book titles when suddenly you smell that telltale combination of bergamot and rosemary. Before you can move, he’s pressed into your back, his hands tight on your waist and lips on your neck. You exhale in a long shudder and bite your knuckle to stay quiet.

“Astarion, what the fuck?” you accuse in a sharp whisper. You're fairly certain the floor is empty this late in the day, but you'd rather not take your chances. You grip the shelf as he pushes you into it and try desperately to suppress the moan threatening to tear from your throat. He breaks from his assault on your neck just long enough to put his lips to your ear.

“I don't like the way he looked at you,” he growls and reaches his hand around to grab your breast. You gasp and find yourself grinding into him despite your best judgment. It's like all logic evaporates when you're around him.

“I can talk to whoever I want, Astar- ah-” you manage to keep your voice steady until his other hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt. You can feel his length along the cleft of your ass and you catch the whimper on your tongue.

“Of course you can, I wouldn't dream of stopping you.” His voice is a honeyed poison and his hand continues its journey south, sliding through the hair on your mound. “Just as I can be jealous of whomever I please.” He slips a finger into your folds and your hips buck into his hand.

“We- hnng- we can't do this here,” you pant even as your grip on his arm tightens, pulling him more into you.

“We can if you're quiet,” he breathes and runs a slick finger over your clit. You let out a high-pitched squeak that may have been mistaken for a mouse by someone wearing headphones. Maybe. He roughly pulls away and spins you around so your back is pressing into the shelves behind you. He hikes up your skirt and pushes his growing bulge into your core. He swallows your moan with a heated kiss and you grasp at the collar of his clean white suit. Which, given the way he’s grinding against your now drenched panties, might not be clean for much longer.

“I've half a mind to bite you just so everyone knows you're mine,” he hisses into your neck and pulls your leg around his waist, giving him unfettered access to your cunt. You let out a cry and he slaps a hand over your mouth, turning the cry into a soft grunt. Your pussy clenches in anticipation, waiting to be filled by him.

“But we don't need them to catch us to find out, do we?” he snarls and you let out another muffled moan. Every controlling grab, every fierce growl, every possessive word turns you on more. You want to let yourself succumb, be consumed by him. A quiet voice in the back of your head tells you “No, this is wrong, he’s being an asshole, don't reward that behavior.” But there is a much, much louder voice that works its way out of your throat.

“Ffkkk, msstrnn.” His palm catches his name from your lips. One of your hands grips onto the shelf above you while the other slides down his front and fumbles awkwardly with his belt. His hand leaves your leg to help you unbuckle his pants and your ankle hooks around his thigh.

His cock springs free and your breath hitches to see its pink bulbous tip already leaking precum. Your voice gets high and needy, your breath coming out sharply through your nose. He grinds his now bare erection into the wet fabric covering your pussy and presses his cheek to yours so his lips are right on your ear.

“Would you like that? Do you want me to claim you as mine? Mark you so everyone knows who you belong to?” With every word you gasp and twist against him more wantonly, rolling your hips to increase the friction.

“Say it,” he rasps and pulls his hand away from your mouth. You gasp and the words tumble out of you in a breathy whisper.

“Yes, gods yes. Mark me. Make me yours,” you plea, gripping the shelves even more firmly so you can arch into him, indifferent to the pain of the books digging into your back.

“Good girl,” he grunts and clamps his hand back over your mouth just in time to catch the loud whine that his praise elicited. He yanks your panties aside and sinks into you, and your slick lets him easily slide up to the hilt. You tilt your pelvis forward to feel even more of him inside you.

He pounds into you with short rhythmic strokes, making the books on the shelves behind you shake. Each thrust lifts you off your toes slightly, your one foot stretched to stay on the floor while the other remains firmly wrapped around his hip.

His breathing grows ragged with the effort, his breath warm and wet on your shoulder. You tangle your hands into his hair, tugging on his curls as you guide his lips to your neck. He sinks his teeth into the marks that have been taking longer and longer to heal. He drinks deeply as you keen into his hand, and it doesn't take long for your blood to reach his cock, making it throb inside you. 

The increase of sensation sends you rushing to the edge. Your arm curls tighter around his neck as the uneven pace of your jagged panting increases. You feel the familiar tightening in your core and your toes curl as heat and pleasure flood your body. You bite down on his hand as you're on the precipice and he unlatches from your neck. His feral growl, bloody mouth, and disheveled hair falling into his glasses send the orgasm rocketing through your body, and you feel him follow moments after. His dick pulses with seed and when he pulls out, you can feel it dripping down your leg.

The only sound in the library is the two of you trying to catch your breath, until, horrified, you hear a timid voice from a few stacks down.

“Um… the library will be closing in five minutes, please bring your books to the checkout counter.” You can hear little feet shuffle away followed by the door to the stairwell opening and slamming shut. You're silent for a moment longer before you both break into a fit of giggles.

***

You sit in your car in the university parking lot as you start and erase about a hundred different texts to Shadowheart. You're so conflicted that you don't even know what advice to ask for.

You finally settle on a simple, “I'm coming to your place. Open a bottle.”

[pajarinwrites]

LOLLAPALOOZA | Boo Seungkwan x Reader

➳ gn!reader x seungkwan

➳ wc: 2.4k

➳ TAGS: angst? no au!au?? seungkwan gets lost in berlin and reader helps him hahaha

➳ WARNINGS: sadness? unrequited attration/infatuation? german language, german people (jk love y'all), kinda insta-lovey

➳ AN: obviously i had to write something about lolla bc the boys ate that. i love them so much. this is my gift for every carat that didn't get to go (i'll probably continue this bc i did not enjoy that mildly sad ending) also it was my anniversary this week, so you get two stories within the same week (unheard of from me fr)

side note: no shade to the German people. Also, if I butchered Berlinese, please ignore it, thx. also also i don't know where the olympia stadium player entrance is and i was too lazy to look it up. different side note: if you were one of the carats that went to LOLLA in cheers outfits (you know the ones: purple, blue, orange, hats with jewels) and you happened to be stumbling across this, just know i am actually in fact in love with you and you are contractually obliged to marry me, you guys all slayed <3

masterlist

He stared down at his phone, helplessly. But the stupid thing remained stubbornly black. The sun was beating down onto his neck, bared, unlike his face that was protected by his cap, and he rubbed at it in frustration. It must have been getting close to noon, way past the time he had promised to be back. It also meant the sun was nearly above him. Without any shadow to seek refuge in, Seungkwan continued down the street. He had been avoiding getting a new phone for ages, and now it had finally caught up with him.

“Ah fuck,” he cursed under his breath, shoving the hot, useless brick back into his pocket. The pavement was flickering with heat as he looked down the street. He’d have to ask someone for help. Now, if only someone would brave the sun and temperature outside. What kind of city was this empty at noon, anyway? Granted, he wasn’t exactly in the middle of the city, but still.

He made it to the corner before finally spotting the long-awaited sign of actual life. There was a store across the street, a bright red sign reading ‘kiosk’.

He strutted in, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his shirt and trying not get too stressed out by the fact he’d have to communicate his troubles in English now.

“Hi, hello…” he started, waving softly at the clerk behind the counter. He was a middle-aged man, tan and bearded, gruff-looking, like so many of the people Seungkwan had encountered here.

“Uhm, I am… need help. I need help.” he stammered, searching the man’s face for any sort of emotion. The only reply was a grunt. He tried again, “I am… lost way. I am looking… uhm… looking for Olympia Stad—?”

The man started waving his hands in front of his face.

“Keen Englisch!”

Seungkwan tried again, just slower this time but that seemed to agitate the man even more.

“Ick sech ick kann keen Englisch. Icke versteh’ nüscht!“

He seemed angry, so Seungkwan bowed and hurried out of the store. Who knew Germans could be this scary. This also left him at square one. Or, possibly, worse. He had no idea where he had gotten turned around and there wasn’t another store in sight. With no one around the hour approaching early afternoon, he was busy trying to keep the panic at bay.

A sudden voice startled him out of his spiralling thoughts.

“Alles in Ordnung? Kann ich dir helfen?”

He spun around, and met with wide eyes, fluffy hair, and a worried expression. A person, probably about his age, was standing in front of him. Kind, was his first thought, the way you were clutching a hand-painted tote bag to your side, and looking honestly concerned for him, gave him hope.

“Ah, yes, hello!” No matter his anxiety about English, Seungkwan wasn’t going to let this golden opportunity pass.

“You speak English?”

You inclined your head, “Yeah, a little. Are you lost?”

He nodded fervently but before he could attempt to explain any further, the person in front of him suddenly slipped into Korean.

“혹시 한국인 이세요?“ Are you Korean?

“Oh!” He exclaimed surprised and so relieved that he felt close to tears.

“Yes, yes! How did you know?” He replied.

You laughed and Seungkwan, oddly, felt all his former worry drain away, “Just a lucky guess. Your style and hair, maybe.”

Seungkwan clasped his hands, starting into a relieved tirade, “Wow, I’m so glad that I happened to run into you on the street like this, you have no—“

“Uhm,” you interrupted him, raising a hand, “…slowly, please?”

Seungkwan took a few seconds to realise that his excited outburst had probably been too much, linguistically.

“Oh! Yes, of course. Just… I’m happy I met you. I need to go to the Olympia Stadium but I don’t know where it is.”

This time, your brows remained unfurrowed as you focused on Seungkwan’s speech, which he tried to keep as slow and clear as possible.

“It’s that way. Do you want to go together?”

He nodded with relief, falling into step beside you.

“Are you also on your way to the festival?” He inquired, but was met with the shake of the head.

“No, I just don’t know how to describe the way in Korean.”

Seungkwan laughed at your sheepish expression. “How do you know Korean?”

“An ex of mine was Korean.”

“Wow! You learned just for them?”

You nodded, laughing. “Yeah, I visited their family in Korea and I wanted to be able to communicate. Then I just kept studying on my own after we broke up.”

Seungkwan nodded, studying your side profile, somewhat severe, he thought.

“So how did you get lost?”

“I was taking a walk.”

“You don’t seem to have… your direction isn’t very good.”

“My sense of direction?”

“Yes!” You turned, mumbling the phrase under your breath repeatedly, and Seungkwan had trouble holding back a giggle. Apparently, that severe look disappeared entirely when you were excited about something. He giggled at your concentrated expression.

“Do you wanna write it down?”

“I’ll write it down later. So, are you going to the… concert?”

Seungkwan blinked, averting his face. He had forgotten, for a second, the fact that he was, technically speaking, world famous.

“Uhm, yeah… I’m going to the festival.” He said, hoping you would leave it at that but of course, no such luck.

“You came all the way here for Lollapalooza? Or do you live in Berlin?”

“We flew here.”

“Wow! Who do you want to see that much?”

“Sam Smith,” he said, both because he did want to see them and because it seemed like a safe lie.

“They don’t tour in Korea?”

“Uhm, we wanted to visit Europe anyway.”

“Ah! I see! Not only Berlin, then? Where else will you travel?”

If you realised his increasing discomfort, you didn’t let it show. Seungkwan didn’t enjoy lying, and the longer the conversation kept going, the surer he was that you must’ve figured something out. Or worse, recognised him right at the start.

“Are you going to the festival?” He asked in lieu of a reply. You looked taken aback for a second but seemed to shake the awkwardness off quickly.

“Nope, I’m not really a… festival person…”

“Ah…” he trailed off, unsure whether or not to pursue the subject. Eventually he settled on, “you don’t like that kind of music?”

“Pop? I don’t mind it.”

“Ah, and… K-Pop? You like it?” Seungkwan knew he should not breach the topic; he should ignore the possibility of you knowing of him. He should just pray that you would say ‘no, not really’ in reply. Technically, he was aware, that everything would be a lot easier and more genuine if you no knowledge of the genre. But he couldn’t help the small voice that was hoping for you to say you adored his music, his voice, his stage presence. He wasn’t sure why, all of a sudden, he craved it like this. Hence, his emotions remained equally confused when you replied, “I prefer older songs, from back when I first got into K-Pop. Like SHINee, 2PM, VIXX, Girl’s Generation, SES, you know? Do you like the group playing today?”

He didn’t dare look up. Your tone had been genuine. You didn’t seem to even know their name. He shrugged his shoulders in reply and tried not to let the speck of disappointment in his chest spread too far. Seungkwan didn’t even notice his lack of reply until he glanced over, seeing your wide eyes staring at him.

“Ah, err, yeah I like them,” he finally decided. Why lie about that?

“Anyone else you want to see? I guess a festival like this... I guess you want to…”

He looked over, letting you sort your thoughts patiently until you gave up with an embarrassed chuckle.

“It’s only worth it if you want to see several artists.” You finally said, switching into English. It took a few seconds for him to untangle the sentence but eventually he nodded, smiling. Unfortunately, his brain used that exact moment to blank on the rest of the people playing at Lollapalooza, and he ended up having to say, “Yeah, I really like Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, huh?” You whipped out your phone and typed away on it. He didn’t have time to worry what would happen if you started looking for photos online, before your phone started blaring Maestro.

“This is the first song on their Spotify page. Which one is your favourite?” You held out your phone as the both of you came to stop at a traffic light. He took it, gingerly, his fingertips grazing yours for a few seconds.

The first song that popped to the front of his brain was Ready to love, so he pressed play. The traffic light turned green and you took your phone back. As you listened intently, Seungkwan looked around, realising that the area started to look more familiar again. The streets also seemed less empty, which was at the same time reassuring and anxiety inducing.

He tugged at your bag to get your attention, “Do you know where the, uhm...” This was it. He should have just been honest from the beginning. There was no way he could get through the masses at the entrance unnoticed. He probably wouldn’t even make it five minutes. And there was no good lie for needing to find the back entrance. Other than…

“I’m part of the staff, so I have to get to the back entrance.”

You cocked your eyebrow before recognition crossed your face.

“Ah, you mean the player entrance? The one the… people who do sport usually use?”

“Yeah!”

You grinned in a way that he couldn’t quite read, “Sure, I’ll have to look that up, though.”

You pulled him over, away from what he had realised was a metro station or something to that effect. A steady drip of people had been exciting the station and turning towards the same direction, so Seungkwan abducted that you had very much picked up on the fact that he didn’t want to be spotted by the masses. The two of you leaned against the wall of a building opposite the street as you pulled up a browser on your phone and looked for the map of the Olympia Stadium. Seungkwan watched the people pass, a lot of them were clearly discernible as Carats, either by their outfits or accessories. He saw a few people with Cheers-inspired outfits, carat bongs, and a frankly abnormal amount of people in tiger print.

“Got it!” You announce after a second, showing the graphic to Seungkwan. “We can take the roundabout way, if you prefer. Just follow this street, then turn right, and enter through the western entrance. Should I take you?”

That was no question for Seungkwan, “Yes, please.”

To his relief, you didn’t hesitate, only nodding happily and taking off in the right direction. He fell back into step beside you, watching you from the corner of his eyes.

“I really liked that song,” you eventually stated. It took him a few seconds to realise that you were talking about his song.

“Yeah? Then you should listen to Rock with you and Hot. Maestro is the latest song, it’s also really good. Then there’s God of Music and…” he trailed off at the sight of your amused expression.

“I’ve got a lot of listening to do, it seems.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze. Seungkwan was at a loss for words, feeling the end of your companionship draw closer with every step. As short as the time had been, he had enjoyed talking to you and hearing your laugh. Ridiculous, he thought, as he had to concede the feeling in his chest.

The two of you made it to the staff entrance, where security awaited. His hand shot out, stopping you a few metres away from them. Their eyes turned towards you, but they remained at their posts.

“Thank you so much,” Seungkwan reiterated, holding onto your arm feverishly. There was this wild thought bouncing through his head that, if he let go now, you’d vanish from his life and never return.

“It’s no problem, really. I had nowhere else to be. I’m happy I could help.”

You voice was earnest and your eyes creased at the corners with happiness. Seungkwan wanted, so badly, to ask for your contact. But there was the issue of communication, and the – much larger – problem of his fame. He had been ‘advised’ not to share any personal contact information with anyone, and he couldn’t very well give you his public Instagram. Not least because that would mean this little pocket of normality would come to an indisputable and abrupt end. You seemed to read his inner conflict on his face because your expression softened. Carefully, you extricated your arm from his grip.

“It was nice meeting you…”

“Seungkwan.”

“Seungkwan,” you repeated, and the care you took in pronouncing it, the way your lips fit themselves around the shape of his name, made his heart seize. “I’m [name]. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

You were smiling so softly, almost hopeful, and Seungkwan didn’t have the guts to say no. “That’d be nice,” he replied instead.

“In German we have this saying: you always meet twice in life.”

Seungkwan nodded, somewhere between regretful and smitten. He steeled himself for the final goodbye when you held out your phone.

“Could you write down those songs for me? The ones you said earlier?”

Lucky, he thought, heaving a relieved sigh. He wouldn’t have had the courage to reject any possible advances of yours. Although, maybe that meant you weren’t interested at all? Maybe you didn’t find him as cute, and interesting, and kind as he did you. Or maybe you were more realistic in withholding judgment of a person you had known a grand total of fifteen minutes. He took your phone, writing a small list in your notes app before locking it and handing it back to you. You took it without looking at it, your eyes never leaving his. It seemed almost like you were searching for something in them. When you finally looked away, Seungkwan had no way of knowing whether you had found it.

“Tell the artists I wish them good luck for their show,” you said. There was a glint in your eyes that told him there was more weight to your words. For a second, he was sure you knew, maybe had known all along. But in the end, there was nothing he could do but watch you walk away, waving and smiling as he made his way backstage.

[haveyouheardthisband]

『 FAQ 』

USEFUL LINKS: Submissions spreadsheet (gigantic list of every band submission we've received. Song submissions are on the second tab. If this does not load on your device, you can view a plaintext archive here.) Data spreadsheet (List of every band that we've posted or are still in the queue, in order, plus occasionally-updated data for finished polls.) Song submissions form (Suggest a noteworthy song for a band that's already been submitted but not yet posted. First-come first-serve. These are linked in a readmore under the band's poll.)

⏭ Y'all made a mistake! / How do I get in touch? Please scroll to read the whole FAQ first. If your question has not already been answered, then send an ask. We don't respond to most asks publicly, but we do read them all. We do not often check replies or mentions. Do NOT send band suggestions via the askbox, it is for correspondence only. (If the question/comment concerns a specific post, you can also ping me @estradasphere in a reply, but asks are preferred)

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why was this poll tagged with [x]? Genres are usually from the artist's RateYourMusic page, if they have one. Country tags are also from RYM - we tag both formed/birth location and disbanded/death location. As for decades, we do not usually tag all decades a band was active for, just a few that contain their most popular output. If we get any of these wrong, please send an ask!

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why was this album art used? If the artist has an RYM page, the album art we use is of their most-rated album on there. If they don't, we use Spotify or Bandcamp or other sources. We tend to avoid album art that depicts potentially triggering subjects.

───♫───────────── ⏭ This artist is morally reprehensible! We do not endorse or support any artists posted here. We're asking if you've heard them, not if you like them - and doing a background check on every submission is infeasible. You are free to warn others via reply, reblog, etc. That being said, we may reject submissions at our own discretion.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Can you add a "yes, unfortunately" option? No, and we don't think this is the best perspective to have. Every band is someone's favorite! We are not intent on changing the three options we have now.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Can you post more/less of [x] genre? We run entirely off of submissions, and go through those mostly in chronological order. We do not control which bands get submitted. That being said, we do try to space out polls in the queue if there's a lot of submissions of the same genre/vibe in a row.

───♫───────────── ⏭ When will band submissions reopen? If/when we get through the bulk of the current submissions. Our backlog is so massive that this may not happen until 2026 (at the latest) though. Sorry!

───♫───────────── ⏭ When will my submission be posted? You can check our progress by looking at the submissions spreadsheet. Finished submissions are the ones highlighted turquoise. Keep in mind that we post once per hour, and you can probably estimate the date from there.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why didn't my submissions post in the order I submitted them? We rearrange the queue if there's a lot of bands of the same genre/vibe submitted in a row. Or for no reason.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why didn't my submission get posted at all? A few reasons this could happen:

Your band is still in the queue, just not in order (see the question above this one)

Your band has been submitted before (search the blog or the data sheet for them)

Your band is so obscure we couldn't find album art or genre info for them

You submitted a ton of bands in a row that are either all similar to each other or in alphabetical order (we don't want one person monopolizing the blog for a long period of time)

If you think we've made a mistake, you can send an off-anon ask or DM a mod, and we'll post a poll for them ASAP if valid. Accidents happen.

───♫───────────── ⏭ How do I suggest songs for multiple-artist submissions? See here and here.

───♫───────────── ⏭ What's the policy on vulgar/offensive band names or album art? Generally OK, but it'll be decided at our own discretion. In the case of album art, we try to find one of the artist's other works at around the same popularity, and if we can't, we'll trigger tag it.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why don't you tag polls with the band names? Tagging it would put the post in the lap of every fan who follows or searches for the tag. For popular bands, we feel this would skew the results too much.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Can you trigger tag [x]? We currently tag common triggers like gore, nudity, body horror, and suicide (typically as "#___ tw" or "#cw ___"); if we missed a post with one of those, please let us know! As for implementing new trigger tags, sorry, we have enough on our plate at the moment and probably wouldn't remember it. We recommend using Xkit Rewritten's post block feature and/or Tumblr's built-in tag/content filtering.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Have y'all considered increasing the post speed to more than 1 per hour? We don't really want to, sorry! Making 24 posts per day to keep pace is enough work for us already, haha.

───♫───────────── ⏭ How many posts are in the queue? It's maintained at around 150-250.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Do y'all want/need another mod? Not right now. If we ever do, we'll make a post for it.

───♫───────────── ⏭ How is the profile picture album picked? It's just an album that one of the mods likes, that's all. It changes approximately every 2 weeks.

───♫───────────── ⏭ Why is Spotify used for song links and playlists? It simply loads faster on my computer than YouTube. We have no intention of changing this, sorry.

[lincolndjarin]

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 4

chapter four : painting the roses red

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : omfg im so sorry for how long this took to get out, with finishing another a fic and the holidays ive been swamped and this chapter was a bit of a monster (haha) so it took a lot of writing and rewriting but i'm relatively pleased with how it turned out. i hope y'all enjoy the penultimate chapter of oh honey!!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 11.7k

summary : feeling are hard, especially when your boyfriend is a blood thirsty monster and you’re supernaturally attracted to him.

warnings, etc. : dead dove do not eat, angst, graphic violence, language, smut, joel and reader are both not in good headspaces, dubcon (reader & joel are compelled to be together, all sexual acts are consensual but there is a uncontrolled attraction between the two characters), fingering in every sense of the word, joel is real beastly in this, spit kink (so much spit guys), oral m&f receiving, monster sex, vaginal&anal penetration, double penetration, body horror, rough sex, tit fucking, thigh fucking, cock warming, cum eating, size kink, period sex, blood drinking, gore, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, you know how joel has a big dick in every fic? what if he was literally 8 feet tall and an actual monster? that's how big his dick is in this, somnophilia, spit as lube, i'm making a lot of stuff up regarding vaginal&anal elasticity, biting, marking, death, readers hair is long enough to pull, i'm probably missing tags cause this chapter is a lot but tldr - joel is a monster with a monster cock and he's putting it in all sorts of places. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“Joel…” You give him a wary look as he bares his teeth at you, a low rumble starting in his throat as your instincts kick in. “Joel!” You yell like you would if you were scolding a dog and he freezes in place. 

Your head is fuzzy and you can only hope that his is as well. That supernatural attraction you have for him suddenly feels as if it’s increased tenfold. 

He doesn’t just smell good anymore. He has an aura now, the air around him is heavy, like you’re breathing in water. The scent of it is thick with lavender and peppermint, it’s a fresh and earthy smell that makes you want to inhale deeper. 

You want to touch him, taste him. His skin looks so smooth like this, pulled taut and tight, you have to fight the urge to run your fingers across it just to see if it’s as silky as it looks. You want to grab him by the antlers and hold him in place so you can just breathe in the floral smell of his breath. 

He hovers above you, unmoving as if waiting for a command. His large glassy eyes give you a curious look and you take the opportunity to sit up a bit straighter. 

He’s scratching the hardwood. 

It’s the silliest detail to focus on but Joel clearly loves his home, he takes such good care of it and the last thing you want is for him to accidentally destroy it in this state. So you do the only thing you can think to do on such short notice. 

“Let’s go to bed Joel. I’m tired.” You get to your feet extremely slowly, he backs up enough to let you stand. Practically purring when you hold your hand out, he reaches his out to meet yours. Your entire hand fits in his palm so you just take one of his fingers, wrapping your hand around it as you lead him down the hall. When you open his bedroom door he rushes in excitedly, curling up on the mattress in the middle of the room. 

You reach up, turning the overhead light on but he immediately flinches, snarling as you quickly turn it off. 

“I’ll- umm, go get a lamp.” You turn to leave but a large hand grips your waist. You put your hands over it, carefully peeling his fingers off of you. “I’m just going to the living room… I’ll be right back.” He huffs. You feel his exhale on your back as you hurry out into the hall. Your stomach churns instantly. 

It’s hard to be away from him under normal circumstances but just being in a different room now makes you want to hurl. 

You move swiftly. Unplugging the first lamp you find. 

You should run. 

The smart thing to do right now would be to grab his keys off the counter, get in the truck, and call Tommy. 

But is that what you really want? 

You’re trying to think of any reasons you have to not be with Joel but your mind is so cloudy, you can’t recall a single thing. 

So you take the lamp back to his room. Plugging it in, dimly illuminating the room before shutting the door. 

Your body isn’t sure what to do. 

You’re afraid. More afraid than you’ve ever been. But also disturbingly aroused. He sits on the bed. If he had a tail you’re certain it'd be wagging. He looks so excited. How much of him is still Joel? Certainly not all of it, it seems like him but… beastly? He doesn’t seem to understand boundaries or human etiquette in general. 

But his eyes are Joel’s. 

It’s all of Joel’s personality traits with absolutely zero inhibitions. 

Once the lamp is plugged in and on he makes his way to the edge of the bed before reaching forward, one talon hooks onto your shirt collar. He tears through it, dragging you forward as you stumble into his lap. 

“You’re sleepy?” He grumbles. You nod frantically and he tosses you down onto the mattress. You land with a soft thud. You can add ‘not aware of his own strength’ onto the list of things you know about Joel in this form. 

He’s got a single pillow and a thin sheet. You lay your head on the pillow but have no time to grab the blanket as he lays down beside you, his entire body curled around you. 

Your face is pressed into his chest and you get a chance to inhale his sweet scent. 

It goes straight to your core. 

It feels like you must be gushing at this point. 

You decide to turn around. It doesn’t cross your mind to not turn your back on him until it’s too late. He grabs you, pulling you flush against him. His talons scrape across your clothes. Every slice has you wincing, you’re waiting to see blood but he’s careful. 

He never so much as nicks you. 

You remain unmoving through the process only watching until he begins to peel your clothes off of you until you’re in your underwear which he immediately makes quick work of. 

Okay. 

You're naked in bed with your monster boyfriend, what could go wrong?

“Pretty.” He speaks in a low bellowing tone. 

“Thank you, Joel.” You whisper back. “You’re pretty too.” He only exhales sharply in response. You go ridgid immediately when he slowly traces a claw up and down your stomach. When his hand begins dipping lower you instinctively recoil, thin scratch lines follow his movements, but he’s careful to not ever break the skin. “Not there-” He holds a hand in front of your face, letting you watch as he retracts it back into the skin, his maw nuzzling into the back of your neck as he does. You take his hand in both of yours, inspecting his fingers, seemingly no longer sharp but you’re still apprehensive. You hold him close to your face in an attempt to keep him away from your most sensitive bits, not wanting to take the risk of having your insides torn to shreds. He bumps an uncoordinated finger against your chin instead, poking at you until you apprehensively open your mouth a bit. Immediately he takes the opportunity to push a thick, gangly finger past your lips. 

You inhale sharply but you can’t help yourself as you run your tongue along the digit, his skin tastes like sugar cookies and before you’re even aware of what’s happening you’re completely lost in the taste. 

His fingers have practically tripled in size and as he tries to push another finger into your mouth your jaw aches at the stretch. 

“Ole-” Is all you can mumble out as he scrunches up tighter around you, your throat constricting around him as he probes deeper. Could he break your jaw like this? He definitely could, you’ve seen first hand what kind of violence he’s capable of yet for some reason you don’t push him away, he’s being careful eith you. 

Slow and methodical as he rests his head atop of yours he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. It’s sort of like a blowjob. If you were blowing two boney dicks. It’s only a matter of seconds before you’re salivating wildly at the taste, your chin slick with drool as he watches each motion intently, slowing when your eyes begin to water. 

“So, so pretty.” He withdrawals his fingers, sucking them into his own mouth before languidly letting his tongue drop out of his maw, licking up the spit from your chin. You’re gasping faintly, his tongue is hot silk on your lips as he slides the appendage into you. The sound is obscene as he runs his tongue along the inside of your cheeks and across your teeth, tasting every single inch of you that he can reach, and he reaches pretty far. You gag when he pushes in deeper, his jaw practically wrapped around yours as delves deeper. Finally you retch when his tongue slides into your throat and he withdrawals, licking any remnants of your saliva from your lips before staring at you with a satisfied look.  

“Sleep?” Even when he whispers it feels like he’s shaking the very foundation of the house.

“Yes Joel, we should sleep.” Your voice is already raspy from the brief interaction. He picks the blanket up between two talons, pulling it up over you before wrapping himself around you entirely, caging you against his chest and between his arms. 

You should be afraid, you should be absolutely appalled by everything that’s just happened but you’re tired. You’re so, so, tired and Joel is warm. And he’s safe, no one and nothing can hurt you here with him. 

You haven’t slept well in ages. 

And he smells so nice.

When his breathing slows and the large expanse of his chest heaves you shut your eyes, unable to find the energy to do anything else.

You wake with a start when Joel bumps his face against yours, when you open your eyes he’s staring at you rather nervously, a slight anxiety behind the darkness of his eyes. 

“Are you hungry?”  He mumbles, knocking a few items towards you on the bed. You stare at the bottle of water and poorly constructed sandwich, the bread squished and torn. You can’t help but smile at the gesture.

“Thank you.” You sip at the water before eating the messy sandwich, it isn’t terrible, and he clearly made an effort. You stifle a laugh at the thought of him in this state maneuvering around the kitchen. He sits patiently beside you, occasionally scratching at his antlers until you’re finished. Once you’re taken care of in that regard he makes a hushed whining noise that has your head turning in an instant. “Are you okay?” It almost sounds like he’s in pain as you scoot towards him, keeping the blanket held up against your chest to maintain some sense of your modesty. He nods, almost looking bashful as the parts of his face that are still intact blush red. 

“Can you sit with me?” He motions towards his lap as you nod, moving to sit between his legs with your back to his chest. His hands go to touch you but he stops himself hovering above you until you nod. 

“It’s okay, you can touch.” You’re less nervous now that you’ve had him in your mouth, certain he isn’t going to tear into you. And with that his hands pull down the blanket. He tosses it aside as he pushes your legs up onto his, spreading you wide open as he rests his head on your shoulder, inhaling deeply. He makes sure you can watch him retract his claws before he tilts his head forward before letting a thick line of saliva fall down his tongue onto your breasts, watching with heavy breaths as it falls down your body until it crests above your mound. With a sharp inhale you can feel him drip along your seam. Once it’s where he wants it he happily glides his fingers across your core, rubbing his spit in, before you’re even a little ready for it he your entrance, pushing a finger into you as the air is punched out of your stomach by the suddenness. He leans forward to get a better view as your pussy sucks him in. 

You’re dizzy. Drunk purely off of his touch as you lean back to rest against him as he pushes further till you’ve taken his entire finger. Delicately, like you might break, he fucks you with the digit, it isn’t until he begins moving in and out that you see the mixture of slick that pouts out of you like a fountain. Some of it’s his spit but the rest is an intricate design of reds, pinks, and whites. You hadn’t even remembered you were on your period, everything has been such a whirlwind. 

He doesn’t seem to mind getting his hands dirty. If anything the sight of blood seems to egg him on as he speeds up, opting to curl his finger every so often to press the spongy nerves there that make your ankles dig into the mattress and your back arch off of him. Your stomach tightens with every press of the tip of his finger against your insides. 

“Joel- oh my god, Joel please.” You ramble a messy chant of his name as his other hand glides down your torso. He barely even has to ghost his fingers over your clit to make you lurch forward, seeing stars as he holds you tight. Your walls tighten around him as you come with a choked up cry. 

The second you come you don’t even have a second to breathe before he’s lifting you up by your hips, squeezing to maneuver you so you’re flat on your back and held up by your ankles

“Joel!” You yelp in surprise but you're silent the second he reaches up to put his finger into your mouth, your tongue melting against his skin, reveling in the taste of the mixture. The sharp tang of your own fluids is present but they’re overpowered by the traces of his saliva. Your eyes shut as your hands grab his wrist, sucking him clean in the process. It’s warm, like how scotch would go down but it tastes like maple syrup and you just can’t stop. 

You want more. More Joel, as much as he’ll give you. You grip his finger with your lips as he removes it with a faint pop, settling down by your legs. His crooked spine curls up even when he lays on his stomach like this. In any other instance you’d feel self conscious of the way he examines your most intimate areas in the lamp light but you’re too blissed out to care. You start to prop yourself up to look down at him but just as you do he starts touching you again. You collapse down onto the mattress with a filthy moan as he pushes his finger back into you, with much more ease this time around. As his pointer finger twitches and wiggles around within you you feel his middle finger drifting lower. You’re so slick between your legs because of everything that he doesn’t need any sort of lubricant to press into your other hole. You’re thankful for how slow he goes. Alternating between soft nudges against your g-spot to deeper presses into your ass as he tries to fill you as much as possible. 

The sound of flesh slapping together fills the room as he begins moving rapidly, in and out, and in and out, and in and out. Until you can’t think straight. You don’t make a sound, only able to open your mouth in a silent scream accompanied by gasps. 

You aren’t entirely sure what his intentions were with how long he fucks you on his hand until he finally pulls it away, his breath hot as he salivates at the sight of your twitching, puffy holes. 

He was warming you up to take his tongue. 

Once his mouth latches onto you he can’t control himself. Immediately he delves into the soaking wet heat between your thighs, poking and prodding every nerve and sensitive spot within you. You watch with morbid fascination as he unhinges his jaw enough to fully envelop your pussy. His teeth graze the plush skin of your mound as he pushes further into you, the tip of his tongue pokes at your cervix but he just keeps pushing. 

“Ah-” You gasp, hands darting downwards to grab at his curls, holding tight as he flattens the base of his tongue against your clit. In one fluid moment he pulls himself out of you, sliding down, prodding at your asshole. It’s a foreign sensation as he licks up and down, from your puckered hole back up to your clit. It leaves you buzzing and craving more. He teases between your clit and hole, slurping and humming, as if he were eating a delicious meal. 

You don’t do anything but stare at the ceiling trying to stay conscious as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from your weeping cunt. When your legs begin to shake and go limp on either side of his head he grunts in discontent, simply picking up each of your ankles and setting them on his antlers as if they were stirrups. He seems to prefer you in that position and you do too, you don’t have to worry about anything other than remembering how to inhale and exhale, and he has all the access he could possibly want to the home he finds between your legs. 

Funnily enough he’s more human than ever when his face is pressed into your folds. He certainly talks more, constantly mumbling into your tender flesh. 

“S’ so sweet.” It isn’t the first time he’s said that, you can’t help but wonder what you taste like to him. His mouth is a bloody mess as his lips wrap around your hole as best they can, trying to pull more blood from you. When he briefly pulls away he exhales, satisfied, before returning to his work. “So- so fuckin’ sweet.” He growls, the vibrations pulling an almost painful orgasm out of you. “Fuckin’ made for me.” 

He’s relentless and endless. 

When he knows you can’t take anymore he gives you small breaks. Nipping at your thighs and chest to satisfy himself instead. He doesn’t break the skin, just scraping his teeth against you while trailing the faint sting with his tongue. You come to your senses briefly as he’s dragging his teeth over your pebbled nipple. There’s no more shame or hesitation, you can’t control yourself as you grab him by the antlers, bringing up to your face as you hungrily open your mouth. He obliges immediately, spitting onto your waiting tongue before going back to his work. 

It doesn’t take much after that for you to be completely gone. Melting into his eager maw, letting him have you entirely. 

Are you still conscious? If your eyes are open they aren’t seeing anything. You’re pretty sure you’re asleep. If you are, it isn't slowing him down in the slightest but you can’t complain, you couldn’t form a sentence if you tried. 

You just let yourself sleep.

And you don’t dream. 

His head is using your stomach as a pillow as he snores softly. There’s a bottle of water thrown down beside you that you gratefully take, drinking the entirety down in one go. 

The sound of your drinking makes him stir. 

When he wakes he crawls upwards, he presses something sort of like a kiss to your lips before adjusting you both.

He lifts you into his lap, cradling you between his thighs as he rubs you down against the tent in his pants. As far as you can tell he hasn’t sought any relief of his own these last couple days but it certainly feels like that’s what’s about to happen. You can feel his monstrous cock against your legs, you hadn’t even considered until just now that it would have gotten bigger along with the rest of him, too distracted by everything else, but you’re suddenly aware of how just massive the thing pressed against you is, a small tree trunk nestled between your thighs as his fingers pull your ankles apart to further rub himself into you.

One large hand holds you in place as the other tears at the pants you still can’t believe survived his transformation, they don’t survive the small razors of his talons though as he slices through the flimsy fabric and your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

He slaps his length down onto your stomach, pulling you down so you’re essentially sitting with it between your legs. His breath is hot and heavy against your face. 

It’s as if he’s sizing himself up, trying to figure out just how far into your stomach he’d go. Your fear is apparent as you stare down at the sheer size of him. 

A tree trunk was definitely an exaggeration. 

It’s closer to a baseball bat. 

To accomplish his size his foreskin has pulled back a bit, now giving you a perfect view of his leaking tip, angry and red. 

You gulp, almost comically. 

How the fuck are you supposed to fit something the size of your forearm into your vagina? The simple answer is you aren’t, at least not now. He lays you back down on the bed, your heart rate picks up at the thought of him trying to squeeze himself into you but thankfully he moves upwards instead. 

He sets his dick down onto your sternum. His massive hands come down to push your chest up, trying to wrap your tits around his length roughly as you gasp. 

“Joel- Joel let me do it, hon.” You gently lift your own hands to remove his, carefully avoiding his extended claws as you do so. He grunts but relents, placing his hands on either side of your head as he lets a thick line of spit fall off of his tongue onto your tits. Without missing a beat he begins to rock himself between them. 

Slow and steady at first but quickly he picks up his pace, grunting and clawing at the mattress around you as he tilts his head back. You can’t help yourself as you open your mouth, letting his cock head slide in and out of your mouth. It’s the closest you’re gonna get to blowing him when he’s this size. 

If you thought he’d tasted good before you’d been sorely mistaken. He tastes comfortable and familiar now, like hot chocolate and marshmallows. 

Sweet and sticky as he leaks onto your tongue. 

He doesn’t last very long at the speed he’s going, needy and desperate to paint your face.

With a few more quick thrusts he falls forward, his body arching over yours as he comes with a snarl, tearing into the mattress, as your face is coated in his cum, more than you’ve ever seen before. Enough to completely cover the bottom half of your face as your mouth falls open. You’re ravenous in your efforts to lick it up. When he calms down a bit he leans back to help you, scooping up his spend with his fingers and pressing it onto your tongue. With greedy little sounds you swallow every last bit. 

“You’re okay?” He mumbles as you sit up. 

“I’m good.” You smile, when was the last time you thought clearly? Your head is spinning, everything about him is too good to be true. It’s as if you never feared him at all. 

He gives you a few minutes to recover before he’s raring to go again. You watch as his cock slaps up against his stomach as he stares at you. 

“Already?” You give him a skeptical look as he nods. He picks you up once more, spreading your legs apart as he settles himself between them. 

Grabbing you by your hips he begins to move you up and down. The only effort you have to make is squeezing your thighs around him, he does the rest for you, stroking you up and down his length as if you were his own personal fleshlight. Your tits bounce with each slam downward, you cunt aching from the friction. Eventually he spits again, watching as the string falls down to his cock, effectively coating him and making it easy to move you quicker. When he leans down, licking the pulse points on your neck you wrap your fingers around his antlers in an attempt to steady yourself. 

He’s not touching you enough. 

He ghosts over your clit with every thrust but it just isn’t enough contact as you whine. After a few more agonizing seconds you feel a sharp pinch as he finishes across your chest. When he pulls away his front teeth are slick with blood. Your hand flies to your neck and you quickly find the source of your brief pain. He looks ashamed as you shake your head.

“It’s okay, you just got excited.” You whisper, he doesn’t shy away as you pull yourself up to wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.” He hums softly and you feel him continuing to lap at the wound. 

He doesn’t give you a break this time around. 

Holding his hand in his lap as you ride his fingers, keeping your arms around his neck as you use him as leverage to help you lift up and off of him only to slam back down. You struggle to catch your breath as you chase that satisfaction you aren’t sure you’re ever going to reach. Will it ever be enough? Or will you always feel this painful hunger for him? 

You don’t get a chance to linger on your worries as he grinds his palm upwards into your clit, pulling an orgasm from your exhausted body. You’re so full, almost too full as you lay limply against him. Two monstrous fingers pressed into your weary cunt and one in your ass as you let out a sob of pleasure. 

“Joel- Joel I can’t do it anymore, I-I’m too tired.” You sniffle in his lap as he runs a hand through your hair.

“Can I- can I put it in while you sleep?” He mumbles. In any other circumstance you’d be furious at that kind of question but the idea’s too appealing. He’s too appealing. You nod and that’s all he needs. He lays back on the shredded mattress as you straddle his lap. His cock stands stiff in front of you as you trace a finger through the coarse hair at the base, lightly scraping your fingernails across the prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft before finally sitting up, trying to line him up at your entrance before taking a deep breath. 

“Jesus- fuck Joel.” You’re unable to form any sort of coherent sentence as you lower yourself down onto him. You’re thankful for whatever mysterious force makes you crave him so dearly because you’re certain that without it you’d be in immense pain, the ruddy head of his cock feels like a fucking grapefruit being squeezed into your vagina. It’s a slow, arduous process. He makes no effort to rush you, remaining quiet outside of his whimpers as you struggle to push him in deeper. It becomes clear at one point that he isn’t going to fit any deeper unless he wants to poke your lungs. You’re slick with sweat, panting as you look at him for approval. His eyes stare in awe at you, a finger tracing the vague bulge in your stomach where he rests inside of you. 

You’re so weary you just fall forward onto him. Laying your head on his chest, his cock pulsing within your walls, straining to adjust to him as both moan in unison. You want to stay awake, you want to ride him and watch his face as you take more and more of him but you’re so fucking tired you can’t even keep your eyes open. Trying to get just a bit of rest. 

He doesn’t seem to care what part of you he’s fucking as long as he gets to stick himself somewhere. At one point he tries to put it in your belly button and you have to swat him away. 

You don’t get much sleep, he doesn’t seem to need much of it so you don’t get any either. 

“Wake up.” You feel his maw rifling through your hair, his teeth softly scrape against the back of your neck. “Please.” 

You hum, half asleep, and reaching around in the darkness to gently push his face away as he huffs with indignation. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You massage the tense flesh of his jaw as he tilts himself down, nudging his nose against your face. 

“Missed you.” 

“Oh, honey, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” You murmur, a pang of sympathy fills your chest. “I’m just tired.” 

You’re always tired. 

You weren’t sleeping well before your monster boyfriend was spending every waking moment fucking you senseless and you definitely aren’t now. 

He whines, high pitched from the back of his throat. 

“You feel a lot of big emotions when you’re like this, don’t you hon.” Your voice is soft and raspy as you reach for him. 

“Got bored without ya.” He grumbles, leaning into your touch as you struggle to find his eyes in the darkness. 

You want to enjoy his praises more but you still aren’t l sure if it’s him at this, how conscious is the Joel you know in there?

“Joel?” 

“Hmm?” His tongue pokes at your jaw as he hums. 

“How much of this is really you? Do you remember our dates? Our fights?” 

“S’all me. M’just bigger.”

“Mhmm. Is it a little fuzzy for you? Being near me?” 

“S’warm.” It is. He’s like a goddamn furnace but you don’t care if you get burnt as long as you stay warm. 

“Yeah?”

“And fuzzy, I s’pose.” He inhales deeply, snout buried in your hair. “I like bein’ near you.” 

“I like being near you too Joel.” You’re almost certain you don’t. A nagging feeling in the back of your mind tells you that something is horribly wrong here. Any of those thoughts vanish though as you realize he’s still nestled deep within you, something that you’ve been waking up to more and more often. Your cunt flutters around him as you cautiously slide him out of you. A flood of relief washing over your sore muscles as you do so but the reprieve is short. 

He twists you around so you’re on your hands and knees, briefly thrusting haphazardly between your thighs before grunting in frustration, slapping himself down on your back. After a brief pause you feel the familiar sensation of his saliva on your lower back, his cock sliding through the mess as he plays with the meat of your ass. Eventually he moves, you’re a little worried he might try and fuck your ass like this but thankfully he seems more than content just rocking his hips against the swell of your cheeks, watching your holes twitch eagerly until he can’t help himself, sliding back into your still puffy cunt. 

“Christ Joel!” You squeal as he presses up into your cervix in one hasty motion.

You can practically feel him in your throat as he snarls, once again taking complete control over your body as he holds your hips, pulling you back onto his length. He’s so thick, splitting you open, pressing into every soft spot within you until you’re seeing spots in your vision. He’s hell bent on trying to squeeze himself into you entirely despite the fact that it simply isn’t going to happen. 

How long have you been here? 

As your mind wanders he seemingly senses your mood shift as a large hand begins rubbing soft circles into your clit until you forget any of your concerns. 

It’s easy to lose your train of thought when you’re coming your brains out. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel.” You gasp out as his grip on your hips tenses.

“Fuck- I fuckin’- bunny-” He unravels, face buried in your hair as he rambles. 

He isn’t far behind you, when you come he pulls out quickly. His cum coats your spine, a few flecks settling in your hair as you collapse, already tired again, now with a satisfied Joel laying on top of you. 

“Love you so fuckin’ much.” He mumbles, barely audible. 

You pretend not to hear it. 

It’s a never ending cycle. 

Wake up, fuck, drink water if it’s there, sleep, repeat. 

You don’t say anything but Joel as he wrenches the word from your throat over, and over, and over again. 

Until you wake up with his head between your legs, the moment you smiled down at him he pulled off of you with a grunt.

He stumbles back and away from you, groaning in pain, your instinct is to immediately go to him but he holds his hands up in front of himself to stop you. 

“Joel?”

Your hands fly to your ears, your palms trying to block out the sound of his wailing. It’s somehow worse, watching it in reverse. The way his bones break so suddenly, his skin ripples and does its best to adjust but it looks like agony as it tries to push itself back into its proper shape despite the fact that there’s simply too much blood in his body. He’s leaking out the excess. Eyes, ears, nose and mouth, the blood just has nowhere else to go. You want to help him, to hold him but you can’t seem to move, you’re a captivated audience to the macabre display. 

His mouth is the worst of it. His jaw retreats back into its proper place before the skin has time to mend and the teeth have time to retract, making a gruesome mess of the bottom half of his face as his mouth does it’s best to hold too many teeth that are too big and too sharp as the push his tongue back into his throat while butchering his lips, reducing them to bloody shreds. 

Finally your brain manages to move your limbs as you rush forward, taking his face in your hands, trying to calm him down as he roars, pained and frightened. You press your forehead to his, whispering to him. 

“Hey- hey you’re okay. You’re okay.” His antlers begin to retreat back into his skull with a wet crunching. Each inch further has him wincing and crying out as you rub the tender skin of his cheeks as the holes in the flesh splice back together. 

Until it’s finally over and everything is quiet. 

Then it happens. 

It’s like waking up.

Like you’ve been trapped in a dense, dense, fog. A salt and peppered, vanilla flavored, pine scented fog, and when the mist clears you see the truth that was hiding from you these past few days. 

And you see the monster. 

It doesn’t matter that he stayed here with you and didn’t hurt anyone during this cycle. It doesn’t matter that you’re ‘destined’ to be with him. And it doesn’t matter that he loves you. 

You’re looking at a monster. 

And that fact has nothing to do with the creature he turned into. He killed people, good people, innocent people. How the hell are you supposed to love him like this? 

You don’t love him. 

You can’t. He’s sick, he’s a murderer. 

And you haven’t even addressed Darlene in the slightest. 

He’s a monster, and a killer. 

And currently he’s sat across from you with a rather stunned look on his face, holding the blanket up over his waist, blood still slick on his skin. 

You do the only logical thing that comes to mind and you stand, walking out of the room, grateful that he doesn’t try to stop you. You search his laundry room for clothes, eventually finding a stretched out Fleetwood Mac shirt in the dryer and some basketball shorts that fit you well enough. 

You’re trying to recall the events of the last few days but it’s all so blurry it makes your head hurt as you walk back into the kitchen, desperate to just get out of here. 

Your phone is on the counter, dead, you don’t have a way out of here so with a sigh you unravel your charger, plugging it in on the counter. You listen for any signs of Joel but you hear nothing, a part of you wants to go check on him but you can’t bring yourself to face him. 

He’s a murderer. 

Why can’t you seem to remember that? 

Your stomach growls as your phone buzzes to life, your hunger taking priority as you start looking through his cupboards until you find a cereal box, not bothering to find a bowl you simply reach in. The generic sugary flavor coats your tongue as you try to remember the last time you ate anything. You certainly ate at some point, you’re pretty sure Joel didn’t eat, he’s probably hungry. You shove one last handful of cereal into your mouth before setting the box aside for him. As your phone slowly powers on you’re met with an ambush of notifications, you quickly grab the device, silencing it as you watch your screen fill with messages. The majority are from Maria but you have a few from an unknown number, you scroll through those ones first. 

[ hey are you good? Marias worried sick about you ] 

[ this is tommy btw ] 

[ i’m sorry ] 

He certainly knows what happened. Does he think you’re dead? His last message is from two days ago, Maria sent you about a dozen messages a day, some are still coming in. 

[ Are you okay? ]

[ Please text me back. ] 

[ I’m gonna send Tommy over. ] 

[ I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry. ] 

Lot’s of apologies, you aren’t sure you forgive them. You text Maria back regardless. 

[ can you send tommy to pick me up? ] 

You don’t bother telling her where you are, you know she knows. She’s typing for quite some time based on the little bubble you stare at until you finally get a one word response. 

[ Okay. ]  

You don’t bother collecting your things, a mess of restraints and tools still scattered around the room, when the truck pulls up outside you grab your phone, for the first time since you left him in his room you hear noise from the end of the hall. As the door creaks open you rush to the door, not even bothering with your boots as you run out barefoot across the grass to the truck.  

“Christ, you look like shit.” He jogs across the front of the hood to open your door, taking your hand as he helps you up and into the truck.

“Thanks, Tommy.” You grumble to yourself, you haven’t actually looked in a mirror in about a week and considering everything you probably do look a little unpleasant. He makes his way back around the truck, immediately defending himself as he gets back into the driver's seat.

“I’m just sayin’, could be worse. Maria and I were worried he might have-” Both your heads tilt up as you see Joel on the porch, holding up the stretched elastic of his barely held together pajama bottoms with one hand, a profound sadness in his eyes as he meets your gaze. 

“I’d like to go home now.” You murmur, thankfully Tommy makes no effort to talk to his brother, simply putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of the driveway.  

It’s painfully quiet. 

He doesn’t turn on the radio as the two of you drive in the silence. A silence that remains until you’re pulling into the driveway that leads up to your camper. You’re tired, confused and not in the mood for conversation as you mumble a ‘thank you’ and open the door, before you can even get the door halfway open he reaches across you, pulling it shut. 

“Wait.” 

“Tommy-”

“I’m not gonna make excuses.” He gives you a look that can only be described as pure desperation so you take your hand off the handle. 

“Fine.” 

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You aren’t sure. 

“I know how Joel is when he’s like that, he’s got no self control.”

“I’m okay, Tommy.” Are you?

“You can always call me, or Maria, if ya ever need anything.” He says it in earnest as you nod. “And don’t worry about… everything, Maria always recovers within a few hours.” He gestures with his hands and you nod once more. There’s a brief moment of silence until you open the door again, this time without any resistance. “If we don’t hear from you Maria’s gonna come knockin’ on your door.” He tries to lift the mood as he laughs halfheartedly, you muster up a smile as you turn towards him.

“Thanks, Tommy.” You whisper before closing the truck door, not looking back as you twist the door knob. 

You take a long shower. 

Standing under the scalding water until it runs cold. Tommy was right, you do look like shit. Your skin is bruised in several places, especially your waist, despite the lack of pain. There are dark bags under your eyes as you run your fingers across the skin, and your hair is an entirely separate problem, tangled with dried spit and other fluids in certain parts. It takes ages to comb through it all with your fingers, you’re hopelessly trying to wash yourself clean of his scent. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to be rid of the scent of pine that lingers on your skin. 

Eventually your fingers dip lower. You’re not sure what you’ll find but you’re genuinely surprised to find everything to be normal, you’re a little sore and tender in some spots but other than that you’re completely fine, once again Tommy was right. You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself before darting out into the kitchen, not bothering to change as you dial the name of the takeout place. You order a pizza, feeling absolutely famished as you search around for some clothes. You put a pair of thin pajama pants on, careful to not put too much pressure on your sore bits before grabbing Joel's shirt, pushing down the twinge of shame as you stare at the Fleetwood Mac logo in your mirror. 

You can’t help it.

It isn’t your fault he’s so easy to want. 

What had you been doing before you got distracted by Joel for… 

You check your phone,

Six days. 

Jesus. 

You shake the feeling of horror off. You were trying to find justice for your aunt. You’ve got a bit until the pizza’s delivered so you sit at your table, plugging her laptop in and opening a random folder, desperate to think about something other than those five days. 

Focus on Darlene. 

Do right by her.

Sleeping with the guy that killed her probably wasn’t the best way to do that but you shake the thought off.  

There’s more video files than you even know what to do with, as you flip through them you realize she was basically doing video diaries on a daily basis. 

“Fuck.” You grumble to yourself. It’ll take literal months to get through everything. After a few more minutes of trying to sort things out you find a video that is specifically named, standing out in a crowd of default files. When you scroll further you find a few more, you sort them into a separate folder until you have five files in total. 

Benni.mp4

Benita&Darlene.mp4

Eulogy.mp4

TrailCam18.mp4

JMiller.mp4

You stare at the list blankly before turning your gaze to the treeline outside. The sun is setting, Joel never came for you. You set the laptop on your bed, with trembling fingers you close the curtains around the camper before pouring yourself a glass of water. You take small sips, hoping the nerves that have plagued you all day might subside but you know they won’t. 

The pizza gets delivered. You eat slowly, putting off your task until you can’t any longer. 

Finally, when you can’t put it off anymore you go to your bed, sitting with your back to the wall as you open the first file. You’re mentally trying to recall how old Darlene was when she passed, the video is from nearly twelve years ago and you had thought she was significantly older, but the face you’re met with is startlingly similar to your own. There are a few glaring differences but she is no doubt related to you. Chewing your lip you press play. 

Benni.mp4

The camera shakes as your aunt takes a few steps back, an unseen spectator holds the camera, Darlene pushes up her boxy thick rimmed glasses as she laughs. 

“This, ladies and gentleman, is the new headquarters of the Mothman Maidens!” She takes a step to the side revealing the camper, brand new, with the for sale sign still on the window. 

“When did we agree on that name?” The voice behind the camera speaks. 

“You don’t like it?”

“Eh.” The camera shifts as the voice shrugs.

“Always so negative, bunny.”

“That’s even worse, I hate that.” 

“But you’re my bunny!”

“Your Benni. You know I hate that bunny shit.”

“Same difference.”

“Oh stop, hold this, let me do it.” She passes the camera to Darlene and now you’re watching a woman with bright red dyed hair and warm brown skin take her place. “Why are we doing this again?” The camera shakes as Darlene continues to laugh. 

“Because someday when we’re famous it’ll be good for us to have videos of our humble beginnings.”

“Clearly extremely humble.” She nods sarcastically before gesturing behind her. “I’m Benita Rivera and I’m joined by the incomparable Darlene Wilson in our newly purchased first home.” 

“Monster hunting headquarters.” Benita ignores her entirely, grinning from ear to ear as she begins walking backwards towards the camper. 

“My lovely lady here has insisted we move to the middle of nowhere so she can finally prove once and for all that she’s absolutely fucking bonkers.” 

“Ha ha.” Darlene mumbles, lighthearted and sarcastic. 

“Let me show you the rest, it’s way bigger on the inside.” With an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows she swings the door open, reaching for Darlene’s hand as she pulls her up into the camper, the familiar steps that you’re used to aren’t yet built. The camper looks extremely different. The interior is painted bright colors, the furniture is mostly metal and vinyl as they walk through the space, boxes scattered about the home until Darlene sets the camera on the counter to show off the two of them. Laughing as they dance around the kitchen. 

And then the video cuts. 

Benita&Darlene.mp4

The camera is being held by neither one of them now, an outside force films your aunt and Benita standing at what appears to be an informal wedding ceremony. Darlene dressed in navy blue dress pants with a clean white shirt standing across from Benita in a knee length eggshell sundress. Both of them grinning from ear to ear. You don’t recognize the man behind them who’s speaking, telling a story about the first time he met Darlene. 

“I now pronounce you wife and wife.” With a small chuckle he takes a step back, Darlene and Benita holding each other close as they kiss each other, people off camera cheering as they walk back down the aisle with each other. 

There’s a cut to the first dance. 

The two of them spinning around the small room, arm in arm. Adoration in each of their eyes as they laugh, Darlene pulling her close for another kiss. 

The rest of the video is spliced together clips of the wedding. 

The rest of the guests dancing, a toast where Benita calls her “my darling Darlene.” The cutting of the cake, and many, many kisses between the happy couple.    

And the video ends. 

Eulogy.mp4

The vibes have changed significantly, the camera now appears to be set up on a tripod, Darlene sits alone at the table in the camper. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her hair is falling out of a chaotic mess of an updo. Some time has to have passed based on the grays that now decorate her scalp. 

You have to check several times to make sure the video is playing, the screen seemingly frozen until she finally blinks.

“They wouldn’t let me attend the service.” She whispers, a hint of malice lingers on every word. “Said I’d just cause a scene.” Her jaw twitches as her expression of sorrow turns to rage. “I’m her wife. How could they not let me see her? They said it’d only upset me further, I know what that actually means, it means that that thing really did a number on her. They don’t want me connecting the dots.” She sniffles. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“Benita Isabella Wilson.” Her voice is already trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I moved us here, and that you were involved in any of this. I don’t want to do this without you, yet here I am. Lost in the woods without my compass. I just don’t understand how this is fair. You were kind, you were good.” You watch as she gets more and more upset. “You didn’t even believe in any of this bullshit, you just wanted to be a part of my life. It should’ve been me, not you.”

She takes a deep breath, looking directly into the camera lens. 

“I’ll find the thing that took you.” 

The video ends. 

TrailCam18.mp4

The footage is grainy and extremely dark. Poor quality night vision of the woods, you don’t recognize the area but how could you, it all looks the same when you’re out there. Nothing happens for quite some time, just motionless green until in the corner you see a flash of movement followed by a disheveled man running into view, taking center stage as he trips over a tree root. He lands face first in the dirt, he can’t be much older than you as he rolls over to sit up and stare at something that hasn’t yet come into view, shaking and screaming. 

The trail camera doesn’t have audio and you’re forced to watch the slaughter in harrowing silence. 

You know what’s coming but it makes your stomach churn regardless. 

Joel. 

In all his glory. 

He has the appearance of a beast but even with the terrible camera quality you can see clear as day that it’s him.

Emerging from the trees, shoulder hunched forward as you watch the muscles of his neck twitch, knowing the tell tale sign of his snarl. His victim unfortunately can’t seem to find his footing, of course it wouldn’t matter if he did, he’d never outrun Joel. 

Turns out knowing he’s killed and actually seeing it are very different things. You feel sick as he grabs the struggling man by the back of the neck, slamming him into a nearby tree until the spastic movement of his legs and arms stops completely. 

You feel sick. 

Your lip trembles as you watch him feast. Tearing into the split open flesh as you look away from the sheer brutality of it. 

Thankfully the video cuts to Darlene sitting in the dark of the camper, the only light source appears to be coming from the laptop screen in front of her.

“I fucking knew it.” She lets out a harrowing squeal of laughter. “Joel fucking Miller.” 

There’s a manic look in her eyes as she swallows. 

“Joel Miller.” She repeats, sadder, this time. 

The video ends. 

JMiller.mp4

The video opens with a somehow worse looking Darlene setting up the camera seemingly above the fridge. She doesn’t bother brushing the tangles that fall in front of her face away, her hair now streaked with gray. She looks up at the camera, opening her mouth to speak but a knock at the door has her turning, immediately swinging it open to welcome Joel into her home. They exchange pleasantries like old friends as she pours him a mug of coffee and he sets down his toolbox. They talk for a few minutes before Darlene goes quiet, it’s barely noticeable but you catch the brief silence before she speaks once more. 

“Where were you this past week?” She sips her coffee. “It’s not like you to not answer the phone.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. 

“Contractor job out of state.” He responds with his usual seamless excuse as she nods. 

“Really? I drove past your place and your work truck was still there.” With another sip of her coffee the energy in the video changes drastically. A tension bubbling up between the two of them. 

“Tommy drove.” His answer is short and clipped as he sets his mug down behind him. 

“I went to visit Maria and Tommy was there. With your little one.” The conversation has a blatant hostility to it now as they stare at each other, a pause before Joel speaks again. 

“I meant to say I took Tommy’s truck.” 

“Tommy’s truck was parked outside of the house.”

Silence. 

Joel’s foot taps nervously on the tile as she stares at him, waiting for an answer. 

“Where were you Joel?” 

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why not just say that instead of lying?”

“Why am I suddenly bein’ interrogated?”

“What was so important that you had to be gone for a week and leave your young child behind?” If her goal was to make him snap it works.

“I will not have my ability to parent her questioned.” It almost sounds like a snarl, looks like it too with how he straightens up. He realizes his mistake quickly though, pinching the bridge of his nose as Darlene doesn’t so much as flinch. “What’s this about?” His voice has softened significantly.

Her expression is conflicted 

“I know what you did.” Is all she whispers as she turns to stare at him, the vibes going from upsetting to downright unbearable as you watch with bated breath. 

“Darlene…” For a fleeting moment you think he might actually confess. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. 

“Get out.”

“Please, I’m worried about you. You clearly aren’t in a good state of mind-”

“I want you to get out.” 

The footage cuts to black. 

You shut the laptop the second the video ends. The date had been a two weeks before Darlene died. 

Joel killed Benita. 

He probably killed Darlene.

You don’t want to move. You don’t want to do anything but you stand regardless, crawling into bed, clutching your phone in your hands. 

You’ve got a few missed calls from Joel but no texts. You’re too tired and too upset to deal with him right now, you’ll take care of it in the morning. You know what you want and you’re going to get it. 

No more lying and dancing around things.

You want answers and you aren’t taking no for an answer. 

Your head hurts. All the time. Time moves too slowly and too quickly and you can’t ever really seem to find your footing after seeing the videos.

[ are you working? ] 

[ everything okay? i can be there in ten ] 

You don’t want to be alone with him. You’re worried you won’t be able to control yourself. 

[ can we meet somewhere? ] 

[ of course ] [ whatever you want to do ] [ i can pick you up after work ] 

[ i’ll meet you there. see you at six. ] 

You send him to the place and turn your phone off, your nausea lets up a bit, as if your body knows you’ll see him soon. The smell of him that wafts off of his shirt helps a bit but you’re still aching for him despite how badly you wish you weren’t. You roll back over in bed, still exhausted as you set an alarm for later tonight. 

That’s how you end up in an empty Applebees. 

Just you and two waitresses who you watch play on their phones as you sit in the dimly lit booth. Your leg bounces up and down wildly as your eyes dart to the door.

Joel fucking Miller. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in jeans and his green jacket. His eyes light up when he sees you but immediately shift to shame when he sees your expression. Brushing past the waitress he quickly rushes over to you, sitting across from you in the booth.  

He starts to speak but you silence him with a glare.

“Here’s how this is gonna work. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to tell me the truth. You aren’t going to make shit up, or tell me I’m crazy, you’re just going to answer.” You look up at him expectantly, his expression is riddled with guilt as he nods.

“Okay-” He begins to start but you stop him once more.

“If you lie to me even once I swear to god I will leave and I will call the police. Are we understood?”

“Police aren’t gonna do anything…” He starts mumbling but the look on your face shuts him up. “I understand.”

“I want the truth. The whole truth, with no tricks or left out information, you’re going to tell me everything.” Your leg continues to bounce as one of the waitresses sets two waters down on the table, when she asks if she can get you something else to drink you both say no in unison. Watching as she scurries away.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. No more lies.” He reaches across the table, trying to hold your hand but you quickly pull away. The smell of him is strong enough as is, you don’t need to feel his skin on yours, it’ll make you too vulnerable. 

“What are you?” Might as well start off with your most pressing questions. He chews his lip, as if he’s trying to figure out how to phrase it. 

“I’ve looked for answers, never found a proper name for it, Tommy seems to think we’re something adjacent to a wendigo.” You’re floored by the blatant honesty, a part of you assumed he was going to make things up again but it’s nice to know he isn’t hiding it anymore. Like a weight has been lifted off of you. 

“How long have you, you know, been like that.” 

“My whole life. Hard to predict when I’d lash out, it wasn't until you started your cycle that I would have found a strict schedule.”

“Did you know who I was?”

“No. I just knew you were out there, that’s how it is for the males, it’s easier for the women.” Women? You hadn’t considered there were others outside of the Miller brothers. 

“Is it just you and Tommy?”

“It’s genetic. My grandfather passed it to my mother, who passed it to Tommy and I.” He’s never spoken about his mother before but the way he scowls when he mentions her makes you want to avoid the subject. 

“So Sarah…?”

“It’s always been easier for her, she’s got the temper for it.” 

“When does she… transform?” 

“Whenever she wants, she’s not linked to anyone else the way we are, if she ever really lost her temper she might pop but she’s more mellow than the rest of us. Better than my mother ever was.” 

“Do you have control over it? Could you transform right now if you wanted to?” 

“Probably, I’ve never tried to do it on purpose, it doesn’t exactly feel great.” The sound of his bones popping in and out of place rings in your ears as you shudder. 

“So Sarah doesn’t ever do it?”

“She did when she was younger. Usually when I did she would too, just so she could stay with me. Once she became a teenager she stopped, I can’t remember the last time she changed.” He takes a sip of his water, clearly gauging your reaction to the onslaught of information he’s giving you. 

“Do you all eat the same thing?” He sits up a little straighter when you ask.

“No. Sarah never hurt anyone, ever. I made sure of it. Tommy doesn’t hurt anyone either.” 

But Joel does. 

“How am I supposed to forgive you, Joel?” The cold professional tone you’ve been managing to hold up is slipping as you lean closer to him and whisper. 

“Please-” He reaches for you again and you continue to move away. 

“You killed Darlene.” You’re losing your composure quickly. 

“I didn’t.”

“You killed her wife.” 

“It was an accident.” He sounds like he’s in pain. Like the mere reminder of his actions is hurting him but you can’t stop. 

“How many accidents have you had?”

With that he goes silent and you can’t help but assume the worst.

“It was less before you moved here.” He mumbles, the statement makes bile rise in your throat.

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice pitches up causing the waitress who’s headed in your direction to make a sharp turn in the other direction. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He whispers, clearly trying to calm you down but it isn’t working in the slightest. 

“It sure sounds like it is.”

“It used to be only one or two every cycle-”

“Only?” Your eyes are wide at the ruthlessness of the statement. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you only killed one or two people? Those people had families, they had lives.”

“You think that doesn’t bother me?” He’s starting to lose his nerve as well the silverware clinking as he slams his hand down on the table. 

“Clearly it doesn’t since it was only one or two.” His anger doesn’t scare you anymore. You’ve seen him at his worst, nothing scares you anymore. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth.” He begs, voice getting softer as you watch the waitresses staring at you from across the restaurant. 

“I’m only repeating what you just said.” You hiss, trying to make your conversation look less confrontational. “What about Tommy? He only eats animals. Why can’t you just do that?.”

“I’m not Tommy.”

“Have you tried?”

“I can’t try anything, I’m not in control.”

“You listened to me, what if I told you to only eat animals?”

“You don’t want to see me eat.” Sure, it’s upsetting but you could learn to live with it. The image of the man he smashed against the tree flashes through your mind and you move on. 

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t kill Darlene?”

“I- I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. Tommy did it for me.” In a disturbing sort of way you almost find peace in that fact. 

“I thought Tommy didn’t hurt people?” As your conversation quiets the two girls thankfully turn back to their phones. 

“Only a few over the course of his life, mostly when he was younger or if a hiker was unfortunate enough to stumble across him when he was already feeding.” 

You open your mouth to ask more questions only to realize you don’t have any more. At least not any you can think of in this state. 

You thought this would take longer but he’s been open and honest and you don’t know where to go from here. You have your answers. Even if you don’t like them, now you’re in a weird state of limbo. 

You stand up, unable to stand how stuffy it is in here, thick with his scent as you walk towards the door. He hurries after you, throwing a tip down on the table despite the two of you never ordering. 

It’s cold but easier to breathe outside, he can’t fill the entire world with his smell and the breeze helps you think clearer as you stare at him hopelessly. 

“So what do we do?” You finally ask, unable to avoid the inevitable. 

“I’ll do whatever you decide, whatever you want.” 

That’s the problem. You don’t know what you want, nothing makes sense and you hate him for what he’s done but as much as it bothers you you don’t want to lose him. 

“I could leave, move back to the city.” You offer up, unsure of any other possible options. 

“If your goal is to keep people from dying, that's the last thing you want to do.” There’s a beat as you glare at him, waiting for some sort of elaboration. “I’ll find you. Even if I don’t want to, the minute I lose control I will come after you and I seriously doubt that you want me running around a heavily populated area like that.” 

Great. 

“So I’ll stay and we’ll break up.” 

“You really believe you’ll be able to stay away if I’m just down the street? You think I’ll be able to control myself when the time comes again? Now that I know your- your taste? I won’t stay away.” 

“Fine, fine…” Your mind is desperately racing for some sort of conclusion to this nightmare. “Maybe we should invest in some sort of tranquilizer? We could keep you docile when you’re-”

“Tommy and I have already tried that, doesn’t matter. He shot me up with five doses of bear tranquilizer and I didn’t so much as yawn.”

“So I can’t move away, I can’t break up with you, and we can’t calm you down in the slightest. This is perfect Joel, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Let you keep killing people and pretend I don’t see the massacred state of every body that comes across my table?” A few stray tears start falling as you hastily wipe them away with your sleeve. 

“You could kill me.” He mumbles as you scoff.

“Be serious.” You shoot him a glare but his expression doesn’t change. 

“I am.” 

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not? No one else gets hurt, and you’re free to go.” He can’t seriously be suggesting this. 

“What about Ellie?” 

“I’ll talk to Tommy, he can take her.”

“Don’t.” You stand up straighter. trying to look stern as you scowl at him, unfortunately it ends up feeling more like a pout. 

“What?” He looks tired too. Does being away from you cause him the same distress that you feel?

“Don’t talk about this like I’d ever seriously consider such a thing.”

“There aren’t any other options. You don’t want to be with me, what else are we supposed to do?”

“What about this last week? When I stayed with you you didn’t hurt anybody.” He fed on you, that much is clear now. 

“You really want to do that every month for the rest of our lives? That lust filled state for five days straight with no end in sight? You barely survived one week of it.” He’s got a point but what are your other options?

“I was fine.” 

“You barely ate, you were dehydrated.” He steps towards you but you don’t flinch this time. 

“What if we just lock you up? With iron chains or something.” Your voice is dripping with despair now, there’s barely any fire left behind your words. 

“If I don’t eat something I die.” 

“There has to be another option.”

“You don’t want us to be together and we can’t be apart. I just don’t see any other ways for this to work.” He sighs, rubbing his temples as he stares at the pavement. 

“I never said I didn’t want to be together.” You whisper and he immediately looks back up at you. 

“Do you?”

You do. 

“I don’t know.” You’re on the verge of tears again as you stare at him. Joel. Your Joel. Made for you and waiting for your decision Joel. Joel who was honest with you, so you should be honest with him. “Everything hurts without you and it hurts with you and I want to forgive you. I really believe that someday I could but not if you keep killing.” 

He stares at you, never looking away, pity in his eyes. 

“I love you.” He murmurs. It’s the last thing you need to hear right now. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“I do. And I know that that means less because I am genetically predisposed to unconditionally loving someone, and I’m sorry that it’s you.”

“Stop it. We barely even know each other. We’ve been dating for a few months.” You’re going to lose it completely if he doesn’t stop, your mind feels so fragile, if he isn’t careful you’ll shatter completely. 

“I know that. And I love you.”

“Don’t do this.” You’re begging now but he refuses to let up. 

“I’m sorry that you have to be loved by me.” 

“Joel. Stop it.” 

“And we both know why you won’t kill me.”

“I don’t need a reason to not want someone dead.” You wipe the endless stream of tears that now flow. 

“Just say it, it’s easier to just say it.” He looks so soft right now. So harmless as he speaks with that low drawl. 

“It’s not true.” You whisper, willing it not to be. 

“You love me.” He says it like it’s some universal truth, it makes you want to slap him. 

“I don’t, I’ve only known you a few months, and you’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“I could be a good boyfriend. If you let me. Let me try, let me earn your forgiveness, please.” He looks as upset as you feel now. His eyes, big and sad. 

“You killed people. You’re going to keep killing people.” If you don’t remind yourself of that you’ll forget. Being near him will make you forget. 

“Do you think that’s the life that I wanted for myself?” His voice cracks and when you don't respond he just keeps going. “I didn’t want someone to be forced to want me, I didn’t want to turn into a fucking monster once a month, and I never wanted anyone to get hurt!”

You both stare at each other for a beat of silence before you burst into sobs. It’s too much. Every single thing right now is just too much. What are you supposed to do now as you stare at him? A man who loves you, willing to do anything he can to make you happy, even if it means dying. 

“Joel.” Your lip quivers as you stare at him, a suffocating despair clouding over both of you as he steps forward, his gaze softening as he pulls you into his arms. 

“We’ll figure it out, bunny. I promise, we’ll be okay.” 

It certainly doesn’t feel that way. 

He takes your face in his hands, staring at you with an intensity you’ve grown accustomed to. 

“Let me make this right. Please, bunny, just let me fix this for you.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. 

You’re so tired. 

You just don’t want anyone else to get hurt, Joel included. 

You’re tired of being afraid. You’re tired of being confused. You’re tired of feeling like you’re crazy. 

You've been tired since you moved here.

So you nod. 

“Let me love you.” He mumbles as he wraps his arms around you again, both of you reflexively inhaling the scent of the other. 

“Okay.”

want to know what monster joel looks like? you can find out here because there is now wonderful art of him -> monster!joel art

want updates on chapters? follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

[n3ptoonz]

Okay but like the whole save a horse ride a cowboy thing… for Arthur?

'Snake on a Train'

THANKS FOR 300+!!🖤🖤❤️❤️

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/F!Reader

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption II

Warnings/tags: Smut; Explicit, i'm writing this like i'm from the old west bear with me it's really fun, post chapter 6 MEANING he's alive and DOES NOT have TB. never caught it. we live in delusion round these parts. dialogue driven y'all know me i love me some interaction, implied breeding knk, cowgirl, barely proofread writers block is fucking me up

fr tho read this in a southern accent shit is kinda funny i had way too much fun LMAO

i got so many arthur requests then realized i used THIS theme so i'm using this ask i hope those who sent in will find this!!

Word count: 2300

Never trust a "runaway" O'Driscoll ever again. You was on the run now, away from those freaks and needed a proper escape at least for the time being. Why you chose to not accept Arthur's offer of joining the gang was beyond you. You knew each other well in Blackwater before they had to leave, he suggested you join since you'd be a great addition and trustworthy, but you declined. Later on you were picked up by a "runaway", he sold you out and now you're high tailing it to the nearest escape.

You stumbled across a particularly high end looking train that looked like it was headed west--aka opposite way from this shit. Your initial intent wasn't to rob it, yet. You just needed a quick getaway from this madness. Quick and sneaky you were getting into the back past a few guards. You found an abandoned ticket under a seat and stuffed it in your pocket, walking around until you found an empty cart that looked quite fancy.

You kept your head on a swivel and constantly looked out the window for any suspicious activities when somebody barged in. You quickly stood up and drew your revolver when you realized who you laid your eyes on.

"...Arthur?" you said. His eyes adjusted from the sun reflecting off the window when he heard his name escape from your lips, recognizing your voice almost immediately.

"What are you doin' here?" you both inquired in unison.

"Put your damn gun down I ain't here to rob you." he said sitting down on one of the two seat chairs covered in leather. You slid it back into the holster with curious eyes still on him. Just how long had it been? Why was he here?

"You normally waltz into carts that aren't yours?"

"Ain't that what you did?"

...he had a point.

"Maybe, but I had a reason."

"You sayin' I'd hop onto a nearby train for no reason?"

"I ain't seen or heard from you in almost a decade, Arthur. I don't know what I know anymore. Where's the rest of Blackwater's finest?"

Arthur just leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. There was a deadpan look in his eyes as he recalled everything that went down in the last two weeks. All the betrayals and chaos started to montage in his mind all over again; how he was this close to death, but managed to escape somehow.

"Dead, on their own, or all the above. Remember John? I helped him and his folks get out. The others...well I don't rightly know where they are. And quite frankly I don't care."

You sat in front of him as you processed his words. What's understood don't need to be said, and you knew this well.

"Is that why you're here?" you asked. It felt like a question with an obvious answer but you honestly just wanted a confirmation. It wasn't like him to just run off, at least from when you last seen him.

"In so many words, I guess. Although I didn't expect to see a woman of your caliber running away from your bullshit either. I'd like to know too, if you don't mind."

"Oh hush that up." you waved his comment off dismissively, "I was sold out."

"Well I'll be. You know I always wondered what you were doing or who you decided to hang with if not us. Who in their right mind would sell out one of Blackwater's most wanted?"

In your time together you always had a playful relationship, but you could tell in his tone there was slight bitterness or sarcasm. Truth be told he started to feel some type of way when he realized you declined him just to end up with some other gang that clearly didn't give a damn about you.

"Watch yourself." you warned, your tone half serious half playful.

"What? You didn't want to be around folk who had your best interest that's fine. I won't say I told you so."

"When the hell did you tell me so?"

"The day before we left." he answered without hesitation. "The night we spent together? Ring any bells?"

Damn. You tried to forget that night since the day he had to leave and you too shortly after. You didn't want to remember all the fun you had. You didn't want to remember his hearty laugh at your stupid jokes. Hell...you didn't even want to remember just how good he treated you. He treated you like a lady, unlike most of the men you came across. All it took was one heated kiss, and you both were hooked. But also knew it couldn't be given both your circumstances.

When he offered for you to join you wanted to jump at the opportunity. So why didn't you? Because, well, you loved the man. You thought your own feelings would hinder the morale of the group somehow and break it apart, and you wouldn't dare that be on you. Plus you couldn't really tell where he stood. He's a guy who treated most people with respect despite how he grew up.

Back then he mentioned how people like them were hard to come by and that most gangs were either just downright pieces of shit or cultish. So he in fact did tell you so, and you tried to forget that as soon as possible. Didn't want any sort of thoughts of him clouding your mind or else you'd go crazy.

The only reason you two didn't get intimate that night is because he respected you and your boundaries. He still does. He didn't want it to feel like he was grasping on to the nearest thing to fuck with and then dip. That's not the kind of man he was nor will he ever be.

"What does that night have to do with why I'm here now?" you tried so hard to seem like it didn't completely take over your thoughts, but this is Arthur Morgan for christ sake. He's damn good at reading people.

"It can mean just about anything, sweetheart, but I know it meant something to you just as much as it did to me." he said. The tone of his voice sounded a bit like he was trying to convince himself that was the case. If it wasn't, he wouldn't know what to do.

You sat back in your seat but that didn't take away the feeling of his gaze pouring into your soul. "It did." you said looking down at your hands

"Then why decline? Was it me? I know it's not my lifestyle because we lived the same way."

"I didn't want to get in the way, alright? I knew you'd be gone often and would be out for days at a time while I worried if you'd come back in one piece. I've been there and done that. Wasn't doing that again."

Arthur leaned back up in his seat and ran his hand over his face, sighing. He didn't want to come off so strong, but he felt real feelings for you and didn't know how to process it properly. The woman who's been on his mind since the day the gang left Blackwater sat in front of him and he felt like a lost puppy all over again.

"Okay." he said softly, "Was I on your mind at all?" he continued looking down, mumbling under his breath but you still heard him.

"Everyday since." you said standing up. He slowly looked up at you with those pearly blues that never failed to capture you. He was just so relieved that it wasn't just him. That it wasn't one-sided. Grabbing his hand you pulled him up to meet your eyes--like he wasn't visibly looking down at you.

"I thought about you so damn much I guess I had to distract myself by running with some undercover O'Driscolls. I figured out who they was too late and voila, lawmen breaking down my door."

Arthur shortly chuckled upon hearing you explain more of your situation. To him it was unbelievable, and he never thought he'd hear that name ever again especially after seeing Colm swing.

"This evening is full of surprises. How do I know this isn't some big scheme to take me down once and for all?" he said while wrapping his arms snug around your waist and his voice grew more rugged and deep. Oh how he missed this. What this is, who knows, and who cares?

"I don't need some big scheme to take you down." you said placing your hands on his biceps, squeezing just a little bit. He smirked at this action and pulled you closer.

"That so?"

You hummed in agreement, and it didn't take long for you two to finally lock lips together after a bit of playful murmuring here and there. And just like that, you both were taken back to that night. That heated kiss you shared was the absolute highlight of your lives, and you intended to relive that again and more.

It's like you never left but kissed like it's been forever. He ran his cold palm up your back to hold you while the other unbuttoned your pants. Even after almost ten years, he didn't miss a beat. He still got it. Are we surprised? You followed his lead and kept one arm around his neck while the other attempted to pull him free.

His hands were quick and nimble like yours, so next thing you know your pants are on the ground and you're sitting comfortably in his lap. You was now clad in a loose collar shirt and underwear and his shirt remained unbuttoned at the collar. Your mouths never stopped dancing throughout this whole process too.

Arthur just kept groaning into your mouth at every subtle grind on his thigh. This was only the second time of you two getting together like this, yet it feels way more than that. That same drunk feeling from the night made its return and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

You pulled back so you both could catch your breath, holding his face and running your thumbs over his stubble that was soon to becoming a full beard.

"I missed you...so damn much." you said in a tone just above a whisper.

"I can't imagine more than I have..." he replied while toying with the hem of your underwear. "Would you give this old outlaw the honor of... having you? All to myself?" he asked, looking deep into your eyes. You could feel him fully hard and his hands trembling a bit, but he still wants to hear it from you. One part is confirmation, but the other? He would easily gain satisfaction from knowing you want to give yourself to him.

"Well...I've saved a horse...and I plan on riding a cowboy," you whispered and smiled against his lips before leaning back in. Arthur chuckled into the kiss, wasting zero time pulling them panties to the side and slide right on in.

Your breath hitched as you eased on down his thick shaft. "That's my girl." he whispered, right next to your ear so he could physically feel you clench against him from his praises. You gripped his shoulders as your eyes closed shut, expelling light whimpers here and there as you set a place. He placed his hand on your back once again to encourage you, feeling a little smug at your struggle to keep up.

Best believe you weren't no bitch though; you swallowed thickly and kept on riding him. The ambience of the train was quickly fading as you two became lost in your own desire.

Were you expecting your orgasm to approach so quickly? Honestly, it made sense. Arthur knew all the right things to say and touched all the right places that churn your butter.

He was also nearing the end, and yet he had such a genuine smile on his face. He grunted with every time you sank back down into his lap and this meant he simply could not be happier. He's been dreaming of this moment forever, and finally. Finally, the woman of his dreams is having the time of her life because of him.

To keep yourself grounded you pulled his head up to rest your forehead on his, "Please, cum inside me," you begged. Your climax was seconds away from hitting you and you wanted to reach bliss at the same time.

You ain't have to tell him even once with how quickly he followed suit. Your hips slammed right back down into his lap as you both tried to stifle your cries of pleasure, still mindful of other passengers.

After you both calmed down in each other's arms, you cleaned yourselves up and plopped back down onto the two person couch you had just gotten intimate on. You held his bicep and laid your head on his shoulder with a content smile on your face. His the very same.

"You sure know how to get down for someone I ain't seen in a long time." he said playfully, looking down at you.

"Who said I ain't got none in a long time?" you replied a little too fast for his liking, looking up and seeing his expression comedically fall to a straight one. "I'm just messing, I wouldn't dare risk having anybody else's kids but yours." you continued casually before shutting your eyes. You had to stop yourself from laughing at the sound of his heart rate getting faster through his chest.

He chuckled, looking out the window at the scenery become painted with the pinks and yellows of the sunset passing by.

"You are something else."

[tacitoru]

"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager

Pairing: eren x reader

Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.

Or;

The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for

wc: 6.6k

Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au

Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni

 my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!

um...happy holidays, y'all!

read on ao3 | masterlist | twt

The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.

But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.

The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party.  A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”

You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?” Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”

Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.

“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.

“What about-,”

“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.

You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.

The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.

There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.

Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.

You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.

“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air.  You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”

This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.

Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.

“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”

Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.

“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.

“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.

After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”

Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”

Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?

Right?

In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa.  Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.

You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.

You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”

“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”

You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”

If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.

Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.

It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…

The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.

You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”

You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”

Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.

Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.

As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.

“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.

You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”

“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?

“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”

Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”

You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”

“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange. 

You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.

In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.

He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”

You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.

Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.

Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.

Or so you thought.

It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.

The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.

“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.

You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”

 Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.

You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.

Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.

You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”

Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”

“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”

“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”

Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”

You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.

In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.

 You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.

“If only you fucking knew.”

Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.

The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.

Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.

The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.

You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips.  It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.

You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.

Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.

“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.

“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.

Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.

Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.

“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them.  He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.

You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.

Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?

Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.

Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.

He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.

When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.

Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.

“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.

Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.

“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.

From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.

When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.  

“Mm-oh! Oh.”

That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.

He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core.  He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.

Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.

“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.

The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.

“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”

You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.

“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?

Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.

Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter

Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.

Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…

Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.

5 New Messages

hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??

hello??

I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!

hey!!

can we talk?

[multiversed-daydreamer]

Pet: Chapter 5 - The First Time

WC: ~4800

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Disabled!Reader x Dark!Tess

Summary: Joel and Tess try to distract you from your new situation. (This is pure smut with very minor plot.)

Tags: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Rape/non-con, MDNI, P in V sex, unprotected sex (Wrap it up, Y'all), fingering, kissing, mild cunnilingus, forced intimacy, forced orgasm, some crying (just at the start), LMK if I missed anything.

A/N: If you're a new reader, I highly recommend starting at Chapter 1!

A/N: I know it's been forever but I'm back! Seriously y'all, this one's finally the start of the actual DDDNE content, so if you don't do certain things, please heed the tags. You have been warned. Just a friendly reminder because i know it's been forever, but my reader in this story IS mildly physically disabled. If y'all aren't comfortable reading dark stories with a main character who's disabled, this is your warning to find something else. To the rest of you, thanks for hanging in there! I hope you enjoy this chapter and some dirty dirty smut. >:)

~

You don’t know how long you stayed there. At some point, Joel had backed away, leaving Tess alone to pin you to the wall. You aren’t sure when you responded to the contact, but your face is buried in her shoulder and your hands are holding on to her t-shirt at her waist. You’re positive her shirt is soaked through with the tears that still slip free. You’re not ready to face them yet; just because you’ve accepted this situation for the moment doesn’t mean you’re ready to face it yet. Her hands trail up and down your back. She’s talking to you, but you’re not hearing her. You don’t want whatever words of comfort she offers at the moment. 

Tess presses a kiss to the top of your head, and then to your temple. She nuzzles against you, trying to coax you out of her shoulder as her fingers slip beneath your jacket and t-shirt. You freeze at the feeling of her hands on your hips; you pull back into the wall, hands flying to her wrist to grab onto them tightly. “No.” You tell her, trying to push her hands away. 

She shuffles closer to you, pressing her body against yours to pin you to the wall completely. “You’re alright.” You shake your head, hands pressing against her wrists. She kisses your cheek, her hands moving out from under your shirt to twist out of your hold. She grabs your own wrists and brings them up over your head, pinning them above your head. The stretch in your stomach gives you butterflies, and you watch her with wide eyes. 

“Tess.” You call her name warningly, your wrists tugging at the tight fingers holding you hostage. She smirks at you in return, shifting your hands to one of hers while the other curls under your jaw. She leans down and captures your lips with her own. While you are still reeling from the action, she takes advantage by pressing a knee between your own before you have a chance to recover your wits. She hums against your mouth, the hand on your jaw sliding down, squeezing one of your breasts, before sliding lower to slip back beneath your shirt, warm fingertips teasing your taunt belly. Her touch is light and warm, and it wars with the cool air that hits your skin as she pushes your shirt up with her hand. Your breath catches, and your brain short-circuits under the close contact. Fuck, captor or not, you’re way too touch-starved to last long if this gentle dominance is how she plans to play. You duck your head, breaking the kiss to gasp for air and regain some semblance of control. She nudges your head back, her mouth capturing some skin just above the collar, sucking hard to create a mark. The hand on your stomach slides around to your back, pulling you flush with her body as teeth nip at your neck. 

~

You whine under Tess’ ministrations, your hips shifting against her thigh as discreetly as you can manage. She smiles against your skin, nipping harder and enjoying the way you shiver against her. Your body is warm and growing more pliant the longer Tess has you pressed to the wall. She doesn’t miss the way your hips shift into her leg. She coaxes you forward, dragging your hips along her thigh, and sliding warm fingers into the waistband of your jeans to cup your ass.

~

You struggle to not make any noise as Tess forces you down on her thigh, guiding you in a coaxing rhythm that you have to fight not to fall into. You feel yourself growing wetter at the stimulation, the way she still has your hands pinned above you and the way her teeth dig deliciously into the side of your throat. You smother a low cry between closed lips, your legs trying to close around hers. The feeling of being unable to deny her, of being so easily overpowered is even more arousing to your traitorous body though. Your hips start to move of their own accord and your head falls back against the wall, a small whine of pleasure escaping you as Tess’ hot mouth drags to a new spot on your throat and she starts to suck. Hard. No doubt leaving a mark. Your hips drive forwards at the feeling, a strangled noise leaving you at the friction of her thigh against your clit. “There you go.” She murmurs in low encouragement, pulling back from your neck to watch you chase your pleasure. “That feel good, pet?”

You want to stop, but her hand forces you to keep moving, driving you closer to orgasm. “Not a pet.” You grumble, ducking your head to hide the embarrassed flush on your cheeks. You whimper again, the constant stimulation is going to make you cum, even clothed as you are, you’re getting close already. You bite your lip to distract yourself, hips faulting just enough to lose a bit of the high. You suck in a deep breath, trying to keep your thoughts together. “Not today, Tess.” You plead, not in the mood to be manipulated in this kind of way, not at all interested in being forced over the edge by a friend who’d betrayed you. 

She hums as she pulls back to look at you. “It’ll help you relax a little. Besides,” She reaches up to brush strand of hair behind your ear. You draw back at the movement, but there is only so far you can go. “I’ve been wanting to touch you since I walked you back to your building the first day we met.” You swallow and look away from her. You weren’t that much better, you definitely had harbored some sort of feelings for Tess since that first day too. 

“Yeah… well…” You struggle to stay focused when her hand slid between you and unbuttoned your jeans. You force yourself to ignore the rising heat on your cheeks. “Backstabbing me when I come over for dinner isn’t the way to a girl’s heart. Nor is it a good way to get said girl into your bed.” You wish your words came out steady and strong, but instead the came out quick and a little rambly, the feeling of her hand wiggling beneath your pants and underwear takes your focus away from your words. 

Tess snorts, her mouth at your ear now, “Oh yeah?” She challenges, her breath hot on your skin as her fingers find your clit, causing your breath to hitch for a moment. “Would’ve come right to me had I expressed interest?” 

You shake your head. “No. I wouldn’t have.” You whisper, her fingers are circling your clit now and the pleasure is far more intense than you anticipated. It’s been so long since you’ve been with anybody and Tess seems to know exactly how to move at the right speed with just the right amount of pressure to make you lose focus of everything else. You moan, hips rocking against her automatically, seeking more friction.

“We know. We did hope you’d be a little less stubborn about it, though.” She teases, her fingers relentless, enjoying the way you buck against her, despite clearly trying to control yourself. 

“Fuck you.” You whisper back, hands pulling at her grip, another whine slipping through your lips. “Nick will find me. He knows I’m with you.” You say it with as much venom as you can, but in truth, you have no clue if that fact even matters to them. Sure enough, you heard both of them snort. 

“Let ‘im find us. Been waitin’ on a reason to kick his ass for weeks now.” Joel retorts smugly. You swallow, suddenly hoping Nick doesn’t get involved. He’s in decent enough shape, but Joel would undoubtedly win that fight. Tess’ fingers slide further into your crotch, curling to find your entrance. You gasp when one finger slides into you, it goes in easier than you hoped, and Tess chuckles. 

“She’s wet for us.” She comments to Joel, whose eyes drop to where Tess’ hand is buried between your legs. 

“Yeah?” His own voice dropping and going a little breathy at the sight. You notice the way his eyes darken and when you glance down, you can make out a bulge in his jeans. He’s hard. You look back at Tess, not quite sure what to make of Joel Miller getting aroused at the sight of his girlfriend fingering you. 

Tess gives you a few shallow pumps of her finger before pressing it all the way in, making you whine. “Yeah, she’s soaked. And tight. Can feel her clenching around me with just one finger in her.” She crooks said fingers, searching for a few seconds before she touches something thing that makes you cry out, jumping against her. “There it is.” You gasp as she pulls out and reenters you with fwo fingers, curling them against that same spot as the heel of her palm grinds up against you clit. 

“Fuck, Tess.” You gasp out, hips seeking friction against her, you were close. 

She smirks at you. “That feel good, pet?” She asks again, sounding far more smug the second time around.  She continues to fucking her fingers into you, curling them when shes deepest inside of you to touch something that sends a fizzle of pleasure through you every time. You stomach and core tighten, and you can feel yourself getting wetter as your orgasm approaches. 

“Yes.” Your answer comes out hissed as you desperately chase your orgasm on her fingers. 

“Cum.” She whispers in your ear, coaxing over the edge with a wicked curl of her fingers. You cry out, hating her for taunting you like this, but loving the way you go boneless with ecstasy at your release. Your high pitched whimpers make you self conscious but you can’t seem to shut the fuck up. You moan as she whispers praise in your ear, her hand not slowing down as she coaxes you all the way through it. “Such a good pet. See how following order can feel so good?” She nuzzles the spot behind your ear before kissing it. 

Your knees have given out at some point and you’re being propped up by Tess. Slowly she pulls away, releasing your hands and pulling her own hand out of your pants. It’s shiny with your arousal and you watch in a daze as she lifts her fingers to her own lips and sucks them into her mouth. You feel hypnotized at the sight. When she’s done she pulls them away and leans forward, kissing you. You don’t exactly kiss her back, but you don’t really fight it either, letting her press her tongue into your mouth, tasting yourself there. 

“Tess.” An impatient grumble comes from Joel. You can hear him shifting on his feet, waiting for something. You remember the bulge in his jeans and realize he’s waiting for his own turn with you. You whimper at the realization. Tess pulls back from you, her knee retracting and her body peeling away. You feel unsteady on your own feet after having her so close for so long. The air feels cold when she finally gives you space. You look around the apartment, reality crashing back down once more. Your eyes flick up to Tess’ watching her step back as Joel steps forward.

Shit. Joel.

You’d been aware of him, of course, but now that you’re coming out of your post orgasmic haze, you’re aware of your situation again as Joel closes the distance between you and curls big hands around your waist. Your own hands go to his forearms hesitantly, you freeze at the feeling of him so close. You hadn’t enjoyed Tess invading your space, but at least you knew her. Before you came to the apartment last night, you’d had one conversation with Joel and it had been in the form of an argument.

You stare blankly at his chest, uncertain if you’re already disassociating from what’s to come or if you’re just in shock over everything that’s happened. Maybe a little bit of both. His hands squeeze your waist, one sliding to your back while the other reaches up to grab the zipper of your jacket, unzipping it. “Joel…” It comes out hesitantly. He hushes you quietly, pulling your jacket apart and shoving it off of your shoulders and pulling it down your arms to pool on the floor behind you. His hands immediately move to slide under your shirt as well. You jump a little at the feeling. His hands are warmer and more caloused than Tess’, leaving trails of heat wherever his fingertips touched. Your hands tighten on his forearms as he lifts up your shirt. 

“Arms up.” He demands, pulling your shirt up just enough to also grab the hem of your bra and you panic, shaking your head in refusal. 

“No. No, I-I don’t want this.” You can feel the way your muscles tighten in panic, knowing he’s going to win this fight but willing to put up and argument with him anyways. He huffs, lifting his own arms in a way to get you to cooperate enough to get your shirt and bra over your arms. 

“No isn’t an option, pet. Come on now, we don’t wanna hurt ya. We wanna make ya feel good.” He successfully strips you of the top half of your clothing, and you fold your arms across your chest in a small act to gain some modesty. He bats your hands away, his own reaching to toy with a nipple and engulf one whole boob into his giant hand. “Lemme see you, pet. Been wonderin’ what ya looked like since I firs’ saw ya.” He massages you for a minute and you try not to show your discomfort with the action. He leans down to press his mouth to your shoulder. You flinch at the stubble, your hands going to his chest to push him away. Instead, his arms encircled you again and his nipped at your skin. You yelp a little at the nip, but he soothes it with his tongue afterward. 

“Behave yourself.” Tess calls from somewhere behind Joel and you wonder if she’s talking to you or him. Joel trails kisses from your shoulder to your neck, sucking light marks into your skin before moving on to the next spot. When his mouth found a spot just above the collar, just opposite of where Tess had been marking you, he sucked harder, clearly intending on giving you an equally dark mark from him to mirror hers. When he was finished, his arms tighten around you, lifting you off your feet. You squawked indignantly. 

“Hey! I can walk, thank you very much.” You blurt out, squirming to get free of his grip. He chuckled at your reaction, stopping just short of the table to watch you for a moment.

“What? Scared I’m gonna drop you?” He sounds amused as he tilts his head to catch your attention. 

“Yeah. Maybe. So what if I am?” You grouse, shoving hard at his shoulder. He scoffs and sets you down, one large hand closing around your shoulder, guiding you to turn to face the table. A chair has been moved out of the way, and you were pushed forward until you were at the edge of the table.  Your fingers find the ledge and you were pressed down over it. 

“Bend over.” Joel muttered, his hands going to the waistband of your jeans as you settle your upper body against the table. He yanks your jeans and underwear down your legs, guiding you to step out of them. You can hear him toss them somewhere behind you and you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you’re completely nude in front of Joel Miller. Bastard. You squirm, pressing your thighs together as if that’d hide the fact that you’re on display for him right now. Hands caress over your back and butt, squeezing you skin. A hot mouth followed suit, his beard scratching at your back as he kissed down your spine. It raise goosebumps all over you and you awkwardly push off the table, trying to shake him off. 

“Joel, I dont think…” You trail off, all of this was weird, but Joel showing you a strangely affectionate side of him was definitely the weirdest. A strong hand pushes between your shoulder blades, pinning you back to the table and sliding up to curl around the back of your neck to keep you there. His other hand squeezed one of your ass cheeks before finding it’s way to your sex, where his thick fingers press against your slit. You can feel your hips jerking at the touch, still sensitive from the orgasm Tess gave you. He finds your clit with relative ease, circling it with his middle finger while you bite your lip to hold back the whiney noises gathering in your throat. Joel continues to tease your clit until you can no loger contain your noises, your entrance dripping with arousal and clenching around nothing. 

“Need to stretch you for me.” Joel tells you, as his fingers leave your clit to tease over your needy hole instead. You curl your arms under your head so you can bury your face in them as you feel a thick finger press into you. Joel groans behind you, carefully pulling out before pressing back in, curling his finger to send a bolt of pleasure up your spine. You muffle a moan into your arm as Joel finds a steady pace. Clamping your legs shut does nothing at this angle and you’re forced to endure the the pleasure Joel gives you. “So fuckin’ wet, baby.” He groans, pulling out to add a second finger. He adds it careful and slow. “Fuck! Tight little thing, even after cummin’ on Tess’ fingers.” You blush at his words as he presses his fingers into you before pulling them back out and pressing them in again. 

Distantly, you’re aware of Tess grabbing something from the kitchen counter and coming to give it to Joel “Thanks.” He mutters, letting you go for a moment to fiddle with whatever she’d given him. He presses his hips against yours to keep you from getting anywhere, and you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. You feel something drip onto your back, before you hear him set it down on the table. Joel’s hand comes back to hold you down, and he steps back so his other hand can fit back between your legs. “Should help ya a bit.” He says to you, while he pushes two fingers back inside of you. He’s right, they’re slicker and the stretch feel good. 

“What did you do?” You ask, feeling yourself flutter around him as his fingers glide in and out of you a lot more smoothly. He chuckles over you, curling his fingers to press into that spot inside of you that makes your head spin. 

“Just some oil to help you out. Gonna feel a stretch in a minute but it shouldn’t hurt to bad.” He coos, one massive hand rubbing up and down your back as he continues to pull whimpers and moans from you. Once he has you semi relaxed, he pulls out to add a third finger, slowly working it into your tight hole. It’s a stretch, but the oil helps. You moan at the feeling of three of his thick fingers rubbing against your walls with each gentle thrust. “Good girl.” You shift against the table as he works his fingers in and out of you. It takes a while, but the slow insistent press of his fingers in you had you relaxing into him. Eventually he pulls his fingers from your wet cunt and you hear the jingle of his belt as he unbuckles it. You whimper at the sound, trying to push up against the hand on your back to what? Stop? Escape? You’ve been kind of in a daze since your first orgasm. It feels difficult to think and you hate it, hate the way pleasure and arousal have made you far more pliant than you wanted. 

The bottle of oil was picked up again, this time to pour on his hard member before returning it to the table. The broad tip of Joel’s erection teased through your slit, bumping up against your clit before sliding back to notch at your entrance. As he presses in, you whine at the stretch. He’s thicker than you thought possible, heavy and hard, but slick from the oil and your own arousal. It’s a far easier push than you assumed it’d be considering how big he is. An odd noise belts out of you, not in pleasure or pain, just out sheer need to release some of the fullness you feel with Joel’s cock in you. You clench around him and he pauses for a moment, rubbing your back with one hand while the other grips tightly at your hip. “Relax for me, baby.” He coaxes gently. It takes you several seconds to relax your overwhelmed body, but once you do, he starts pressing more of himself inside you. 

“More?” You meant it as an exasperated complaint, just to be annoying, but instead it comes out meek and whiney. He huffs above you and you hear Tess chuckle near your head. One of her hands cards through your hair while one of Joel's hands splays on your lower back, his thumb resting just above your ass. 

“Almos’ there. Doin’ good, Darlin’.” He presses the last inch or maybe even two in with a smooth roll of his hips, finishing with his hips flush with your ass. “Such a good girl, makin’ all those pretty little noises for us.” Joel groaned, his grip tightening on your body. 

~

Joel closed his eyes, reveling in the way your tight body clenched around him, penetration made easy with the oil. He could hear you panting on the table, likely overwhelmed with his size. He held himself still for a moment, not wishing to hurt you. His thumb stroked you lower back, loving how soft you were, how young and surprisingly unblemish you were, given you live and work in an apocalypse. He does his best to keep you relaxed as you adjust to him, but he can’t hold still for long, the need to claim you, fuck you, was growing stronger by the second. He finds Tess’ eyes as she sat across from him, stroking your hair. “She’s so tight.” He growls, causing her to smirk at the sight of him. 

“I know, knew you’d like it. Could barely fit two of my own fingers in her.” She watches Joel for a moment before speaking up again, “You’re different with her than the others.” 

Joel huffs a laugh, “She’s different than the others.” 

Tess nod in agreement. “It was worth it, to do this, just to see you this way.” Eyeing Joel with her own lust filled eyes, reminding him that she had yet to find her own release as well. 

“Yeah?” Raising an eyebrow at her, his cock pulses at the thought of Tess being turned on by the sight of him fucking you. He’s momentarily distracted when you start to squirm beneath him. 

“How about you two fuck eachother instead of me.” You grit out, but your voice sounds breathy and he takes note of the way you only shift your upper body, careful to keep your hips from moving to much. He chuckles at you. 

“Awe, is it to big for you, pet?” He coos mockingly at you, letting his hips press into yours a little harder, bringing a short, sharp cry from your throat. Tess and Joel exchange smirks at the sound. 

~

You scramble at the feeling of Joel pushing deeper for a brief moment, pulling a noise from your throat as he did, but he’s absolutely correct, he is too big for you and you’re terrified to even move, scared it’ll hurt you. It doesn’t hurt now, but it’s too much, you can’t think, can’t focus enough to come up with some sort of plan to get through this. Tess’ fingers in your hair isn’t helping either, distracting your focus further. You’re not fighting enough… maybe if you don’t cooperate they’ll get too annoyed to keep you. With that in mind, you try to push yourself up again, this time a lot more suddenly, hoping to startle them a bit. 

“I said no.” You bite out firmly, as you dislodge Tess’ hand and you reach back to push against Joel’s body. His hands leave you for a second, but before you could get your hopes up, he’s grabbing your wrists, guiding them to rest at your lower back, shifting to hold them with one hand, much like Tess had done when she pinned you to the wall. 

“You were doing so good, pet. Why’d you have misbehave like that?” Joel groans, as if he is genuinely disappointed in the fact that you’re fighting him. 

“You’re fucking crazy.” You whisper, shaking in fear as he folds you over the table again, keeping your wrists secure. He pulls out of you, and at first, you’re relieved but it’s short-lived when his other hand comes down on your backside. Hard. “OUCH!” You yelp, fighting to scramble away from him, his hand comes down on the other cheek just as hard, you lay trembling on the table, your ass stinging.

“Well, if you didn’t want to be spanked, you shouldn’t have been a brat.” Joel grouses, lining himself back of and pushing into you in one swift thrust. You yelp at the feeling, but this time he doesn't give you time to adjust, he begins to pull out just a little bit before smoothly pressing back in. It’s not slow, exactly, but it isn’t harsh either. Just a building rhythm that had you forgetting about escape and the way you can practically feel his hand imprinted into your ass. Instead, you were focusing on how it felt to have his cock rubbing against your walls while he fills you completely, stretched to the limit, and unable to form a single thought. The hand not pinning yours to your back slid up your spine, curling around a shoulder to lift you partially off the table. The forced curve of your back and the new tilt of your hips had him striking much deeper, and you let out a choked scream at the feeling. Tess watches you with a smirk, her hands coming up to cup your face as Joel continues to fuck into you. 

“Don’t worry,” She reassures you, “We’ll teach you exactly how to behave, right Joel?” 

Joel grunts as he buries himself inside of you again. “Tha’s right, baby.” His voice is husky and you feel yourself clench around him at the sound. It’s starting to get to you, the pleasure. You can feel yourself getting wetter as another orgasm builds up. Your moans and whimpers become higher pitched and breathy and you can feel yourself starting to push back into Joel, trying to chase the pleasure. He moans, louder than you anticipated and his hips speed up, snapping into you roughly. “C’mon, girl, cum. Lemme feel you.” He growls. 

You cry as he strikes against that delicious spot inside of you, his balls slapping consistently against your clit, sending your vision a little fuzzy at the intensity of the pleasure. Your voice rises, incoherent shouts falling from your throat with every rough thrust into you. Your peak comes slow, and you’re so fucking wet that Joel slides right in every single time. You finally let out a shrill cry as your orgasm erupts from you, your limbs shaking under Joel’s hands and you sob with every thrust inward. He’s relentless, muttering broken praises to you while he chases his own release. 

“That’s it. Lemme have it, baby. So good.” He groans, and after a few more sharp snaps of his hips, he’s there, pressing as deep as he can inside of you and erupting with a roar. You whimper under him, the feeling of his pulsing cock triggering some aftershocks from your own orgasm, causing you to clench around him. When he’s done, he straightens up, slowly pulling out of you and helping you to your feet. Your wrists are released and you rub at them, looking for signs of bruising, but you’re too out of it right now to care. Behind you, Joel slowly gets himself straightened out, and buckles up his belt again. He settles into a chair and pulls you into his lap. You go stiffly, letting him adjust you so your legs are splayed out, on display so Tess to can see his cum slowly leaking out of you. She comes to kneel between Joel’s legs, smiling at you and rubbing your open thighs gently. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” She ducks down a drags her tongue from hole to clit. You cry out at the feeling, already shaking between them. 

~

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Please let me know what you thought, I absolutely adore your guys' comments. If you're interested in my other works, feel free to check out my Masterlist. I'll see you guys around, I hope!

Tag list: @sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts, @tbeep, @vickie5446

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[bamboozledbird]

HOWLING: TST Rewrite // Prev. / Chapter 4

Characters: Thomas, fem!reader, Newt, Aris (bg), Winston (bg) Pairing(s): Thomas x Reader (the slowest of burns as is my brand) Word Count: 3.5k Tags: Mix of book and movie canon, newt!sister!reader Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, character death, mentions of sui attempt (please take care of yourself and don't read anything that will harm you)

A/N: mix of book canon strikes again. in the book, the flare is airborne, and that is so much scarier to me than a zombie chomp. also this is v sad, but i tried to make it end hopeful for y'all :'( :')

Taglist: @m30wk1ttycat, @mxltifxnd0m

The only sign of life in an endless stretch of sand is the haggard breath rattling through Winston’s cracked lips. He coughs, and your throat almost stings with the sound of his serrated wheezes. The dried blood on Winston's mouth sloughs off in flakes with the new stream trickling from his esophagus, and your stomach roils. This is a man about to die. This is a boy who won't grow up. 

“I’m not going to make it," Winston rasps. His voice is wet with his own blood, "I don’t want it to be like this. It’s better…if it’s quick.”

No one speaks. No one moves. It’s mere seconds, no more than ten, but it feels like eternity. 

Newt wakes from the horror first. He takes the gun from Frypan’s trembling hands and moves towards Winston slowly. 

Thomas steps forward to stop him, “Newt, wait—” 

Newt pushes forward and falls to his knees, gently pressing the gun into Winston’s hand. He whispers a goodbye that’s sticky with the wetness glossed over his eyes. Clogged with a lifetime of conversations that will never happen. 

You’re far enough away from Winston that you can’t see him over the rolling dunes when it happens—but you all hear it. The gunshot tears through the desert, and the echo cleaves you right in two. Severs you through the spine and all the tender nerve endings attached.

Newt’s eyes are always wide, but right now they’re swallowing the desert whole. You pitch into them, and a sharp pain rips through your spinal cord to your optic nerve. 

For a moment, you can’t see anything but the searing white light of pain. What comes after is worse. 

You can’t tell if it’s a memory. It feels like the feverish flashes you thrashed around in the Maze, but everything’s been so muddled since Newt showed up. You can’t tell what’s real anymore. Maybe, you never could. 

This echo is more unsettling than the others. You’re watching a screen on a screen, a memory of a memory. The girl in the center of the snow globe stares at a grainy monitor from her hiding spot in the shadows. 

You almost don’t recognize yourself. 

She looks so much younger than you feel now, maybe twelve. Her face is still soft and round with lingering baby fat, hair tied back with a pretty white ribbon and face clean of dirt and the scar above your brow. 

Who is she? This girl with the perfect hair and innocent eyes. You can’t remember. 

The only world you truly know begins with fourteen. You always thought the before must’ve been better, something to run towards. Now, you aren't so sure. 

She’s so afraid. You want to coax her out from the dark, but somehow you know that she’s safer there, curled up behind a desk, away from the light.

Your little pinched face is awash with a blue glow. You stare at the wall of monitors, clutching a battered book to your chest. Most of the screens are blurry, but it doesn’t matter. You’re only worried about one. 

Look away, you try to tell her, look away before it’s too late.

She can’t hear you, of course. She tears her teeth into her fingernails and stares ahead, barely blinking. Barely breathing. A slip of a girl on the precipice of fading.

Newt looks younger too, even through the fuzzy computer screen. If your math is right, he must be around fourteen. However old he is, he’s far, far too young for large shadows in his eyes. He’s on top of a ledge—the Maze, you realize, horrified, he’s standing on top of the Maze.

You realize what he’s going to do a second before he jumps.

Your scream gives you away. You didn’t realize until now that you could sound like that—that anyone could make such a horrible sound. Like a fox in the night, a lamb before slaughter, a soul that can’t pass on. 

A WCKD employee in a pristinely white lab coat drags you away from the room. It should be soaked in blood, you think. They should be stained with what they’ve done, smeared with their sins for eternity. 

You flail in the man’s arms, kick at his legs, try to plant your feet against the slick floor and go boneless. It doesn’t slow him down in the slightest. You’re so small, after all, and he’s so big. A monster you can’t run from.

Your eyes dart around the room, searching for someone, anyone, to help you. They land on Thomas. He looks as horrified as you do, but he’s more composed. Less hysterical, more stunned. He doesn’t move; maybe, he can’t. 

You hate him anyway. 

The scene fades into mist before you can start screaming at him. 

You don’t remember the walk, but somehow you’ve ended up along the ridge of a slender dune. You’re a step away from falling on either side of your dusty boots.

You stumble over your confusion, and your face scrunches, bracing for the inevitable tumble. At least, the sand will provide some cushioning, you think—but you don’t end up rolling down the dune. Newt grabs your hand and pulls you into his side. He holds you out at arms length and rapidly scans over your frame for any sign of injury. 

“Are you alright?” Newt whispers. His question almost gets lost in the sand, but you hear him. Your senses are entirely attuned to him and the proof that he’s still here. 

You blink away a curtain of tears and stare at Newt, watching his chest rise and fall with his steady breathing. “Am I alright?” You shake your head and let out a shallow, shaky puff of air, “Your friend just—” Your jaw snaps shut with a click. 

You have so much you want to say, so many thoughts stripping the healthy tissue from your brain like a plague of locusts. You don't know what to do with them, how to appease them before they rip you apart one bite at a time. 

You tip forward, bracing your palms on your thighs and breathe through the roiling in your gut. You think you might puke; there’s so much inside you, too much. Some of it has to get out or you might just splinter into the lingering shards of the little girl you used to be.

“I’m okay,” you finally say and scrub at your face with viscous fingers. You swallow the grit of sand on your tongue and shake your head, “Don’t worry about me.”

Newt frowns, but you continue before he can speak. “C’mon,” you mumble, clutching your injured hand to your chest, “we’re falling behind.”

You’re almost grateful for the deadly heat and Thomas’s brutal pace. It exhausts you so thoroughly you almost forget about everything other than the blisters forming on your heels and the sweat dripping into your eyes.

And then you stop.

Night falls, someone starts a fire, and everyone falls to the sand with the weight of their dehydration. With their grief. You stop, and now your brain cannot. 

You clamor to your feet and mumble something about going for a walk to Aris’s slumped figure. 

The Scorch is almost beautiful at night. If you pretend you can’t hear the wind crying in the dark, forget about the decaying remains of a society lost to the Flare and the sand, the moon, glowing overhead in the black sapphire sky, is almost charming. 

You watch it glisten and wrap your arms around your torso, clinging to your ribcage and fraying sanity. The veins in your feet pulse, the ache shoots to your knees, but you need to move. You have to do something to temper the crawling under your skin. 

Thomas’s faint voice upsets the quiet. “You forgot your jacket.” He looks a little shy, holding out the jacket he gave you after the crank stole yours. You wonder how such a sweet face could be responsible for so much pain. 

“Don’t—” you choke for a moment as the nausea returns and hold up your hand, “I can’t—I can’t fucking look at you.”

Thomas’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” He takes a step towards you, and his hands twitch by his sides. “What—” he’s paralyzed by the look on your face briefly, stops just out of arm’s reach, and his face looks sick with concern. It makes you sick.

Thomas gnaws on his lip. The sinew in his forearms flexes as he reaches for you. He rests his calloused hand on your shoulder and says,  “Are you okay?”

You wrench your shoulder from his light hold. “Don’t touch me, Thomas.” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded so venomous, so viscous, but you can’t be sure. You don’t remember much—just that Thomas let Newt die. 

“What did I do?” Thomas looks so despondent. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

You whip towards Thomas and shove him, slamming your palms against his chest, “You killed him.” Thomas stumbles backwards—not from your little arms and ineffectual pushes, but from the look on your face. The tremor in your voice. “Newt. He…you might as well’ve pushed him off the edge.”

Thomas’s face crumples as he wraps his long fingers around your wrists. You thrash in his grip until he lets go and scream, “You sent him into your maze, and you killed him. One day at a time.” 

It sounds like a gunshot, and by the look on Thomas’s face, you think it must feel like one too.

His skin is pale in the moonlight and so is the look in his eyes. You watch the tendons in his neck strain with his swallow. “You wanted to be put in with him.” 

You can barely hear him; his whisper is so weak against the pull of the breeze, but you do. You both seem to remember at the same time how you insisted that you go next. You had to find Newt and make sure he never slipped away from you again. When you woke up in the wrong Maze, you weren’t even given the dignity of remembering that you should be enraged by it. 

“Couldn’t even do that right,” you sneer through your sniffles, wiping at your eyes with a cruel scrub of your arm.

Thomas is crying. He doesn’t seem to realize it, makes no effort to dry his wet face with his hands—just stares at you with big hopeless eyes. They burn into your chest like hot iron. You close your eyes, and they haunt the back of your lids. 

Thomas shakes his head slightly and takes a small step towards you, “I’m—”

You shove him again with weak arms; they're heavy with the whimpers trembling through your shoulders. Thomas just takes it this time, hands limp by his sides. You hit his shoulders and sob nonsensical accusations until a pair of arms wrap around your waist. 

“Come on.” Newt hauls you away from Thomas, practically carrying you as you squirm in his hold. He lets go of you once you’re far enough away to keep your conversation just between the two of you. A secret. Something sacred. 

You sniffle at the ground and fold your arms, curling in on yourself—hiding from Newt and yourself. You aren’t sure how much Newt heard, but you weren’t exactly quiet.  

Newt looks at you, and you aren’t sure what he’s feeling. His face is soft though; it always is when you’re crying, you realize—remember. Sighing, Newt eventually says, “It wasn’t his fault.”

Your gaze darts to the tips of your shoes, unable to meet Newt’s eyes. You kick at the sand and wipe your cheeks clean, “Yes, it was.”

It sounds petulant, even to you, but you can’t help it. It has to be Thomas’s fault. It just has to. He’s just a person, and he’s here—he's the only one you can punish. There's no one else in arm's reach.

Except for me.

You repress the thought with a harsh swallow, and Newt wraps arm around your shoulders. He’s all skin-and-bones, but he’s a solid warmth against the frigid sting of misery. He pulls you into his chest, squeezes you tightly, and you let yourself fall into a bundle of memories. Good ones this time, a montage of hundreds of hugs in growing arms. 

Newt cups the back of your head and whispers, “It would certainly be easier if it was, wouldn’t it.”

You snuffle into Newt’s shoulder like a baby and hiccup, “They’ve taken so much.”

He drops a kiss on top of the crown of your head and then pulls away. Newt gives you a soft smile and cocks his head to the side, “Then we shouldn’t let them take anymore, should we?”

You remember things in your sleep now. Little things. Never enough for context, but just enough to leave you shaking in the morning. Most of them are bad. A few are good. None of them make any of this easier. 

The dream that woke you was hazy at best. You were little, and so was Newt. You can’t tell exactly how young, but you’re in a room you’ve never seen before. The wallpaper is a sweet, soft mint, and a trail of painted baby goslings follow their mother along the baseboards. It’s the first wall you’ve ever seen with color; the first wall that you aren’t afraid of. 

You're tucked under a quilt, and Newt is reading you something. You can't make out the title, but you see that the book is worn and well-loved—and then the cheery warmth of buttercup yellow blankets ripples into somewhere dark and cold.

You’re moving somehow, but you don’t look out the window—you’re only looking at Newt. 

He’s crouched down in front of you, squeezing your hands, and trying to tell you something. He’s trying to smile too, but you see the fear. The panic. The desperation. The effort makes your heart clench.

Newt's distorted voice slowly sharpens into focus, and you catch the end of his sentence. “...there’s always a chance the sun’s gone out. Remember how long it’d take to reach us?”

You mouth, “Eight seconds,” in time with the little girl’s quivering voice. 

Newt smiles and nods, feathery hair falling over his forehead. “So when you count to eight, you know that we have more time. When you’re scared, just count to eight and remember that we have time, alright? I’ll find you, and we’ll be together again. We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

You wondered what it was like when Thomas told you. You wondered what it was like to have a brother. You think perhaps it’s a little bit like knowing you’re going to be okay.  

You push yourself onto your elbows and sweat trickles down your back. You shiver. The night is insufferably cold, but your shirt is stuck to your back and your sleeping bag is damp. Blearily, you notice that there’s another layer draped on top of you.

You clutch at the denim jacket blanketed over your torso, eyes aching, and look around the sleeping Gladers for a head of tousled brown hair. The flames flicker and sparks fly from the embers every so often, casting billowing shadows over your friends’ sleeping faces. Thomas isn’t among them. 

Your vision slowly adjusts to the dark, and eventually you can make out the shape of Thomas. The shadow of his figure is a ways away and staring into the vast nothingness. You look away from his back and down at the jacket bundled in your lap, chewing on your lip—somehow, you end up standing by him. 

Thomas seems to sense it’s you. You’re close enough to see the moles flecked around his skin. The one on the hinge of his jaw jumps when he finally speaks, “I have to make up for what I did.”

You blink at him and tip your head to the side, listening. 

“You asked me how I keep going, keep caring after…everything.” Thomas cards his fingers through his hair, and it sticks up in odd places when he drops his hand to his side. You want to smooth them back into place—and then you immediately hate yourself for the thought. 

Thomas keeps his eyes on the moon and continues quietly, “I have to get us out—I have to save everyone because I have to make up for everything I did.” 

Your teeth catch on your bottom lip, unsure what to say. You look at him for a moment and then rock onto your tiptoes so that you can drape the jacket over his broad shoulders. It actually fits him, you realize with a small smile. 

Thomas finally looks at you as the faded denim settles over his biceps. His lips part in surprise, and then the corners twitch into a little smile. 

“I’m sorry I keep using my hands instead of my words,” you say quietly. 

Thomas huffs out a breath. It’s almost like a laugh, but the bitterness dampens the sound into something darker. Something that hurts. His jaw is tense as he says, “I’m sorry that I keep doing terrible things.” 

You feel a residual ache, a distant throb of anger. It fades when you look at Thomas. He looks small, all curled in on himself and lost to before. The sky goes dark in his eyes, and you move closer, searching for the stars in a pool of obsidian.

“In the past,” you say softly. Your fingers tremble as you reach for his jacket. The scratched buttons are cold against your skin. You repress a shiver and clutch at the material, pulling the sides tighter against his torso. “A past you can’t even remember,” you add quietly, gesturing for Thomas to slide his arms through the sleeves.

Thomas looks at your hands with big eyes and slips into the jacket. He smiles faintly and bites his lip, watching you button the front closed with clumsy fingers. They’re stiff from the cold and maybe a little fear—touch isn’t a constant in your life, after all. It’s infrequent and usually painful. Tender things don’t survive in your world. Blossoms shrivel. Little birds are eaten. Sweet children harden, or they die slowly. 

But you button the jacket all the way to the top and then slide your hands over his chest, smoothing out the creases in the denim. Gentle. Tender. 

Thomas’s fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you, but he keeps them by his sides. He stares at you instead. “Well, I almost wish I remembered it all,” his voice is thick around the consonants, shaky through the vowels, “so that I can say I’m sorry for all of it.”

Your cheek rounds with your half-moon smile as you shrug, “How ‘bout I only hate you for all the stupid things you do after tonight.”

Thomas pauses, conflicted, and then he smiles. The crooked line of his mouth is devastatingly endearing. “You sound confident.”

“Oh, I’m very confident.” You nod a few times and hum, “It’s an eventuality, not a hypothetical.”

Thomas bites back a smirk and slides his hands into his pockets, “Noted.” 

You grin at his profile. The humor bleeds from your face, spilling something more earnest. “But I do forgive you,” you tip your chin so that you can meet Thomas’s eyeline, “I do forgive you for the things you don’t remember. The things none of us remember.”

“I,” Thomas sucks on his teeth and shakes his head—as if there’s a lingering taste of something bitter between his molars, like he’s chewed on bitterroot his whole life. He swallows and shakes his head again. “I don’t know if you should. Not after…” he chokes on the rest of his words and rubs a hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the half-formed thought, the imprint of the words he can’t bring himself to say.

You go cold as the wind shrieks through your blood. You shudder and wrap your arms around yourself, whispering, “He was only fourteen.” Thomas flinches, and you sigh, chewing on your cheek as you look at him—really look at him. 

Thomas’s brow is dipped in a heavy frown that seems to pull at his entire face; it weighs down his eyes until they droop at the corners. He looks older than he should. You forget just how young Thomas is until your gaze traces along his tangled hair and his fawn eyes. He squeezes them shut, terrified of the feeling cutting through his chest. Through denim, and skin, and bone—straight to his trembling heart.  

You lick your lip and say, “And you were only twelve.”

His eyes peel open slowly, and Thomas looks surprised to see your painfully genuine expression. “So were you,” Thomas says, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” you say, but you say it to the sand. 

Warm, calloused fingers cup your chin. They gently tip your chin up until Thomas can see your eyes. When he sees how lost they are, he rubs a broad thumb along your jaw. “You’re going to live a long life—you'll get to grow old and have a better life. Newt too. I swear.”

You sniffle. You don’t even realize you’re crying; the tears only fall when they build on your waterline and you blink. “Wrinkly and gray, huh?” you tease with a watery smile. 

Thomas thumbs away the wetness on your cheeks and smiles, small and boyish. “Wrinkly and gray.”

“That sounds nice.” You let out a little sigh, allowing yourself to fall into his impossible promises. Just for a moment. Just while you can feel the heat of his skin. 

“Paradise,” Thomas agrees quietly. “We’ll get there; I promise.”

That’s the thing about bitterroot: blossoms grow from withered roots.

[reidbae]

DAY 11: Wind Me Down — degradation w/sub!spencer reid

KINKTOBER 2023: masterlist

summary: You've been feeling stressed out at work as you and your team battle tirelessly to solve a case. When you get back to your hotel room after a long day on the job, you turn to Spencer to help you unwind.

pairing: sub!s2!spencer reid x dom!fem!reader

warnings/mentions: vaginal sex, unprotected piv sex (y'all know what i'm going to say.), praise, degradation (obv), use of my love before smut and miss during, reader calls spencer "baby," "honey," and "angel," hair pulling, choking

wc: 1.6k

a/n: SORRY this was so cut off, i literally am falling asleep as i'm writing this LMFAO but i hope y'all enjoy my half-awake writing anyways <3

tags: @nalycandy @prettyboydrspencerreid @mega-kittyglitter-1

You were walking into the hotel room that you and Spencer were sharing for your ongoing case, shutting the door annoyedly behind you.

You and the team had been on a case in New York for the last two weeks now, and it was safe to say that you were already sick of it. Sick of the lack of progress, sick of the officers you were working with, sick of the pressure that was coming down on you and your team. Sick of it all.

It was 2 A.M., and you had just gotten back to the room after a date with the case, being the last one to leave. You tried to open the door as to not wake your boyfriend, who you assumed to be asleep, shutting it with little noise.

But it didn't matter, because a face met yours the second you walked into the room.

Spencer was sitting on one of the beds in the room, a book in his lap. His glasses sat on his face flawlessly as he looked up at you with a smile. "Hey, you," he said.

"Hey," you said in a bit of a confused tone, looking him up and down. You set your work bag down and crossed your arms as you asked, "What are you still doing up?"

"I can't sleep without you," he told you with a shrug, like the phrase was common knowledge. "So I just chose to read until you got back."

You smiled at him and shook your head, walking over to him. "And how many books did you get through?" you asked.

"Two. And a half, I guess, if you count this one," Spencer smiled, holding the book up for you to see. Spencer then moved it away from him, opening his arms up for you. "Come here. You look tired."

You quickly fell into his arms as he pulled you into his lap, your legs on either side of him. Spencer ran his fingers through your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other.

"You need to stop working so hard, my love. You're going to burn yourself out," Spencer said in a bit of a worried voice. You sighed, burying your face into his shoulder.

"I know, it's just—" you began. But Spencer cut you off.

"You want to solve this case. I know. I do, too," he said, taking the words out of your mouth. "But you need to think about yourself, too. Just—Promise me you'll take a break at some point."

You nodded. As much as you didn't like to admit it, he wasn't wrong.

"I will. I promise," you said.

Spencer pulled back to smile at you, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "Good," he grinned as he went on with rubbing your back. "Do you want to rest now? Or do you want to stay up for a bit?"

"Actually..." you said, trailing off with a smile across your face. Your hands went down to the hem of Spencer's joggers, tugging them before you even had time to think it through. "I had a little something in mind."

Spencer's face went pink immediately as he took note of what you were getting at, and he looked up at you. "O- Oh, really? And what would that be?" he asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be.

"You know how stressed I've been," you said lowly, beginning to press a few kisses to Spencer's neck, causing him to whine out above you. "I was thinking you could help me with that. Relieve me a little, you know?"

"Y- Yeah, I know," the genius stuttered out, pulling you closer to his body by your hips. "If that's what you want, then that's what we'll do."

"There's my good boy," you cooed with a smirk across your face. You didn't hold back from leaning in, crashing your lips onto Spencer's. His answer came in the form of his tongue, which quickly moved into your mouth.

You didn't waste time, pulling the white tee Spencer was wearing up and over his head. You ran your hands over his chest before attaching your lips to his again, moaning at the way his tongue felt as it moved with yours.

Sometimes, it was better to take things slow. Others, going fast just made it better.

And this was one of those times.

Spencer helped you to unbutton your work slacks, then pulled his joggers, and boxers, down and out of the way. The view you were met with was one of his long cock, that seemed to already be aching for you.

You smirked down at him, taking his dick into your hands as you shook your head. Spencer let out a small whine at the feeling, squirming a little under you.

"Already this hard, huh? It's been, what, five minutes?" you teased him, chuckling at the messy view of the man under you.

"I- I'm sorry," he said in a voice that was nearly begging you not to tease him about it. "You just have that effect on me, miss."

"Oh, believe me, I know, baby," you cooed, moving your hand up and down on him slowly. Spencer's eyes closed as you did. "I know how much of a slut you are for me. Aren't you?"

Spencer gave you a nod without looking back at you, holding back a groan as he said, "Y- Yes, miss, I am."

You moved up to your knees for a second to pull your slacks down fully before moving the tip of his dick to your cunt. You couldn't help but moan out at the feeling, your need being easily on display for Spencer as he saw how wet you already were.

"Y/N, what are you, fuck, what are you doing?" he asked in a confused voice, as several seconds had passed with him not yet being inside of you.

"Watch your language, honey," you said, pulling his hair a bit as a means of bringing him close to you. Spencer let out a small whimper, but didn't say another word. "I wanna hear you beg, baby, like the slut you are. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

Spencer's whines only grew more broken at your mean tone, but he was quick to comply, squeezing your hips as he said, "Please, miss. Please let me inside of you. I- I've been so good."

"Oh, have you, angel?" you teased him a little more, moving your hand down to cup his chin. You dragged him even closer. "I'm going to need more than that."

All the while, the head of his cock was still on your cunt, and as you moved his dick around even more, Spencer let out an annoyed sigh. "I just—Please, miss. I want to feel you so bad. I- I've been craving you all day."

"And what else?" you asked.

"I want to be your toy. I- I know you like that," Spencer whined. "Please, just—Don't leave me like this. I can't handle it," he huffed.

Feeling bad for the poor boy, you kissed his cheek, before whispering, "You won't have to, my good boy. That's just what I wanted to hear."

You lowered yourself onto his cock, letting out a low mewl at the feeling. God, was he big. Spencer's hands were on your hips again as you rode him, the both of your moans filling the room.

"You like that, huh?" you asked. You moved your hand up to settle on Spencer's neck, squeezing down. Spencer's glasses fogged up with his need as you did so, nodding eagerly.

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Please, harder," he whispered.

You obliged him, squeezing down harder on his neck; Not enough to harm him, but enough so that he would surely feel it. Spencer's face was all the approval you needed to keep going.

"Look at how needy you are. How much of a slut you're being," you degraded him in a rough tone of voice, shaking your head. If there was any place to get out the anger you had built up over the last two weeks, this was the one.

You grabbed Spencer's face to turn it towards a mirror that laid above the dresser in the room. The view was pornographic, you on top of Spencer as you rode him, his lips wide open as a series of moans fell from it. "You see that, baby?"

Spencer shyly gave you a nod, looking down. "Y- Yes, I see it, miss."

"Yeah? And what do you look like?" you asked.

"A- A whore, miss," Spencer admitted, his cheeks flaring up in a blush at his own words. He turned his head away to look at you, gazing up at you with needy eyes. "B- But I'm your whore, miss."

You pressed kisses to his neck, your look one of approval. "Fuck, yeah, you are," you moaned.

Your high danced dangerously close a short while later, and Spencer, picking up on this, lowered a hand down to rub your clit to help you along. You buried your face into his neck, leaving hickeys on him wherever you could.

"Fuck, baby," you moaned out. "That feels so good. Keep going, just like that," you were saying without even thinking about it, your brain far too clouded with desire.

The room smelled like sex as you both came at the same time, Spencer filling you with him cum like he'd done so many times before. You lay limp on his shoulder as you came down from your peak, eyes closed.

"God, I love you," you told him breathlessly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Spencer chuckled at your words, settling his hands onto your waist.

"I love you, too, Y/N."

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[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Prologue

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Initial prologue, swearing, slight descriptions of transformation.

a/n: This is my first fic, working off/on for a slight while. I’ve been a long-time lurker, and I’ve finally got a few ideas and the brain power sufficient for at least a good ‘ol attempt! I’d love any feedback y'all could offer! This is just the initial prologue, and true interaction of the trio will begin in the following chapter. Thanks again!

Word Count: 1.9k - Read Length: 7 minutes, 11 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

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You couldn’t tell where the feathers started, and your skin began.

It had been weeks of incessant avoidance to getting help, or facing the truth of your affliction - it was now, above all else, time to face the music. However, you wouldn’t sing. For you, it had been days of fatigue, the inability to catch your breath, and the hiss of your skeleton rearranging itself. What difference was it than any other succession you’d been through? You’ve always survived alone. Well, if the whispers among your forest’s cool leaves were any indication, this molt wouldn’t play fair.

Your skin itches with a frenzy your dull fingernails couldn’t soothe, the ripple of pin feathers beneath taut skin an uncomfortable ache. Once your campfire’s embers are fully extinguished, the feeling would get much worse. The transformation wouldn’t go too far if you remained in your home, you thought- your dwelling refurbished caverns, the soft drip of percolating water into your carved wooden bowls a welcome sound. You’d have enough to drink through these next difficult days..and a part of you hoped that it’d be enough to satiate your thirst for viscera, for marrow. If the new moon’s presence never struck your subconscious, perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it.

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Your head would throb as you’d rise from your bedrolls, unable to find the sleep you begged for. A keen sense told you it was evening, the night’s chill rolling over your exposed shoulders in waves. If you were truly going to transform, as had been your normal for countless years- there was no point in ripping more clothes in the process. The earth felt rough underneath you, becoming more sodden as you’d trek towards the mouth of your cave, the evening’s darkness doing little but sharpen away the humanity you had left. It had rained, the air’s scent carrying the fresh smell. Recently, to be noticed by your unresponsive nose..and yet, it couldn’t rival the majesty of the sky. Stars speckled across its tapestry, a sigh escaping you at its sheer beauty. It was a enchanting reminder of what you would see when you woke up after your succession, after the molt had picked you clean and rebuilt you. At least that’s what it’d feel like, when you’d regain your mind.

You could feel the dull pain of feathers beneath skin even further, as though your body craved to soar up into its expanse. You’d pat your shoulder down as if brushing dirt from it, knocking sense into your own instincts. You couldn’t afford to further the transformation now- it’d never started this early before. The moon was a mere sliver within the sky, last shades of light due to leave within the next day. “The soil is what I deserve,” You’d grit aloud like a mantra, echoing in your thoughts, soothing you into begrudging complacency. The sinful sky would murmur to you, a voice slipping out through the darkness, and you’d shy away from her. It was your conscience, or perhaps your instincts. They were always mouthy this close to the new moon.

“You must soar,” She’d breathe, her words like rustling leaves in the howling night air. You’d have turned your back to the sound, head low as your arms would cross to cover yourself. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She wasn’t-

“Hunger plagues you..” The voice would coax, fanning across your back, swirling between the crackled down which speckled new growth on your shoulder blades. You’d turn again, a hiss sparking in your throat- the sound raspy, incomplete, feeling raw on your tongue as it’d clip between barred teeth, gnashing against your words. “I am sane..” You’d breathe, the words harsh in your mouth. You’d done this dance hundreds of times, and yet the voice inside your mind was oddly corporeal today. “I am lonely..” you’d admit, shaking your head out as though it’d rid you from the illusionary tone, giving yourself a reason to be hearing voices, “You are nothing but my own mind. You aren’t-”

“Real?” The voice would ask, before the air sliced against your jaw- finger-like, pulling your gaze back as your body would turn around to follow it. Your eyes would see her then, fully for the first time- spotted in starlight, not just a figment of your own mind’s trickery. Vaguely humanoid, spectral feathers would blanket her arms, slackened wings framing her back as though an angel- ghostly, as her entire form was vaguely translucent, made of a soft white glow. One hand would have pulled your chin to meet her gaze, entire body tensing as her ‘grip’ felt like the crisp embrace of the night’s air. The voice had never had a body before.

“Who are you?” You’d ask, spitting vitriol even though your hands shook, her touch iron-clad even though it seemed to be crafted from the wind itself.

She’d chuckle, tilting your head so she could get a better look at you, and you got the feeling that she could peer at much more than just your skin. “You haven’t heard of me, fledgeling?” The voice would question musically, her tone a soothing balm to your transformation, and yet seemed to aggravate it further. You could feel the low pop of sinews contracting to allow the slow re-arranging of your skeleton, grunting at the uncomfortable sensation.

And even still, she wouldn’t release your head from her hold, tongue tsking at your lack of an immediate answer. “You..aren’t like me-” You’d scoff beneath your breath, expression radiating fury. It was easier to feel angry towards the apex of a lunation, and you harnessed it now. She was no monster, some kind of partial Aegypius- she was not chained to the moon as you were. What audacity did she have to mar your affliction with her words? “Leave me, before I-”

“Silence-” She’d interrupt, the sound layered with the voices of many. Your jaw would close shut before she’d finished the first syllable, something in the word beckoning complete and total submission. “Ah, so they can be trained..” She’d rasp, a sickly sharp grin plastering her see-through expression. She’d pull your jaw up higher, thumb resting underneath your chin, “I know you…and I think it’s time you remember me.”

You’d feel her before you heard her again, the contraction of your stomach causing you to double over. Within an instant, you were no longer yourself, the sharp crack of bone and tendon filling the air as feathers would blanket shifting skin. You’d blink, and see your eyes change into an overwhelming hyper-vigilance, until you felt nothing at all but hunger.

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The fabric beneath you was quickly forgotten as you’d jolt awake, breath shaking as your vision would correct itself to the soft daylight emanating from cracks in your cavern’s walls. Your headache would only intensify, hissing as the soft rays would accost you. It seems you had found fitful sleep, although the harsh feeling of cold against your form would persist longer than you liked. It was all a dream. Just a dream..

In your sleep, you hadn’t known who that woman was. Scrounging through your waking memories bore different fruit, however. Your hands cycled through old tomes- the few you managed to obtain on your species. You'd have to nudge the manacles near your things with a shard of rock to get to them though, keeping even the slightest wisp of your skin away from its metal. It wasn’t the material you feared, but what was carved within it- some kind of passage you’d long forgotten the translation to. All that mattered is that it hurt like a bitch, and did its job of keeping you restrained when a lunation was at its peak.

After a few minutes, you’d find your answer in an especially unweathered page: Matron, the Aegypius creation deity. Another name was below it whose dialect you’d long forgotten; Your birth tongue. With a tight-lipped grumble, you’d close the book shut before rising to weathered feet. It wouldn’t take a historian to tell you that seeing a goddess in your dreams was a bad sign.

You’d don your belongings quietly, the silence calming against breaths which shuddered your slowly-hollowing skeleton. As you’d slip your bedroll atop your fraying rucksack, you could feel the shifting curvature of stretching muscle which had begun within your shoulders, preparing the form for flight in a day's time. Soon, it wouldn’t be your body anymore. The manacles would join you, shoved hastily within your kit with a stray cloth blocking your fingers from direct contact. You’d feel their burn that evening, once you’d return to the cave later that night.

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With a final glance towards your cavern, you’d set off towards your destination; the ‘Spirit Healer of Bellmoor’, although you could care less if they were a toad masquerading as a human. If they could help you, as it’d become rapidly clear that was necessary, then the hike was worthwhile. It’d take a few hours of travel, weaving through tree trunks as your legs carried you where your wings begged to go. The sky was a saccharine prize, and yet you kept your expression forward- gazing at its majesty would only strengthen your molt’s urge to progress.

You’d take the long road to avoid any prying eyes, or any eyes at all, for that matter. You valued solitude, the one hardened aspect of your species which allowed them to not be culled as soon as they came into existence- it kept your kind mysterious, more of a figment than truth, and kept other Aegypius from tearing each other apart for territory. The healer’s house would come into view a second later. It was wooden and humble-looking, the cabin lit with a warm interior glow from within its small grove. Approaching its brass knocker, you’d clang on the door three times, praying that’d be enough. As the second ticked past, you’d raise your knuckles to rap a second time, but the door opened before you could bother. Behind it, claret-colored irises would greet you, accompanied by high cheekbones, fiery red hair, and an inquisitive glance. You wouldn’t meet her gaze as your own turned downward, your voice roughened from lack of use.

“Are you the healer?”

You’d see her face morph into a cheshire grin in your peripheral, as she’d step aside to allow you further passage into her home. “Yes, I am. Welcome, and come in.”

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Heavy breaths would thunder through the open forest, the woman sinking deftly through the trees, in sight of her quarry. A cavern decorated with slung beading, woven from thin, flexible vines and hollowed, pecked-out rocks. The alcove would’ve almost been homey to Natasha, if it wasn’t the den of a monster. Her longsword would be clasped tightly in gloved hands, held forward as the hunter would skulk towards her prey.

She’d settle her back to the cave’s entrance, a trickle of sweat staining her brow. The chase had been long and arduous, but it was finally complete. With a hardy swing, she’d growl her war cry into the air and-

See nothing. The cave was empty.

Natasha would pant, eyes dilated as she’d grit her teeth in rapidly fuming, silent frustration. Her pupils would bounce from corner to ceiling, taking in the scene before her..the monster had fled. It ran. She’d scoff at that, barking a cruel laugh beneath her breath as she’d coat her fingers in leftover charcoal, pulling her glove off to feel its texture. Crumbled and thick, not weathered terribly by elements..this fire was burned recently. The creature’s departure wasn’t long ago.

Her confidence would only return as she’d trudge outside, noticing escaping footprints she hadn’t noticed prior. In her focus to kill, obviously- she would’ve found them ages ago if she were actually looking for them. She’d smirk to herself, before beginning the hunt anew.

“I’m on your tail, гриф..” Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

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