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alessiamalfoyzabini · 4 hours ago

Text

Howl at Midnight

Pairing | werewolf!Jimin x human!Reader

Word Count | 7.5k

Warnings | +18, angst, smut, halloween theme, an apparently abandoned castle (don't trespass on other people's property 🤧), mentions of a pact made with the city's residents, poison, MC doesn't really have much choice 💀, forced nudity, dark themes and also yandere (?), underneath MC finds the situation exciting, bites and marks, sink the canines and drink blood, PWP, oral sex, pussy worship, dubcon, begging, virginity loss, unprotected sex (use protection!), vaginal sex, big dick, knotting, MC abandons herself to her fate (I think Jimin's supernatural nature contributes in MC's choices), eat cum, this is not for minors.

This fanfiction is dark and yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | You always thought you lived in a quiet, small town. You never imagined that the locals would be able to keep such a secret for centuries, you fell into their trap… But it doesn't seem so bad.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys!!! 🥹

My best friend and I challenged each other to write a Halloween-themed story using the following keywords: werewolf - halloween - virginity - castle - poison.

I don't know why I came up with such a story, it was supposed to be something simple but my dark side took over WAY too much 💀

Anyway my best friend liked the story and suggested that I publish it, so here it is, I already apologize for any mistakes and for the plot which is not who knows what 🥺

Howl at Midnight was written for recreation, but I still hope you enjoy it ❤️

PS: I really didn't know how to classify this story, when in doubt I put the warning “yandere,” since there are behaviors that go a little beyond 😵‍💫

Permanent Taglist | @katherine-kookie, @btsuga-d, @reallygenerouskoala, @takemeaway5402, @velvet-stardust2002, @jimincrystal, @ke1k029, @kylafox09, @pantara, @themwordsblog, @angelicsmilesworld

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

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territorial-tarot-tahr · 1 day ago

Text

C.o.D smut that won the poll: Freak show

Word count: 10.1k

CW: Some descriptions of gore/violence but in more vague notions. Some psychological distress. There's a small bit of knotting in here but not in much detail. There's sexual content in this.

Summary: That one monster AU that everyone kinda knows and reader is a strigoi because I said so. Another one of y'all getting freaky in the shower except this time it's with a Scottish werewolf.

AFAB reader but no gendered names or terms

If you found my A03 from this, no you didn’t. Shut up.

There are no spoilers for any C.o.D games

🚨Go to my main account “rorschach-retrograding-rotary” for commissions or requests🚨

🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨

Feel free to commission me or donate

𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖

It was quiet. The squeak of the ceiling fan above as well as the dull tune of his breathing provided the only audible ambience that you could hear at the moment. The light of the barracks was practically non-existent during the dead of night, though your senses had been dialed up to an obscene amount since your revival and as such, the room might as well have had the ceiling lights blasting on. Though you knew that the minute someone's turned on that light, you'd find yourself startled and writhing in disgust as the bulb's internal workings practically sparked and popped.

You hadn't been with Task Force 141 for long. You'd really only officially joined them a couple hours prior. Though you'd been in the military for a handful of years prior. In all honesty you'd been one of the antagonists of 141. Childish taunts that you should've outgrown and that you thought you might've, though when you'd initially run into the Task Force, you'd found you hadn't. Looking down your nose at the idea of having "a circus instead of soldiers". You'd left snide comments on a few notes in places you knew they'd be found. Made sure to talk loud enough for any passing member of the squad to hear exactly what kind of breed of freak you thought they were.

And those were the same people you had found yourself standing before as you were reassigned to the squad. All their gazes wandering over you as though scrutinizing every inch of your dull flesh. Each twitch of their eyes might've been a glare cast your way, and each whisper they spoke to one another could've been a remark about you. Retribution for all your time spent mocking them.

You didn't suspect they actually did indulge in spending their free time mocking you in secret, that'd be giving yourself too much credit. Instead, you guessed in reality they couldn't have cared less about "revenge". You figured they believed you being on the same squad was good enough karmic justice. Though you were sure you could find someone glaring at you if you tried hard enough.

It'd felt condescending enough to have Price put his hand on your shoulder when he'd shown you to your new sleeping quarters. A loose gesture with his other hand before he pointed at which bunk he suspected was empty as he suggested you get settled. His skin had been rough, as though his entire had was calloused from years of work. Though you know a quick glance would reveal the small repeating pattern that the tough scales on his flesh as the culprit.

He was warm. Earnestly and physically. Though for the latter, you suspected you'd have the same sentiment about anyone now considering your body no longer made its own heat. Couldn't even be bothered to pump its own blood. You were supposed to be making 2 million new blood cells every second according to a factoid you'd learned in a health class years back, though now you'd be relying on a steady supply from the base. And they had made it clear that this would serve as their collar for you.

"Behave or we starve you. And if you try to quell that gnawing hunger in your belly with a wild animal or another soldier, we will put you down like the monster you are." Or something like that.

In that moment when the medics had first shoved the small bag into your hands, a lot of repulsion twisting their faces into sneers, you'd found a dull shock wash over you. These were the same people you might've found yourself indulging in mockery with. Though they now regarded you with the same attempt at subtle disgust that you'd shared before.

It might've seemed a bigger deal to you later, but at the time you'd been in what you'd consider shock. Having clawed your way out of a coffin and six feet of dirt after sustaining a bullet wound to the head, stumbling your way back to your barracks out of habit and sitting on your bed with dried blood and mud coating your skin, you didn't think anything would've gotten much of a reaction from you at that point.

With no family to send your body to, they'd buried you in the base's cemetery. Just your luck that someone's stray had decided to come meandering along the base that same night. Just your luck that the cat had decided to slink its way into the cemetery and just your luck that the cat had decided to waltz over your grave, dooming you to return as a strigoi.

You'd tossed your duffle bag onto the cot, much to the protest of the springs which squealed like an iron pig in protest. Price had lingered a moment longer, asking again if you needed anything, and again you had shook your head. He'd nodded and walked out, and your eyes had traveled over the expanse of where his second wing should've been, drawing up images in you mind about what gruesome scar must've laid beneath his garments. A twisted show of scar tissue and scales that would never heal. You'd brushed your palm through your hair again as you imagined what kind of eyesore-

And then you found yourself feeling sick. Mouth pulled into a tight line as your hand brushed against your own mark, the bullet wound that would never heal. Your mouth tasted like dirt and you were sure you could smell the cedar of your coffin again. Your nails were bleeding, worn down to nothing and tearing through your skin as you dug frantically at the lid of your coffin. You'd sat there, still as a statue for practically a half hour till another member of the force had walked in and bumped into one of the beds by accident, getting your attention.

Your gaze had quickly snapped to him. The Scotts-man of your group, and who you and many others had degradingly called "the mutt" whenever you were tossing insults around. Despite only seeing him in passing for mere glimpses at a time, you'd always describing him as "a slobbering dog of a human". "A twitching and snarling hound that should've been put down already." He'd been one of the first members of the squad that you heard people talk badly about, with most of the stories about him either painting him like a stupid Chihuahua or a rabid beast that was a threat to anyone on any given day. And despite those polar opposites, you'd begun spreading those stories as well despite never even meeting the guy. You grimaced now as those memories ran like a checklist in your mind.

You locked eyes with the man and in all honesty, he didn't seem like the flea-ridden mutt you'd described and heard him be described as. His posture was a slight slouch and you were almost certain you could smell mud on him, but besides that, you couldn't find anything inherently mutt-like about him.

Well, maybe the shaggy quality his hair had to it. Clumped together in patches but also eager to fall aside string by string in others. Maybe the way he seemed to sporadically tense as he stared at you as though expecting some kind of attack because of the eye contact. Maybe the way he seemed to keep taking small huffs of the air as if trying to catch your scent and catalogue it. You would've expected you smelled like a rotting corpse. A shambling zombie or necrotic flesh and decomposing muscle, but he almost seemed to not care or be unsurprised by your scent as he didn't react.

Maybe you smelled like nothing at all and that was where the small twitch of his brow as he tensed his jaw came from. "Here's someone I can't prepare for if they're coming into a room. I can't wave my hand to hush my friends if we're all shit talking them and they're about to waltz in. I won't be able to pick up their footsteps since for some reason they're quiet as a mouse, and now I can't get a scent to get forewarning on their arrival at any given time. Great, just great."

Or at least that was what you assumed his inner dialogue was. You couldn't be sure. For all you knew, he could've been thinking about the time he bit a kid and was pondering about if he was more pitbull or terrier like because of it.

He was staring back at you too, not particularly wide-eyed but with a face that seemed nonplussed but not disinterested about your appearance in thee barracks. You wouldn't say he was easy on the eyes but it certainly hasn't been a chore to hold his eye contact. He shot you a quick wave, a short moment of his time before rummaging around in his small bedside drawer, fishing something out and then leaving without another word. You weren't even worth a proper hello or goodbye to your new squad. Though you supposed that was fair, you hadn't exactly been subtle with your shit-talking and you didn't imagine anyone on that squad had been jazzed to get the news that a person who spent most of their time spewing mild hate speech would be happy to know they'd be expected to watch that person's back and work with them more. Especially not the member that you had claimed had fleas. While he hadn't been a particularly comforting presence, it had made the taste of dirt leave your mouth, and had given time for you to collect your thoughts.

As you lay in your bed at the moment, you again tasted the dirt in your mouth and felt the ache of your fingers, whittled down to raw muscle and only from a job halfway done. You grunted to yourself before rolling over in your cot, sending the now familiar screech of the springs into a performance which soon found an encore when you rolled back over anyways.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

You acclaimed your new found insomnia to your status as a Strigoi. A seemingly bottomless well of energy and a brain that refused to quiet down. The aforementioned darkness of the room still seemed as though illuminated by an overhead fixture. Though still in shades of blues despite the clarity. The acute awareness that your ears provided also seemed to be a large factor in preventing you from catching a wink of sleep or even relaxing. The shrill chirp of crickets now seemed like the climax of a performance from a string band. The hushed breaths of your companions, dampened by pillows and cloth now sounded as a cacophony of crashing waves that assaulted your senses. The small squeaks of springs from your squadmates rolling over or re-situtating now screeched like a bird.

Rather than focusing on the auditory input you were being overwhelmed with, and since visual wasn't much fun, you began trying to focus on the scents that you were practically swimming in thanks to the strange nature of your barrack's companions.

Sulfur, the rancid smell of rotting eggs that made you scrunch your nose. The soft tone of his breathing made his inhales barely audible, but his exhales still filled your ears as if he'd revved a motorcycle. If not for that, you might've thought him dead, and you supposed there was some truth to that. He wasn't exactly alive either. And it seemed selfish to try and compare yourself to him or say you were in the same boat. But you'd never had a conversation with him or even really knew what he was like, so that was all the kinship you could claim to your new "task force friend". He was a lingering echo of what he must've once been. And while he was away on a mission at the moment, you found it as a true testament to his sheer oddity that the scent was just as pungent as if he had been there.

Feathers. A mildly earthy scent that was almost overwhelmed by the prior one, but still held it's ground and filled your senses. His breathing was far more audible, though he wasn't snoring. Less shrill than a whistle but louder than a pan flute. You'd seen him preening the feathers of his wings before you'd been on the Task Force. Varying sizes and of different speckled patterns that drew your mind the Ship of Theseus. How many times had he plucked broken or bent feathers from his back and watched them pile into a small mountain of tawny keratin at his feet? Did it hurt? Simply being alive meant having to hurt yourself in order to keep yourself in working condition?

Smoke. A deep rumble accompanied it and despite the fact that you knew he was farther away, the smell of charcoal still practically burned your nostrils. The warmth from his hands still seemed to burn on your cold skin and you wished you might feel that kind of scorching heat grace your frozen body again. A walking furnace of man with a body covered in scars. You'd heard people refer to scars as paintings of someone's past before, and it left you to wonder how he could still find it in his heart to give his sympathies and patience to what used to be a smart-mouthed brat, turned crying and skittish monster who he got stuck with. All those years of suffering, and you still felt that the greatest comfort you could ever experience might be a simple hug as you let his warmth warm your weary bones.

A lingering smell of wet fur was the now overwhelming scent that washed over you, all encompassing now that you'd properly noticed it. Wet dog. Moist canine. Damp wolf.

What?

Ew.

Nothing dissimilar to Simon, you supposed. Though Simon had a natural smell that tended to linger. This just seemed overwhelming even considering the encounters with the musk you'd had before.

A childhood friend with a dog, much too eager to show off it's fresh smelling coat after a bath.

With that, you grew sickened and simply held your nose shut, opening your mouth a few moments later before finding that the burn of carbon dioxide in your lungs hadn't appeared. What? Were you breathing just because you wanted to instead of necessity now? Filling your shriveling lungs with oxygen that they didn't need? Another mark of your loss of humanity to sit as some inhuman marking upon your very soul and being?

You shook those thoughts from your mind and attempted to focus on the coarse fabric of your blanket. Though what seemed to stick out to you more, was the sensation of how cold you were despite it. A shiver in your bones and a chill on your flesh no matter how tightly you wrapped the cloth around yourself and a realization that didn't seem eager to go away now that you'd noticed it.

A frostbitten ache in your limbs that refused cure or amputation. A clawing and fighting chill that ate and slashed at your flesh till you felt it's influence in your entire body. Frozen flesh that refused to thaw. You wondered if Price had registered the chill in your flesh when her touched you, feeling as though he was patting a cadaver on the shoulder instead of his new ward. How would this freshly walking corpse get along with his array of other oddities?

You grunted and realized the futility of trying to ignore the ache now that it was at the forefront of your mind. It wasn't as though you could drag yourself to your Captain's quarters, knock on the door and give a sheepish "can I sleep with you tonight?" Before being welcomed in with open arms and a warm body. Not happening. Dishonorable discharge wasn't completely off the table even if you insisted that you hadn't decided to do the "horizontal tango" with your Captain who would presumably be blacklisted.

So what could you do instead?

A warm place or thing that wouldn't disturb others? Locker room or shower. In the shower you at least had the excess steam as well to seep into your weary bones and eat away at some of the fatigue as well. It didn't sound like a half-bad idea, and you didn't suspect you'd find much reprimand for it if you managed to keep quiet enough to avoid disrupting the other's rest.

You sat up and swung your legs over the side of the cot without a second thought. At the very least, even if the plans didn't work, you'd have something to do to occupy yourself till the sun decided to rear it's shiny mug over the cusp of the horizon.

It was much harder for external weather to actually make you feel something now, and you found that fact highlighted as you walked into the embrace of the night, hearing the crunch of frost covered leaves and blades of grass beneath your feet but not feeling the slightest chill on your skin. You had the chill of a corpse, and the chill of the weather couldn't find enough strength to overcome or change your already frigid body. You hadn't noticed it during the days as most of your time was spent walking around in a shell-shocked stupor as they pointed you here and there, signing this and that, but you suspected you had most likely been feeling this aching chill for the entire day and just simply hasn't noticed or hadn't had time to notice. And now that you had spent your couple of minutes with only your thoughts, you found that you were already too cold to freeze further. Great

If the same principle applied during the summer, you didn't think trips to the beach would be worth having anymore.

What would be the point of sitting outside on a warm day and having a picnic or something, either? What about being bundled up on the couch after a chilly walk to the store left you with a chilled face that your partner would warm up with chaste kisses and an hour wrapped up in a blanket together?

Don't be so dramatic and stole moping, you don't even know that yet. The burning warmth that had enveloped the flesh on your shoulder practically crackled as you remembered your Captain's hand.

Alright, so you were "cold-blooded" in terms of your lifestyle then. So not all hope was lost.

Your shoes, sloppily tossed in with lases undone, crunches again against the frosted grass as you stalked forward. You reached forward to grasp the handle and push in the door as you slinked into the building. You were surprised that it was left unlocked, but you certainly weren't disappointed.

You continued on your search, trekking through the base to make your way to the showers and find whoever seemed to be in such distress. The base was practically a maze of concrete walls and smooth hallway floors, and if your time before, you had often found yourself as the victim of a bad sense of direction. Wandering and trudging down the halls with no clear sense of direction or understanding where it was that you were.

Now though, despite the increase in your senses, you still found yourself too confused by the overwhelming twists and turns that if asked to retrace your steps, it'd still take you longer than the average person to get to it. But less time than your prior year. You might actually get to the showers before the sun rose. Good job.

A disgruntled growl left your throat before you registered the sound and you found your brows scrunching together as you continued your walk. Ew. Don't do that again.

With one final turn you were met with the off-white tiles of the locker room floor, and your reflection after you took a few more steps in. The long line of mirrors above the sink to your left sat tantalizing as you gave yourself a quick once over. Your hair wasn't matted with blood-moistened dirt and speckled with wood chips, both from your feverish clawing. Your face was gaunt, discoloured in some areas from bruises that would never clear as well as whatever ugly wounds you'd managed to open on your liberation for the grave. Your wounds were sewed up with medical thread but you were well aware the flesh would never scab and heal.

You watched your face contort as you gritted your teeth and glared at the visage staring back at you in the pristine mirror. Your exhale hit the mirror and you watched the surface neglect to fog. Your corpse breath instead disappearing without a trace as you inhaled and pushed your hair from your face before spinning a 180° and making your way to the flimsy curtains of the showers. Your shirt slipped off first, tossed to the side in a crumpled pile before being followed by your pajama pants and other miscellaneous garments before you pulled the flimsy, opaque plastic of the curtain back as you stepped in. Your nails traced the notch on the turning cog that indicated "heat" before abruptly yanking it on.

For a moment or two you felt nothing more than the brisk chill you had felt before and you wondered if you'd been wrong and your second of heat with Price had been a fluke or some lady spasm of some muscles before they properly bit the dust. A loud cry of "Fuck!" Left your mouth as your buried your hands in your hair and gripped it roughly, your eyes glued to the floor and the trickle of water down your leg.

Though the water then seemed to warm up and you stood in awkward embarrassment, though you couldn't be sure why. It wasn't as though anyone had seen what you could only describe as an outburst. Though you moved your hands to your sides after a shallow cough as you felt the warmth begin to gradually work it's way through your flesh with the promise of further warmth to come as the nozzle began spitting a consistent stream onto your face.

Enveloping. All encompassing. A blanket of warmth that was wrapped tightly around you as you stood. Your spine straightened as you stood to your full height and placed your palms to the tiles and sighed in relief as the ache finally began to cease its assault on your flesh. You wished that you might spy dirt or muck leaving your visage, but instead you saw no grime leaving your form. There was nothing to be washed away and fixed. You felt keen to vomit but your stomach hadn't been filled with anything and as such you couldn't even find it in your body to cough up bile. With a groan, you moved your hands to run through your hair again, attempting to work out nonexistent knots and blocks of dirt, digging feverishly at your warming flesh as you attempted to rid yourself of the muck that seemed to hang on your skin.

You needed to be clean. You wanted desperately to be clean. You needed it. And yet your fingers came away with no grime, no flaws or blemished skin pieces to be fixed by medics or hopeful medics. Your nails dragged harder now. Moving from your hair and scalp to your neck as you felt your throat flutter with your gradually fluttering breaths. Your collar bone was next as your fingers worked harder, dragging your nails though your dead flesh neglected to form bright red streaks across your skin.

Stupid fucking cat. You could've been resting in a grave. You could've had whatever rest you were owed as you rotted and let the maggots and bugs eat away at your coffin till they had free reign of your corpse to consume.

But no. Instead you'd been dragged from whatever peace you'd found. Ripped from the ground in a frantic spit of earth and blood, brought to be puppeteered till your duty was done.

But your job would not be finished soon. The design of whatever cruel fate that demanded you work till your body collapsed as bullets nestled into your skin, stitching threads working through your ruined flesh in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together, wishing and fighting to continue your walks in rotting legs. A member of a traveling circus that for some reason refused to put down their suffering animals.

Your eyes watered, your hands shaking as you gradually slowed your assault on your body as you watched the small strips of flesh begin to fall away in the swirling water of the drain. These wouldn't heal. And if your "tantrum" didn't stop, you would find yourself dragged into some kind of straight jacket or given some stupid mittens in order to ensure you didn't damage yourself. Their "merchandise", their weapon. Their property now in all honesty. And they wouldn't allow you to become damaged goods. If you weren't their weapon, you wouldn't find any other place to call home because of your newly unnatural nature.

This was your reality and you needed to get used to living in it. With a trembling inhale, you seemed to regain your composure even if only externally. The water continued licking its warm tongue across your body like a feverish cat as you allowed it to continue it's work. Relaxation. If you couldn't get it any other way, you didn't care.

With your mind now slowing less from the speedy sprint they'd managed to work themselves into, you began to acknowledge the push of your senses as your awareness began to seep back into the environment. The huff of the ac and ventilation farther in the locker room, the sound of water dripping down the drain and churning in the pipes below.

Using your hand to shield your face from the water, you turned to the side and placed your back against the condensation slicked tiles as you sat down on the floor. When had it been cleaned later? Who knows, but you didn't think you could find it in your heart to care. While you weren't sure if it was actual sleep or not, a rush of fatigue seemed to finally settle over you, encouraging you to lay your head on your crossed arms and sit till someone comes along. The shower was snug. It was warm and the sounds you could hear all seemed to fit together in a way that allowed you to slip the back of your mind as unimportant in the moment.

Sitting with your arms on your bent knees and your face bruised in their warming flesh, you couldn't be sure how long you'd stayed there. But every peaceful second was practically a god-sent as you allowed yourself to fall away from the real world and all it's incessant nagging for attention. You were almost certain you'd get used to it eventually, learn to tune out all the extra noise. But for now this was what you wanted. This floating away into an empty mind, not asleep, but not well aware of your surroundings. The sound of impact from the water on the ground wormed it's way into your mind and blanketed the other chitters and chirps as you began to focus on solely it.

You weren't sure how long your peace lasted, but when you opened your wet eyelids and blinked away the droplets that hung frantically off your lashes in an attempt to save themselves from the drain, you realized you weren't alone anymore.

The sound of someone walking filled your ears as it grew gradually in volume. Someone approaching. They weren't going at a particularly leisurely pace either. They were walking like they had somewhere to be, alright. You wagered that they were simply going to pass the locker and shower room, maybe move to the next hallway and settle some late night grievance with a higher up. Whatever it was, you expected to slip back into your dull state after the few seconds of interruption, but instead you heard the door to the locker room swing open, slamming into the wall. The crack and splinter of tile alongside the door screamed in your ears and you scrambled to your feet, practically slipping on the well-soaked floor.

You'd snapped the handle for the water as the dying echoes of the door faded, quickly jamming it into the position that choked the water from its pipes and made the coiled snake of metal fall quiet as you waited with baited breath to see what the newly arrived individual might want.

Had some hearing been made to put you down? That's why the brute-force creature had appeared here? Had you missed your chance to plead for your own life and defend your right to take up "3 hots and a cot" on the base? You weren't the first one misfortunate enough to end up with your undead fate, infact, base had even given you a briefing on the ways you could find yourself falling and not getting back up. An uncomfortable creeping silence and pricking along the back of your neck as you heard the thudding heartbeats of the guards who had been positioned to ensure you couldn't escape the room easily. As though you were already a threat. A silver stake through the heart was the main one that had gone to your mind. Direct sunlight could be worked around with the use of different full body garb. Decapitation and burning carried over though as deaths. But considering those were things you were used to trying to avoid, you hadn't seen it as a big change.

So what? They'd sent someone into the shower's with a silver stake to drive through your heart? There wouldn't be much to clean up considering your lack of blood, but the shower still did seem like the natural decision for a murder. Here you were, exposed and vulnerable with no real source of traction considering the puddle at your feet.

You had little intention of going down without a fight if they were, and the sound of the footsteps picking up again as solid thuds with determination didn't inspire confidence, but it did invite challenge. A snark bubbled at the back of your throat, but before you could vocalize it, you grew embarrassed of the sound and quickly quieted yourself preemptively.

You watched the blurry figure of the person through the opaque shower curtain as they paused in their movements before stilling completely and you watched with baited breath for what they would do. They had yet to actually move against you. Their interest didn't seem to be with you.

Were you being paranoid?

Gross.

Maybe?

You turn into a freak and all of a sudden you think the world revolves around you.

What?

Nothing.

With a cautious step forward, you gripped the edge of the curtain and sheepishly tugged it back a few inches to see who had entered the room. The curtain rings glided quietly against the bar and you gnawed on your lip in anticipation as you tried to keep your knees from locking.

A shaggy stripe of brown hair on what was otherwise a buzz cut, baggy sweatpants and a sweat-soaked tank top. Tanned skin coated with discolored scars rippling and heaving as he you watched him lean forward and press his forehead to the presumably cold mirror. His back which was to you, was heaving and you heard the forceful gale of each exhale that slapped against the reflective surface of the mirror.

Oh. What's the Scotts-man doing?

You furrowed your brows and thought back to the glimpses of moonlight you'd seen through the clouds. It hadn't been full from what you could remember and despite your little interaction with him, you didn't wager he was about to inadvertently show off his "Jacob Black" impression.

Don't say that again.

Sorry.

Benefit of the doubt: Maybe he just had to piss and he'd somehow managed to catch you at your most paranoid so now here you were villainizing him when his only crime was like, drinking too much water.

Dumbass.

Maybe if he hadn't-

The overwhelming smell returned. Wet fur and warm breath, a mixture of fresh-out-of-the-shower smell and sweat tied together with a bow of dog's breath. His heartbeat slammed and echoed in your ears like a set of taiko drummers who'd decided you needed a private performance. There was a sickly scent you didn't recognize interlaced with the other pungent smells. Like he'd lathered himself in perfume or cologne of some kind and now he stood red-faced in the mirror as he choked on his own smell.

The sweat on the back had soaked through his shirt and you watched the wet fabric cling to him like a second skin as he swiped his hand over his face to try and clear some of his sweat which he promptly wiped across his sweatpants. Though as the fabric shifted, you watched his face contort in anguish as if about to start crying to add more salt to the already slicked canvas of his visage. His muscles tensed again, pulling tight the cover of his skin and you wondered if he was about to spasm and vomit.

Your fingers found the curtain again and you prepared to pull it shut, though the shriek of the rings now seemed eager to speak up as it became stupidly obvious that you were in the room with him too. Your gaze had been locked onto the rings, as if glaring at them might somehow make them revoke their sound and let you continue going unnoticed. Though when you turned your gaze back to him, you found that your chances of that weren't looking all too friendly at the moment.

Honestly he looked near the point of being blackout drunk, but the alertness in his dull-y bloodshot eyes gave too much evidence to something else. His chest was heaving, and each breath was enough to spark your mind's cruel humor and summon up images of the three pigs and the Big Bad Wolf giving his assault on their homes.

You let go of the curtain and were ready to give a shallow wave out of curtsey, but were cut off by his commanding, if not a bit fatigued voice.

"Sorry, didn't realize anyone else was n 'ere." He forced a friendly smirk to his lips, but his weary eyes broke the illusion of a chipper attitude despite his best tries. You stood still as a statue, your mouth pulled into a fine line as you watched him await a response, fingers tensed against the rim of the basin, and the veins across his body pressed to a visible position as if he was flexing. Your tongue felt dry, but after another beat you seemed to remembered you hadn't spoken yet so you forced the same cautious smirk and responded.

"Are you," Vomiting? In need of assistance? About to drop dead? "alright?"

The sound of your own voice felt pathetic and you became acutely aware that really all that was helping you retain your modesty at the moment was a shower curtain. But your clothes were clothes to him that you, so your options were to either burden the clearly already ailed teammate with a favor, wait for him to leave, or waltz over to the bench and act like you weren't practically airdrying yourself on the walk over.

He wiped his mouth again in a style that brought to mind and alcoholic wiping his lips from habit. His fingertips came away wet with sweat again and you watched him swipe it now against his side, as he kept his hips angled to keep the majority of his front out of your view.

"Yeah, right as rain. 'ealthy as a 'orse." His smile was forced, a lopsided grin now as he overcompensated in spite of whatever was ailing him.

Pretend that you believed his fairly pathetic performance or push harder and try to help with whatever it was?

"What abou't yerself? Most peopl' ain't jumpin' to try and go shower right at the arse crack of dawn."

Deflecting probably. Get his mind off of whatever was bothering him in the first place by listening to your troubles instead? You wouldn't bet your life on it but it seemed like something you'd probably have done a couple times in your life. Some small part of you screamed to be embarrassed about your reasoning and cited it's stupidity.

Shut up and lie. Say something cool. Turn it back to him.

"I was cold."

Lame.

"Cold?" He repeated. His eyebrow was raised and you watched the sweat drip down the curve of his scrunched temple as he fidgeted where he stood. You seemed to forget you were expected to respond now, too enveloped in his skittish behavior now as you watched his hands begin to rub lines around the ring of his wrist. You blinked like a dumbfounded kitten before noticing his half-way expectant expression seemed to get you out of your stupor as you nodded.

"Yeah. I just- I don't think I make my own body heat anymore. So I was just-" You trailed off as you watched him twitch again, a half-hearted gesture as though twisting the handle of the shower properly ended your response.

"What about you? You said you're 'healthy as a horse', so why're you up and sweating like a sinner in church?" You sounded snarky, more so than you'd meant to. And in all honesty you supposed it was as if you'd forgotten who you were for a moment. You were no longer the person who spread gossip, rumors or nasty remarks about the 141. You didn't have any right to claim the squad as being freaks while ignoring the oversized canines in your mouth. And yet here you were, starting up an accusatory attempt at embarrassing him, choking information he wasn't keen on giving, even though you were standing stark naked behind a shower curtain and starting to tremble like a leaf.

Despite the obviously flushed nature of his face, you could've sworn he blanched at your question, as though he already expected you'd have somehow forgotten. You watched his lip pull back in an uneasy sneer, allowing you to see his own set of gnarled and oversized teeth. His pink gums were overcrowded with the pale white curves of his "maw" and it sunk in for a moment, how genuinely screwed you would've been if he had bitten you when you were alive. He could've taken a chunk from your shoulder, nearly half your neck, whatever he wanted.

You'd mocked him before in rumor for doglike qualities without even having seen these, and you were sure he could hear some of the comments considering you said then in front of him the majority of the time. One flash of his teeth and you'd have snapped your mouth shut, and you were sure he knew it. And yet he'd only ever met your remarks with apathy or a sarcastic smirk. As much as you wanted to believe that it had been out of politeness and control of his temper (and you wouldn't pretend some amount hadn't been) you were now aware some of the restrictions placed on 141. You were too be detained or reprimanded if you showed violent tendencies or behavior, and you'd already been issues a warning when you'd accidentally spaced out, your gaze happening to linger on a nurse and her neck. You could only imagine what kind of reprimand he'd had been given for snarling or simply acting aggressive. And you knew in your heart-of-hearts that if he had, you'd have been the first one scampering off to your higher up to demand he be taken off his squad and put down like a mutt.

You'd grimaced at the thought at the prior actions you wished you could distance yourself from, yet this was still in fairly recent memory. This was still who you were wasn't it?

You seemed to be fished out from your wandering mind as he began to speak, and while he had ceased touching his own wrists and flesh, either out of wishful appearances of having everything under control, or a rush of embarrassment at the habit, it was still clear that he wished he hadn't. He started the statement with an almost sarcastic laugh.

"Figure yer about the only one on the squad who doesn' know, so better yuh hear 't straight from the horses mouth 'nstead of from one of those gossipin' lassies yuh always hang around. Don't need that pretty face of yours sneerin' at me anymore than it has already, 'specially if it's over somethin' untrue or blown out 'f proportion."

Used to hang around with. Don't think they'd much like to even be in the same room as me now. But you couldn't find any courage to even speak the rebuttal. You didn't have to right to separate yourself from that life yet. It'd be done for you in time if you really did clean up your act.

Now it was his time to be overtly embarrassed, though it was clear he was trying to be cordial. Considering you were the one naked in the shower, you weren't sure how embarrassing this would have to be.

"Canines as a whole got their matin' seasons, yeah? I ain't a full blown dog or nothin' but every now 'nd then-" He trailed off and made a gesture with his hand that you couldn't decipher the nature of.

"'nitially, they jus' tossed some meds my way 'nd called 't a day. But the meds toned everythin' down. Made me sluggish. Delayed reactions 'nd all that. So rather than riskin' my capacity as a soldier 'n case I ever needed to be deployed while drugged, I started-" His face was practically beet red now, you were about to say he didn't need to explain further if it was too embarrassing but he opened his mouth first.

"-gettin' that extra energy 'ut with someone else. That worked better. Ain't an air tight system but it seemed a good alternative. As 'pposed to a full week of bein' drugged up and loopey, it's jus' losing me and my.....helper for 24 hours, and then check up after the time's up. 'm usually fine after that. Maybe a bit headstrong or- I don't know, I guess protective 's a good word for 't? 'm a bit protective 'f my helper but it's nothin' too bad."

He rubbed his eyes, and though you suspected he didn't have anything wrong with his ocular region, he still continued rubbing while he spoke.

"I got one designated 'elper cause with 'im it's a guarantee that there ain't any threat of actually convincin' somethin'. He's out doin' something for this week. Normally it ain't an issue 'cause they're pretty good on 'nsurin' he's never out when it's 'round my time. But they needed him, so I got the short end of the stick. Yuh happened to catch me killin' time before meds happened to scamper over to shove some pills in my face."

The silence that filled the room left an uncomfortable prickle along your spine as you stared at him. The smell of wet dog was still pungent in the room, and though it was nearly overwhelming, you could detect the slightest hint of sulfur mixed in with it.

Sulfur?

Oh.

Now that you looked him over, under a scrutinizing stare, his pants did seem a big bigger around the hips than what fit him, the drawstring tied tightly to ensure they stayed up. You'd have bet your dignity and what life you had, that those weren't his.

Alright. It made sense you guessed. A literal dead dude wasn't exactly prime breeding material so it stood to reason that the base wouldn't be waiting with baited breath and terror about it.

You nodded in cautious acknowledgment, unsure of what else to do. You didn't really have any secrets or burdens to share with him in return. And although you did care about his opinion of you, you cared more about staying warm. So with a cautious gesture behind you, you motioned as if turning the spigot, and you watched him cycle through confusion, disappointment and acceptance in a split second before waving a thumbs up at you and turning around as though about to wash his hands.

As you snapped the water back on and felt the flood of warm water splash over you again, you attempted to drown out the scent of him. What else were you supposed to do? It wasn't like you could make Ghost magically pop over here. And for a few minutes, you stood in the water stream trying to ignore the information he'd just tossed your way. He really was a dog, huh? Just some mutt in heat that needed another stray dog to whimper and bark as-

Stop. That's not who you are anymore. Cut it out. He didn't chose that life anymore than you chose to be shivering and trembling under a stream of water because you're too pathetic to make your own body heat.

You heard the hiss of the shower curtain beside you snap open and the howl of water as he bathed himself in the embrace of the stream. You slumped down again, your back against the tile as you stared at the adjacent wall with dull eyes as you attempted to fall back into the half-sleep you'd found yourself in earlier.

And for a while, that's what you got. Though instead of continued peace, you were met with the smell of sweat. The sound of coughing breaths and grunts that led you to understand almost immediately what your shower companion was up to.

Leave. Give him privacy.

And yet after you pushed yourself to your feet, standing in the puddle of splashing water, you realized you didn't really want to. So instead you stood for a few minutes, listening to the sound of his choked breathing as he attempted to keep himself quiet and drown out his sounds with the chorus of the water.

"Do you want me to help?"

What? Why the hell did you say that? What's wrong with you? Okay so take the statement back. Cover it up with a cough.

"What?"

Say nothing, say you sneezed, say something else. Back out.

"I mean, I know I'm not a wraith, but I am dead. So- I mean I don't think the base would have any reason to worry about- y'know conceiving something."

....I hate you.

"I ain't looking to force you, and I didn't tell yuh all that stuff to get yuh to pity me enough to offer-"

"You're not. You didn't. I'm- look I'm genuinely offering. If you don't want to, that's alright. I'm just putting it out there."

You swallowed hard as you waited for his response. Silence hung like a heavy cloud, the splash of water on the tiles provided the only audible stimulation, and you were sure he'd stopped breathing considering you couldn't hear the slightest peep on his end. Great job. You screwed up and now your squad mate thought you were a weirdo who was so desperate to get fucked that they were exploiting their suffering teammate. Might as well try to resign, though you doubted they'd even let-

"Alright." He sounded less reluctant, and instead more cautious. He began breathing again, shallow pin pricks of air as you heard him grunt and resituate, then the sound of skin on tile as he presumably leaned against the wall, giving you room to squeeze into the shower stall with him. You tugged your curtain to the side, the familiar hiss sounding out as you walked the few steps to his, watching his fidgeting silhouette through the opaque curtain before you eventually stepping into his.

It wasn't that he was particularly tall, but now as he turned his head to the side to avoid meeting what he assumed would be an accusatory gaze, his craned neck made him appear as though he might've easily dwarfed you in size. That and his squared shoulders and well-kept physique. He'd seemed embarrassed in your conversation but now his lack of eye contact seemed more as his attempt at giving you time to rethink your decision without the pressure of his eyes boring into your skull.

The water that he had spraying out was noticably colder than the water of your choice. But then again, you could feels the heat practically radiating off him, and you suspected he was similar to Price in that regard. Though from a different root cause.

You felt yourself resisting the urge to begin squirming in discomfort, though you were insistent on not making a fool of yourself. Your gaze traveled over him as though sizing up a foe, though you stopped changing your focus after your eyes landed on his groin. You'd been watching his chest rise and fall with each uncertain breath, that had drawn your attention to the thin trail of hair down his chest all the way to the thatch of hair below his navel, where your gaze had landed on his cock.

You didn't consider yourself promiscuous by nature, but you weren't a virgin, it wasn't as though this was your first time seeing a dick, but you would say this was the first time you'd felt intimidated. You wouldn't have been caught raving about the size, but you did feel your mouth go dry. There were a few veins visible even from where you stood now, and the flushed red tip did not go unnoticed either. But the swollen knot at the base drew your attention as you furrowed your brows. Even if you did help with some, you weren't sure that would ever fit. It was already practically coated in pre-cum and you could only imagine how long he'd spent fussing in his cot with his face buried in Simon's slacks as he attempted to pretend that the garment signaled Simon's actual presence.

You saw him cast a quick glance over your face as though attempting to gauge your reaction without seeming too obvious or without seeming like he was demanding one.

Here goes nothing?

Your movements were sluggish, now giving him plenty of time to back out of your deal if he so chose, but seeing as he remained almost statuesque in movement level and pose, you assumed he was alright with your opening. Without thinking too deeply, you brought your palm forward to lay against the underside of his cock as it stood erect.

"Yer colder than I was expectin'." He finished his statement with a chuckle as though he somehow hadn't understood the extent of what you meant when you'd been claiming to need the water to warm you up.

You gave a hum of acknowledgement before closing your fingers around the length of his shaft, your thumb pressed against his leaking cock-head as you watched him twitch. Unwilling to seem any more discomforted than he already had, and yet he was fighting a losing battle as you watched his Adam's apple bob before rubbing his eyes as he had before.

You watched him reach to his side and turn the nozzle to turn the water warmer, for his own enjoyment as much as yours as he watched your muscles relax in the welcoming embrace of the heated spray. He swallowed again as your fingers squeezed gently, sliding them down to the base where you proceeded to hear him give a hiss of an inhale as he gritted his teeth at the agitation of the sensitive spot. With a few moments pause, you trace your thumb along his cock-head again before standing up straight and kissing the side of his neck. Leaving a small bite mark on the tendon-pulled skin.

What you hadn't been expecting was his hands to suddenly find your shoulders and push you against the tiled wall behind you, dipping out of your bite before roughly pressing his lips to yours. You would bruise, you were sure of it. And just like the other few ones, you wouldn't heal. Some others you figured would be reminders of fights or blunt trauma but a bruise from being manhandled during sex? A permanent mark?

Fuck, it was too late to do anything about it now. You met his force with the same intensity, slamming yourself against him and yanking your hand along his cock in one swift jerk that made him whine into your mouth. His hands wandered, grabbing roughly at anything and everything he could sink his nails into, though he at least had the sense to not puncture your skin.

He pressed you tight against the wall and it surprised you that you hadn't heard the crack of tile or cement yet from how he kept amping up the force as he repeated the motion of pulling you closer to him before shoving you back against the wall. If he had a tail, you were sure it'd have been wagging and that certainly would've been a funny sight, though you would have to make due with the needy groans that he kept making anytime he removed his lips from yours to bite or lick at your neck.

One of his hands left the meat of your hip and moved to the back of your head, pushing you tight against his burning flesh, his heat leaving you in a similar bliss as Price's had. Though the moment of solace with your face pressed against his neck was lost as he shoved you against the wall again, this time the pressure hitting his own hand as though he'd realized that he shouldn't have been handling you so roughly. Though your theory was debunked as he used his other hand to flip you around so your back was to him and your chest was against the tile now.

The height difference ensured you felt his warm cock against the base of your back. Your breath left your mouth in short spurts as you felt him bite at your neck from behind now, before looking over the damage he'd already caused in terms of the scattered flecks of discolored skin. Though if he cared, he had a funny way of showing it seeing as how he promptly grabbed at your ass and hips and squeezed the flesh till you were sure he'd have drawn blood if you had any to shed.

You felt him still for a moment longer and waited switch baited breath for his next move, only to be flipped around again, though this time without the luxury of his hand blocking the shock. You felt him hoist you up with a grunt but little effort as though you weighed nothing, and you had little time to ask what he was doing before he slammed you down onto his cock with no warning.

It leaves you screaming wordlessly as you feel tears threaten the corners of your eyes as he grunts into your chest. You might've tried to pull yourself off if you'd found the strength to, but seeing as his grip was holding you in place, it seems fruitless anyways. Instead, you snapped your mouth shut and dug your nails into his shoulders as you leaned your head back against the tile and felt him begin pulling out and then ramming back into you as though he fancied himself to be a violent piston.

You grit your teeth and do your best to ignore the pain that tears through your body and leaves you gasping for breaths you don't need to take. You hook your legs over his hips and he greets that movement with tossing you up a few extra inches to leave himself barely in you before letting you drop back fully down on his cock as he moves his face to resume biting and licking at your chest and neck with vigor as he continued working you like an oversized fleshlight. The distinct shape of the knot occasionally bumping against you when he snapped his hips up to meet your jostling bobbing that you'd begun doing to avoid being completely man-handled.

You suspected Simon probably had an easier time with this shit considering you weren't even sure if he could bruise or feel pain. But you were his cheap replacement for the night, a chew toy for him to make due on. And fair, you'd offered yourself, and while a part of you wanted to recede your offer now, you found you couldn't will your lips to move nor your mouth to articulate anything besides a stifled moan, and you weren't sure you wanted more. Only around 24 hours right? You could bear to miss a day of P.T.

By the time you're done, everything hurts and you're left with a hormonal Scotts-man passed out beside you, snoring quietly as he holds you tightly. As the time began to come to an end, he'd seemed more fatigued than anything else, and his finale climax had been done with a whine. The next thing you remembered was waking up in his bunk in the barracks with him holding close against him as though he were a skittish child clinging desperately to a security blanket. The smell of wet fur and dog breath was all enveloping, but you found it didn't bother you as much this time, though you wouldn't soon be singing it's praise as a perfume.

The bunks are quiet and you don't suspect anyone is oblivious to the reason of your absence the day prior. And even if they were, the very obvious bruising in very, choice areas, were enough of a dead giveaway to any glance of scrutiny. But that was tomorrow's problem. At the moment, you focus on the sound of his breathing instead. The feeling of his chest rising and falling against your side and his occasional twitch as he dreams whatever his fucked out brain can think of. His breath is warm on your neck and the small bruises he left along your shoulders during his activities, and you wonder if you ever would've experienced this had you not dropped dead and been reborn.

You don't sing praise for your predicament or your death, but you raise a good question. If not for the bullet to your brain, you would've died only thinking about him as a slobbering mutt. A dog with violence and sex as the only thoughts that it's mind could possibly have the capacity to think of. You hadn't thought that honestly, but it wasn't far off. You'd thought him an unpredictable, liability who was crude in the best of circumstances and who pissed you off simply by being in the same room as you at the worst. What did you think of him now?

....in all honesty you weren't sure. But you now had a gnawing in your heart that left you eager to learn more about him. A sensation that left you trying to memorize the way his fingertips were drawing lazy circle around your hips despite his lack of consciousness. A sensation that left you turning on your side to play your back against his chest and try to mimic his breathing. A sensation that left you wanting to follow him around and simply watch his day to day behavior, asking questions about him and his habits as he went along. Now that he'd already fucked you senseless once, you could get to know him. Ironic.

The warmth radiating off him is what draws your attention more. As though cuddled in the arms of your lover on a cold winter day next to a roaring fire after a frostbitten walk. And though you knew in a few days he'd be back hanging around Simon and spending his tussling with the wraith, you found comfort in this night. And though you couldn't find sleep despite your fatigue, you also found you didn't mind laying awake, held gently in the arms of a teammate. Even if they did have dog breath.

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