#and how he keeps the act up just so he can survive in the dog eat dog world that is the IPC

[a-compass-without-a-needle]

"I've connected the dots"

"You didn't connect shit."

"I connected them."

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi!! I really love your writting🥰 i would like to request for the self-aware au, Reader hiding behind them after being chased by some particularly pushy NPCs with Rook, Trey, and Jack please❤️

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, description of violence, blood, obsession, stalking

Trey Clover/Jack Howl/Rook Hunt-Hiding behind them

Ah, what a nice day. In fact, it is perfect for trying out that recipe with that dough that needed to rest for a while

Or rather, that was his plan for the day until he suddenly heard two pairs of footsteps rushing into the dorm kitchen

And no, it was not the kind of footsteps that spoke of joy like the ones of his siblings did. from time to time, it sounded panicked

Just a second later you entered the kitchen with an octavinelle student, the latter one trying to catch up to you

Before the baker could figure out what was going on, you were suddenly behind him, using his body as a shield

Oh… oh!

Was this guy harassing you?

How dare he? How dare-

Deep breaths. Very deep breaths - would be something he would have said to himself if he wasn't this angry

By some miracle, he was able to hold himself together

He was this close to loose his reputation as "that nice hat wearing baker"

A strict look towards the student and you were finally alone with him

For you the whole thing was over but for that student?

Suddenly the poor lad fell ill, claiming that he had stomach problems

Heck, he couldn't even keep his food down

Such a shame... Trey surely hoped he would survive

Who else could he secretly gift those cakes? You? Oh no... It's just that he experiments with some new recipes...

Ignore that bottle in the cupboard

Jack is someone who keeps his friends very close and is not afraid to stand up for them

Only that he saw you as someone more precious than a friend

So when he saw you running away from a student and slipping behind him he saw the world just a tiny bit tinted red

The young wolf beastman isn't someone who uses violence just because he can do or feel like using it

(Honestly, at this point he is more like your little dog than some fearsome wolf)

Just because he didn't turn the student into very biological and mushy fertiliser for the flowers then and there doesn't mean he was calm though

Grabbing the not so nice company of yours, he told you to not worry and leave your little problem to him

Ah yes, Jack Howl, that kind acquaintance of yours

How nice of him

But you know, there are also tales about wolves acting as if they are kind just to devour you

Of course Jack didn't do that

Does not mean that things went as peaceful as you thought they did after you left

Jack usually keeps his instincts under control but on that evening he had to cut his nails very short and scrub his hands

Anyone would be horrified after the sensation of calcium breaking under their hand, splintering like old, dried out wood under a saw

He should feel guilty but... it was hard to do so

Which brings us back to a sink being used by a certain beastman

Geez, some things are so hard to get off of skin once it dries, wouldn't you agree?

First of all, it's a wonder the hunter wasn't watching you from a tree (or something like that... who knew bushes could walk in this world)

If he had he would have immediately revealed himself by slithering in between you and that oh so foolish first year

But alas, apparently a miracle happened and this time it was you seeking out him

When Rook heart the certain sound of your shoes hitting the ground he was swivelling around, a poem about his devotion towards you already on his tongue...

And them you hid behind his arm curtains (you know, their dorm uniforms sleves)

Did hiw beloved Overseer, perfection and liberatir in person finally choose him as their most favorite- no? Ok that's cool too

If this was any other situation he would have started a speech in his wannabe French, stating how short he was by your rejection

But right now he had to deal with your little stalker (don't try to act all innocent, Rook, you did the same many more times than they ever could without being noticed)

Trying to calm you down the hunter brought you to Pomfiore

And nothing weir happened

No I am not joking, Rook was his usual normal self (if we want to call at best flirtatious remarks and at worst frantic devoted ramblings normal)

From then on you were much closer to the hunter

Especially after a body was found

And oh, how grateful Rook was for not having the time to get rid of the body on that day

Of course, he had noticed how ce fou followed you two to the dorm

How trusting you were when he told you that he wanted to get you two something to drink...

And there the parasite still was, lingering around the entrance of his dorm

The only regret Rook had was finishing his job so quickly

It was always such a bore whenever his prey wouldn't squirm

Well, at least you were now close to him

Just be careful, the hunter was also back then the one bringing her highness a false heart. Who knows how much he would lie to get you all to himself?

Uh and… maybe don't open that box he has in his room in a cooler. He told you he keeps some sort of trophy in there and I think that is all we need to know

[bella-goths-wife]

How the yandere bowers gang protects you

Warnings: sexual assault, revenge porn, physical abuse, murder, gore, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, fucked up dynamics, forced relationships, MDNI

I do not intend to romanticise or normalise any of the themes I write about, I use them simply for entertainment value and do not encourage the replication of these actions!

Henry bowers:

You never really expected any aspect of Henry to be protective

You assume the hands that lay countless bruises on your skin to be the ones to shield you from the ruthless touch of others

But below the surface, there’s a part of Henry that yearns to hide you away from the ugliest parts of the world

Even if he himself is one of the ugliest aspects of your life

He pushed that part of himself down for the sake of keeping his composure while correcting you

He can’t go soft on you and allow disrespect now can he?

But there was always a firmness in the rule of never visiting his home

You assumed it was because he was embarrassed of you and didn’t want you to meet his father, when in actuality it was quite the opposite

But belch had dropped you off in a hurry at Henry’s when the rest of the group was out of commission and he had to get home quickly, and you couldn’t avoid the bowers residence

You knocked on the door only to be greeted by Henry’s father, who stared at you leeringly and suddenly you felt like a lost lamb backed into a corner by a rabid dog

Oh, how much did Henry’s gaze replicate his fathers in certain lights

When Henry saw the scene of his father looking at you with the look of an overjoyed dog at the sight of fresh meat, his mind couldn’t stop but to wonder about his mother

Suddenly, he felt like that helpless child watching his mother squirm and scream no as a the male embodiment of terror beat her and ripped her clothes

He felt the urge to run to you, to hide you in his chest and stroke your hair that he loved so much all while reassuring you that everything was okay

Like he wanted someone to do to him when he was a child

But instead, he responds in the only language that he could speak with his father as he yelled at him while pushing him away

He positioned himself in front of you as he purposely angered his abuser in order to distract his wandering gaze to you

He screamed at you to go home, allowing you to be alone for the first time in months out of desperation

You returned to your home and oddly enough, you couldn’t remember how to act normally in your own home

Your life was a constant performance of survival, how were you supposed to act while the curtain to your theatre were momentarily shut?

You just sat for hours on the couch and listened out for the next command or for your next warning and reprimand

For hours, just sat as still as a statue with tense shoulders as you awaited the next performance

You eventually went to bed around the same time that the boys would, much later then you did before them but for some reason their schedules had merged with yours and overtaken your thoughts

Henry entered your home a few hours before sunrise and creeped into your room

He was battered and bruised as he looked down at you in your bed, you couldn’t help but think about all the times he had left you in a similar state to try and ease your misplaced sympathy

You assumed he’d punish you for your rule break, but he just slowly climbed into your bed and laid his head on your chest

He commanded your hands to stroke his hair and for you to reassure him

Small tears escaped his eyes and wet your shirt as he commanded you to tell him that he was nothing like his father, that he was a better man

The lies felt like acid on your tongue as you reassured him quietly until he fell asleep

Henry was too far gone to ever understand that he didn’t break the cycle, he replicated it perfectly

Patrick Hockstetter:

You had been weird lately, Patrick had noticed

You had always been mopey and sad, but lately you were downright depressed

You neglected your personal appearance as you refused to eat or care for yourself in any way

This had caused Patrick’s attraction to you fade slightly, and that would not do in Patrick’s eyes

His sexual attraction was the only real feeling he felt, and it was his one true connection to you in terms of outside of his obsession

So Patrick decided to do some digging

He had found that some girls from school had been harassing you daily for the last few weeks during the few times you were without them

They had taken your clothes when you were changing in the ballet studio and had ruined the clothes you had handmaid, leaving you in only a towel

Luckily belch lended you his shirt but your humiliation lasted for days

The harassment didn’t stop there, they would put sharp tacs in your ballet shoes, loosened a balancing pole so that you’d fall when using it, called you all sorts of names

Now Patrick didn’t particularly care about your general well-being, as shown by his abusive and enabling behaviours

But when something affects his attraction to you, then it becomes a problem for Patrick

And you being in this depressive mood definitely affected his attraction, so Patrick took matters in his own hands

He decided to use what he knew and slept with each of the girls, roughly and painfully but with consent which was a curtesy he never offered you, before taking pictures of them on his camera and having the pictures developed

After a night of his usual forceful abuse, he showed you the pictures as some sort of twisted aftercare

The photos made you feel physically ill as you asked him why

He claimed he was protecting you, that those girls wouldn’t bother you now

All a lie, his motives were completely selfish

You cried at the pictures and he assumed you were jealous, so he assured you that he’d fix it

The next day he spread the pictures across the school, forcing the girls to isolate themselves out of humiliation

Patrick assumed the problem was fixed now and told you that you owed him

Despite the heavy guilt in your gut, you couldn’t help but find enjoyment in the fact the girls presence was no longer constant

Victor criss:

Victor was an observant guy, especially when it came to you

He memorised everything he could about you

He knows your routines, your preferences, your anxiety’s and your expressions

And he knew the minute that one of the male ballet teacher helped you stretch by grabbing at your thigh, that you were extremely uncomfortable

At first he tried to brush it off as a misreading of the situation, simply not knowing enough about a ballerinas strict routine

But he definitely did not misread the situation when he came to pick you up one afternoon and saw you cornered by your teacher with a look of absolute fear on your face

You practically ran to vic and held on to him tightly as you lead him out the building, something that only confirmed your fear as you usually repulsed away from his touch

He prodded you for answers but you became snappy with him and as he was about to reprimand you, he saw the tears that were close to streaming down your face with any more pressure

Vic was enraged

who was this piece of shit to touch you? Does he not know your owned? Does he not know your bowers gang property? Did he not realise that you were victors property?

Vic’s mind is made up as he drops you off with belch before making his way back to the ballet studio

He used your teacher as a pin cushion as he used his switch blade over and over and over until vic finally felt he had gotten his message through

He cut the hands off individually before skinning them and keeping the bones and hiding them away

He informed the rest of the bowers gang and they helped him stuff the body with rocks and watched it sink to the bottom of the river, never to be found again

They didn’t question him, they didn’t question his brutality, they just helped him clean up his mess

The same as what he’d do for them

Vic never told you what happened to your ballet teacher, but you inferred it from the context clues of the bones under his bed and the hidden away bloody clothes

All he asked for in return was a kiss and to be able to hold your hand without you looking sick

You tried your best

Belch Huggins:

There’s something surprisingly soft in belch’s protection

He’s the biggest in the group and most assumed to be violent, but he’s the softest out of the boys

His protection can range from small thin to big things

He expresses his protection in many different ways

He covers the side of the table if your grabbing something from underneath it, he walks on the side of the sidewalk closet to the road, he holds you hands or your clothes in public places to keep track of you

He even protects you in the gang sometimes by positioning himself slightly in front of you in a group setting, taking the blame for your mistakes and distracting the others from your actions

But there is always going to be a dark side to belch

And that dark side was brought out specifically by some drunk grabbing at you harshly on the walk home, not knowing belch was with you

Belch felt iron hot fury in his veins as he looked at the scene of this drunk bastard grabbing you so hard it could probably bruise your skin

Your a goddess in belch’s eyes, a slice of heaven bestowed upon earth and something he can indulge in and hopefully on day overdose on

And to see this drunkenly ignorant fool dirty your perfection with his disgusting touch? Well it set off a reaction in belch that he hoped you’d never have to see

He bashed the man’s head against the pavement over and over again as he felt every scream of pain was retribution for him disgracing the religion of you that belch follows so piously

The crunch of the mans broken nose against the floor brings belch back to reality as his eyes shoot up and meet your horrified gaze

You had seen belch commit violent acts before, you had been a victim of those acts many times

But those were all on the orders of Henry’s, this time was different

This act was committed with free will

Belch hurriedly tried to explain himself and begged you to not be afraid

You swallow your fear and horror as you hold his bloodied hands in yours and belch only looks down at you with practically heart eyes

You assumed that if you rejected him the violence would turn on you, and all though you were wrong belch was too blinded with awe to understand that

In his eyes you had just accepted the most ugly part of himself, proving that the pedestal he had placed you on was correct and you were the angel on earth that he thought you was

In your eyes, you had just dodged a possibly painful punishment

In reality, you had just tamed the beast with a gentle giant underneath the surface

[ghostofskywalker]

Scaredy-Cat

Tyler Owens/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 18 of 31

Words: 1,355

Summary: Just because you had a crush on Tyler didn't mean you were suddenly a thrill seeker, something you learned the hard way when you finally accompanied him on a chase.

Tyler Owens Masterlist

When Tyler talked about storm chasing, he made it seem like an ethereal experience. The way his face lit up when he recounted a story about a particularly powerful tornado, or the way he was always aware of the weather predictions and could seemingly sense when storms were going to hit was captivating. And it got to the point where a small piece of you wanted to experience the same euphoria that he did. Maybe it was a byproduct of the crush you had on your best friend, but that didn’t mean you could stop thinking about it. 

You were not usually a thrill-seeker, but the smile that crossed his face when you asked to go chasing with him almost made you one for life. “There’s fixing to be a storm tomorrow,” he said as the two of you laid on couches in your living room. “We could take the truck out then.” 

“No cameras though,” you responded. “I don’t want your millions of fans to watch me act ridiculously and embarrass myself.” 

Tyler laughed. “It’ll be just you and me,” he said warmly, and for a moment you allowed your brain to consider other implications of the same sentence. “No Boone, no cameras, no nothing.” 

“Fine,” you said, before you could change your mind and chicken out. “Tomorrow it is.” 

Now that tomorrow had arrived however, you were not as open to this whole idea as you were last night. You blamed the beer (and Tyler’s puppy dog eyes) as you settled into the passenger seat of his fancy tornado truck and stared out the window as he drove off. 

You had the radio up loud, the preset country music station blaring through the speakers. Even though the air conditioning was on blast, you remembered the sticky humidity that filled the air as you stepped outside this morning, and you watched the clouds with a measured stare as they seemed to morph together, building up to what would no doubt become a twister. 

“You nervous?” Tyler asked, looking over at you as he drove. 

“Nope,” you said, hoping he didn’t hear the hesitation in your voice. 

“Good,” he said, laughing as the sky began to darken. “Because it looks like the show’s about to begin.” 

The buildup was slower than you expected. First the sun seemed to dim, but you could still see its light as the number of clouds in the sky seemed to grow. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. 

By the time the sky was blanketed with thick gray clouds, you could see the branches of nearby trees swaying more than usual. Even when the rain started, it didn’t seem like something that would morphe into the true natural disaster that you expected. Tyler’s hand reached across the console to rest over yours, and you felt your breath hitch slightly at the sensation of his fingertips brushing your skin. “You okay still?” 

“Yes, I promise,” you said. “You don’t have to keep checking in on me, I’m an adult.” 

“I know that silly,” he laughed. “But I wanted to make sure. If you don’t want to do this, I can turn around right now.” 

“No, I’ll be okay,” you reassured him, watching as the rain tapping the windshield got a little more intense. 

Oh, how wrong you would be about that statement. 

***

“Tyler Owens, if we survive this I’m going to kill you!” you screamed, not even sure if your friend had heard you over the sound of the howling twister and his ridiculous laughter. But in reality, you couldn’t even blame anyone but yourself for the situation you were in right now, because you were the one who had been so insistent on not turning back. 

Curse Tyler and his stupidly attractive face. Why couldn’t he have a normal hobby, like playing the guitar, smoking things on the grill, or buying busted old cars to fix in his garage? Even if he was one of those weirdos who get dressed up to reenact pivotal moments in the Civil War with nothing but homemade hardtack in his pockets, it would be better than this.

A tree branch came whipping through the air directly towards the windshield, and you screamed, throwing your arms up and turning your head and body towards the center console. You hoped with everything you had that the anchoring mechanisms on this hunk of metal were as strong as Tyler had always bragged they were.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Tyler yelled over the noise, gesturing to a button on the console labeled “fireworks.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared at him. “Are you crazy?” 

He laughed, taking your hand in his and pushing down on the button. “Yes!” The rockets were sent off into the heart of the twister with a loud popping sound, and you were once more questioning your odds of survival. 

This was quickly becoming too much, and he must have been able to tell.  “Look at me!” he yelled over the noise, and you obliged as you watched him unbuckled his harness. 

“What on earth-” you started to yell, wondering why the hell he would do something so obviously unsafe, but were cut off when he leaned completely over the center console and placed his lips on yours. You kissed back immediately, trying with everything you had to forget the raging wind and powerful tornado that was currently taking place around the truck. 

Every feeling you’ve ever had for him, every single elevation of the crush you tried so hard to keep to yourself was all coming out in this kiss, but you were certainly not complaining. His lips moved against yours hungrily, and you really hoped that this wasn’t just some move to try and calm you down. You wanted this to be real. 

When the two of you broke apart, the winds were starting to die down. Tyler sat back in seat right as the rain began to let up, and you didn’t know what to say. As he retracted the screws keeping the truck anchored to the ground and started driving, a heavily silence descended over the two of you, and it provided the perfect opportunity for you to overthink the entire interaction. 

He must have been able to sense that you were spiraling though, because it wasn’t long before he spoke. “I’m sorry for doing that without asking. It was the first thing that came to mind, and-” 

This time, it was you who cut him off. “Please don’t apologize,” you said, and then softly added to your statement after a few beats of silence. “unless you regret it.” 

“What?” 

“I know you did it to distract me,” you explained. “And it’s okay if you didn’t mean anything by kissing me. We’re friends, and I’d rather stay like that than lose you because you don’t return my feelings.”

Tyler stopped the truck in the middle of the road, turning towards you and reaching out to gently rest his hand on your face. “If you truly believe that I’m not head over heels in love with you, I think you might need to have your vision checked. And yes, I kissed you today because I wanted to distract you from all that was happening, but a very selfish part of me just wanted to know what it would feel like.”

You smiled, reaching up to place your hand over his. “And you’re sure about this?” 

Tyler laughed, a bright and joyful sound that was instantly burned into your brain. “Darling,” he said. “I’ve never been more sure about anything else in my entire life.” 

Not sure what else to do but lean in once more, you both smiled into the kiss. “But,” you said quickly, pulling away as Tyler’s mouth turned to a pout. “If you ever take me tornado chasing again I might actually kill you.” 

“I think I can accept that,” he said, gently leaning back in for another kiss. 

This wasn’t exactly the most comfortable of places for a first kiss (or a second, third, or fourth), but right now, you didn’t care one bit.

- the end -

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Hilson Masterlist:

A bunch of fics I’ve read in the last month, month and a half. All works are completed and over 9,000 words per fic.

My Love’s an Arbutus - Rated G

House gets a soulmate, WIlson gets Hanahaki. It ends suprisingly well for both of them.

Handle with Care - Rated G

This is the story of how James Wilson ended up on his best friends doorstep with a baby in a carseat he’d stolen from the maternity ward, and the chaos that followed.

A Thousand Teeth (And Yours Amoung Them) - Rated T

Sometimes, when House gets too overwhelmed by his emotions, he gets a little bitey. This is five times House bites Wilson, and one time Wilson finally bites him back.

Systemic - Rated T

Ever since Wilson moved in, House has presented with some inexplicable symptoms. Fortunately, he has a team of talented doctors to aid him with his diagnosis.

Touch Therapy - Rated T

It’s not that House needs the human contact. It’s just that when you’re sharing an apartment, these things happen sometimes.

I Never Sleep With Married Men - Rated T

House and Wilson are married. It’s not what you think.

Double or Nothing - Rated T

House kisses Wilson’s cheek as part of an ‘act’, it feels too natural to him, so, of course, he has to turn it all into a game, Wilson catches up pretty quickly. The duckings try to not get scarred for life.

The Line of Thought - Rated T

Cameron, Foreman, and Chase keep on trying to get into the little details of House’s love life. House doesn’t like that one bit.

In the Eye of the Storm - Rated T

House does not want Wilson to invite his subordinates over for dinner, and he definitely doesn’t want them to be stuck there due to an unexpected snowstorm. But could the two of them find what they need?

Drew Stars Around my Scars - Rated T

James Wilson loves Gregory House in secret, but perhaps he is closer to knowing than he realizes.

Oreos, a Cane, and a Hell of a Lot of Diapers - Rated T

Hilson AU in which House and Wilson are waiting for the birth of their two babies. Watch them survive their first few weeks of parenthood along with the struggles it takes to be a parent.

Impossible - Rated T

“Wilson, hey-“

“…This is James Wilson. I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Oh.

There was a long, sustained tone, and House cleared his throat.

“Wilson. I’m sorry for what I said to you in January. It was over the line, and I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and… I’ll respect that. I just wanted you to know that I’m…”

He looked down at the flowers.

“I’m sorry.”

House and Wilson both have Hanahaki Disease, and would rather die than give up their feelings.

No Need to Worry (Making Up Your Mind) - Rated T

House makes the mistake of telling his mother he can’t join her for Christmas because of his new boyfriend. Somehow, this becomes Wilson’s problem.

Something to Prove Series - Rated T

Something to Prove

When House suddenly want to initiate a relationship with Wilson, Wilson is overjoyed. The feelings he’d held for years are finally mutual. Or are they?

Marathons

House and Wilson decide to let the other people in their lives in on the fact that they’re dating. But no, they can’t just sit them down and tell them. Of course not. That would be too boring.

After School - Rated T

Gregory House is incredibly bored with his life when James Wilson is hired to teach Anatomy & Physiology alongside him at Princeton Plainsboro High School. Though he wants to maintain that same monotony he’s grown comfortable with, House quickly finds out that one school year can change a lot.

Life’s Harsh and Sweet Lessons - Rated T

House and Wilson find out that a simple act of kindness can turn into something so much more for all involved. (I love this fic so much. They’re just gay dog dads.)

Losing Balance - Rated T

There’s a new case for House, in which Wilson gets stuck by chance. The relationship between the patiend and his best friend brings up new issues House and Wilson have to deal with. While the first simply chooses to ignore them, the second is forced to face the changes in their friendship and the influence that the people around them have on it.

Gaseous Nebula - Rated T

After a hard day at work, House and Wilson intend to spend their evening watching the Princeton Philharmonic Orchestra. Instead, the building collapses, leaving on of them trapped in peril and the other desperate for answeres. The chaos drives them to revelations about themselves and each other, but it may be too late.

Ship of Fools - Rated M

The Captain’s a tyrant and possibly a madman, but when the crew rebels it’s Wilson who gets caught in the crossfire.

Bait and Switch - Rated M

Wilson tricks House into participating in a bachelor auction to benefit the hospital.

Fool’s Gold - Rated M

Don’t threaten what isn’t yours. (Dragon AU)

Old Machines - Rated M

Wilson said, “So we’re just two friends who want to have sex with each other, who aren’t going to do anything about it.”

Spoken with the increduility of a beautiful person with low impulse control. House shrugged.

“We’ve been that for years. Why mess with success?”

Wilson was looking at his mouth. He sounded strained. “I don’t think what we’re doing qualifies as success.”

Not as Easy as it Looks on TV - Rated M

House and Wilson share an intimate moment. the likes of which Wilson had never seen before in their three year relationship. It drives Wilson to realize he wants to marry House, but of course it’s never that easy, is it?

That’s How Strong My Love Is - Rated M

For once, Wilson doesn’t fall into a relationship, much to House’s irritataion.

Fresh Feeling - Rated M

House is tricked into going on a team-building trip with his colleagues. He does far more bonding with Wilson than anyone else.

Love Is The Drug - Rated M

What happens when two best friends love each other to the point of hating each other? They try to date and sulk about it.

The More It Took Away - Rated E

House has been hiding this little secret of his for years. Too bad it’s coming back to bite him on the ass.

The Escalated Butt Dial - Rated E

He thinks it must be an accident. Because all he hears is shuffling and soft… clapping? He’s about to hang up and laugh because House butt-dialed him while drunk when he hears it.

A very, very obviously sexual grunt. A moan, if more specific. Whatever. Not whatever. He can’t really breath right now, or think; call back laterr.

He wants to hang up. This is an invasion of privacy. This isn’t okay. House butt-dialed him while masurbating, for fuck’s sake. And it’s not like he wants to listen. Right? So. Just hang up.

The One-Eyed King Takes All - Rated E

The classic crew plays strip poker.

You’re the Only One That Never Gets Old Series - Rated E

You’re the Only One That Never Gets Old

An accidental kiss… and a few taht are not so accidental.

Let’s Take A Breath (Before We Go, Go, Go)

House kisses Wilson to piss off an homophobic patient. It might ahve been his best idea yet.

Keep Me Where the Light Is - Rated E

House has his Earth shattering, (good) knee weakening, life changing revelation about Wilson at such an inopporune time, that he’s tempted to laugh. He would have, if he hadn’t been hands deep in his patient’s organs.

Absinthe - Rated E

Wilson wants a new apartment, House is up to no good, and strange metaphors abound.

Experimental Procedures - Rated E

An offhand comment leads Wilson to test out some unusual methods of pain relief for House. (They’re extremely effective.)

Familiarity (Breeds Contempt) - Rated E

House and Wilson stumble into a relationship, but they run into problems before long.

Around We Go Once More - Rated E

Stuck in a small university town out of the country with Wilson, House is up to day 104, of a ‘grounghog day’ style constatly recurring day scenario. Seeing as the day will repeat, he figures it would be safe to try and seduce Wilson; the one he’s always been attracted to, but never acted on it, for fear it would ‘ruin the friendship.’ This is not as easy as he planned, particularly as Wilson refuses to take him seriously.

Stay With Me - Rated E

House has always depended on Wilson’s friendship, but now he finds himself depending on him for his very life - and Wilson realizes that both mean more to him than he ever realized.

I’ll See You In Court - Rated E

Every year, the council chooses ten alphas to participate in the breeding run — this year Wilson has been chosen. He’ll be forced to bond with whichever omega he knocks up whilst he’s in heat. When House hears, he’s forced to take action. There’s only one way to get pulled from the yearly run, and taht’s to file an intent to bond. And in order to file an intent to bond, you need an omega willing to go through with it.

There’s only a week until Wilson’s heat, but luckily, House knows just the omega for the job.

Things That Go Bump - Rated E

Wilson has nightmares. House gets a headache. Everyone tries to diagnose just what’s going on between them.

If He Spends That Dough (Imma Throw Him a Bone) - Rated E

James Wilson loves to feel needed, so who is hOuse to refuse him?

Money, sex, and love is all you need. In that order.

Howler Tone - Rated E

The calls always happen late at night, and they’re extremely sporadic, with weeks, sometimes months bridging between them. They talk on the phone otherwise, of course; about patients, or dinner plans, or carpooling. Typical stuff. But the calls that always end a certain way always start a certain way.

House develops a new vice. Wilson, as always, enables him.

He Won’t Tell You That He Loves You - Rated E

In which Nolan pulls at the Wilson thread, and House can’t stop it all from unraveling. Repression is a hell of a drug.

A Valuable Friend - Rated E

Wilson has been recieving mysterious late night phone calls. He’s rather House kept his nose out of it - but we all know how well that goes.

Baby Mikey - Rated E

House gets a visitor that will change his life, while Wilson struggles to figure out exactly who he is and where he fits into House’s new life.

Buy Some Time, It’s On My Dime - Rated E

The one where House is a phone sex operator.

You’re So Fuckin’ Special (Run) - Rated E

It was full of pictures.

And all of them are of Wilson.

In Every Lie, In Every Truth That You’d Deny - Rated E

Wilson just needs someone to take care of while he recovers from yet another divorce. That’s all this is.

Ath least, that’s what House thinks.

A Patient’s Guide to Living with ICS - Rated E

House and Wilson share a hotel room at a medical conference.

Hooked (On Feeling Low) - Rated E

There are things even House cannot control.

Can Wilson continue picking up the pieces?

A Modest Proposal - Rated E

Tritter’s case agianst House still depends on subpoenaeded testimony from Wilson. To save House from losing everything, the doctors of PPTH decide on an unusal solution, which in turn leads to unexpected consequences. This is a story about the sacrifices we make that turn out not to be such great sacrifices after all.

Silk, Lace, and Satin Bows - Rated E

“What’re those,” House lilted, taking a firmer hold on the blanket and tugging, even as Wilson cluched the blanket to his chest, his eyse impossibly wide as he shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” Wilson gritted out, cheeks flushing hotly. “I just… I borrowed some underwear from Sam. It’s nothing. Just get out, House,” the younger man hissed, clutching the blanket more firmly to his chest.

The Marrying Kind - Rated E

The one where House is a wedding planner and Wilson keeps on getting married.

TGIF - Rated E

House is stuck living the same Friday over and over and over and over again. A Groundhog Day AU with a medical mystery, the pursuit of true love, and egregious references to Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell.

Correlation Does Not Equal Causation - Rated E

“This… this hasn’t happened before.”

“Most people say that in the opposite situation.”

Alternatively titled: Wilson Doesn’t Actually Have Whiskey Dick

Don’t mind me just adding another fic here.

Grin and Bear It - Rated E

In a world where soulmates can feel each other’s pain, Wilson had always grown up wondering if he really had a soulmate. Sure, he could feel the occasional twinge like that of a bruise or cut without actually seeing one, but he had always chalked those up to random aches and pains that everybody got.

Wilson would keep this mindset until both he and House begin feeling agonizing leg pain, and a realization dawning from it causes Wilson’s entire life and well-being to change forever.

I’m always looking for new Fics so if there’s a fic you think is missing from this list, let me know and I’ll check it out!

[meanbossart]

Ok it's possible someone has already asked this and I just haven't seen it yet

But what would it be like, if Drow was a recruited party member, and got romanced by Tav/player? How would he act? Would it impact his character arc in any way? (Is it even possible?)

Oh man I got FAR into the weeds of his hypothetical romance here. Light mechanics, how to get on his good side, and some themes.

The TLDR is that his arc is all about managing his penchant for co-dependency with allusions to Dominant/submissive dynamics. His quest has basically three outcomes:

-In one, you get a sweet, caring man who is a little shut-off and otherwise deeply flawed as most people are. He respects you, looks after you, but ultimately sees you as an equal.

-In the "accepts bhaal" route, you get an egomaniac who sees the both of you as if bound in flesh. He's overwhelmingly intense in everything he does, including his love for you, which he requires be expressed and taken loudly and violently. It's essentially what he wished he had with Orin.

-In the "lost to Orin" route you get a sad little puppy-dog who follows you around and does whatever you want, including take his own life. He's entirely dependent on you as the only person who can keep his urge somewhat in check, insecure, scared, and needy.

(dialogue from this post)

I REALLY liked Larian's decision to make the "bad" outcomes of some of the romances to be kind of... Fetishistic in a self-aware way? You want to relive your high-school years by dating that witchy-goth girl who kept you a secret from her parents until your relationship collapses because, despite appearances, she'll never be hardcore enough to stand up for herself? DJ shadowheart. You want to live out your immortal vampire lord wife fantasy until you become a dusty old fling that he keeps in his closet as eternity and power wear his zest for life and love completely down to nothing? Ascended Astarion. You want to finally Fix Him? God of ambition Gale (a joke. Kind of).

So, I wanted to keep that trend going. DU drow "bad" outcomes are definitely more of a fun fantasy, meanwhile his refused-Bhaal route is almost boring by comparison.

You would be able to affect his path both as a romanced Tav or just as a friend, BUT the only way to survive the end of the game if he's accepted Bhaal would be to be in a relationship with him. You also get to encourage him to follow either the accept or refuse path throughout the game - I'm not really sure how the "lost to Orin" outcome could occur with him as a companion though, mechanics-wise. I'll figure something out eventually.

[ohbo-ohno]

i'll eat you whole (ghost x soap)

summary: After a terrible accident during a race, Johnny is left abandoned and lost in the forests of Alaska. While looking for shelter, he’s cornered by a bear.

word count: 10.8k

cw: dark fic!!!, noncon sex, dog hybrid johnny & bear hybrid simon, kidnapping, trans ftm soap, degradation, forced feminization, breeding kink, bloody kisses, spanking, size difference

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

Johnny hadn’t meant to get lost. He’d meant to win the goddamn Iditarod instead of coming in second for the fourth year in a row, but nothing in his life has gone to plan recently.

Considering how long he’d been training for this stupid fucking race, you’d think his parents would’ve had him running a half decent musher’s sled - you break your ankle one time and suddenly your parents (your managers when you’re an unlucky bastard like him) act like you’ll never run again, sell you off to the highest bidder, and wipe their hands of you. 

Sure Johnny’s injury still flares with pain sometimes, but he’s perfectly capable of gritting his teeth and running through it, like a real racer. He’d even made a full recovery - cleared by a doctor and everything. It’s bullshit he’d gotten stuck with whoever put up the most money.

This year, the highest bidder happened to be some brat human who thought using daddy’s money to buy the best sled and dog shifters meant he could win the Iditarod. Idiot. A bigoted idiot, too, considering how often he’d spoken to Johnny and all the other shifters like they’re actual dogs when they’d shifted into their dog forms. Johnny had been one expectant snap from biting straight through the dumbass’s hand.

Though for as much of an idiot as he was, the brat hadn’t deserved to die. And he especially didn’t deserve to take 13 other people down with him.

Johnny can’t help but shiver at the memory of their deaths. He’d been the only one to survive, and it was pure luck. He’d never been so close to death.

Their musher had taken a shortcut - an unknown, unexplored shortcut - and it cost the rest of them their lives. Johnny can recall the exact moment he realized they were running on packed ice instead of frozen dirt, the way every dog had tried to stop as they all had the same realization, had heard the same deafening crack.

In the end, Johnny was the only one able to sink his claws into the top of the ice, the only one able to scramble out of the freezing lake and back onto solid ground. He’d been quick enough to get the little booties off his paws, lucky enough to flail in the exact right direction. 

He’d tried to pull his fellow racers up, but hadn’t been able to get a firm hold on any of them. They hadn’t been able to calm their panic enough to think, and he hadn’t been strong enough to lift them up with all the struggling. In the end, all thirteen of them died, floating beneath the thick layer of ice.

He’s lost other shifters on the race before, seen frozen corpses as he’s run, but he already knows that the image of his teammates drowning is one he’s going to see for the rest of his life. The whites of their eyes, the cries so pained they nearly sounded human, the scratches and thumps from beneath the ice as the current took them… already, he sees it all when he blinks.

He’d gotten off the ice as quickly as possible, stumbled into an unfamiliar forest on four paws. Now he treks through a frozen forest, body so wracked with shivers that he can hardly walk straight. Every exhale blinds him for a moment, the clouds of white air blocking his sight of everything else white in the area.

He has no idea what to do. Instinct tells him to keep moving, that he can’t give up, but he has no idea how to get back to the track. Between the “shortcut” and the general unfamiliarity of the area, he’s got no way of knowing if he’s even going in the right direction or if he’s just wandering further away. His best hope is that they send helicopters for wounded racers early, and that one spots him from the sky and picks him up. 

Johnny’s not an idiot, he knows the odds of that happening - or of him being alive to see it happen - are slim to none. What he really needs to do is try and find somewhere warm, but that doesn’t exactly seem possible in the frozen tundra of Alaska.

His pessimistic musings are interrupted by a sound - a growl, to his right and from an uncomfortably close distance.

Johnny nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the bear only a few meters away.

It’s a big beast even on all fours, has to be nearly eight feet tall at the shoulder. Johnny can’t see much but the shape of it, but that’s enough for him to know he needs to get away as soon as possible. 

He’s taken safety training courses for being lost in the wilderness his whole life, knows that if you spot a polar bear you’re supposed to move away as slowly as possible without looking away, never making any sudden or aggressive moves. So Johnny lowers himself a little closer to the ground, can’t help the soft hiss of air through his teeth at the touch of cold ice against his sensitive belly, and shuffles back as slowly as he can with stiff limbs.

If his vision isn’t failing him, the bear tilts its head. It occurs to Johnny that the bear might be a shifter, but if that’s true he should know to put the pieces together that the husky in the snow is probably a lost racer, and the polite thing to do would be to show he’s a shifter too. Of course, there’s always the chance he’s not polite.

Regardless, Johnny continues his slow shuffles backwards. His heartrate kicks up as the bear moves towards him, but it's mannerisms read more curious than aggressive so Johnny forces himself to lay still and not bolt in another direction. He wouldn’t make it very far anyway, not with the chill seeping into his bones the way it is.

The bear’s even more terrifying from flat on the ground, so tall that it blocks out the sun when it stands over Johnny. He bites back a whimper, fights the instinctual urge to show his belly to a clearly stronger animal.

The bear snuffles along his spine, its warm breath sinking into Johnny’s soaked fur. He feels a tongue poke out to stroke against a small cut on his left side, where either a piece of ice or another shifter's claws had gotten him. It’s not bleeding much anymore - Johnny can hardly even feel the sting with the rest of the cold - but the bear licks it several times anyway, almost like it’s cleaning the small wound.

Johnny’s careful to lay perfectly still, nothing more than his ear twitching as the bear continues its perusal. It’s oddly thorough, even goes so far as to try and force its snout underneath his ribs to try and flip him over. Johnny digs his claws into the snow and goes stiff as he can, and a moment later the bear huffs and moves on.

Once it’s finished looking for whatever it seems to want, it starts to shove at him again. This time it’s pushier, and manages to actually lift Johnny’s bottom half off the ground with a particularly rough shove to his hindlegs.

Eventually Johnny has to stand on his own four legs or he’ll be sent ass over teakettle. He moves a few feet in the direction the bear is nudging him, then settles back into the snow with his ears pressed flat.

That gets him an angry huff, one that has his hackles rising. He shuffles another few steps, then drops again, hoping the damn beast will give up whatever it wants - clearly it’s not dinner, or Johnny would already be torn to shreds. But the fact that he’s still got all of his limbs doesn’t make him any less nervous around the absolute behemoth of a bear.

After his third time moving a few feet and dropping, the bear seems to give up on him. It snorts out an aggravated noise and noses the thick fur at the back of Johnny’s neck before grabbing with his teeth and lifting.

All thoughts of no sudden movements fly out of Johnny’s head and he jerks, yelping at the sudden change, and nearly tears himself away from the bear until there’s a snarl above his head.

The sound speaks to a deep part of Johnny’s hind-brain, the animal part of him that commands go still when met with a predator who outclasses him in every way. Even if he wanted to fight and struggle, his body decides to go limp in the bear’s jaws and he’s left feeling like a scruffed pup. 

The bear walks for a long time, Johnny’s body swaying in his hold. Eventually he takes them to a large cave in the side of a nearby mountain - another point for the shifter theory, since even Johnny knows that polar bears tend to burrow underground rather than make their dens in a cave.

He struggles just a bit when the bear walks into the cave, uncomfortable with being so defenseless in a more closed off area. But another of those menacing growls and his brain works against him, body going limp. There’s a rumble against his shoulder where it rests against the bear’s chest, and Johnny idly wonders if bears purr.

The path through the cave is long and winding, the walls slowly getting closer and closer but never so close that the bear can’t comfortably walk through them.

Finally, after what feels like hours to Johnny’s frostbitten brain, the bear steps into a more open cave. There are furs covering the stone floor from wall to wall, several layered over each other in certain spots, and a roaring fire in the center of the room.

That confirms his shifter theory. No true bear is skinning its prey for their pelts, or starting a fire in their cave. The knowledge that he’s (likely) not going to be eaten allows the last few hints of tension to melt from Johnny’s bones.

He flops like dead weight when the bear drops him without warning in front of the fire. He whines a little, shoots a glare at the beast and rubs a paw over his head in discomfort. He gets a snort in response, and then the bear curves himself around Johnny’s back, making sure to angle him so his other side is facing the fire.

As much as Johnny hates to put so much faith into a stranger, he can’t help but feel safe surrounded by the bear’s warmth. He knows he’s an idiot to trust so quickly, but surely no one with bad intentions would drag him all the way across the forest and deep into their cave? It would’ve been easier to just ignore him completely.

So, against his better judgment, Johnny allows the warmth to lull him to sleep. He rests his head on one of the bear’s paws as a pillow, gives them an affectionate huff before letting himself drift off.

———————————————————————

Johnny wakes up, hours later, in his human skin.

That’s normal - depending on his dreams, he’ll subconsciously shift between human and dog as he sleeps. It’s not odd for Johnny to wake up in completely different places after sleepwalking either, so waking up to feel his human cheek against warm furs isn’t a surprise.

The large hands running over him, the weight resting over his thighs? That’s a surprise.

He blinks his eyes open slowly. His whole body feels soft and soaked in warmth, and the idea of moving seems nearly impossible. He can tell he’s still fully clothed - a pair of mukluks on his feet, his arctic bib and long underwear, his ruff jacket zipped up tight, all the layers beneath pressing his tail down uncomfortably. The only things missing are his mittens and his scarf, but his hands feel unnaturally warm without them anyway.

The cave is dark and the walls are far closer than he remembers them being, the ceiling covered in dancing shadows that almost make Johnny forget where he is until he lifts his head a bit. Instead of the wide open cave he’d fallen asleep in, he’s laying in a much smaller alcove that traps all the heat in its walls.

The bear is definitely a shifter - either that or the human straddling Johnny’s legs is an incredible hunter with complete resistance to the cold. 

The fact that he’s a naked human clicks a moment later in Johnny’s head.

“Wha’...” he moans, shifting and trying to move his elbows beneath him and sit up. He’s stopped by a sudden heavy weight over his chest, the man dropping his elbows beside Johnny’s head and giving him his weight to keep him down.

It works, Johnny’s forced back to the fur-covered floor if only because he wasn’t expecting the sudden weight on his chest. The man growls low in his chest, a pure bear sound that vibrates through Johnny.

The shifter’s handsome as a man. Broad jaw, crooked nose, thin lips, pale skin decorated in scars - just Johnny’s type when he’s looking for a night of quick fun. He’s a big motherfucker too, Johnny’s not a small man but he’s dwarfed beneath the bear. 

“Puppy,” the bear gruffs down at him, severe blue eyes set in a glare. He’s intimidating, but the two fluffy white ears twitching in his blonde hair almost make Johnny’s half-asleep brain want to smile.

Then what he’d said registers, and he scowls instead.

“Puppy? Who the fuck are you calling puppy, you big bastard?” He pushes at the bear’s shoulders, grunts when he doesn’t move even an inch. “Get the fuck off of me.”

The bear listens, leans back but keeps one solid hand laid on Johnny’s chest - the damn thing is massive, his thumb and pinky nearly touching each nipple. 

“Still,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost difficult to understand.

Johnny doesn’t listen, keeps squirming beneath the man. “What are you-?”

He huffs, shakes his head a bit. “Quiet.”

Johnny grunts, glaring up at him. “Can you say more than one word at once, or are you gonna keep doin’ your best caveman impression?”

The bear’s upper lip curls and he pushes on Johnny’s chest, knocking the air out right out of his chest. “Quiet. Be a good mate and listen.”

Oh, fuck no.

“Mate? Oh, you’re out of your mind, fuckin’ bastard. I’m not your goddamn ma-“

He’s cut off by another growl and a harsh press of lips against his own. The bear’s weight is back over him, heavy and suffocating and forcing him down with his chest and his face.

Johnny snarls into the mockery of a kiss, lifts his hands to try and shove the bear off by his shoulders. It’s fruitless, and the bear only licks into his mouth when Johnny tries to speak again. His tongue is thick and warm, pressing up against the roof of Johnny’s mouth and between his lips and teeth.

He growls at that, bites down hard as soon as the intruding tongue is back between his teeth. His sharp canines do the trick, and the taste of blood bursts into his mouth. Johnny’s eyes are wide open and he sees the exact moment the bear registers what he’s done, the way his face contorts itself in anger.

The growl he gets in return almost makes Johnny feel like the ground beneath him is shaking, it’s deafening and vibrates through all of his clothes and right to his ribs.

The bear bites him back in retaliation, leans up just enough to lock his own sharp teeth in Johnny’s bottom lip and pulls upwards. It gets Johnny jerking beneath him, lifting up as much as possible to try and alleviate the pressure.

He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at the sharp pain, ears pressed flat to his head and just barely managing to keep a whimper locked in his throat. He almost feels like his lip is going to tear right off, his entire torso lifted from the furs as he tries to follow the bear. It fucking hurts.

He can feel blood drip down his chin, a bit into his mouth, and can't resist the whine this time at the taste. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at the bear’s glare, prays that the wetness gathering in his eyes doesn’t turn to tears.

The bear drops him without warning, and Johnny can’t help but cry out when his head cracks against the ground. Even with the fur beneath him, the stone floor is brutal when he can’t catch himself. If he weren’t pinned so securely he’d curl up, cover his head with his arms until the pain faded.

As it is he tries to throw his arms over his face, but they’re quickly pinned above his head by one massive paw. The man’s other hand rests over Johnny’s throat, his palm pushing right against his pounding pulse.

“Mate,” the man growls again, nose nearly brushing Johnny’s when he bends over. “You were wandering around my territory, you belong to me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Johnny spits, lip throbbing. “I was fuckin’ lost, how was I supposed to know this is your territory?”

The bear smiles cruelly. “Not my problem, puppy. You were wandering, alone, in my territory, and now you’re mine. No point in arguin’. I’m keeping you.”

“My arse there’s no point in arguin’!” Johnny thrashes as much as he can beneath the bear’s weight, back arching as he tries to get enough leverage by planting his feet to throw the man off of him. “You can’t just decide I’m your mate! I don’t even fuckin’ know you!”

The man chuckles lowly, pressing his pelvis against Johnny’s to hold him against the furs. “You’re not goin’ anywhere. You can bitch and moan as much as you want, but you’re gonna stay right here in my den, safe and warm. Keep you stuffed full of my cum, maybe that’ll help you calm down, hm? Need a nice load in your guts, pup?”

Johnny’s eyes fly open at that, his heartbeat kicking up another notch as his squirming grows more panicked. “What the- no, what the fuck? Get off, I’m serious, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” The bear bites the air just in front of Johnny’s sluggishly bleeding lip, the click of his teeth loud and threatening. “You’ll try and kill me? You can’t even get out from under me, pup.”

Johnny growls at that, bares his teeth and on pure instinct leans up just enough to bite the bear’s throat. The skin is warm between his teeth, and he bites down as hard as he can, the animal part of him wanting to taste blood. 

Instead of the man lurching back and away, as Johnny had assumed and hoped he would, he groans and falls further onto Johnny. To his own horror, he can feel the man hardening against his thigh, even through all the layers of clothing between them.

He bites harder, growls and squeezes his eyes shut while he shakes his head like he would to a rabbit he’d just caught hunting. It doesn’t do anything to the bear, only has him working his hips against Johnny. The moans rumble so loudly in his throat that Johnny’s teeth feel like they’re vibrating in his mouth and leave his gums and tongue tingling.

The bear’s hand moves from his throat up to his face, cupping one cheek in his palm. His hand is so large that his thumb rests on the cleft of Johnny’s chin while his fingers cup the back of his skull, nearly wrapping around to the other side. He doesn’t even try to pull Johnny off, only holds him securely in place.

That gets a little confused noise from Johnny, and when the larger man doesn’t do anything but seemingly appreciate his attack he lets go and reverts to trying to struggle away. The spot he’d been biting glows bright red in the firelight, a clear ring of indentions and individual teeth marks so deep that they’d be impossible to mistake as anything else.

To his own frustration, the bear looks pleased above him. “Already claimin’ me, huh?”

Johnny sputters, rearing away from the man and his grinding hips. “Claiming? Fucking attacking, you goddamn oaf.”

Another rumbling laugh. “You think that’s an attack?” The bear’s hand shifts to give Johnny’s cheek a condescending pat. “That’s real cute, pup. Don’t think I’ll mind so much if you wanna keep attackin’ me, then.”

The nonchalance has Johnny’s temper flaring more than it already was, his booted feet scrabbling against the furs as he tries to rip his wrists away from the man. “You fucking arsehole-!” He grunts when his hands are freed without warning, the weight over his chest disappearing. 

He’s quick to throw himself back and away from the bear, hitting the wall of the cave and bringing his knees up to his chest.

The bear somehow looks bigger than he had hovering over Johnny. He blocks the one opening out of the small cave, the roaring fire casting a warm glow around his body. His skin is pale, nearly snow white, and covered in a myriad of scars - claw marks, bites, what might be arrow wounds, what are definitely bullet wounds, all sorts of markings covering him from head to toe. 

The way he sits - knelt back on his ankles, knees spread wide with his arms crossed - leaves his cock on display. Hard as Johnny might try not to look, it’s right there. He can’t exactly avoid it.

His cock is thick and ruddy, rock hard despite the little stimulation he’s gotten from himself or Johnny. It curves straight up toward his stomach, nearly touching the bear’s belly button. If Johnny had to bet, he’d guess his fingers wouldn’t touch if he grabbed around the shaft. His balls hang low and heavy between his legs, and Johnny can trace a vein on the underside of his shaft even from several feet away.

He has to fight to tear his eyes away from the bear’s lower half. The man’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s getting that weapon anywhere near any of Johnny’s holes.

The bear’s wearing a small smirk when they lock eyes and Johnny’s cheeks go red at being caught staring.

“No need to be embarrassed, puppy,” he chuckles, shifting to rest more fully on his heels. “You can look all you want. Gonna be inside you real soon, might as well get used to it.”

Johnny scowls at that, pushing himself further into the brick wall. His ears twitch where they’re pointed forward, and he has to make a conscious effort to keep them from pinning flat to his scalp. “In your goddamn dreams. You’re not putting anythin’ inside of me.”

The man’s smirk grows. “That a challenge?”

“It’s fucking true! I’m not letting some hermit in the middle of nowhere fuck me! We’re not goddamn mates, you’re just some freak who found me in the forest after the worst goddamned day of my life, that doesn’t give you any right to-”

“Alright,” the bear sighs heavily, speaking over Johnny’s continued ranting. “Don’t get yourself so worked up.” He leans forward, arms uncrossing and ignoring the way Johnny jerks away.

“What’re you-? Hey!” He shouts when the bear grabs his ankle, tugging firmly so his leg is laid flat, then working to loosen the laces keeping his boots tight. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He tries to kick the bear in the chest with his free foot, but it’s batted away like nothing more than an annoying fly. “Calm down,” the man grunts, finally getting the first boot undone and tossing both it and his thermal socks over his shoulder, then grabbing Johnny’s other foot and working on it. “Need to get you out of all these damn layers. Has it even occurred to you you shouldn’t be out in the snow if you need all this with you?” He looks strangely disapproving as he gets the other boot off.

“No,” Johnny grunts, wriggling like a fish on a line as the man moves up to his jacket. “Because I don’t take advice from fucking kidnappers who live in caves!”

The man grunts as he starts unzipping Johnny’s jacket, ignoring the hands desperately trying to shove him off. “You will now. You’ll listen to your mate when he tells you to do something, won’t you?”

“No!” Johnny bellows, red in the face from anger. The laugh he gets in response only has him shouting again, his struggles hindered as the man yanks his jacket off and temporarily gets his arms stuck. “I’m not gonna listen to shit you say!”

“Oh, you will,” the bear rumbles. It sounds more like a promise than a threat. “You’ll learn that things will go easier for you when you listen.”

“Oh will they?” Johnny snarls sarcastically, baring his teeth when the man tucks his jacket to the side and starts to work on his arctic bib. 

“Yes.”

“No! They won’t! Because I’m not fucking staying here! And will you quit trying to get me fucking naked?!”

The bear huffs a laugh, pulling the top half of the bib down so it hangs over his thick pants, leaving just a long-sleeved shirt on his torso. His tail unfurls beneath the shirt, folded uncomfortably beneath his body. “You’ll overheat in all these layers. The den is more than warm enough to keep you comfortable, no need for your silly human clothes.”

“There is a need!” Johnny grouses, finally lifting his foot enough to plant it firmly on the bear’s chest and keep him back, even for just a moment. “It’s my need to keep myself covered from a pervert like you!”

“Pervert, freak, hermit, kidnapper… not very kind names for your mate, pup,” the bear hums, one hand lifting to hold Johnny’s ankle loosely and running his thumb over the top of his foot. “The locals call me Ghost. But you can call me Simon.”

Johnny scowls again, the expression carved deep into his face at this point. “I’ll call you whatever I fuckin’ want.” He runs through his knowledge of local legends mentally, but the name Ghost doesn’t ring a single bell. If he’s actually known at all, it can’t be by much more than one or two tiny towns. 

“Sure you will,” the man smiles, leans forward into Johnny’s space and tightens his grip on his ankle. “I’ll call you whatever I want, too - mate, puppy, mutt, bitch, hole, fucktoy…”

Johnny’s sure steam must be coming out of his ears as he pulls his leg back and kicks the bear - Simon - solidly in the chest. It doesn’t even make him flinch, and Johnny only manages to frustrate himself more, ears straight up in his anger. “Oi, fuck you! I’m a fucking person, not just some thing for you to take and keep, you big bastard!”

“Take and keep and fuck,” Simon corrects, the grin on his face sharp and mean. He shoves Johnny’s foot out of the way, crawls forward until he can lean both hands on either side of Johnny’s head and block his view of anything else. “Now, what should I call you, hm?”

“Nothin’,” Johnny growls, ducking his head low to avoid being nose-to-nose with the man. He’s so hot in close proximity like this, it’s almost suffocating. “You should let me go.”

“Let you go?” Ghost purrs, one hand moving from the wall to Johnny’s neck and stroking the tan skin there. “Out in the cold again? Thought you were lost, pup, you want me to send you out there all alone to find your way back to town? Send my puppy wandering out in the snow?”

“You could give me directions to the nearest town,” Johnny counters, not allowing himself to work up any hope that the bear was doing anything more than playing with him. Still, he can’t help but glance up through his lashes to watch his  expression. It’s mocking, like he’d expected but naively hoped against. He curses himself for the spark of disappointment in his chest.

“Nearest town’s miles away. I’m not makin’ that trip just to get rid of my pretty new mate.” Ghost ducks his head down, burying his nose in Johnny’s mohawk in between his ears and breathing deeply. “No, I’m gonna keep you right here with me. You’ll be just fine.”

Johnny can’t help but shudder. In this position - bent in half, legs folded up to his chest, big naked behemoth of a man covering him - he feels oddly submissive and vulnerable in a way he usually doesn’t. It’s been a while since he wasn’t one of the top dogs in a pack, and he finds he deeply dislikes being lower on the totem pole. He has to fight the urge to tuck his tail, only really managing to resist the urge because it’s trapped beneath his body.

“You don’t even know me,” he tries to argue, fighting back a flinch when the face against his head moves down to his cheek, hot breath gusting over his face.

“That can come later. Why don’t you start by telling me your name, huh pup?”

He doesn’t want to. Giving Simon his name, obeying his command, feels too much like giving in for his comfort. But the other names he’d used… mutt, bitch, fucktoy… he has to fight back another shudder at the thought of being called any of those words again.

“Johnny,” he finally says, voice hardly more than a whisper in the shadowy cave.

“Johnny,” the bear repeats, voice dropping lower and rumbling through the side of Johnny’s head. “That’s good, puppy. Good boy for listenin’.”

He just barely manages to trap a whine in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a moment at the praise. 

“Now,” Simon continues, finally leaning back and nudging Johnny’s chin up with the hand not against the cave wall. “Let’s get the rest of these clothes off, hm?”

“No,” Johnny grunts when both of Ghost’s hands drop to the laces of his pants and make quick work of loosening them. “I don’t- stop, you can’t-”

His words go ignored and his thick pants are pulled down quickly, left abandoned to Simon’s side as he then starts on pulling the arctic bib the rest of the way.

The only things left to cover him now are the long underwear and shirt, but he already feels naked. Johnny forces himself to start fighting again, trying to push at Ghost’s shoulders and keep him away. His tail wraps tight around his thigh, fur rising in fear.

“No,” Ghost scolds, catching both of Johnny’s hands in his and holding them still. His glare is stern, but not mean like it had been earlier. “Stop struggling, pup. Let your mate do what he wants.”

“No,” Johnny protests, his voice weaker than it was before. “I don’t want you to touch me, just… just let me be, okay? I’ll find my way to town on my own, you don’t even have to give me directions!”

Ghost sighs, shifting both of Johnny’s wrists to one hand and cupping his throat with the other. “Johnny,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over his pounding heartbeat. “How many times do I have to say it? There’s no point in fightin’ me like this. You’re not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay in my den, let me fuck you, and I’ll take good care of you.”

Johnny can’t help but whine a little, unable to break eye contact with Simon. “I don’t want to.”

“I know,” Ghost hums. “But you will. And you’ll see how good it can be when you behave.”

He lifts his hand enough to pat Johnny’s cheek, seemingly done with the conversation. “Now, no more arguin’ and whinin’. We’ll see if a good dicking helps with your attitude at all, hm?”

Johnny’s never felt quite so much like a doll as he does when Simon removes the rest of his clothes. No matter how much he writhes and complains, he’s still stripped naked and left bare beneath the shifter, struggling limbs held out of the way like they’re nothing more than a slight annoyance.

Ghost hums as he sits back again, takes a long look down Johnny’s body. He tries to cover his groin, self-conscious under the bear’s probing stare, but his hands are caught and held to the side of his body by just one massive paw. 

“No, no,” Ghost chides, tone light despite how secure his hold is. “I wanna see your pretty body, pup. You got nothin’ to hide from me.”

Johnny whines a little at that, squirming as Simon slowly pushes him down to lay flat against the furs. The bear slides one knee between his legs, nudging them wider and leaving his sensitive core open to the air.

“Oh, look’it you,” he coos like he’s seeing something cute, keeping Johnny’s hands pinned as he leans down and noses at Johnny’s stomach, taking big huffing breaths in and slowly making his way lower. “You’re so soft here, pup.” He praises, running his nose over the meat of Johnny’s cunt.

“S-stop,” Johnny whines, hips shifting against the furs to try and move away. “Don’t- don’t touch me.”

“Hush,” Ghost says, leaving a hot kiss where he’d been nosing and ducking a little lower, tracing Johnny’s folds with his nose and breathing in deep. “Let me get to know your pretty pussy, gonna be spendin’ quite a bit of time with her.”

Johnny whines at that, high and loud, echoing against the stone walls. “Not a- not a her.”

“No?” Ghost laughs a little, spreading Johnny’s legs wider and settling himself between them. “She’s pretty like a girl. Pink like a girl. Nice and clean for me like a girl, not furry or messy at all. Let’s see how she tastes.” He laves his tongue, thick and warm and wet, up Johnny’s center from hole to clit. “Yeah, she’s sweet like a girl, too.”

Johnny whines again at that, eyes squeezed shut and a little teary. He can feel sparks of pleasure low in his belly, sharp and unwanted. “Please,” he tries, incapable of much else when Ghost licks a few times at his clit.

“Hm?” The bear rumbles, the noise vibrating through his sensitive nub and straight to his head. Johnny whimpers again. “Please what, pup? Please lick her again? Y’think she wants that?”

He does just that, mimics his movement exactly and adds to the gathering wetness at Johnny’s hole. As much as he fights it, the action feels good and Johnny goes a little boneless against the furs. He keeps his eyes closed, isn’t quite brave enough to look down at Ghost between his legs. His tail falls limp, resting next to him, but his ears stay pinned to his head in fear.

“Y’like that?” Simon rumbles, his thumb stroking over both of Johnny’s wrists slowly. “She sure does. Gonna focus on keeping her happy for a bit, I’ll come back to you later, alright pup?”

He doesn’t wait for Johnny to answer - he doubts he’d have been able to - and instead dives tongue-first into Johnny’s core. It doesn’t take long for Ghost to warm him up, the rhythmic work of his tongue against Johnny’s little cock enough to have him dripping slick in moments. 

He moves a little lower to tongue at Johnny’s hole, thrusts shallowly in and out and scoops any slick he can into his own mouth. Johnny’s reduced to just a moaning thing beneath him, hips writhing as his body and mind war between the urge to get closer and further at the same time. Ghost’s nose rubs right against his clit when he works at Johnny’s hole, and the dual stimulation leaves him slack-jawed and moaning.

Ghost’s free hand creeps from his thigh up to his cunt slowly, so slowly that Johnny hardly realizes it’s moving at all until there’s a finger right at his hole. He can’t help but jolt when the finger presses in, the sudden feeling only heightening his arousal. It’s an unexpected stretch - just one of Simon’s fingers is at least as thick as two of Johnny’s.

“Need somethin’ to clench on,” Ghost mumbles, almost to himself more than to Johnny. 

Or, it hits him a moment later, not to Johnny at all. Just to his cunt.

He nearly wails at the realization, the mix of humiliation and the feeling of that finger curling inside of him a cocktail of sensations that has him inching closer and closer to an orgasm.

“There ya go,” Simon soothes, giving his clit languid strokes with his tongue. “We’ll get you off once, then work on stuffin’ you full of me. Attagirl.”

Tears slip down Johnny’s face as another finger slides in, the stretch not quite painful but definitely noticeable. His hips grind down on the intrusion against his own will, the constant flicks against his clit crossing every wire in his brain. His eyes stay closed, the dark a comfort when he feels so untethered.

“Let's find your sweet spot,” Ghost murmurs quietly, his fingers crooking and searching inside of Johnny. The burn of the stretch leaves him mewling, toes curling against the furs. Ghost hums, gives his clit a few sucks to quiet him down a bit, reducing him to just pants.

Then, without warning, Simon’s fingers zero in on Johnny’s g-spot and press.

His back arches automatically, a loud cry tearing from his throat when Ghost only presses harder at his reaction, giving the bundle of nerves heavy rubs and milking Johnny’s pleasure. He wraps his lips around his clit, sucking hard and long.

“There she is,” he rumbles around the nub. His voice vibrates through Johnny, sending him reeling.

“Oh, oh, please- please, please, please, fuck, that’s- oh God-” Johnny babbles, body tense and pleasure ridden as every part of him fights to get away from the overwhelming sensation. Ghost’s fingers don’t let up, the pressure more than Johnny’s ever felt before, and he flicks his tongue over the clit locked between his lips. He’s never felt pleasure like this, has no defenses against the way it ravages his body.

“Fuck- fuck! Simon, please, oh, oh G-God, oh, fuck, fuck…. Please!” Johnny shouts, eyes flying open to stare at the stone ceiling as he’s finally thrown off the precipice he’d been hovering over, pleasure wracking every limb and racing through every nerve. He moans loud enough to echo as his body slowly goes limp against the furs, muscles weak like all of his strength has drained from his cunt.

The pressure against his g-spot slowly eases as Ghost slips his fingers out of him, his lips releasing his clit. The bear sits up and releases his wrists, letting both of his own hands rest against Johnny’s thighs and giving him a few squeezes.

Johnny blinks bleary eyes open, drawn to the bear’s face against his will. The man looks nothing but smug, chin soaked and eyes bright.

“Hey, Johnny,” he breathes, leaning down and moving his hands to rest on either side of Johnny’s head. He hovers right above him, breath ghosting over his face in warm puffs. “That feel good, comin’ for me?”

Johnny makes a little complaining sound, not quite capable of speech yet. His ears flick out to the side, reflecting the weird mix of displeasure and satisfaction he feels.

“Aw,” Ghost clicks his tongue, dips just low enough to press a closed-mouth kiss to Johnny’s lips, unbothered when it’s unreciprocated. “Yeah, I know it did. You taste real sweet, love. Gonna have you for dessert every night.”

Johnny huffs at that, the reference to a future together dragging his brain back down to his body. He doesn’t have a chance to get himself worked up as Ghost keeps pressing kisses to his lips. He shifts a bit every few kisses, decorating his cheeks and chin too. His lips brush nearly every inch of Johnny’s face, leaving him blushing and a little soft.

This- this isn’t so bad. Johnny doesn’t mind the kisses, the warmth and the pleasure. But the idea of Ghost trying to sheath that cock inside of him… just the thought has him whimpering a little, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?” Ghost whispers, lifting himself just enough to meet Johnny’s eyes, bumping their noses together. “What’s got you cryin’ now?”

Johnny inhales deeply, doesn’t feel any better when it shudders into his lungs and whooshes right back out.

“Please,” he tries, voice quiet between the two of them. “Please don’t fuck me.”

Ghost sucks his teeth, his face a horrible mix between smug and condescending. “Aw, puppy,” he shifts his weight, one hand moving to stroke his cheek. He doesn’t do much actual stroking, considering how large his hand is compared to Johnny’s face. “‘Course I’m gonna fuck you. It’s what good mates do, hm? Gotta give you a few cubs.”

Johnny whimpers at that, a little pained sound at the image that conjures.

“No?” Ghost coos, tapping once with his thumb. “You want a litter of pups, then?”

Johnny’s voice cracks on a sob, a horrible hurt sound punching from his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut against the humiliation, turning his head to the side and pressing his face into the furs.

“Aw, pup,” the bear whispers, nose nudging at the cheek available to him. “You’re alright, you’re alright. You’ll like it, promise. I’m not gonna hurt ya, you’ll be taken care of here. Gonna make such a good daddy, I don’t even care if they come out as silly little mutts like you.”

It’s a conscious effort to breathe. His chest hitches on every inhale, and his nose is blocked up from all the crying. His throat burns. He can hardly think.

“Needed a mate for a while now,” Ghost continues, speaking into Johnny’s skin. He alters between kissing and licking, but never leaves more than an inch of space between his lips and Johnny’s head. “Knew it, but there’s no one around any good to raise my cubs. But I think you’ll do well, won’t you?”

“No,” Johnny finally says, voice weak. “No, no, I don’t want… you can’t.”

“You’ll look even prettier,” Ghost continues, heedless of Johnny’s whine. “Round with me and mine, soft and perfect for me. Maybe these will swell up a little.” His hand strays to Johnny’s flat chest, fingers working at his nipple. Little pinches and pulls, a bit of pain that still manages to feel good.

“Stop,” Johnny tries again, tears slipping down his nose again. Every exhale is shaky, a little whimper in his breaths.

“I’ll provide for you, don’t worry.” His fingers massage Johnny’s pec, like he’s trying to coax something out of the nipple. “Take such good care of my mate. Get him whatever he wants, never let him leave…” Ghost’s voice dips so low that it’s near incoherent as he licks broad stripes up the side of Johnny’s face between sentences, words almost slurred. “You’ll be perfect.”

Johnny can’t hold back the sobs anymore, one ripping from his throat against his will and unblocking the dam he’d built in his head. He’s left nearly bawling into the furs, body tense as a bowstring, eyes stinging, ears flat and tail tucked. He can’t even begin to imagine how pathetic he looks.

“Oh, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, a little bit of clarity reentering his voice. “Alright, sweetheart, deep breaths. I think you need a fucking, hm?”

“No-ooo.”

“Hush, you’re alright, A nice cock in your cunt will make you feel better, I promise. Just need to give you what you deserve. On your stomach for me now.”

He’s already halfway there, it doesn’t take much work for Ghost to flip him entirely. He hefts Johnny’s hips up like he’s a doll, settling him so his knees are spread wide but his weight is left on his chest and face, pressed into the furs. He ends up with his face buried in his folded arms, tears dripping down to the floors

“Hips up, puppy, c’mon. Present for me.”

Johnny doesn’t listen but that doesn’t deter Simon from pushing on the small of his back, forcing his hips higher into the air and leaving his holes displayed. Ghost tsks at the way Johnny’s tail is tucked, blocking all of his vulnerable spots. 

“No hiding, now,” he chides, tugging his tail out of the way just roughly enough to make him yelp. Simon holds it by the base, keeps him from tucking it again immediately with a firm grip. “There we go, look how pretty,” Ghost hums, stroking his free hand fully down the split of Johnny’s body, spreading his slick. “Nice and soaked for me.”

“Not-” Johnny hiccups, trying to take a deep breath. “Not my fault.”

There’s a laugh behind him, loud in the small alcove and just patronizing enough to make Johnny’s heart sink even further. “No? I think it is, pup. Who else’s fault would it be?”

“You. Can’t-can’t help it when you keep touchin’ me.”

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as Ghost rumbles a low, pleased sound. “Can’t help it? Can’t help that you’re so needy, such a slut for my touch?”

Johnny whines, tail flicking nervously in the air.

“Oh, you’re sweet, pup. Real sweet. Your puppycunt just can’t help getting wet for her mate, yeah? She knows who she belongs to, knows ‘m gonna take real good care of her.”

Johnny bites his lip to hold back the whine, his sharp canine digging into the cut Simon left and reopening it. He focuses on the drops of blood dripping to the furs, tries not to think about what Ghost is saying, but it burrows deep into his head. He can feel his cunt twitching, clenching around nothing.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make you suffer much longer - what kinda mate would I be if I left you empty when you’re dripping for it? I’ll take care of you, pup, just relax.”

As much as Johnny hates everything that’s happening, hates everything that’s brought him to this moment, he can’t help but feel the tiniest bit grateful when Ghost slips two fingers into him instead of his cock. He’s still not sure he’ll be able to take it, but if Ghost is going to make him… he’s at least glad for the stretch.

Simon rubs one hand over the curve of his ass while the other scissors two fingers inside of him, his goal to stretch instead of getting Johnny off. It doesn’t make much of a difference for him, he still can’t help but rock his hips against the bear’s hand, unable to resist more of the heady pleasure.

Ghost laughs over his shoulder. “Need it that bad, huh? Be patient, Johnny. Just gotta wait a little longer.”

He whines into his arms, eyes squeezed shut. Even he’s not sure if he’s whining for more or less, but he can’t let himself think about it. He unintentionally sinks into a deeper arch, leaning more weight on his knees and spreading his cunt further, baring himself more for Ghost.

“Good boy. Just relax for me, I’ve got you, pup.”

He slips a third finger in and Johnny tries to breathe through the stretch, just barely managing to keep from moaning. The tang of blood on his tongue is a good distraction, but not enough to keep him from panting like he’s run a marathon. He can’t help it, Ghost’s fingers feel good in a way no one else ever has. He can’t imagine what his cock will feel like, barely managing to hold back a shiver at the thought.

Eventually, Ghost pulls his fingers out of Johnny. There’s an almost obnoxiously loud sucking sound, and a pleased rumble from Ghost as his free hand moves to stroke the base of Johnny’s tail softly, leaving him squirming.

“Taste so good, pup. Can’t believe I got so lucky with you.”

Johnny whimpers, shifting his weight from side to side to try and ease the slight ache in his knees. It doesn’t occur to him until he hears Simon moan that he’s literally waving his holes in front of the man’s face. 

“Hungry fuckin’ bitch,” Ghost nearly snarls, voice pitching lower. “Need cock so bad, don’t you? Need your puppycunt filled? Huh?”

He lands a heavy slap on Johnny's backside and he can’t help but cry out at the sudden flare of pain, the sting quickly fading into a burning that travels right to his clit. He whines, lifting his head just enough to glare over his shoulder.

Simon looks nearly as wrecked as Johnny feels - his cheeks are flushed and his chest heaves, panting breaths audible in the otherwise silent cave. He’s got a hunger in his eyes that makes Johnny shiver, makes his tail twitch to tuck between his legs again.

“Nuh-uh,” Ghost scolds, gripping the appendage and yanking with just enough force to make Johnny yelp. He instinctually claws at the furs, lifting himself up to try and pull away from the sharp pain at the base of his spine. “What did I say about hiding, huh? Can’t fuck you if you’re tuckin’ your tail, pup.”

“That’s- that’s why-” Johnny tries to argue, teeth gritted, but he’s cut-off by a series of blows, forcing him further into the furs to try and escape the blooming pain. He makes a humiliating sound somewhere between a snarl of rage and a whine of pain, eyes flying wide open.

“That’s why what?” Ghost growls, landing a smack across the center of his ass, nearly clipping his soaked folds. “That’s why you’re doin’ it? Then why are you moanin’ like a whore, huh? Your hole’s dripping, Johnny, you’re gonna stain my furs and you want me to think you don’t want it?”

Johnny can’t speak, can only make choked, pained sounds as Simon continues his barrage. His hand is so big compared to Johnny, he covers nearly his entire ass on every spank. Johnny wants to roll over, wants to tuck his tail and show his stomach, but he knows that would only make everything worse.

“I’ve been real lenient with you, let you sit there doin’ nothing but bitchin’ and moanin’, but my patience isn’t endless, Johnny.” Simon grips his flaming cheek, digging his nails into the irritated skin and drawing a high whine from the smaller man. “All you have to do is lay still and let me fuck a little into you, and you can’t even do that right?” He scoffs, lands another blow against the meat of Johnny’s ass.

“I’m-” Johnny gasps, burying his face into the furs. “I can’t- fuck, stop!”

“Why should I? You’re still soaked, mutt. Doesn’t seem to matter much to your cunt if I’m wailin’ on you or pettin’ you. This what you need to start being sweet for me? Huh?” He reddens Johnny’s ass on nearly every word, leaving him wiggling in place and trying to crawl away. The hand anchored around the base of his tail is the only thing keeping him within arms reach, and the sharp pain leaves tears leaking down Johnny’s cheeks. “Need me to be mean for you to learn your manners, is that it?”

“No-no!” Johnny manages to get out between whines. He tries to breathe through the pain, but Simon layers his smacks in just the right spot to hit a tender area on every impact, and the effect leaves Johnny wanting to scream.

“Then where are they, huh? I’ve been good to you - stretched you out, ate your little cunt, even got you off. Didn’t get any thanks, did I?”

His palm shifts lower, focusing on the crease where Johnny’s thighs meet his ass. Simon’s fingers clip his folds on nearly every smack, leaving Johnny jolting around to try and get away and yelping at the pain.

It takes him a minute to get what Ghost’s asking for, but once he understands he doesn’t hesitate to give it. He can’t even bring himself to care about the humiliation of it all, only wants the pain to stop.

“Th-thank you!” He nearly shouts, eyes squeezed shut against the pain, ears pressed so tight to his skull that they nearly ache. “I’m sorry, so sorry, I just- fuck, please! Thank-thank you, thank you!”

“There you go,” Ghost rumbles, his hand immediately switching from smacking to rubbing across the whole of Johnny’s backside, shushing his whine. “Was that so hard?”

Johnny keens loudly, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold back his sobs.

“We’ll make a good boy out of you yet. C’mon now, back up on your knees.” Ghost slips a hand between his thighs, pushing Johnny’s stomach up and simultaneously tugging on his tail to urge him back into his position. He goes with minimal struggling, far too raw to fight anymore, left only with the instinct to avoid anything that could get him in more trouble with the bear

“There you go, attaboy,” Ghost praises, finally releasing Johnny’s tail and laying it across his back. “Bein’ good for me now, huh? Thought you mighta had a little more fight in you, Johnny.”

There’s a part of him that growls at that, that snarls and bites and proves that he does have more fight, that he’s not easy prey. But the larger part recognizes a stronger predator when it sees one, and urges Johnny to listen. That’s the voice that wins out, and he whines when Ghost laughs.

“Still wet for me, huh? Such a good mate, Johnny. Gonna give you a reward for learning, alright? Hush, pup, don’t whine. It’ll be good, I promise.”

Johnny sniffles, rubbing his nose into the furs beneath him. He whimpers when he feels something hot press against his hole, knows that it can only be Ghost’s cock.

“Be good,” Ghost says, then slowly begins to force his way inside.

Johnny feels like he’s being broken, like he’s being cleaved down the middle. He moans lowly, more pain than pleasure now as the stretch begins to hurt. He wants to crawl away, wants to dig his claws into fur and stone until he escapes the incessant push of Simon inside of him.

The bear moans loudly behind him, voice echoing through the cave as his head pops fully inside. “Fuck.”

More tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks. The push is endless, a constant pressure against his hole, the cock pushing into parts of him nothing’s ever touched. He throbs with need, his clit almost burning from neglect. He just barely manages to keep himself from reaching down, some last part of him clinging to what little dignity he has left.

“T-tight,” Ghost grunts, hips bucking forward with just enough force to make Johnny shout and push up from the furs at the shock of pain. “Fuck, you’re fine pup, get back down.”

Johnny whines at the command, but obeys when a heavy hand lands between his shoulder blades.

“There you go, good boy. Just… fuck, squeezing me so tight. Just let me fuck you, alright? I’ll get you off too, just gotta… just gotta be patient f’r me.”

Johnny’s hardly able to understand what Simon is saying, most of the words fluttering in one ear and out the other. He’s too focused on the invasion of his body, the internal betrayal as he only grows more wet between the thighs. He can feel himself fluttering around Ghost, both of them moaning every time he clenches down on the thick shaft against his will. 

Finally, mercifully, Simon bottoms out. His balls are hard against Johnny’s cock, but they feel perfect when Ghost grinds himself deep, the head of his cock nudging Johnny’s cervix. He yelps at the first hint of pain, jerking in the furs.

“Shh, shh…” Ghost soothes, stroking down Johnny’s spine in long, slow motions. “You’re alright, deep breaths, pup. I know, it’s a lot of cock for a little thing like you isn’t it?”

Johnny whimpers, nodding into the furs.

“Yeah, you’re… fuck, clench like that again, pup, God… you’re so little, huh? Tiny puppycunt hardly big enough for me, that right?”

He pulls his hips back just enough to shove in again, sending Johnny forward a few inches and drawing a high yelp at the sharp spark of pain.

“Shit, how’re you so tight?’ Simon pants, one hand gripping Johnny’s hip hard enough to nearly grind bone. “You clenchin’ down on me cause it hurts? Do I need to hit you some more to keep you tight for me, puppy?”

Johnny shakes his head as best he can, just barely managing to choke out a  “N-no!” as Ghost starts to find a slow rhythm, rocking in and out of his body. 

He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe Johnny, but he gives him a warm and solid squeeze to the nape of his neck, and he doesn’t hit him again. Johnny tries to breathe a sigh of relief, but he chokes on it as Ghost bottoms out again.

It doesn’t get any easier to bear. Johnny can never fully catch his breath, not if Ghost is pulling out to just the tip and thrusting back in on one fast plunge, and not if he’s just grinding himself right against Johnny’s cervix. It’s like he’s lost control of his lungs like his heart - both erratic, both making him feel like a struggling prey animal, even as he’s limp beneath Simon.

The bear is all but silent, for all of his horrible words before. Johnny would call it a mercy, but the way his fat cock bullies endlessly into his cunt could never be merciful, even in the near-silence. Johnny’s sure Simon doesn’t even know how to be merciful, not with the way he speaks, the way he takes.

Johnny can’t bring himself to be silent, though. He hates it, but the sounds are forced out of him on every thrust. Horrible, cock hungry moans, whorish whines, yipping noises that sound like they’re coming from the wrong form. His face flames, tears streaking down his cheeks, but he can’t hold anything in.

He feels unspooled beneath Ghost. Like the man had taken one look at him, found all his loose strings, and just plucked and pulled until he came completely undone. Johnny would hate him if it didn’t feel so good, but his mind works against him when it’s so overloaded.

With a hand clamped on Johnny’s nape and the other on his hip, Simon fucks him with a vigor that feels impossible - impossible to bear, and impossible to keep up with. His own drool smears against his cheek when it’s pressed into the furs, unable to do anything but take what Ghost gives.

Simon eventually finds a rhythm that allows him to pull nearly completely out and bury himself back to the hilt on every thrust, leaning what has to be most of his body weight against Johnny’s nape to keep himself at the right angle to nudge his cervix again and again.

It hurts - the stretch, the drag of his cock against slick walls, the sharp shocks on every thrust - but the pain only makes it better. Johnny can’t help but moan, humping the air in his best attempt to push Ghost for more.

“So good, puppy,” he moans, pace quickening. The slap-slap-slap of skin is audible, Johnny’s wetness only making everything sound more crass. “So tiny for me, squeezin’ around your mate’s cock so good… gonna make you feel so good, give you a reward for keepin’ yourself tight.”

Johnny’s whine is high, needy, and a distant part of him hates it but the present part is too wrapped up in the promise of feeling good to care.

“My good, tight girl. Didn’t let anyone else fuck you, huh? You a virgin, baby?”

He’s not - far from it, actually - but Ghost doesn’t answer and moans at whatever image he’s conjured in his head.

“Stay… oh fuck, stayed fresh for me? Didn’t let any other men make your cunt loose, did’ya? No, no,” he’s panting, his pace so quick, so hard, that Johnny would almost be convinced he was using a toy if not for his audible exertion. “No, my girl stayed nice and tight for me. She doesn’t have a sloppy cunt, not my mate.”

Johnny sobs at the shift of pronouns, the feminization. He feels something rise in him, a heat that comes from deep inside and feels like it might burn him up entirely. Johnny hopes it does, hopes it consumes him for long enough to forget what’s happening, what’s happened.

“She’s gonna…” he trails off into a snarl, biting roughly at Johnny’s shoulder before pulling back at his shout. “She’s gonna carry my cubs, take such good care of them. Keep my cum warm, then keep my babies warm… so good, gonna be so… fuck, puppy, I can’t… you’re too fucking good, can’t…” he huffs, trailing off into pure animal noises, growls and snarls the vibrate through Johnny’s spine.

Simon shifts a little on his knees, making his cock drive further up into Johnny’s channel and drawing a moan that sounds more like a scream from him. After that, it’s hardly any time at all before he’s coming.

Ghost’s orgasm is loud, something uninhibited and almost proud in the sounds he makes. Johnny can feel the hot cum spurting inside of him, feel it covering his insides. The few final erratic thrusts he gets are just enough for him to reach the peak too, that fire finally coming up to coat every limb, every nerve of his body. His ears fold over, flopping to the front of his head, and his tail falls limp to the side of his body.

He sinks into it eagerly, desperate to drown his brain in everything good to try and block out the bad. It works, and he’s left feeling like nothing but a brainless toy as Ghost shudders through the final vestiges of his own orgasm. Johnny lays boneless, riding the waves of euphoria and milking Simon’s cock slowly, trying to draw every drop of pleasure from the bear he can, trying to keep himself in this moment.

But it has to end, and Ghost’s breathing slowly evens out as he softens inside of Johnny. He can’t tell if it’s his own wetness or Simon’s come dripping from his hole, and he can’t work up the energy to care either.

“That was perfect, Johnny,” Ghost praises, his hand trembling just the slightest bit as he shifts from holding the smaller man down to stroking his spine again. “You were perfect, so good for me. My good boy. My pretty mate.”

Johnny whines, but even he can’t tell what the sound is supposed to mean. Later he’ll insist it was upset, displeasure but it sounds more like appreciation.

“You tired, puppy?”

He nods as best he can, unintentionally rubbing his face into his own spit and blood.

“Alright, you can nap. You’ve earned it, Johnny.”

Ghost tips him to the side with a soft grip on his ribs, keeping himself firmly lodged within Johnny and pulling his back to his chest. They’re left spooning, Simon’s back to then entrance of the cave and both of them pressed so tightly together than Johnny’s not sure they’ll ever be able to pull apart.

“Relax now,” Simon rumbles, one hand wrapping beneath Johnny’s head to let him use as a pillow and the other tucked around his waist, holding him close. He buries his nose in Johnny’s mohawk, and Johnny can feel his ears pressing against the bear’s cheeks. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”

Johnny shifts, wincing at the squeeze to his stomach and the weight still resting inside of him. “Can you…?”

Ghost grunts a low, disapproving sound. “No. Gotta keep you plugged up, make sure it takes.”

If he had any tears left, Johnny might cry again. But he’s drained, emotionally and physically exhausted from all the day’s trauma, and he’s got nothing left to give.

So he sinks into the heat at his back, the solid arms around him. He feels almost shell shocked, staring at the way the shadows dance across the wall with a heavy bear behind him. If it weren’t for the thick cock plugging him up, he’d almost call the scene domestic.

Eventually, the peaceful embrace of sleep welcomes him. He doesn’t try to fight it off, desperate to leave the cave if only in his subconscious mind. 

Against his better knowledge, he can’t help but hope when he next opens his eyes he won’t see the cave at all. He knows it’s bad to hope, knows he’s only setting himself up for disappointment, but… Well, if he pretends the heat surrounding him is from his blankets, that the pleasant scent in the air is his den, not the heavy smell of satisfaction, then that’s his business.

[nightlyrequiem]

Crawl to Me

The world ended long ago. Now belonging to the undead that roam it, feeding on the last surviving people. You've learned to avoid the rotters. You have a past with one and like when she was alive, she's not willing to let you escape so easily.

New Part Every Thursday

Masterlist AO3

A/N- I was actually working on an apocalyptic fic in June, but I genuinely couldn't figure out how to progress the story in an interesting way. I still want to write one though because I'm a slut for apocalypse stories. This ones kind of lengthy. Like 2800 words

Tags/Warnings: Undead Valeria, No Use of the Word 'Zombie', Apocalypse, Gore, Stalking, WLW, Implied But Also In Your Face Toxic Relationship

The world ended eight months ago. A disease thawed from the melting glaciers and ravaged through the living population faster than it could control. Hospitals were overrun and the government declared a state of emergency. You weren't to leave your homes for anything. Rations were to be dropped off by authorized personal. They followed all the proper protocols and procedures, and it wasn't enough.

"Do you think this is expired?" A woman asks. She's rooting through a pile of canned food while you and a man keep a watch out. The infected are more active at night. A quick acting evolutionary behavior to avoid the scorching heat of the Mexican sun, to preserve the decaying host for longer.

"No." The man replies, voice deep and buttery. "Canned food can last for years past it's expiry date."

Something moves outside, kickstarting your heart. Some infected still wander out during the day. Your hands are sweating, making it hard to hold the gun. Valeria tried to teach you how to hold a gun once. You were never comfortable around them though. You peer outside, ears too sensitive in the unnatural quiet. A thin stray dog runs past the window. Clumps of fur missing from mange. You relax. Rotters will attack and eat any animal they catch but so far, you haven't seen any animals actually get infected with the disease. You shudder at the idea of running from a pack of infected strays. Their frothing jaws hung open, breath sour with illness. Sinking their teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh.

"Hurry it up, Grace." The man growls. He was a military officer; despite that he has no patience. You don't care for him. He reminds you of Valeria.

Grace shoves cans into her duffel bags. Filling them so much that she struggles with the zipper.

"If you want this to be faster then maybe you should be doing this, Rojan." She growls. Hoisting the heavy bags up and adjusting them on her shoulders. Rojan doesn't reply. Just stares out the window stoically. On the other side of the small supermarket, another man looks through magazines instead of being useful. Holding them up in the sparse light to leer at the women on the pages.

You and your small group move on. Exiting the store. The sun is hot and unforgiving. The ground beneath your feet is dry and cracked. Only the toughest of weeds able to grow from the pavement.

"What are we going to do for shelter?" Grace asks. Walking alongside Rojan. You lag behind, at the tail end of the group just behind the man who was looking at magazines instead of finding food. He turns and glances at you. Sizing you up. Both you and Grace have made it very clear you're not interested. Though there's a lack of women around and he hasn't quite given up yet.

He slows his pace to walk beside you. Hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. It makes you sweat just looking at him.

"We might have to sleep outside tonight." He says. You wish he wouldn't talk to you.

"No we won't." You reply with disinterest. "Rojan would never make us camp outside." It's just simply too dangerous.

"Well," He starts. "If we do you and I could share a spot to keep warm."

You roll your eyes. It gets absurdly cold at night but even then, you'd rather kiss a rotter than cuddle up to him. "Pass, Arthur." 

Arthur doesn't seem perturbed by your prickly nature.

"It's not like you'd lose anything by being with me for a night." He argues. Up ahead, Grace and Rojan are deep in conversation, heads close together. You wish you could join them instead of being stuck with Arthur.

"I'm a lesbian." You grit out. Even if you weren't, you still wouldn't touch Arthur.

He pauses and you start relaxing, assuming he's going to back off. "Why does that matter?" He asks. "I'm not asking for a relationship; you don't have to be attracted to me to sleep with me."

"Arthur!" Grace barks, turning her head to scowl at him. He looks up at her. "Cut that shit out, she's not interested. I'm not interested, nobody here is interested."

Arthur considers her and moves away from you silently. You give Grace a thankful nod.

Night begins to fall. Your legs ache with each step as you walk, the bag on your back feels like it gained ten extra pounds. Finally, Rojan slows to a stop outside of a small house. The windows have been broken but boards fill in the empty space. The screen door swings in the slight wind, creaking as it does. Weeds and tall grass have dominated the small front yard and somewhere hidden within, flies buzz loudly. Congregating over something dead.

"We'll stay here for the night." Rojan says. He looks at each of you. Pointing at you and Arthur. "Help me make sure it's clear." 

You slowly creep inside. The interior is just as rundown as the outside. A dank, musty smell coats the damp-stained walls and fungus pops up from dark corners. You walk by the living room and startle. In the corner, facing the wall is a rotter. It's back turned to you. The skin is flayed and painful looking. Deep gashes litter it's skin. It's stationary. Unmoving apart from a slight sway. 

You don't know if you should risk making noise shooting it. You look to the front of you as Rojan disappears around the corner. You frown and look back at the rotter. A bullet would be loud and might wake and draw any dormant rotters in the area. You slowly holster your gun and unsheathe your hunting knife. Approaching the rotter like a predator. Remembering what Rojan taught you. Sweep out the legs - which won't be hard considering how emaciated they look - and quickly stab into the temple. You take another step, and the floor loudly creaks under your weight. You and the rotter both go still. The lax swaying coming to an abrupt halt.

You wait, heart beating in your ears. The seconds feel long but the rotter never turns, and you resume your creeping. You come right up behind it and recoil at the smell. Unwashed body mixed with overripe fruit, sickly and decaying. You shake your head and build up your courage. Finally, you kick out it's legs and ignore the very human grunt. Grabbing one side of it's head, you stab your knife into the soft spot in it's temple, cutting of the beginning of a shrill squeal. It drops, becoming dead weight in your arms. You lower it to the grown and let it drop.

The small home is cleared just in time for the sun to begin setting. The group sits in the living room. Silent and eating. Even Arthur is keeping his mouth shut. As the sky darkens, the sound of shuffling gets louder. The rotters have awoken. A few of them call out eerie pleas for help. That's what disturbs you the most; the mimicking. Back at the start you had mistakenly opened your door, assuming the woman crying for help on the other side was human. She wasn't. You had been tackled to the floor trying to fight her off. A lucky shove sent her flying into the table, snapping her neck and stunning her enough for you to bash her head in. You don't respond to calls for help anymore.

You have first watch. Your eyes droop and you fight hard to keep them open. Grace's soft snoring does nothing to help you. You're leaning against the wall. Your name gets called, startling you awake. Your heart throbs in your chest as you listen, ears ringing from the silence. Were you hallucinating? It doesn't come again. A few footsteps sound close to the boarded-up window. Maybe one of the rotters said something that sounded like your name. That's what you decide but it freaks you out enough to keep you awake.

Your group moves on promptly at sunrise. Most of the rotters having hidden themselves in shadows and buildings to hibernate for the day. It's another scorcher. Sweat wets your brow as you walk, legs aching from fatigue. Your tired stumbling reminds you of the rotters.

"Water." Arthur says. Rojan reaches into the side of his pack for the communal water bottle without stopping and holds it out behind him. Arhtur takes it and you watch him carefully from the corner of your eye to make sure he isn't taking too much. Water is a valuable commodity. Getting drinkable water is a hassle. If you can't find any bottled water stashed somewhere, you have to boil some from rivers. You lag behind a little. Overheating and exhausted from having to stay up all night.

You halt as you hear movement beside you. Your group progresses on, leaving you behind as you stare into the shadowy alley. Not a brick is out of place. You hurry your steps and catch up with your group. You're just tired and paranoid.

You sit with your back to your front door as Valeria pounds on it. Shaking the weak wood with every hit.

"Open the fucking door!" She yells. You put your head down and cover your ears, every single limb fizzling with nervous energy. You and Valeria have had a... tumultuous relationship. On and off, fighting, making up. You finally called it off for good and denied her when she tried to win you back. Valeria's never been able to leave you alone though.

She hits the door again.

"Please, mi vida, open the door." Her voice softens. It's forced. 

"Go away, Valeria!" You yell back, worried she'll break down the door. You don't know what she'll do if she makes it inside and that scares you.

"For fuck's sake!" She snarls, dropping the nice act. "I'm going to fucking kill you if you don't open this door!"

You shut your eyes and count. Trying to calm yourself down.

The faded red door and empty flowerpots are uncomfortably familiar. You feel an overwhelming sense of foreboding. Unfortunately for you, Rojan deems it suitable. He and Grace clear it and you and Arthur enter once they confirm it's empty. You cast a glance at the decayed woman on the floor, head mashed to a pulp. You're disturbed to find chunks missing from her. The other's congregate in the living room but you wander down the hall and take a left. Pushing open the closed door. The bedroom is full of dirt and dust. The curtains nothing but moth-eaten tatters now. You wander to the nightstand and lower yourself down to your knees, the carpet damp and spongy. You reach under and pull out a box, running your fingers over the gold trim. Clearing dust off the lid. You open it and pull things out. Birthday cards, baby teeth. Polaroids. You and Valeria smile up from the picture tauntingly. She has a firm grip on your waist, keeping you pressed against her.

Flowers get shoved in your face, startling you out of your skin. You stare at Valeria like a deer in headlights. Behind her lurks two dangerous looking men. Protection or intimidation? You can guess which.

"I'm sorry." Valeria murmurs, forcing you to take the flowers. "I know you're upset but I also know you're not done with me. Just stop with this little angry act and take me back."

"What? No." You frown. "Valeria, we are not good together."

Valeria ignores your words and grabs your arms gently. "I love you." She says, looking at you intensely. "I love you so much that it makes me sick. It makes me angry. You did this to me, and I wouldn't have it any other way. We are it for each other, why can't you understand that?"

You put the picture back down and hide it under a few others. Ones without Valeria in them. It's all history and at the end of the world, history means nothing. You join the others as they finish up their meal of canned sausage. You don't ask for any, no longer having an appetite. You're still exhausted though. Settling yourself on your couch. It's filthy but you still gleam a small sense of comfort from it. It doesn't take you long to drift off. Lulled by the quiet chattering of your companions.

You aren't sure what woke you first. The shattering of glass, or Grace's panicked curse. Nobody remains a heavy sleeper when there's a constant threat outside. The whole group is startled awake. It doesn't take long for the rushed steps of the rotters to be heard. You freeze. Watching as Grace shoots one but gets tackled by another. Filthy teeth sink into her throat. Both Arthur and Rojan aim and take down a few. One of the rotters slinks in-between them and heads right towards you. You're horrified to see Valeria's face glaring back at you. She barrels right into you, crushing you under her weight and pinning you down to the couch. You feel bile stinging your throat.

You slam into the floor as Valeria slams the door shut in your face. Your body is already on overdrive and in your adrenaline induced haze you decide Valeria did that on purpose. It doesn't help that she immediately crowds you. Her warm hands latching onto you, her smell overwhelming you.

"Get off!" You hiss, kicking at her.

"I'm sorry." She growls. Maneuvering you onto your back. You can't move, you can't leave. You're trapped in this stressful situation. A claustrophobic panic kicks in. "I didn't mean to hurt you, but you can't run out every time you argue - stop struggling!" Valeria says with anger.

"You're hurting me right now!" You try to wrench yourself away from her but only end up pulling a muscle.

"You cannot leave me." She replies, sounding hurt and desperate. Her tone scares you more than anything. "I'm sorry, just stop struggling and we can talk, please."

The sound of flesh tearing is seared into your memory. The screaming stopped after only a few seconds, but you think you'll remember it for the rest of your left. Valeria keeps you crushed under her firmly. The reek of decay permeates through the air. It's so thick you worry you'll get infected just breathing in. Through a gap in her limbs, you watch the rotters in a frenzy. Ripping your group apart like animals. Something cold caresses the side of your neck, startling you. It's Valeria running her fingers along your neck. She says your name. Voice distorted and growly. It sounds like it hurts to speak.

A salty tear rolls down your cheek as you stare blankly at the massacre. Grace's head bobs slightly as a rotter feeds on her intestines. Her eyes stare back at you lifelessly.

The wood trembles.

"Open the fucking door!"

You raise your head from your hands and look at the wall, you don't know what to do. The pounding stops. Valeria's voice is muffled but clearly aggressive as she speaks to someone.

"You're sick." She exclaims, disgusted... and afraid. "Fuck. Open the door." She repeats. Valeria doesn't sound angry anymore, she sounds urgent. "Open the door, someone sick is staring me down, open the door now." 

You've never heard her sound frightened before. This disease is frightening though. You haven't seen one of the sick in person before but just the symptoms were enough to scare you.

A bite or bodily fluid was all it took. Doctors said incubation was from anywhere between an hour to three days. It started with a fever, intense mood swings, violent behavior, thirst and hunger. Sores sprouted up on the body. Eventually they would pustulate and then rot. Then the virus made it's way through the brainstem and effectively killed the frontal lobe while triggering the amygdala. Turning the host into an animal. Valeria calls your name.

"Please open this door, I know you're mad at me, but you can't leave me out here with that thing." 

You're very tempted to open the door but you can't move. You're frozen to the spot.

"Get back!" Valeria snaps. Startling you. "Take another step and I'll shoot you."

The infected care not for the threat of a gun. Shots are fired, loud and earsplitting. Something hard thumps to the ground and Valeria screams.

You feel sick.

"I know you're mad at me, please open this door." She whispers into your hair. Every second you wait for her to bite. To tear into your vulnerable flesh, but she doesn't. "I didn't mean to hurt you, please open this door." Valeria brushes her face against your cheek. Something wet transferring onto yours. "I'm sorry, it makes me sick. I love you." Valeria tightens her grip on you. Shielding you from the horror in the living room. After being infected and dying she tracked you down. She got rid of the only people you had left. There is nowhere you could hide that she wouldn't find you. Dead or alive, she's yours.

[divijohm]

Headcanons for Toby, Jeff, Nina and slendy with a reader that lovesss animals? (and is good with them) :D like every time they return from a mission, reader has brought back a puppy or kitty? (bonus points if once she accidentally brought a wolf in the house mistaking it for a dog)

Pastas with a s/o that's good with animals!

Toby, Jeff, Nina and Slenderman

A/n: I LOVE ANIMALS! ALL ARE SUPER CUTE but sadly I'm not very good with them lolol I have a cat and a dog though they're my babyss hope you enjoy!

Slenderman

🐾 He does not get along well with animals, at all. He scares most them away just by standing there, problems of being a eldritch horror but once one warms up to him he actually is very gentle with them.

🐾 finds it cute and fascinating how well you can interact with the lil fellas, might even find a way to you to use them in missions. Not a fan of you bringing them to the mansion though, most pastas aren't a fan and may be allergic, and he does not enjoy when animals/wildlife are being mistreated so for everyone's sake, he'll ask you not to.

🐾 If you manage to convince him to have a pet, other than smile dog that is, he would like a cat, probably a black or tuxedo one, because it would be easier to hide the fur that will be all over his clothes

🐾 He's a tidy man, animals that make much mess are not his type, he also don't like the high maintenance ones (i.e hamsters) heck he barely takes care of his proxies, leaving most of them to survive on their own only giving the best ones a somewhat stable life. A high maintenance thing that's not even useful?? Hell no

🐾 Overall, he likes animals but he does not like to take care of them nor have them in his house, he doesn't need more little, bratty, short life-span beings to take care of, he already has the proxys

Toby

🐾 Adores animals as long as they're far away from him, he's scared of most of them at first but find them cute

🐾 Have a strong cat allergy poor thing can't be near one without a mask or he'll start sneezing

🐾 Will help you take care of them despite his fear and allergies, mostly by being on your side handing you stuff but he'll hold the animal still if you need to apply a vaccine or something

🐾 Sometimes his tics will be saying an animal name, because he's spending so much time listening to you talk about them, you find it cute

🐾 He's besties with the mansion permanent pets and will let them stay in his room if needed

Nina

🐾 BIG ANIMAL FAN, especially big ones

🐾 WILL pamper all the pets you bring home, to a point where you have to hide the treats from her otherwise she'll give them nonstop

🐾 Begs Slenderman to let you make a zoo with all the pets, he refuses of course but lets her keep a parrot

🐾 She named the parrot Willy, is a blue one and he's very talkative (much like his owner) surprisingly he can roam free and don't run away/get lost.

🐾Willy will attack on command, Nina did not teach him how to do that but one day she said to another proxy "I'll make willy take your eyes out!" And the birb was near and he just attacked going for the eyes. A moment of laughter and panic later, Willy was safe and the poor victim just had his eyelids slightly clawed, nothing major but Slenderman made Nina promise that she would never command willy to attack a proxy to a degree that can compromise their performance. So now she just makes him poop on people's foods and/or in them

Jeff

🐾 He only likes dogs, not much of a fan of any other species, he will tolerate birds and most of the wild life thought

🐾 He's afraid of cats, whenever you bring one to the house he'll try to act cool but the slightest movement towards him will make him flinch

🐾 Will act uninterested when you bring a dog but the moment you turn your back he WILL gush over them specially if they get along with Smiley

🐾 Fights everyone who criticizes your actions, because "at least animals are better than humans" bedsides you do all the work to care for them and keep the mansion permanent pets safe if they don't get along with the strays

🐾 will complain if you spend more time with the pets than with him, and will throw a tantrum if you tell him to wait because you have to take care of the lil ones before giving him attention

[ruewrote]

𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟.

PAIRING: baxter radic x fem!reader WARNINGS: 'unrequited' love GENRE: angst to fluff SONG INSPIRATION: treasure by bruno mars WORD COUNT: 1.1k

navigation | ask | surviving summer masterlist

it was like she had superpowers. very annoying ‘superpowers’ at that.

summer had only known you for two weeks and had found out your long term crush on your best friend.

at first it was only little things like the way you’d lean a little too close to him as his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders as he talked to his friends. tightening his hold if you moved even an inch away from his touch, doing so without breaking conversation.

the smile on your face just proved how much of an effect it had on you, knowing that even in his subconscious he was thinking about you, even if it was only slightly.

the way you’d find him what you thought were the prettiest seashells and even though you’d also surf and make sure you had enough food and water for the two of you since you had a feeling he’d steal yours. definitely not because you know how much he loved your cooking.

there was an endless list of things that summer could have listed off to you and she did but even with her trying to give you the kick up the ass that you needed to confess how you felt, it just made you even more anxious. if she found out that you liked him that easily then how obvious was it to him?

so you distanced yourself from him, slowly but you did.

starting with taking longer to reply to his messages or sometimes not even answering them at all.

making your morning surfs more spread out throughout the week, carefully keeping yourself out of arm's reach quite literally.

with stopping everything that was your norm you felt like you almost lost a part of yourself in the process. 

being away from bax took a toll on your mental health even if it had been a couple of weeks, the realisation that the scent of his cologne on your pillow was fading made you sob loudly into your other pillow.

his touch was something that you missed the most. you didn't realise how much he used to before he wasn't able to at all. missing how his body practically wrapped around yours as he hugged you. god you missed his hugs the most.

staying out with the girls definitely eased your pain, even though they didn’t agree with the way you were dealing with this they were still there for you.

it had been just a little over a month of going no contact and even though it had been hard to do with being in the same friend group and all. you still did it.

whenever you'd look over to look at him, he'd already be looking at you. the act made your breath hitch, making you turn away and rejoin the conversation again.

everytime you looked into his big puppy dog eyes you would nearly cave, it was like they were begging for you to come back.

but you didn't!

. . .you may have just stayed in for the night whilst your friends partied or you genuinely would have.

eating your feelings in the middle of the night always helped, well that was before baxter decided to fall through your window nearly making you choke.

“bax? what are you–?” you uttered.

“no you’ve gone this long without talking to me you can wait a little longer, darlin’,” he coaxed as he walked over to your bed, towering over you in the process.

he's not normally one to do this so you just nodded as he sat in front of you, your knees knocking against each other as he did so.

baxter being this close to you after so long made you nervous, there was nowhere for you to run. it was time to face the music. “why have you been avoiding me? i've been trying to give you your space, but…”

“i couldn't go any longer without you, without knowing if it was something that i did wrong.” his eyes were glossy as he looked down at you.

and there it was. the last thing you wanted was for him to think he did something. hed only ever helped you and comforted you. all the guilt and regret came rushing back, the very thing that you had been trying to protect him from with his sisters is what you also made him feel.

leaning over wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into the biggest hug. “i'm so sorry, b. it's not you i promise.” his arms engulfed your waist bringing you even closer to him.

you stayed like that for a while, the two of you not even noticing since you had always been this close.

“god i've missed the way you smell.” he joked as he nuzzled his face into your neck and deeply sniffed, tickling you and making you laugh in the process.

pulling away to go back to sit down again when he pulled you into his lap.

“baxter!” 

“i love it when you say my name.” his voice lower now, all signs of joking were long gone. his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaving his hand to sit on your cheek. his thumb draws circles on your heated skin.

“so. why have you been avoiding me?”

your eyes drift away from him, body tensing with anxiety. “hey! it's just me, you can trust me.”

timidly glancing back at him. “i can't pretend anymore.”

he gives you a reassuring smile for you to continue.

“i'm in love with. . .you.”

“oh. my. god. the reason why you haven't talked to me in a month is because you love me?” he questioned, his grip loosened on you making your heart drop.

“yes.”

before you could say anything else he tackles you onto your back and begins to tickle you. 

you laugh so hard that you’re out of breath as he continues to relentlessly tickle you. 

he eventually stops, chuckling at your breathless state, “you- you little shit! ive been in love with you forever! ever since i met you at that surf shop to be exact.”

he was now hovering over you, arms either side of you trapping you in.

“you have?”

“yes!”

“why didn't you say something?” 

he deadpans as if the answer was obvious.

“okay, okay fair.”

silence takes over the two of you. “so what now–?”

he leans down, closing the space between you, his lips brushing yours. the initial shock dissolves as you melt into the kiss, your hands running up his torso to rest on his chest. he pulled away only to not get too far as you tugged him closer to leave long pecks on his lips, making him smile into them.

“damn you can't get enough of me already?” he playfully wiggles his eyebrows at you making you laugh.

you felt stupid for doing what you did, but extremely happy with the outcome.

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[goldtheorys]

Jeff the killer general + relationship headcanons

_I did Jeff headcanons before but they were ass, so here’s my second attempt.

══════════════════ -`♡´-

General 🩶

Veeeeery reclusive

He’s thin and agile, even if he’s literally just standing in a room staring at the wall, lost in thought, he’ll hide or slip out of the room when he hears someone coming in easily

He doesn’t even really mean to, but it’s just some instinct that kicks in he doesn’t bother to fight

Doesn’t like people all that much anyways, so he’ll do what he can to avoid everyone

Loneliness isn’t the loveliest feeling though

Occasionally he’ll go find one of the other creeps, awkwardly ask them a simple question

I see a lot of stuff where he’s really loud and obnoxious, also a total jerk, and although I agree, his whole life went to shit pretty early on

So he lacks social skills, he barely knows how to take care of himself, and doesn’t have good emotional control

Of course he has outbursts, he doesn’t know how to make friends, he thinks because he’s so damn amazing everyone who “acts” like they hate him just wants to be him

But it begins to get to him after awhile, never having someone

He is sort of friends with Ben, but it flip flops from fun and easygoing to strained and frustrating

Survives on randomly selected energy drinks, beer and junk food alone

Cannot cook, cannot remember what a warm meal tastes like

Has a lot of energy, so when he can’t find anyone to bother, he goes on walks

Mostly during night to help hide his face, but because of that it’s pretty enjoyable

Wears a mask too so he can grab some food before finding whatever abandoned park he can, sitting on the swing set while he eats

Prefers the colder months

I’m not sure I wanna add he has smile dog as a pet on my version of him… but he is a big dog person. Runs into a stray every now and again and spends maybe a solid hour just petting and talking to it

He kills when he feels overwhelmed, but regrets it from all the guilt after

Sleeps a lot to try and forget about everything

Relationship

══════════════════ 🤍

You two probably met in a rather absurd way

Maybe it was the classic you both just murdered someone and found eachother, dripping with a stranger’s blood

Or he walked into your home at random, surprised and intrigued by your lack of fear

(you were just too tired to give a fuck)

He’s real rude at first, calling you names, making fun of basically the way you breathe or walk, trying to poke and prod for a weak point

If you tough it out and keep being kind or neutral towards him, eventually he’ll stop and slide into a weird mood of observing you

It’s like his eyes never leave you for a second, and it gets real creepy

He studies your movements, your face, your words, your mannerisms

You’re still here despite his lack of…maturity at the beginning

Even if it’s a little begrudgingly, you’ve let him stay

It’s weird and he can’t help but question if it’s some scheme to hurt or kill him

But he’ll be damned if he misses the chance to have the first genuine human connection he’s had in years

Kind of follows you like a cat when he can

Like to watch you from his own spot in the room, occasionally piping up to say whatever comes to his mind

And, it would take a bit longer, but eventually he warms up to being more affectionate, rather than the previous friendly coexisting

Doesn’t show it, might even scowl at you for being quote unquote cringe, but adores when you compliment him. About his beauty, his talents, his intelligence, he wants it all

But what he really adores is your touch

Late nights in, watching some show while he lies on top of you

Your nails running up and down his back, occasionally tangling into his hair to twist and brush it makes his heart beat faster than any night when he’s drenched in sweat and blood

He’ll still refuse to show that kind of weakness in front of anyone else, but when it’s just him and you, he’s pathetic for your attention and affection

Likes to hold you from behind, tracing every curve, every scar, every inch of your skin he can reach

Dangerously possessive

You’re the first good thing that’s happened to him in a long while, he cannot stand even the thought of you being ripped away from him

And as I said before, he doesn’t have the greatest control of his feelings

Instead of voicing his fears or concerns, he lashes out at you, especially if he knows you’ve been spending time with someone else

Tries to force you to stay by his side, threatens to harm you if you dare to leave

But once he calms down, he leaves, and your left scratching your head wondering why he had done all of that

He’ll come back when you’re asleep, watching you as he traces shapes onto your arm

He’s so fucking scared you’re gonna realize how truly shitty of a person he is

Wakes you up, wrapping you into a hug as soon as your blearily blink your eyes open

He won’t apologize, he’s still a bit of a narcissist, but you can feel it in the way he clings to you in the darkness of the room

You’ll cuddle him to sleep, and wake up in the morning to him acting like nothing has happened

══════════════════ -`♡´-

_ughhh still don’t rlly like this it is SO messy, but also idc lol. Hope my version of him is enjoyable… might work on nsfw headcanons next, but I’m kind of just going with whatever right now. requests open, and sorry for my previous inactivity (⇀‸↼‶)

[bella-goths-wife]

What exactly do the Vs want from Pet? Whether to increase their power, what is each of the Vs looking with them?

🐢

What is each V member looking for in pet?

Warnings: mentions of adult film industry, emotional, physical and psychological abuse,mentions of sexual assault

Vox:

Originally Vox just wanted to use your power to gain him more influence and money

He saw you as a convenient person who he could use up until your powers ran dry before kicking you to the curb

But then you had to go and intrigue him

Your nature of cunning manipulation for survival and your lack of empathy for those who mock you just intrigued him beyond comprehension

He watched you for months as you handled mockery and abuse flawlessly, you had a strength about you that wasn’t common amongst hells population

He spent so much time with you and watched as your abilities grew and part of him felt like he wanted to show you how to use it to its full ability

But there was also a weakness to you that he wanted to exploit in a self imposed way, he wanted to rub away your strength to expose the fleshy vulnerability underneath

And he does as he used the power imbalance between you two to push you to your limits to see the truth underneath your act of strength

He wants a fatherly bond with you, he views you as the daughter he could never have when he was alive

He wants to groom you to be his heir, while also keeping you just powerless enough to never try and contradict him

He wants to raise you above the rest but keep you under his thumb

Velvette:

At first, velvette just wanted a competent assistant to make her life easier

And when Vox brought you in, she trusted that he hadn’t brought in some idiot so she decided to use you to assist her

And you were good at it, extremely good at it

You were so obedient, velvette often commented

Like a dog, she’d always state confidently

She just grew to like you as her obsession became sustained by working with you so closely

She quickly realised why she wanted your presence so much

You became a pet to her

Something cute to pet and show off

And something that she could hold power over you

She gains entertainment from you, you sustain her constant need for attention without her having to endure a friendship with you

She cares about you, but in the same way she’d care about an expensive car

Your a possession to her, you’ve gained her favour through obedience and she craves something to have brief affection with while being able to degrade you

She wants a pet most of all, and you make such a pretty mutt

Valentino:

Valentino wants a victim

Sure, he has plenty in his porn studios who he can abuse at the drop of a hat

But there’s something different about you

Your ability is able to calm him during his rages, and that makes you feel so much more of an intimate victim to Valentino

He has many uses of you, therapist, punching bag, assistant and calmer

He wants to provoke emotions out of you that he can’t get from anyone else

Your like a shiny toy that he wants to poke at to see what reaction you give

Your the perfect victim to him

The perfect toy

He treats you similar to his other toys but the fact that his touches only border on assault shows your a favourite

He doesn’t know what he wants from you, he just knows that he wants you

Your his favourite toy and he wants to keep you forever

This is probably the worst piece I’ve written for this au but I’m sleep deprived and it’s been in my drafts for too long 😭

I’m sorry it’s not detailed

@repostingmyfavs @buttercupfangirl @corvid007 @lilyalone @fandomaddict505 @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @hazbinhotelxreader @the-faceless-bride @rerarlo @ivebeenthearchersstuff @idontreallyexistyet

[yanderes-galore]

Controversial request I know, but can I please ask for a Mammon concept from Helluva Boss? He's so bad I love him 🙏

I mean... yeah... yeah he's bad... so let me make him worse....

Yandere! Mammon Concept

Pairing: "Romantic"

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manager/Performer relationship, Toxic relationship, Controlling behavior, Possessive behavior, Violence, Manipulation, Isolation, Forced relationship.

Mammon has been confirmed to not care for the well being of others.

He's a Deadly Sin, the embodiment of Greed.

He only takes, he never gives.

Everything has to relate to him as he's egotistical and selfish.

Everything about him is deception, playing nice and friendly to appease an audience.

Even worse is that he's a perfectionist.

Which means his obsession is going to be subjected to that behavior.

He's threatening, demanding, entitled...

Toxic all around.

Which means, Mammon is only worse when obsessed with someone.

He wants no flaws in the slightest.

Imagine if you became his newest toy after Fizzarolli left.

Mammon genuinely seems like the type of demon to have a relationship with a performer.

He's controlling and enjoys that control.

It doesn't matter if you're upset or scared...

You need to hide those flaws of yours.

Oh he's disgusting with his obsession.

He's possessive and enjoys the fact you're smaller than him.

In fact, he makes it a goal to make you feel smaller than him.

You'd be his new prized performer.

In secret, he makes you two involved.

He's such a nasty boss, often preaching about you needing to be perfect while he himself isn't.

He's a hypocrite and doesn't care about it.

He expects you to cater to him and make him money.

You're forced to perform, singing and dancing for him while he coos and praises you.

You perform tricks like a dog for him.

Then, when the audience disappears, you're entertaining solely him.

You'd feel so alone during this whole situation.

A constant cycle of performances.

Everything feels so fake.

Mammon wants you to hide your distaste and negativity around him.

He wants you to be a cute little doll for him, being appealing for his amusement

You go along with it as you have nowhere else to go.

He takes advantage of that.

You put up with him because he's all you have.

Anything he gives you comes at a price.

New outfits are for performances... or his own needs.

He portrays you two close in public and on TV.

He keeps you close, singing praises you know is just to make the audience attached.

He acts like he owns you.

You doubt he genuinely feels love or adoration for you.

You're like a golden goose for him.

Someone to fill his greed.

Speaking of greed, the sin he represents, he's greedy with everything.

He's needy for affection, he craves your attention...

No one else can have that.

He refuses to share you with any other demon.

The only person you're allowed to truly love is him.

He merely shares you with the audience.

Even then, it's look don't touch.

If you find someone else as a partner, Mammon will find out.

He'll swiftly have them removed from your life, then punish you.

Are you a fool?

How dare you love anyone else.

You're meant to be his perfect darling.

He'd isolate you, threaten your job, even if that's considered mercy to you.

If you tried to leave your job of your own accord...

Mammon may just lock you up, forcing you to perform for him.

Do you really think he'd let you go?

He'd give you a damn leash if it meant you'd stay beside him.

He owns you.

You're his, plan and simple.

To him, you can't survive without him.

He controls you, puppeteers you.

When you submit, it's only then he coos at you.

He makes you addicted to his praise.

That way you have to stay.

You have to perform.

When you perform, you're surrounded by many.

Yet you'll always belong to Mammon...

Which makes you feel alone no matter how much fame you have or how many people surround you.

[nevertheless-moving]

MDZS AU #7: Jiang Wanyin’s Dog

Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying time travel back to the Wen Indoctrination camp.

They didn't ask for this. Wei Wuxian's Happy Ending is gone. Jin Ling's Whole Life is Gone. But no time to unpack any of that, they fight the Xuanwu of Slaughter the day after tomorrow. They have to get on the same page. Their family is alive again. They have to get this right.

Last time around, Wei Ying created distance between his actions and Jiang Cheng’s orders.

(Partially in order to excuse his shidi from blame when he did something grotesque or anti-establishment or unsuccessful. Partially to obscure which orders he physically couldn't follow. Partially because his mental health was truly, exceptionally bad — he distanced himself from lots of things!)

It could be argued that this strategy didn’t pan out super well, in the end. Not a very fun conclusion.

And the reasons for that distance don't exist anymore considering 1) Jiang Sect is un-massacred and can properly throw their weight around to shield their terrifying unorthodox disciple from backlash when he does terrifying unorthodox things. 2) Wei Ying doesn’t have a golden core shaped secret to hide from Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying has less secrets from Jiang Cheng then he’s ever had.

(Mental health could be better, but it also could be a lot worse)

So they come up with a different plan, whispering furiously under Wen guard, bedrolls pressed close together, cheeks still holding a little babyfat.

Wei Wuxian will be the perfect servant in public, obeying his gongzi’s orders without question. In exchange Jiang Wanyin won’t order him to do anything he wouldn’t want to do anyway. Wei Wuxian will still get to do all his stupid heroics — he just has to wait for the go ahead, to provide the undeniable impression of perfect unity. Jiang Wanyin will give that go ahead, even if it has to be through gritted teeth.

Bear with me now: this leads to a gradual yungmeng bros reconciliation. Basically the emotional equivalent of tensing a muscles as hard as you can on purpose so that when you relax it, the background strain also releases a bit.

To start — Wei Wuxian is the new core melting hand, except even scarier.

Did you hear he summoned an ARMY of the damned to protect Lotus Pier?? And that the only one who he listens to is Jiang Wanyin? Apparently Jiang Wanyin confronted Wen Chao over using human sacrifices, and when Wen Chao threatened him, Jiang Wanyin gave the word and Wei Wuxian killed a hundred Wen AND the Xuanwu of Slaughter!!! Did you hear he ripped Wen Zhuliu heart out of his chest?? What a terrfying head disciple! How long has Jiang sect been hiding this??

The two really, really have to work together, very consistently, without hiccups, and as much practice as they have fighting this specific war together, they also have hella baggage and different priorities and Wei Ying is NOT keeping up the Super Serious Servant act in private.

(they can’t speed run, alright? Wen Chao's early death and the Jiang Sect surviving pretty fundamentally alter following events, rendering specific future knowledge less useful. Not to mention, it takes time for Wei Wuxian to figure out how to balance his golden core with massive amounts of resentful energy. He's got qi to deviate, and there's a good few months where they're fairly sure he's driving himself into an even faster grave than his first life. I mean he figures it out, he's a fucking genius. But early on there's a non zero amount of bleeding from the eyes and running into bushes to puke blood while Jiang Cheng pretends that he's only stressed about this for purely pragmatic reasons.)

So daily private meetings to debrief and strategize and yell at each other and maybe horse around a little. It's the only time they get to step back from the terrifying teenage war leaders thing and be a more raw, complex version of themselves. Getting back in sync after everything. Maybe getting in sync for the first time — how much of their childhood were they dancing around issues of worth and place? How many of their worst arguments stemmed from one giant secret?

Jiang Cheng making progress on his Wuxian shaped self-esteem issues largely by faking it-till-he-makes it.

“You think I feel embarrassed to be second best to my own disciple. What, are you fucking stupid?? How do you compare to him, huh? He’s going to ascend to be a death god or some shit like that. It’s a ridiculous comparison — I’d like to see how you would have done, growing up his shidi. Grow up and fuck off.”

Say stuff like that enough times and you might… actually start to believe it. Huh.

Both of them somewhat expecting cocky, mouthy Wei Wuxian to bristle more about the subservience thing, but honestly? It's cool.

For years, supporting Jiang Cheng was the only thing Wei Ying truly wanted. Yes, he wants other things now too, but Wei Ying still wants to follow Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng is good at politics, at leadership. He rebuilt his sect back to greatness from the ground up. Wei Wuxian's 'leading a sect' experience culminated in being feared by the world and slowly starving to death on an all radish diet. (yes, obviously, there were extenuating circumstances, but regardless — I don't think leading anything larger than a night hunt is on Wei Ying's to do list).

Jiang Cheng expecting criticism in private and not getting it. Waiting all day to be torn apart for his fuckups by an unfiltered Wei Wuxian, only to instead be praised for his battlefield calls and handling of difficult negotiations.

He was a sect leader for two decades— his stupid shixiong's approval should not be able to affect him like this.

The thing is, Wei Wuxian's got effective free reign on his areas of interest — protecting people he wants to protect, inventing, and fighting people he wants to fight. Wei Wuxian has bountiful self esteem. It's annoying to not say whatever he wants whenever he wants, to bow that low, to mind his titles, to walk five steps behind, but it doesn't actually make him feel bad.

Once they’re eating A-Li’s soup … and it sinks in that their parents, their sect, their sister is alive… and they're drunk crying together... and they really really really did miss this, having someone who got their jokes, who could distinguish between their mock outrage and real fury…

Reconciliation starts completely in private but frankly enough time of Wei Wuxian Perfect Discipleing in public? Jiang Cheng is like… ok I thought I wanted this... but its actually not my kink. Please push back when the Jin start talking shit. I’m so, so tired. I've been tired longer than you've been alive. I don't want to reserve all my amusement for hidden moments any more.

Almost seamless public facing transition from ‘rabid dog on a short chain’ swinging to ‘my good right hand.’ Wei Wuxian gets to start being a little shit again in public, but he reigns it in quickly at Jiang Cheng's signal, and teasing A-Cheng stays private. Honestly — a boundary that might have helped them a lot in their first life!

As a result of gaslighting people that however they act that day is how they've always acted, most people are left with the general impression of Wei Wuxian as ‘trusted loyal hound,' who also happens to be absolutely fucking terrifying. Which. Isn’t exactly wrong so, fuck it, fine. Wei Ying honestly could not give less fucks about 99.9% of people’s opinions.

...Lan Zhan is living a dark romance novel, but that's a different post.

Part Two My MDZS AU Masterlist

[uss-edsall]

Band of Brothers and the Holocaust

Speaking as someone who has studied the Shoah, but her focus was on what Allied soldiers did when they discovered a concentration camp? Band of Brothers' Why We Fight is the most accurate portrayal of liberating a concentration camp in any WWII media.

It has every single element of what happened, while also conveying the human experience of the tragedy.

In the following post I am going to write out the general nature of what happened when an Allied unit found a concentration camp. Interspersed will be dialogue in indents and italics direct from Band of Brothers.

The war is coming to a close. The soldiers are looking forward to going home. The mood is fairly upbeat, morale is high. There's been rumours that some bad stuff's been happening, it's known Jews and others were being persecuted, but it's not something on the mind of the average American or British enlisted soldier. Your farmboys and streetrats want to go home. They want mom's food, dad's firm hand, to play with their kid they haven't seen in three years - six if they're British.

Then...

It sure is quiet. He is right, fellas.

They find it.

A camp situated far from anywhere else. A camp in a wholly deforested area. A camp where no birds sing, no animals make noise. Ashy smoke on the horizon. Skeletal figures in striped clothes, staring at them, averting their eyes like beaten dogs. The smoke of burning buildings, dead bodies just laying about.

Major Winters! Uh, we found something. We're out on patrol and uh, we came across this. What, what, what, what? Frank, Frank, what is it? I don't know sir. I don't know.

The reaction, of course, is sheer horror. The deaths these men have seen were almost all in combat. This is not combat. They don't have a word for it. This is genocide, but they don't know that word. Genocide as a term has not been invented yet. It will be specifically to describe what they are now bearing witness to.

Look at their arms. Like cattle. Goddamn.

These soldiers don't know what to do. They've never seen anything like this before and there are no contingencies. But they are men of action. Trained to act no matter what. After the initial shock, after the initial arrival, they spring into motion. These prisoners are starving, obviously. They need food, they need water, they need medical attention. The soldiers distribute what they've got on them, try to help where they can, how little they can.

All right, boys. These people need care. Give them water and any spare rations you might have. Grab me some blankets, quick.

They find and procure more food and bring it to the camps.

Let's go, let's pick up the pace, come on! Sergeant Martin, get whatever we can fit on the deuce and a half.

Their desire to help, to save, it kills people. Refeeding syndrome - the severely malnourished, the starving, feeding them rations meant to keep a man at the top of his physical fitness going every day, the rich bread and cheese of a regular bakery, it overwhelms the stomach. Survivors on the day of liberation do not survive it - dead from the actions of their saviours. This is something Band of Brothers does not, perhaps thankfully, depict on the big screen - instead speaking of it.

Proper medical authorities arrive. They are the men who stop the haphazard nature of the liberators' actions, creating systems. They've never seen anything like this either. They're also working off the cuff - but they do know what they're doing, much better than your average kid from Brooklyn.

We need to stop giving these men food right now. They're starving. If we give them too much to eat too quickly, they'll eat themselves to death.

These medical authorities come with the establishment of proper authority in the region. And it's quickly determined there's nowhere to take these survivors who suffered so grievously. There's no place big enough, centralised enough to keep them safe from others, to keep them in one place to be properly fed and properly treated. No place, except...

We need to keep them in the camp til we can find a place for 'em. You want us to lock these people back up?! We got no choice, Nix. Otherwise they might scatter. We need to keep them centralized so we can supervise their food intake and medical treatment. So, until we find some place better...

The soldiers who have come to the rescue must force the liberated back into the camps. Back into the sight of all their horrors that they want to leave so badly. They have to, to help them get what they need.

The initial forces have to move on. The war is still continuing. They are combat troops, the spearhead of their respective frontline. They aren't guards, they aren't doctors. Their expertise lies in killing, not saving. Yet they tried to do so, to save those they could. When confronted with that, who couldn't?

Tenth Armored are gonna supervise clean-up. What about us? We head out for, uh... Thailheim, Thalheim, tomorrow.

The morale of the men has been shattered, having become first-hand witnesses to the Holocaust. So too, however, has their resolve to see this thing through been hardened, sharpened into a blade that will cut out the heart of fascism in Germany. They react with anger, enraged at the fact that German civilians insist they did not do it.

I said shut up, you Nazi fuck! You're not a Nazi? My mistake, you fat fucking prick. How about a human being? Are you one of those? Or are you gonna tell me that you never smelled the fucking stench?

Martial law is enacted. Commanders give orders to force the populations of nearby villages, towns, cities, to come out in their Sunday best. Everybody who can walk must come - come to the camp, come to see the horrors that they had ignored. Imprint the memory in their brains and know they let this happen. Then, with their own hands, pick up the bodies and bury them. This is what Nixon sees when he returns to the camp after Easy moved on - the 10th Armored enforcing it.

People of Ludswiglust were made to bury the bodies on the palace grounds of the Archduke of Mecklenburg, for example. At Ohrdruf, Colonel Hayden Sears yelled at his soldiers herding German civilians around a makeshift crematorium. "Make them look at the hooked poles for turning over the roasted bodies. Make them stand closer and look!" This is a term used by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum as Forced Concentration. It was a policy, at first made by battlefield commanders and then moving up the ranks. No person old enough to comprehend it was allowed to live in ignorance.

Something not depicted in episode nine but is depicted in episode ten are reprisals.

Some troops reacted to the devastation with bloodlust, a vindictive need to take matters into their own hands. Historian Max Hastings wrote of a British tank commander who drove into the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, pulled out a pistol, shot several guards and drove away. At Dachau, soldiers of the 157th Infantry Regiment machinegunned between 35-50 SS camp guards in a spontaneous reprisal. Heinrich Wicker, the commandant of Dachau, was summarily executed. An official investigation concluded, "in the light of the conditions which greeted the eyes of the first combat troops, it is not believed that justice or equity demand that the difficult and perhaps impossible task of fixing individual responsibility now be undertaken."

What if this guy’s just a soldier? What if he’s an officer with no ties to the SS? What if he’s innocent? You know what? What if he’s a fucking Nazi commandant of a fucking slave camp? Which one? Which camp? You don’t have any proof. Were you at Landsberg? You know I was. You think he’s a soldier like you and me? A fucking innocent German officer? Where the hell have you been for the past three years?

Notice that I have mentioned all these things and then gave dialogue from Band of Brothers for them? How I have barely added more detail of things that were not depicted? It's because Band of Brothers is the only series, movie, or anything else I know to depict the Holocaust and then accurately depict how the liberators of the camps reacted to them - in every single way:

Discovery. The urge, the need, to help - somehow. Distributing food and water too rich for the starved. Orders to stop and herd them back into the camps. Continuing the advance. Forced concentration. Reprisals.

Band of Brothers has it all - I've never seen anybody do it better.