#and pretend me not to fall for that dead meat

[teeto-peteto]

'But Pyke is dead... and he probably is decomposing, and smells super bad like dead and sea, probably even has bugs and maggots and a horrible breath...'

Me and my beloved Pyke selfshippers and apologists:

[maruflix]

LIKE OIL AND WATER #series #kn8 #f!reader

Nobody, not even the gossipmongers of the Third Division, can predict Vice-Captain Hoshina’s sudden interest in you. Unluckily for him, a certain Captain of the First Division proves himself to be a tough rival.

feat. narumi gen, hoshina soshiro　　⎯⎯　wc. 3.3k

content: narumi x f!reader x hoshina, female reader, reader is a platoon leader in the first division, pining narumi (idiot version), hoshina is a menace (no like, seriously), some iNnuEndOs🫣, manga version so hoshina has red eyes, the dumb idiots of the third division, more of narumi and hoshina fighting over you, no beta we die like kikoru’s mom

read part one (like cats and dogs) here

“Stop! I’m gonna die!”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am! Slow down, will you?! I don’t think I can... ah—”

“Huh? You’re so wet...”

“How can I not be wet when the boss is literally a gigantic drop of water?!”

“Yeah, no wonder you almost died. I’m using an electric type character so you’ll also take damage if you’re wet.”

You furiously tap at your screen, trying to avoid the barrage of attacks from both the boss and your oblivious teammate. “Whatever! Stop using your skills, I’m gonna die...!!” As if on cue, your character does a little fainting effect and drops on the ground as the screen flashes red. “Ah... I’m dead.”

Narumi Gen lets out a disbelieved ‘haaah?’ before leaning over to glance at your phone, chuckling. “You suck at this.”

You glare at him. “Then don’t play with me!”

“Aww, don’t get so pouty, I told you I like playing with you.” There’s a surprising honesty in his voice as he smirks at you. “Anyway, don’t you feel cold?”

Now that he mentions it, you are cold. For some odd reason, Narumi’s room is always kept at freezing temperatures, one would think he’s using it to store meat.

He moves faster than you can reply. With one swift motion, he grabs the covers from his bed and drapes it over you.

“C-Captain Narumi!”

He grins and flicks your forehead gently. “I told you to drop the honorifics when we’re alone. Why are you calling me ‘Captain Narumi’ again?”

“Y-you don’t need to...! Your covers will get dirty!”

He shrugs before rolling on his stomach and lifting the remaining covers over his own body. “It’s fine, I do this all the time.”

At a loss for words, you can only gape at him. You’re well aware that this is a weird dynamic to have with your superior. Sometimes you feel guilty to be on the receiving end of Narumi’s obvious affection when he acts like a total prick to his other subordinates, but even the Vice-Captain himself assures you that everyone is just glad that you’re there to put him on a leash.

Meanwhile, the root cause of the problem is totally unaware, already engrossed in his game. “You want my help to defeat the newest boss, right? Let’s go.” He finally speaks, running a hand to sweep back his bangs as he tilts his head to look at you.

You bite your lip and look away. Literally everyone in the force (including you) knows that Narumi Gen is a handsome man, but lately you’ve started to notice him more. “I should probably get some sleep or I’ll be too tired for morning training.”

Narumi grunts. “So what? I always let you off.”

You’re once again rendered speechless. It’s true; whenever your movements get sloppy during morning trainings, he always pretends not to see anything (before proceeding to scold another person for falling behind).

— But to think that he’d actually admit to giving preferential treatments out loud!

“Y-you shouldn’t do that, you know!”

“Who cares? We always train together after that anyway.”

You look away, hoping the darkness of his room is enough to mask your embarrassment. “Whatever,” Scrambling to change the topic, you added, “I wonder what Hoshina is doing right now.”

“Haaah?! Why are you suddenly mentioning that guy?!”

Hoshina Soshiro sneezes just as he’s about to enter the shared bath. ‘I must’ve trained too hard...’ he thinks to himself, rubbing his nose lightly.

After a long day of exterminating kaiju, he’s always looking forward to soak in the hot water. He slings a towel over his shoulder and steps in, only to see that it’s already crowded inside. Hibino Kafka, Ichikawa Reno, Furuhashi Iharu, Izumo Haruichi, and Kaguragi Aoi nearly jump out the bath as he slides the door open, acting like he’s caught them in the middle of murdering someone.

Hoshina blinks in confusion as the men instantly tries to act like nothing’s wrong. Ichikawa clears his throat awkwardly, Furuhashi and Izumo start whispering to each other, Kaguragi stares at the ceiling like there’s a kaiju stuck up there, and Kafka starts whistling loudly.

“O—kay, what’s going on?”

They immediately backpedal. Ichikawa shoves Hibino so hard that the man nearly stumbles out of the bath. He’s quick to recover as he looks up at his Vice-Captain, clasping his hands in front of his chest.

“Vice-Captain Hoshina...! Tell us the truth!”

Hoshina’s expression immediately blanks.

“What he means is!” Furuhashi interjects, elbowing Hibino away, “We really, really want to know!”

Izumo pushes the two out of his way. “Sorry, Vice-Captain. We were just wondering if you’ve got yourself a girlfriend.” He rubs the back of his neck as the other men nod in response.

“Yes, please tell us!”

Tilting his head, Hoshina wonders where they got such an idea. “Where’s this coming from...?”

“Well.. you’ve been checking your phone a lot and smiling at it...” Ichikawa answers in a small voice.

Hoshina blinks in mild surprise. Now that he thinks about it, he has been checking his phone a lot lately to see if he’s gotten a new message from you. The way you chat is as adorable as the way you act in real life, so he supposes he might have been smiling once or twice... or a couple more times... or maybe everytime...?

Smiling, Hoshina shrugs and hops into the bath. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Ehh?! What’s with that answer?!” Everyone complains at his vague reply, although no one dares to force him to elaborate.

It’s not like Hoshina has to say anything, though; the smile on his face is answer enough. Oh, they can’t wait to share this with the entirety of the Third Division.

“You look like shit.”

Narumi almost drops the can on his hand. Turning on his heels, he glares at Hasegawa, who’s standing with his arms crossed, eyeing him from head to toe. “Shut up.”

Hasegawa shakes his head. “Don’t spend all day playing games. Touch some grass, stay hydrated, bathe in the warm sunlight.”

“What am I, a plant?!” He yells as Hasegawa rolls his eyes and disappears out the door.

Opening the can, Narumi sighs and gulps down mouthfuls of coffee. For the first time ever, Hasegawa is wrong. It’s true that he usually spends his day off playing games, but today he has something else planned.

Kaiju Slayer II is playing at the cinemas right now and it’s the perfect opportunity to ask you out. His favorite series and his favorite person — oh, what a perfect day it will be.

One problem persists: how on earth does he go about saying it?! What if you don’t want to go out? What if you see him as a bother? What if you agree just because he’s your superior? (He spent all night staring at his ceiling until sunrise, stressing over the best way to ask you out.)

Just then, he spots you rounding the corner and his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach. Throwing his empty can on the bin, he’s so close to chickening out but it’s too late — you’re already waving at him, walking over happily — so he watches helplessly, admiring how beautiful you look in casual clothes.

“Morning, Captain Narumi! Or should I call you Gen? It’s our day off, after all!”

Narumi melts at how sweetly his name rolls out your tongue. “Good morning.” He replies softly, “Are you going somewhere?”

You smile brightly at him. “Yes!”

Your cheerful reply makes him regain his confidence. If you’re already planning to go out, surely you’re okay with him tagging along. Mustering his courage, he’s about to pop the question before—

“I’m meeting up with Hoshina!”

Narumi’s world comes crashing down. His words are caught in his throat as he opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.

Meanwhile, oblivious that you’ve just broken Narumi’s heart in two, you rattle on happily, “To celebrate their new movie, a cafe is doing a collaboration with my favorite show! Hoshina asked me to come with him, I can’t believe he likes that show too! He doesn’t look like the type of guy to watch movies, you know? Oh, anyway, the show is called—”

“Kaiju Slayer.” Narumi finishes, sighing in exasperation.

Your eyes widen. “No way, Captain Narumi, you watch Kaiju Slayer too?!”

Narumi massages his pounding temple.

Damn that Hoshina. Damn him to hell.

You feel a wave of déjà vu wash over you.

Right now you’re sitting in one of the booth of the bustling cafe, decorated to the nines with the theme of your favorite show. You should be happy, right? Yeah... maybe if you’re not thrown in the middle of a battlefield, squished between Narumi Gen (who’s sulking as he pouts and crosses his arms) and Hoshina Soshiro (who seems slightly interested by the sudden turn of events as he glances at you).

“I’m sorry, Hoshina...” You bow your head at him, “He insists on tagging along...”

Hoshina smiles at you assuringly. “Don’t worry about it! Looking after such a man-child must be so hard on ya, huh?”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!” The man-child in question seethes before going back to pouting.

“You look as beautiful as always.” Hoshina has become an expert at ignoring Narumi as he takes in your appearance, his eyes twinkling. “Please excuse me.” He leans in closer and tucks a stray hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger on your ear just a moment too long.

You forgot how to breathe. Behind you, you can feel a surging tornado going berserk.

“Hands off, Hoshina! You sneaky lizard, you... you...!!”

“You look good as well.” You manage to breathe out, sweeping your gaze shyly over Hoshina’s attire. He’s clad in black — black turtleneck, black trousers, black boots — only his oversized jacket is the color of his hair, a deep dark purple.

He raises a hand to cover his mouth as he chuckles. His jacket moves slightly and you can see the faint outlines of his muscles. That turtleneck does nothing but highlight the shape of his body. You blush harder.

“Hey?! Hellooo?! I’m still here!” Your captain protests behind you, only to be cut off mid-way when a waitress makes her way to your table.

“Welcome to the cafe! Are you ready to or- oh!” She gasps, making all three of you turn to look at her. The waitress’s attention is on Narumi as she beckons her friend over.

“It’s Captain Narumi of the Defense Force!” One of them giggles, “We’re big fans!”

Normally Narumi would be happy to entertain his ‘fans’, but not right now, not in front of you! He can only nod tightly, grimacing as their excitement grows.

“Ohoho? Never took you for a player, Narumi.”

“What’s with you and wanting to make me look bad?! You wanna take this outside?!” Before he can grab Hoshina by his collar and drag him out, more and more people have started to crowd your table, swarming Narumi and asking to take photos with him. You watch in amusement as Narumi gets more and more dismayed. You’re aware that your captain has a lot of fans, but looking at the interaction in real life is quite comical.

Suddenly you feel a tug on your arm. Looking up, you see Hoshina smiling down at you, his eyes shining mischievously as he puts a finger in front of his lips. “Let’s abandon him here, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, already speed-walking out of the cafe with a flustered you in tow. You gasp and managed to grab your bag, narrowly missing Narumi’s arm that shoots out to reach for you. “Catch you later, Gen!” Smiling at him apologetically, you take off as his yells are drowned out by the crowd.

Once you’re outside, Hoshina lets go of your arm before slipping his hand down to intertwine it in yours. Your eyes instantly shoots up to meet his own and he laughs. He laughs so beautifully at your obvious astonishment as he grips your hand tighter.

“Let’s lose him here.” He turns his head just as your cheeks explode in crimson to lead you in the direction of a shopping mall. Honestly, at that moment, you’d follow him anywhere.

“Oh? A purikura.” Hoshina suddenly stops, “Wanna take a photo together?”

Smiling, you nod and let him pull you to the photo booth. He excitedly taps on the screen, seemingly unaware that his arms are now pressing on the sides of your body. Your heart is pounding loudly. It takes everything in you not to combust at the close proximity. Somehow, you manage to pose a couple of times.

After stepping outside, Hoshina takes the results and hands you one of it. “We look so cute~” He coos.

Your first few poses are pretty normal, just the two of you smiling directly at the camera. On the next ones, though, you’ve boldly sneaked a peace sign behind Hoshina’s head. He seems to notice it because on the last photo, he is gazing down at you tenderly with a small smile on his face.

“Oops, looks like the camera caught me.” He sees you freeze and places a hand over your own, chuckling to himself. “I can’t help myself. You’re so cute.”

Exhaling, you’re about to tell him to stop teasing you when you see the serious expression on his face. You immediately bite back your tongue.

“’m serious about you,” Hoshina confesses, eyes opening slightly to reveal his gorgeous crimson irises, “so can you give me the pleasure of courting you?”

Being with Hoshina always feels like being whisked to a fairytale. He’s always so gentle, calm, and compassionate — but at that moment, you see the raw passion in his eyes. You can only nod mutely, barely registering his movements as he leans in and pecks your forehead. You blush instantly, slamming your hands to your forehead. “H-huh..?”

Hoshina smiles and takes both of your hands, bringing them down and holding them tight. “Sorry, can’t help myself. You’re so pretty, and-” He dips his head down, the feeling of his breath on your skin making you shiver, “you smell so good.”

His eyes are nothing short of predatory as he leans back to study you. You’re not sure what kind of expression you have on your face but it seems to amuse him because he moves forward, brushing his lips against your neck. “Excuse me,” He whispers before kissing it hotly.

Your mind is short-circuiting, only brought back to reality when he finally pulls away. “Heh, sorry, was that too much?” Tilting his head at your lack of resistance, he chuckles lowly, “Gonna have to speak up if you wanna stop me from doing somethin’, you know? Otherwise you’re gonna make me think you want me to continue.”

That’s the thing — you don’t want him to stop.

“That reminds me... Are you on a first name basis with Narumi?” Hoshina hides his irritation well, but this time you can see his annoyance slip through. “You’re gonna have to start calling me Soshiro from now on.”

It’s like you’ve been hit by a combo, a chain attack; first the confession, then the forehead kiss, then the—

Hoshina brings his lips to whisper in your ear. “So? Do it, call me Soshiro.”

If you are in a game, that move right there is definitely a critical hit.

“S-Soshiro...?”

He finally straightens back and ruffles your hair, acting like he hasn’t just made your heart run a marathon then stop it from beating altogether. “Good girl.”

K-O.

Your day off feels like a fever dream. You still daydream about it sometimes.

Holidays are few and far between in the Defense Force. You wanted to make the most of it by going to a collab cafe. Instead, you had to feel the full force of Narumi Gen’s jealousy as he stubbornly inserts himself into your plans, escape his fans by letting Hoshina Soshiro pull you with him, and...

Involuntarily, your hand shoots up to your neck.

Hoshina Soshiro is a dangerous, dangerous man.

“Platoon Leader?”

Narumi’s voice snaps you from your thoughts. Straightening your posture, you blink a few times. Right. You’re at work right now.

Narumi, Hasegawa, and the entirety of the First Divison Platoon Leaders are currently visiting the Tachikawa Base for a joint training program. After the formal introductions, everyone gathered in one of the huge training fields. You’ve become acquainted with the Third Division’s Captain, Ashiro Mina, and the other members of her division.

“My apologies, Captain Narumi.” You wince, shaking your head to get your focus back. Thankfully it’s break time right now.

There’s a flash of worry in Narumi’s eyes. He hands you a bottle of water, to which you take gratefully. Just then, a couple figures make their presence known.

Hibino is once again shoved forward by his friends. His eyes flit between you and Narumi nervously. “Umm,” he starts, twiddling his fingers, “May I ask you something?”

“Sure! What is it?”

Ichikawa gives him another push before Hibino finally exclaims, “Is it true that you and Vice-Captain Hoshina are dating?!”

The volume of his voice is enough to catch the attention of nearby soldiers. They all turn to look at you with interest in their faces. Meanwhile, you’re growing increasingly flustered. “U-uh, wha-”

“Oh, really? You never told me.” Even the stoic Ashiro Mina is interested, covering her mouth with her hand as she looks at her vice-captain.

Hoshina has the biggest smile on his face. “Oh my.” He comments, refusing to elaborate.

You feel another arrival of a cyclone next to you.

“H-Haaahhh?! This is the first time I heard about this!” Narumi yells, making Hibino and Ichikawa shrink back in fear.

“C-Captain Narumi, it’s not like that! We’re not dating!” Aghast, you blush in embarrassment at having to clarify the relationship you have with Hoshina.

“Platoon Leader, you’re so cold! I have the picture to prove it, y’know?” Hoshina says in a sing-song voice, walking over to the crowd.

The ambiguity of his sentence only made the situation worse. Judging by the sickly sweet smile on his face, you have a sudden sinking feeling that he’s doing it on purpose.

“What?!” You hold your breath as Narumi spins you around to face him, “What is going on?!”

“Captain Narumi, you can’t possibly believe-”

“Hoshina! I’m so happy for you!”

“Shut up for a moment, Ashiro!” After saying that, Narumi pulls you away to a more quiet space, leaving behind the shell-shocked soldiers.

Captain Narumi is scary when he’s angry. Right now, he’s glaring at you so hard, it makes you want to melt to the ground. “Come see me after the day ends.” He whispers as you feel another wave of déjà vu wash over you. The last time he calls for you, he let you off with a couple of kisses. This time? You’re not so sure.

“Ah, there you are!”

Hoshina walks over and pulls you free from Narumi’s grasp, meeting his furious gaze evenly. “You always hog her to yourself. It’s annoying.” He says sweetly, venom lacing his words. “Anyway, what’re you doing after this? I want to continue where we left off...”

You stare in terror as Narumi’s anger finally reaches boiling point.

“The hell do you mean by that, Hoshinaaa?!!! You, you-”

“So noisy. You wanna take this outside?”

“Hell yeah I wanna take this outside!”

“But we’re already outside, idiot.”

“Boys! Boys,” Placing a hand on their chest to stop them from mauling each other, you look at the sky and sigh in exasperation. “Let’s be civilized, please!”

“Then meet me first tonight.” Hoshina grins, “After that you can compare me with that idiot. I guarantee—”

“What, you think I’m afraid?!” Narumi has lost all his composure by now, “Okay, do it then! I promise you, I can show you a whole lotta better time than this guy!”

You gulp when the two men turns their head in sync to look at you, urging you to agree to their little arrangement.

Yikes. Looks like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew...?!

PART ONE: LIKE CATS AND DOGS

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Jikininki Disorder.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.0k.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Cannibalism, No Curse AU, Chef Sukuna AU, Oral Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Kidnapping, Gore, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Prolonged Captivity. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Sukuna kept the basement door locked.

That was the only part of his rustic, oversized house that was off-limits to you. For the first few weeks, he’d kept you either collared and leashed to the headboard of his bed if he was home and locked in a roughly human-sized dog kennel when he wasn’t, but now, you were allowed to wander freely, even if he still kept deadbolts on the windows and doors. Occasionally, he’d lock you out of the kitchen while he was working on a new recipe or tell you to stay in your bedroom while he talked to his every-mysterious “business partners”, but for a kidnapper, Sukuna was surprisingly trusting. The basement door was the only thing that was always locked – and you should know. You checked the knob at least twice a day.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of you escaping, or hurting yourself, or god forbid, hurting him. Even in the early days, before you’d proved you weren’t going to run away, he seemed to be more concerned that you might be a nuisance than that you might be any kind of threat. The only thing you really knew was that the basement was where he kept his meat locker, and while you were curious, you were sure that wasn’t what he was keeping you away from. Sukuna had you sample everything he made. If he was going to start withholding food, then he would’ve had to—

“Oi, brat.” You felt his elbow jab into your side, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Quit daydreaming and try this.”

You glanced towards him, pouting as you straightened your back and repositioned yourself on the kitchen counter. You would’ve been more comfortable to sit on the floor, or better yet, at the table in the next room, but he liked to have you as close as possible whenever he was cooking. Not that you’d have it any other way. “You’re always so mean to me,” you sighed, in a pitchy mock whine. “One day, I’m not going to want to spend time with you at all.”

“As if. You can’t get enough of me.” He rolled his eyes, turning back to the stove top. Currently, he was working on something for his restaurant – a variation on karaage, a spread of vegetables and meat (pork, maybe, but you weren’t entirely sure) sitting on a cutting board off to the side, a greased skillet waiting next to it. His attention was on the broth simmering in the pot in front of him, though, which his ingredients would strew in before being fried. He’d been toying with it for the better part of an hour, and you’d sat diligently within arm’s reach, only slightly motivated by the fact that he’d threatened to break both your ankles if you tried to move.

Your sample turned out to be a piece of broccoli – likely chosen to best compliment the flavor of the broth – and you accepted it eagerly, letting Sukuna bring his chopsticks to your lips and feed you by-hand. Of course, the flavor was heavenly, and of course, you took long seconds to savor it, letting your eyes fall shut as you chewed and swallowed. Sukuna watched you intently, his dark eyes never leaving your lips. It wasn’t a secret that his favorite part of you had always been your mouth. You didn’t mind – his cooking was the only thing you’d ever liked about him.

Praise would’ve been pointless. It was a given that anything he made would be the best thing you’d ever tasted, so you tried to focus on something more productive. “It’s… salty,” you surmised, pursing your lips. “Did you use your…?”

“Cum?” Sukuna finished. “Just a tablespoon. ‘m surprised you can even taste it.”

A month ago, you might’ve recoiled, refused to eat, but now, it was all you could do to pretend to be surprised.

You watched intently as he added another cup of water, another round of herbs all kept in mismatched, unlabeled jars. Your heart skipped a beat as he finally reached towards the cutting board, but he pulled away at the last minute, turning to you, instead.

“’kuna,” you whined as he slid into the space between your legs, planting a large hand on either side of you. “I was actually hoping to eat sometime tonight, y’know.”

“I know, I know.” And yet, he didn’t seem concerned, chuckling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the base of your throat. “You’ll get to, just sit pretty for a little while longer.”

“But—” He cut you off with another kiss, this one immediately followed by feeling of his pointed canines burrowing into tender skin. You flinched into yourself, and Sukuna groaned into your neck, drawing back just far enough to run the flat of his tongue over the twin puncture marks.  Your hands shot to his shoulders, but you resisted the urge to push him away. Even if you did, it was already too late; you could feel something stiff pressing against the inside of your thigh, hear him murmuring something low and affectionate into the dip of your shoulder. Resigned, you leaned back against the kitchen cabinets and shut your eyes.

At least, if he got this over with quickly enough, you might still get to eat.

~

Your first impression of Sukuna, unsurprisingly, was that he looked more like a body builder than a chef.

Calling him massive would’ve been an understatement. He stood a head above you, with biceps as thick as your head and a chest so defined, you could see the outline of his definition through the thin fabric of his black (presumably not Health and Safety compliant) tank top. He had piercings, too – twin studs underneath his bottom lip, lining the bridge of his nose – and tattoos, black lines forming intricate patterns across his jawline and bands around his wrist. You already had your back to the concrete wall, but you pressed yourself against it, regardless, eager to put as much space between you and him as possible. Sukuna remained where he was, perpetually unimpressed.

His introduction was brief, succinct. “You’re the little bitch Uraume sent out?”

“I… I think so?” You genuinely weren’t sure. The waitress had only told you that the owner wanted to talk to you outside, which you hadn’t been surprised by. It was your fourth time coming in that week, since his restaurant didn’t do takeout and the last person to order more than they could eat in one sitting was promptly and proudly taken outside and beaten half to death. You couldn’t risk that, not when more than half of your meals came from his shop.  “I’m sorry, I just—Are you the chef? I really like—”

“Shut the fuck up.” He took half a step toward you, and you glanced down the alleyway behind his restaurant. One end was cut off with a chain-link fence, and while the other side opened up onto a proper road, it was still more than fifty feet away. You never would’ve made it, not with someone like Sukuna chasing you. “Who sent you? The Gojo clan?”

Sent you? You had no idea what he was talking about – if you had someone to fund your addiction, you wouldn’t have to resign yourself the cheapest section of his overpriced menu. You opened your mouth, but must’ve taken longer to answer than you realized. You blinked, and suddenly, his hand was planted on the wall beside your head, his body only a hair’s width from yours. He had to tilt his head forward to look at you, which while not surprising, did little to comfort you. “Answer the fucking question.” And then, when you shrunk into yourself at his tone. “I swear to fucking Christ—Did he tell you what happens to the people who piss me off? Because you’re about to—”

“I can’t eat anything else!”

You were just as surprised as he was to hear your own voice. Still, you did your best to recover quickly, falling into a stiff bow as deep as the confined space would allow. With your eyes fixed on the pavement, you forced yourself to go on, to say something that would stop the owner of your favorite restaurant from murdering you in the alleyway behind that aforementioned restaurant. “I—I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time, but—but a classmate brought me here a few months ago, and—and I haven’t been able to eat anywhere else since. I can come in less often, if that’s what you’re bothered by, but please.” You forced yourself to inhale, to breathe. “Please, don’t ban me.”

At that, Sukuna broke. You didn’t dare to look at him, but you could hear the smirk in his voice, the airy laugh lacing his tone, as if he found something about your desperation funny. He did, obviously. You’d quickly realize that Sukuna found most things about you funny. “You think I’m going to… What was it? Ban you?”

You nodded furiously. “I—I know you kicked out that salaryman last week, and a couple students the week before. They were all regulars, but I haven’t seen any of them since.” It was a rushed explanation, only half-coherent, but you still tried to go on, bowing your head. “I—I can’t cook, and I can’t eat anywhere else, anymore. If you ban me, I really don’t have a lot of other options, so—”

“You can go back to your table.”

It was your turn to blink, this time, to startle. You didn’t straighten your back, not until you felt Sukuna’s hand on your shoulder, heard the grin in his voice sharpen. “Really?”

“Mhm. Don’t order, I’ll send something over. And you’re going to stay until closing.” And then, as you stared up at him with as much gratitude you’d ever felt, “We’re going to grab a couple drinks after I close up shop. Try to think of a few more compliments, before then.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded regardless. After scurrying back to your table before Sukuna could change his mind, a white-haired woman who you’d never seen working the front of house before brought you a meat dish so rare, you could’ve sworn it hadn’t been cooked at all.

It went without saying that you savored every bite.

~

“Needy ass brat.”

His bicep dug into your stomach where you were slung over his shoulder, your legs dangling uselessly was your hands clawed half-heartedly at his back. You weren’t really upset that he’d caught you – you knew it’d only be a matter of time the moment you slipped out of bed – but it was frustrating just how quickly he’d come to get you. You’d barely gotten to the kitchen, let alone the fridge.

Your mind drifted back to the basement door – to the meat locker. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you decided that you would try to pick the lock tomorrow, after he’d left for the day. Whatever punishment he’d dull out would be worth it, if you could actually get in.

Unceremoniously, you were dumped onto the floor of his bedroom, left to shamble to your knees as he collapsed onto the foot of the bed. You moved to stand, but Sukuna was quick to catch you by the hair and force you back down. “Disobedient, too,” he muttered, his voice still rough with exhaustion. “Tell me what you were trying to do before I decide you can’t be trusted with the ability to walk.”

You sulked, letting out a shallow sigh and resting your cheek against the inside of his knee. “I’m just hungry,” you explained, feigning thoughtlessness. It was more or less true. You were eating better than you ever had before, and yet, your stomach had never felt emptier. “I was gonna come back, after I got something.”

Sukuna chuckled, running his fingers through your hair. You melted into his thigh, eager to keep his mood light, sentimental. “I feed you three gourmet meals a day, baby. Don’t act like you’re starving.”

“But I am.” You sighed, stared up at him with your doe-like expression. “I’ve really been craving meat, lately, ‘specially that stuff you keep downstairs. Can you make it again tomorrow?”

“We’ll see. I don’t want you getting spoiled, and ‘sides, I’ve gotta save some of it for the shop.” You frowned, sinking deeper into his thigh, and Sukuna sighed, raking his nails over your scalp. “But, maybe, if I got some motivation from my little helper…”

He trailed off, and suddenly, it was your turn to play oblivious. “Well, yeah, I’d obviously help,” you chirped, mimicking his smile. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, though, so you can’t blame me if—”

“That’s not what I want from you, babydoll.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. It wasn’t painful, but the way his fingers tugged at your hair was.

He didn’t pull. You tried to be thankful for that, but it was hard to be thankful for anything when his free hand was already at the waistband of his sweats, freeing the semi-stiff cock formerly hidden beneath the grey fabric. You frowned, but didn’t pull away. “How are you already hard?” And then, as you settled onto your knees, “You woke up, like, two minutes ago.”

“Always gotta have something nice n’ warm ready for my baby.” Rather than let your whining deter him, he focused on drawing you into his lap, encouraging you to lean into him, to brace yourself on his muscular thighs. Controlling as always, Sukuna guided you gently towards his cock. You half-expected him to force you down at the last minute, to laugh as he suffocated you on his length, but of course, he didn’t. He wasn’t that kind.

He wouldn’t let you play such a passive role in your own dehumanization.

You moved as quickly as you could without making your unwillingness entirely transparent, taking the head of his cock past your lips and running the flat of your tongue over his slit (already leaking, as if this couldn’t get any worse). You couldn’t pretend to be some pure-of-heart, dewy eyed virgin, not when most of your mornings were started with Sukuna thrusting three fingers lazily into your cunt and most of your nights ended with his face buried between your thighs, but you never seemed to be able to completely brace yourself for just how wide you had to open your mouth to take him, just how mindful you had to be to not let your teeth scrape against his shaft as you struggled to get past his tip. Like everything else about Sukuna, his cock was too fucking big. Not that he seemed to care.

If anything, Sukuna seemed to like the way you gagged around him. As you wrapped a hand around his base, pumping over the parts of his shaft you couldn’t swallow and trying to ignore the fact that your fingers didn’t touch, you heard him groan, felt his grip tighten on your hair, and knew he was staring at you, drinking in the sight of you choking on his cock with as little shame as you had dignity. “Good girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Are you gonna start moving, or does the spoiled princess need a little help?”

‘Help’ meant him holding your head in-place while he fucked your skull. Resisting the urge to shake your head, you bobbed shallowly, the veined underside of his cock gliding over your tongue as a knot of ache formed in either corner of your jaw, the strain already too painful to ignore. You could taste his arousal in the back of your throat, feel him throbbing against the hollows of your cheeks, but you forced yourself to dip your head lower, to take him deeper, to at least attempt to match the stuttering pace of your hand with that of your mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him distracted. His hand drifted from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, his thumb pushing rough patterns into your skin. “Still can’t believe I get to keep such a sweet thing all to myself.” It was almost cruel, how composed he sounded while saliva dripped from the corner of your mouth. “It would’ve been a shame if I’d fucked up and done something really mean, that first day. I don’t think I would’ve gone through with it, though. As soon as I got a good look, all I wanted was to see what that pretty mouth looked like wrapped around my cock.”

His breath hitched, his hips bucked, and you audibly gagged as the blunt head of his cock slammed into the back of your throat. You jerked away on reflex, but Sukuna didn’t let you go far. His hand wrapped around your neck as he rolled his hips, forcing another inch of his cock down your throat, then another, until it was all you could do to blink away the tears quickly forming in your eyes. Your hand fell away from his shaft to scramble and claw at his thighs, but if Sukuna mourned the loss of contact, you couldn’t tell. The only thing you could make out was his cock pulsing against the convulsing walls of your throat and his voice, as distant as it was deafening. “Fuck,” he sighed, then again, “Fuck. Desperate little bitch. My desperate little bitch. Can’t go three fucking seconds without needing me to take care of you, isn’t that right?”

Your only response was a desperate, keening whine – mostly muffled by the twitching object lodged in your airway. Rather than a plea for mercy, Sukuna seemed to take it as confirmation, taking you by the back of your head and forcing you that much further, that much closer. “Fucking—Take it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to spit, let alone pull away. Your nose brushed against the defined muscle of his abdomen as you felt something bitter and searing flood down your throat. Calling it swallowing would’ve been too generous.

That night, you vomited twice before letting Sukuna carry you to bed. Despite everything, you would dream only of the taste of fresh blood and burnt meat.

~

Despite everything, you only saw the kitchen of Sukuna’s restaurant once. He expected you at your usual table almost every day, invited you out for drinks at one of his classy, dimly lit lounges (a severe juxtaposition to his own hole-in-the-wall establishment) nearly as often as that, but he only let you see his back of house once, late at night, hours after closing.

Coincidentally, that was also the night he took you away.

Admittedly, it was difficult to remember why you’d been called back to the kitchen. That section of your day was blurry, distant, fuzzy around the edges from the moment you stepped into his shop to the second you woke up alone in a bed you didn’t recognize, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke thick in the air.  Still, you could remember the feeling of chilled titanium pressing into your back, the heat of Sukuna’s body above you, what he’d looked like as you stared up at him from below. You remembered thinking, possibly for the first time, that you hated everything about him, from his inflated ego to his resonating voice to his awful, conniving smirk, and realizing that you’d never be able to leave him.

You also remembered the white-haired server being there – standing in the doorway, her expression one of pleasant indifference as she explained something grotesque and nonsensical to Sukuna, either oblivious to or uncaring of how deeply he was buried inside of you. You watched her lips move, but only a few words broke through the haze – disposal and witness, nothing that made any sense. You remembered noticing how pretty she was, and thinking that it was a shame she wasn’t the owner, rather than Sukuna.

You could remember asking for something, and Sukuna humming in response before something was shoved past your lips – heady and thick and raw. You tasted blood on your lips, felt yourself choke, and then, everything was dark.

~

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known he’d gotten home. You’d been able to make out the sound of his footsteps through the floor above, been able to feel the light spill onto your back as the basement door and its useless, mangled knob were pushed open, but it wasn’t until you heard his voice that you could bring yourself to care. Even then, your hold on the raw chunk of half-frozen meat only tightened, nails digging into the ruddy, bleeding tissue. As much as you didn’t want to put a name to it, it would’ve been impossible to deny what it was – to ignore what you’d seen inside of the meat locker, to pretend you hadn’t recognized the disassembled bodies hanging on rusted-over hooks, to act like you could mistake the taste still heavy on your tongue for that of pig, or cow, or some other, inferior animal. It would’ve been useless, even if the temptation was still there. It would’ve been futile.

Almost as futile as trying to deny that it was the best fucking thing you’d ever choked down.

You heard the tell-tale creak of Sukuna starting to descend the staircase, and before you could stop yourself, dug your teeth into the brunt of the sinew, tearing off the largest mouthful you were capable of and swallowing it whole. You dipped your head for another bite, but it was too late – Sukuna was already behind you, his hand already wrapped around the collar of your shirt, your body already being jerked back and away from your hard-earned prize. You tried to dig your nails into the thick of the fat, to stuff the last of it past your lips, but with an airy chuckle and a quirk of his wrist, the cut was torn away and discarded just as thoughtlessly.

For the first time, you snapped towards Sukuna, your teeth bared and your eyes narrowed into something furious, something hostile. “Why would you—” And then, letting out a miserable sob and turning away from him, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break anything, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then—”

“I get it, baby. You aren’t in trouble.”

“And then I found something heavy enough to break the knob and I couldn’t stop thinking about—” You cut yourself off suddenly, letting out a sharp exhale. “…I’m not?”

“No, princess, you’re not.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve mistaken his tone for something gentle. His gaze fell to your chest, and for the first time, you noticed the blood dripping down your chin, staining the fabric of your top. “We should get you cleaned up, though. You’ll only feel shittier when it dries.”

You didn’t protest as he pulled you into his arms and carried you upstairs, out of the basement, away from the meat locker. You didn’t say anything as he set you on his bed, your back leaning against the headboard, and eased your top over your head, replacing it with one of his own, and produced a damp cloth from the nearest bathroom. Gingerly, he cleaned the gore off your face, never rushing through a stroke or applying more pressure than was absolutely necessary, stopping often to kiss your forehead or the bridge of your nose. You were sniffling by the time he finished, crying by the time he left the room, and sobbing when he came back – a bowl in hand with a pair of chopsticks laid across its rim.

Its contents were predictable: meat, pan-grilled in thin slices and, as far as you could tell, left unseasoned. “I’ll make some rice when you’re done,” Sukuna went on, as you struggled with the chopsticks. “To balance it out. You’ll need something to take the edge off.”

You nodded vacantly, accepting the bowl greedily despite your shaking hands. It was better raw – the flavor richer, the taste fresher – but you weren’t in a place to complain, not when it was so much easier when you didn’t have to gnaw and tear like some wild, starving animal. Not that you weren’t eating like one – keeping the rim of the bowl pressed into your chin, never letting more than a second lapse between one mouthful and the next. You only paused when you felt the mattress dip, noticed Sukuna positioning himself between your legs, and but he only smiled, only rested a hand on your knee. “Keep going,” he urged. “It’d be a waste to let it get cold, right?”

“I don’t like this.” Your voice was still unsteady, prone to cracking, but it was true. You didn’t want him to pretend to be nice. “I’ve never really liked you. I’d leave, if I could. There hasn’t been a moment since you kidnapped me that I haven’t spent fantasizing about getting out and fixing what you’ve done to me.”

“You’re just saying that to hurt my feelings, doll.” You were, but it wasn’t. Slowly, he lowered himself onto his chest, one hand spreading your thighs apart while the other toyed lazily with the hem of your shorts. You felt him lean against your thigh, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into the tender flesh. You’d gained weight during your time with him – not much, just a few pounds, a little plush to soften your harsher edges. You weren’t sure whether or not to care. “I’m just proud, that’s all. Don’t you want me to be proud of you?”

You didn’t want anything from him. Your appetite gone, you placed the bowl haphazardly on the bedside table, watching through clouded eyes as Sukuna removed your shorts entirely, taking agonizing seconds to guide them down your legs before letting them drop to the floor below. You expected your panties to follow, but Sukuna only settled into place, dragging the pad of his thumb over the length of your slit, pausing to draw slow, idle circles into your clit through the silken fabric. It went without saying that he picked out your clothes, even if he rarely had the patience to tell you exactly what to wear. You were allowed to choose your outfit day-to-day, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t, not when your entire closet was suited to his tastes.

His hands curled around your thighs. You felt his tongue before you realized what he was doing – wet and warm and thick, his saliva soaking through the thin material and infecting you, spoiling you. You tried to ignore it, to remind yourself that you should be used to this, used to him, but this just… wasn’t what you were used to. Normally, you could expect him to be cruel, degrading, impulsive, but tonight, he seemed more than happy to bury his face between your thighs and play lover – albeit, a lover who still must’ve known he was unwanted. A lover who must’ve known you would’ve preferred a captor.

Your panties were dragged to the side, his tongue immediately finding your cunt. He took his time, laving over your entrance, coaxing reactions out of you despite your best attempts to dig your teeth into your tongue and hold back. He knew too much about you. He’d had too much time to learn. Heat pooled in your core, leaking out through your pussy, and Sukuna lapped it up like a fine wine – his thumb finding your clit as his tongue traced patterns into your cunt, and—

And oh, god, you were crying again, tears dripping down your cheeks despite your pitiful attempts to brush them away. Sukuna’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you felt him smile against the inside of your thigh, his tongue dipping shallowly into your cunt once, twice before he pulled away, straightening his back. His hand quickly replaced his mouth, two thick fingers thrusting into pussy with a humiliating sort of ease, spreading apart and curling against you and filling his bedroom with those embarrassing, wet, vile noises you’d never been able to stand. He didn’t seem to mind, holding your gaze as he spoke. “When did you put it together?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don’t play dumb.” And then, as his thumb traced harsh circles into your clit, “You knew what you were looking for. What gave it away? The texture? The smell?”

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t answer, a fractured moan falling from your lips in the place of anything more intelligent. Sukuna hummed, adding a third digit, and you spilled open in an instant. “Your restaurant,” you managed, the words rushed and sloppy. “No matter what I ordered, the meat would always taste the same. At first, I—I thought you were just being cheap, but then I noticed how often your regulars would just suddenly stop coming in, and—”

You were cut off by your own miserable, keening whine; his calloused fingers catching on something tender and vulnerable inside of you and taking advantage of it. “And you kept coming in,” he finished, hushing your whimpering. “Loyal little brat. Uraume wanted to get rid of you, but I knew I was right to take you in.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy moving your hips against his hand, seeking out the pleasure that your body craved and your mind rejected. Sukuna took pity on you, cooing as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap, supporting you as the movements of his hand turned short, erratic, as he edged you closer and closer and closer to your climax. You came undone with a sob, burying your face in his chest, and Sukuna was kind enough to nurse you through it, to hold you against him as your body crumpled and your poor, beaten soul seemed to give out entirely.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “I think,” he said, bowing his head and running his tongue over your cheek. “It’s time for you to learn to cook.”

You couldn’t think, but you didn’t have to. There was only one thing you ever would’ve said.

“I’d like that.”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 4: THE MYSTERY THAT IS ARTHUR MORGAN

synopsis: you and arthur head into valentine with uncle, tilly, karen, and mary-beth.

word count: 4.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: (crawling out of grave) hey guys.. i've started playing rdr1 recently so the cowboy spark has been reignited within me LOL

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Not much time has passed since that night where you and Arthur had that conversation about the stars. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, but it was talking, which was an improvement from the glances and stares.

Hosea has regaled you with many a tale with Arthur as the main protagonist, about how he’s not the big scary man he pretends to be. From your perspective, though? The front isn’t a front, but a truth intrinsic to Arthur’s very soul. He’s a man from 1899, through and through – and unfortunately, not all men from 1899 are to be trusted.

But Hosea seems hellbent on making you at least okay with Arthur’s presence. Just a few minutes ago, he pushed a tin cup of coffee into your hands and sent you towards Arthur’s tent. As a challenge? You’re not too sure, but it sure as hell feels like one.

“Excuse me,” you say as you round the corner of the wagon that props up the canopy over his cot. “Arthur?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, writing in his leather-bound journal. He looks up from whatever he’s writing, then puts his pencil in the fold between the pages and closes it, tucking it away in his satchel.

Arthur nods at you, greeting you with a simple utterance of your name. “What is it?”

You carefully hold out the hot tin mug. “Hosea figured you’d want some coffee. I, um… I didn’t know how you’d like it, so I just put in some sugar.”

He stands from his cot and takes the coffee from you. “Thank you.”

You smile and for a moment you panic, thinking you’re showing too many teeth. (Why do you have to overthink everything you do?) “Hopefully it’s not too sweet.”

Arthur takes a sip and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

A nice silence falls over the two of you as you stand somewhat-near him, watching people move about camp. Well, it would be nice if you were alone and didn’t have Arthur beside you, but you have to make the most of everything you can.

Let’s try to initiate a conversation, you think to yourself. What does Arthur care about? Guns? Meat? Uh… beard oil? No, he has, like, grown-out stubble – why would he care about beard oil? What the hell does watercooler talk even look like in 1899?

“It’s nice out,” you say. “Out west, it gets really hot this time of year. The summers are even worse.”

“Are they now?” Arthur says. “What, are you tryin’ to… deter us from encroachin’ on your Mojave?”

“Huh? No, no,” you say. “The Dead Horses and Sorrows would happily have you. Zion Canyon, it’s – it’s big enough for a few more people.”

You look away, embarrassed for some reason. You hate this elaborate song and dance – you say something, Arthur takes it as an insult and/or just insults you outright, and you have to cover for yourself before awkward silence takes hold.

“How’s Marston?” Arthur asks. “I understand that you’ve taken over carin’ for that fool.”

You glance over at him. He’s looking at you, blue-green, piercing eyes just watching you, waiting. The treeline is suddenly very interesting.

“There’ll be scars, for sure,” you say. “And he picks at the scabs. He says he doesn’t do it on purpose, but he can’t keep his hands away from his face for five minutes.”

Surprisingly, that elicits a soft chuckle from Arthur. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shake his head and sigh, a slight smile on his face.

“That sounds about right.” He brings the tin cup to his lips and takes a drink. “That idiot’s always makin’ trouble for himself.”

You listen to the sound of people milling about and the early morning birds singing with Arthur for a few minutes. Hosea was right – exposure therapy may actually be working when it comes to Arthur. He doesn’t really seem so big and so bad now that you’ve seen what he’s like when he’s quiet and contemplative. (He’s still a big motherfucker that you’re sure could wreck your shop if given half the chance, so it’s not like you’re willing to lay your neck on the line just yet.)

You glance to the side when you see someone approaching. It’s Hosea, a smile on his face as he greets you and Arthur.

He stretches his arms out, arching his back a little. “Quite a day.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“There’s a bunch of the boys already in Valentine – Bill, Charles and Javier,” Hosea continues. “And Swanson found something down at the train station by the lake, apparently. And Strauss came back with that creepy little smile on his face! I’m sure there’s a whole list of unfortunates he’s forced money upon.”

You and Arthur laugh along. You’re glad there’s at least something to laugh about that isn’t you.

“And you?” Arthur asks Hosea.

“I’m gonna read a book,” he says decidedly.

“That sounds nice,” you say. “Can I join?”

“Join me in reading a book?” Hosea laughs. “That sounds unproductive.”

“Well, uh – no, I meant, um…” You let out a nervous chuckle. “Never mind. I’ll find something else to do.”

Hosea shrugs it off. “If you’d like to join, I’d be glad for the company.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You don’t really feel inclined to follow him. You don’t really feel inclined to do camp chores, either, but you know Miss Grimshaw well enough to not skimp out on what you’ve been assigned.

“I’ve gotta go chop firewood.” You point over at the stump that became the designated chopping block. “I can take your cup, if you’re done.”

Arthur knocks back the rest of his coffee like a shot, then hands the still-warm tin mug to you. His fingers – big, calloused – brush yours as you take it, and he offers a soft “Thank you.” A small shock runs up your arm as his skin touches yours.

Did he just shock me from static electricity? You ask yourself. Probably. Or maybe the tin did something… I don’t know.

You drop the mug in the wash basin as you pass by and make your way to the chopping stump. You dig in the inner pockets of your jacket and pull out your gloves, tugging them on before you grab the axe handle.

The axe dislodges from the wood easily, and you set up a log to split. You bring the axe over your head (ignoring the ache and whine in your side) and swing it down on the log, letting gravity do most of the work.

By the time you’re done, your shoulders and upper arms are aching, not to mention the literal hole in your side that’s still healing. But the chore is done, and there’s split firewood in a pile next to the stump. You’re spared from Miss Grimshaw’s scrutiny for a couple hours more.

You swing the axe down into the stump and leave it there. With a deep breath, you step back and tug your gloves off, tucking them into your inner jacket pocket again.

“Ain’t a surprise you got soft hands,” a voice says behind you, the tone dripping with sleaze.

You turn, stiffening up and locking eyes with Micah. His hands are resting on the belt that’s hanging off his hips and he’s sizing you up like you’re prey. It makes your stomach turn even though you know he wouldn’t try anything near camp. (Or would he? You hope not.)

“Can you get off my ass?” You ask. “I just don’t want blisters.”

“Oh I apologize, I apologize.” Micah holds his hands up, sauntering closer. You stand your ground even though you’d like nothing more than to pick up the axe again so you’re not completely defenseless.

He rounds the stump, looking down at the pile of firewood. “They’re split uneven.”

You roll your eyes and look to the side, away from Micah. That thought from earlier – whether he would try anything this close to camp or not – still has your stomach in a knot, like a spring wound tight.

He’s not worth it. You would much rather spend your time worrying about things that matter, like how fast and loose people play with their guns and how likely you are to get cholera.

And, as if on cue, someone shouts your voice, giving you an excuse to leave. You look to the source – it’s Karen, waving you over to the wagons. You leave Micah by the firewood pile without a goodbye.

Tilly and Mary-Beth are waiting by the wagon along with Karen, almost circling Arthur like wildcats. Arthur, on the other hand, is smoking, looking relatively unbothered, given the women. Uncle is near the front of the wagon, checking the horses’ equipment.

“Hey,” you say. “You called for me?”

“We’re tryin’ to get Arthur to take us into town,” Mary-Beth says. “Ain’t you tired of seein’ the same treeline, the same people?”

“Uh, sure, but…” You shrug. “I don’t really care.”

“We can get you some new clothes.” Karen picks at the shoulder of your jacket. “You ain’t exactly… fashion-forward.”

Right, because a trenchcoat with a low-cut blouse is so much better, you think to yourself. Woah! That was really mean. I need to put more effort into avoiding Micah – he’s infecting me. Not that I wanted to hang around him in the first place…

“I guess,” you say. “But I don’t have any money.”

“Valentine ain’t exactly a city teeming with riches,” Tilly points out. “We can get you some clothes cheap enough.”

You give a half-shrug, glancing at the women. “If my clothes are really that bad…”

“‘Sides, Karen’s ‘bout ready to murder Grimshaw,” Mary-Beth says.

“Well, can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Arthur asks.

“Can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Karen parrots, exasperated. “What’s happened to you, Arthur? You’re worried about house chores? C’mon, let’s go!”

Arthur looks to the side, then takes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures at the four of you. “Fair enough, you got me. C’mon, then.”

The women whoop and cheer as they climb up onto the wagon. You end up settled across from Tilly, smiling despite the pool of nerves still bubbling in your stomach. Maybe their excitement has infected you? (You’d much prefer to be infected with her excitement rather than Micah’s rudeness.)

“I can’t believe we’re gonna see civilization,” Tilly says. “It feels like weeks since we did.”

“Yeah, Valentine,” Uncle grunts as he climbs up into the front seat. “The very embodiment of civilization! You folks are gonna love it.”

“Okay then.” Arthur hauls himself up into the front seat and takes the reins from Uncle. “Let’s go.”

Uncle directs Arthur out of the camp and onto the road toward Valentine. The ride is bumpy and, even though you do enjoy bitching and moaning about them, you’d much prefer a car right now.

Mary-Beth calls you to attention by saying your name. “I’m curious – what’s the Frontier like?”

“What’re you curious about?” You ask.

“You got any family out there?” Tilly asks, then leans a little closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Any sisters Arthur’s age?”

“I can hear y’all,” Arthur calls from the front of the wagon, sending the women into a fit of laughter.

You smile and laugh, leaning back in your seat. “I’ve got a sister, yeah. But she’s too young for Arthur.”

“What’s her name?” Karen asks.

“Serendestiny,” you say. “Our parents were, um… creative?”

The women are sent into another fit of laughter and giggles, echoing “Serendestiny?” and various confused phrases of disbelief. Laughter bubbles up in your throat before you can help it.

“She hates her name, she hates it,” you assure them. “She just goes by Sere.”

“I’d hope so!” Karen laughs. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life with a name like Serendestiny.”

“I don’t know, it’s kinda pretty,” Mary-Beth says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Is it a combination between serendipity and destiny?”

“I think so,” you say. “I never put that much thought into it.”

A shout from up ahead makes you snap your head towards the front of the wagon. A coach is careening on and off the road. One of the horses kicks and breaks free, bucking and going wild.

“Is one of you gonna get that feller’s horse?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, I got lumbago, it’s very serious,” Uncle says.

Arthur groans and pulls the wagon to a stop, then hops off. “Alright, I’ll see what’s goin’ on…”

You watch as he speaks to the driver, then starts walking over to the horse that broke free. It rears and tosses its head, clearly distressed. But Arthur pays that no mind, instead approaching it with his hands outstretched. You can barely hear him talking softly to the horse.

He’s soft. For once, you see Arthur being soft. He’s gentle as he strokes the horse’s neck, patting it and shushing it. He’s not irritated or annoyed that he has to go out of his way to help someone. Or maybe he just has a soft spot for horses? Who knows. Arthur is slowly turning more and more into a complete mystery.

He moves patiently and slowly as he leads the horse back to the coach driver. The horse doesn’t kick or toss its head – just walks at the pace Arthur set. You’re sure you’d be more impressed if you knew more about horses.

“You’re a gentleman, sir,” the coach driver says. “A true gentleman!”

Arthur mumbles something and climbs back up in the front seat of the wagon. He snaps the reins, and the horses start moving again.

“You’re turning into a regular old fairy godmother there, Arthur,” Uncle says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks.

“It means you’ve got a heart,” Mary-Beth says.

Karen nods along. “A small one, perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one.”

“And you haven’t, you repulsive old lizard,” Mary-Beth chimes.

Uncle turns and leans over the back of the wagon seat. “Lizards have hearts!”

“Well, Arthur,” Tilly says. “I’m proud of you.”

“To be honest, if you lot hadn’t been here…” Arthur rubs the back of his neck and leans his head back. “I prolly would’a robbed him.”

That elicits a laugh from everyone, and you laugh along even though you don’t really find it funny. You mirror them just to fit in.

“Well, you didn’t!” Mary-Beth says.

Arthur guides the wagon over the train tracks and passes a freight station, officially passing into Valentine. You’re immediately hit by the smell of shit and exhale sharply, your nose wrinkling up on instinct.

“Whew!” Tilly waves her hand in front of her face. “Smell those sheep.”

Karen laughs under her breath. “Or is that Uncle?”

“If Micah were here,” you say, “I’d wager it being him.”

The women and Uncle roar with laughter, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Arthur give a chuckle. You smile and laugh along – genuinely, this time. Micah makes for a good target when he isn’t around to hear it.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mary-Beth looks around at the houses and buildings. “This looks like a decent little town.”

“Other people,” Tilly agrees. “Finally.”

“Look at all that snow on the mountains.” Karen points to the peaks that cut up into the sky. “Sure don’t wanna be back up there.”

“You think we should’ve asked Molly to come with us?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, no,” Karen immediately says. “Miss O’Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us… or to do any real work. She’s a society lady now.”

You look over at Tilly and sort of feel bad for Molly. You haven’t been able to talk to her much in these past two weeks, but she does seem kind of… disconnected from the rest of the gang. Like she gets her dose of everyone else through Dutch. Maybe you should check on her when you get back.

You half-listen as the women talk about finding work and discuss how gullible and desperate the men in this town must be when their only option besides whores is the ewes. Arthur says something about keeping a low profile.

“Will you remember that, though, Arthur?” Karen teases.

Arthur grumbles. “Probably not.”

The wagon pulls to a stop beside the stables. Men are milling about, guiding horses and carrying saddles.

You hop down off the wagon first and fight back the urge to cringe when you feel your boots sink a quarter of an inch into mud. Instead, you turn and hold out a hand, helping the women down one by one. You figure that they don’t really need it, but it’s still the polite thing to do.

“Here we are, just like I said,” Uncle says as he hops off the front wagon seat. “The cultural center of civilization – man at his finest.”

Karen jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll start at the saloon, see what we find.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. “Just stay outta trouble and don’t get yourselves noticed.”

“Right, I need to get somethin’ from the stores,” Uncle says. He starts walking, and Arthur falls in step with him, so you just follow.

“We’ll see you at the general store when you’re done,” Arthur calls after the women.

You look around as you follow Arthur and Uncle, not really listening in on their conversation. (You find yourself doing that a lot these days – keeping your head on a swivel like you’re a kid again, zoned out and only focusing on your surroundings.) There’s a hotel, a gunsmith, a law office, a bank… If you didn’t know you were actually-maybe-possibly in the actual year 1899, you’d give props to whoever cultivated a town frozen in time like this.

“This’s the place now.” Uncle slows in front of the general store and opens the door. “C’mon.”

You file into the store after Arthur. The walls are lined with shelves and cabinets stocked with goods, along with a table in the middle with even more items for sale.

“Here.” Arthur hands you a ten dollar bill. “Get yourself somethin’ new. You been livin’ in those clothes for a while now.”

“Oh.” You take the money from him. “Yeah, I… I guess I have. Thanks.”

You peruse the limited stock of clothing while Arthur and Uncle talk some more. You keep a careful eye on the price and pray that sales taxes aren’t a thing yet. And if they are, you pray that they’re included on the price tag.

Eventually, you decide on a nondescript, grey button-up, along with an extra pair of jeans. It makes you feel bad that you’re spending extra money, but you add on a belt because the jeans honestly seem a little too big.

The clerk hands you your change – $2.35. You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Do you have a changing room?” You ask. “I wanna get out of these clothes.”

The clerk shrugs. “You can use the stockroom, I guess.”

You thank him and head into the stockroom behind the till. It’s not much bigger than a janitor’s closet. Still, you do the best you can to change without knocking anything over.

When you’re done, you shrug your jacket back on and feel something poke you in the side. You reach to feel it, and… it’s your wallet. You completely forgot about your wallet.

You open it, and sure enough, it still has everything you kept in it. Credit card, debit card, health insurance, COVID vaccination card… money. There’s a ten and a five jammed behind your credit card, and a few coins. Enough to pay Arthur back.

You fold your clothes and tuck them under your arm, then exit the stockroom. You thank the clerk again, then turn to Uncle.

“I’m gonna put these back on the wagon,” you say.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” he says. “Just wait for us outside.”

You nod and exit the store. The walk to the wagon is short. You hop up on the back and tuck your clothes in a small chest underneath the seat.

When you return to the general store, Arthur and Uncle are outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door. You take a seat next to Arthur – not that you have much of a choice regarding that.

Uncle leans his elbow on his knee and looks over at you, holding out a bottle. “You want some whiskey?”

“No, I’m good.” You wave it away.

“Well, I’ll drink to your health for you.” Uncle takes a hearty drink from the bottle.

You exhale sharply in a lazy laugh. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“What a generous man you are,” Arthur chimes.

“It’s a funny world,” Uncle says. “This time in my career, I pictured myself being married to an heiress.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” You pull the ten dollar bill from your pocket and nudge Arthur’s arm. “I found this in the stockroom.”

There’s a pause. You nudge him again, harder. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through his leather jacket. “I… I don’t like feeling indebted. Just take it.”

Arthur takes the money and tucks it into his satchel. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“It’s nothing.” You set your hand in your lap, away from his. “Just call us even.”

“Even we are, then,” he says.

You hum and lean against the back of the bench. The men talk while you people-watch. It’s barely noon, but some men are already stumbling around, tipsy, if not drunk entirely.

You’re not sure how long you’re sat there with Uncle and Arthur, but Mary-Beth quickly snaps you out of your stupor. She’s walking fast, and the smile on her face tells you how excited she is. She prattles on about sneaking into a rich house and hearing about a train passing through soon.

“O…kay,” Arthur says.

Mary-Beth rolls her eyes, exasperated at his apparent thick-headedness. “A train laden with baggage, passing through a bit of deserted country at night, as to get to the docks in time for the tides, in someplace called Scarlett Meadows.”

Uncle raises a hand. “Yeah, I know it… It’s right out near New Hanover. It’s real quiet out there.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur says. “Where’s Tilly and Karen?”

“I think at the hotel,” Mary-Beth says. “They were pickin’ up some drunken fellers that they was gonna rob.”

A cold shock runs down your spine and your eyes snap up to Mary-Beth. She looks unconcerned, but the only thought in your mind is the possibilities of them being dead or nearing death. Bloody noses, whimpering, pleading for their lives.

Arthur feels the same, you can guess. His tone is stern and his voice is clipped as he spits out a “Why?”

“Seemed easy.” She checks over her shoulder at the hotel. “They have been gone for quite a while…”

You quickly get to your feet. “We’re getting them.”

You scan the other side of the street and see the skirt of a yellow dress disappearing around a corner, down an alley. It’s Tilly – you’re sure of it.

“Give me your gun.” You look at Uncle. He’s just looking back at you, bottle of whiskey still in hand. You leer closer, your lip curling. “Your gun, Uncle. Now.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver. You snatch the gun by the barrel and ready it in your dominant hand.

You step down from the porch of the general store and almost storm across the street. You can hear Tilly’s voice, panicked and shouting. Nobody else seems to be paying her any attention.

“You can go kiss a damn snake for all I care,” you can hear her yell. “Get off me!”

You round the corner to see a man holding Tilly up against the wall of a building, grabbing at her. You stride up the stairs and shout: “Hey!”

You point the revolver at the man, tilting your shoulders and looking down the barrel like you were taught. The iron sights find his chest.

“Who the hell d’you think you are?” You spit. “Get your hands off her!”

“Who are you?” The man drawls, still holding Tilly against the wall.

“You think that matters?” You grit your teeth, your lip curling into a snarl.

The man moves away from Tilly, letting his arm fall and freeing her. “You really think you’re so high and mighty?”

You pull the hammer back with your thumb. “I think that you need to run while you still can.”

The man takes a step back, glancing at Tilly. He points at her like it’s meant to be threatening. “You’re making a big mistake, Tilly Jackson.”

“Just get lost,” she says.

He turns and walks away. You keep your gun trained on his back until he turns the corner. When he disappears, you exhale heavily and close your eyes. Your hands are starting to shake. Your whole body is starting to shake.

“Take the gun.” You hold the revolver out to Tilly, holding it by the barrel. “Tilly, please take the gun.”

She takes the gun and decocks the hammer. You take a few steps back until your back meets the wall of the store, then slide down until you’re squatting. You breathe out a sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. You’re still shaking, and the adrenaline drop is making you feel like shit.

“Thank you.” Tilly puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

“No,” you say. You bring your hands away from your face and look over at her. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m fine,” she says. A soft smile crosses her face. “Y’know, for such a bundle of nerves, you sure handle yourself well when it comes to unpleasant men.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Don’t mention it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back until it hits the wall and rest there for a moment. You feel like absolute shit. You’re lightheaded, you’re exhausted, and you can feel sweat dampening your new shirt.

You rub a hand over your chest and hit your sternum to wake yourself up. You stand up and take the revolver from Tilly, tucking it in your belt.

“The others are waiting.” You jerk your head to the side.

Tilly follows you towards the wagon. You glance over at the hotel, where Karen is following Arthur down the steps. The corner of her mouth is bloody, but apart from that, she looks relatively untouched.

“You okay?” Tilly asks.

“Sure, he only punched me.” Karen flexes and massages her jaw. “Arthur punched him a lot harder.”

“Hey.” Mary-Beth looks over your shoulder. “Who’s that guy over there looking at us?”

You check over your shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a man atop a horse, staring at your little group.

“Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” He calls to Arthur.

“Me?” Arthur says. “No, sir. Ain’t from there.”

“Oh, you were,” the man says. “I definitely saw you! With a bunch of fellers.”

“Me? No. Impossible,” Arthur says. He starts walking towards the man. “Listen, buddy. Come here for a minute.”

“I saw you…”

“C’mere.”

The man spurs his horse and takes off. Arthur looks back and points at Uncle.

“Go get all ‘em home.” He approaches a random nearby horse and puts his boot in the stirrup. “I’m gonna go have a word with our friend.”

“Be careful, Arthur,” Tilly says as he mounts up.

Arthur takes off with an exclamation of “Just a word!”

There’s a moment where you and the others just stare after him as he rides, his figure rapidly retreating as he chases the man from Blackwater. Then, you look away and move towards the wagon.

“Let’s go,” Tilly says. “I think I’ve had about enough of Valentine for today.”

You take her hand and help her up into the back of the wagon. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[toxicanonymity]

You can totally say no if your not comfy doing it but maybe you can suggest another writer who you may think might? But if yoir request are open is there anyway I can convince you to write on the topic of reader being Sara's best friend and has tried to come onto Joel multiple times (ie sneaking into his room etc) and then escalating to slipping a roofie into his drink one night while her and Sara are home on winter break from college? If you're not comfortable i totally understand and im sorry if I made you uncomfortable its just your writing for the darker stuff is so amazing 💖

locket.

2k, joel miller x dark f!reader | master list A/N: here's your dead dove in a pear tree 🖤 in a way, it's kinda the inverse of night talks 😅 didn't overthink this one, so FIWB. WARNINGS: I8+ big girthy age gap (44/21), drugs, dosing, f masturbation, dubcon unsafe p in v, somnophilia-ish, choking adjacent move, degradation (both), cum, dead dove december

You're tired of her hot Dad playing hard-to-get, and you're going to put an end to it tonight.

You've come home with your college roommate, as you often do since your family lives far. Once again, her dad is dressed like a piece of meat. Tight, white, ride-me t-shirt. Cock bulging in his slutty joggers. He’s walking around double cheeked up on a Friday night in front of his daughter’s best friend. His daughter’s best friend who thinks about him every time she touches herself. 

Sarah falls asleep fast, and you can still hear the TV downstairs. You put on your locket, take off your underwear, and adjust your oversized, wide neck t-shirt to make a wardrobe malfunction inevitable with the slightest movement.  You creep down the stairs and pause at the landing, where you lightly caress your nipples, bringing them to full attention. You’re already tingling downstairs. You creep up to the edge of the living room with your arms straight down, pushing your boobs together, hands clasped together near your crotch as if you're cold. And to be fair, the air is a little cool on your bare cunt. You’re dripping for him, and the shirt barely covers your asscheeks.  Joel barely glances, then does a double take.  

His eyes fall on your breasts before reaching your face. His jaw clenches. After a few seconds, he asks, "What?" 

"Sorry to bother you. I couldn't sleep."

"What am I s'posed to do about that," he grumbles, looking away from you, resuming his focus on the television. 

You shiver and briskly rub your arms, feeling the air hit your exposed nipple for a moment, and you ask about changing the thermostat. He sighs, braces his hands on his knees, and gets up. You shamelessly ogle the bulge in his gray joggers. While he's on his way to adjust the thermostat, you open your locket and drop a little medicine into his can of beer: half a sleeping pill and half a Viagra. 

In the corner of your eye, Joel is lingering in the hall. He rubs his beard, looking at you while you pretend to look at the TV. He slowly walks forward. "Goddamn slut," he mutters under his breath, and you force away a smile as you sit down.

When Joel returns to the sofa, you're sitting next to his seat.  You bring your knee up to rest on the sofa and feel your pussy exposed.  He picks up a blanket off the other end and sets it in your lap.

"Take this with ya." He picks up his beer, and moves to the easy chair. You don't miss the way he adjusts himself as he settles into the chair. 

You make yourself comfortable, and when you just sit there, he says, "thought ya said ya were cold.”

“I'm comfy now.” 

You sit there in silence watching TV. He finishes his beer and gets another. You keep an eye on him. The sleeping pill seems to hit him first. His eyelids get heavy and he rests his head back on the chair. His breathing is steady. You think you see him getting hard. Yeah, something definitely moves in his joggers. He’s nodding off and jolts awake. He grabs his crotch and mutters, “fuck,” before he remembers you're there. You shift positions to lie on your stomach, facing him, with your ass exposed so he can see your butt cheeks. 

“Go to sleep, darlin’. God damn.” Your heart flutters. Oh, now he’s done for.

“You sure?” You ask and go into a cat pose with your ass higher in the air. 

“Yeah.”  His eyes are half shut. He tries to be subtle about slowly rubbing himself for relief, but you can see just fine.  “Fuck-” he interrupts himself with a yawn.  He shakes his head at you. “gave me somethin’, didn't ya?” 

You wet your lips and look down. “What makes you say that? Do you feel funny?”

“Like you don't know.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. You shift onto your side, then swing your legs around in front of you as you sit up on the sofa. “Well. . .I feel funny, Mr. Miller,” you purr as you spread your legs for him. “Yeah, I feel funny right here.” You slowly, lightly caress your mound near your clit with two fingers, then spread them to trace down your outer lips. 

“Somethin’ wrong with you,” he shakes his head. His brow furrows and he swallows. But he doesn’t leave. . .He looks back at the television. Your body is churning out slick, getting ready for him, but right now it’s going to waste on his sofa. You gather some from your hole and bring it up to your clit. You grab a breast and begin to touch yourself. He’s sleepy, but he's hanging in there. The heel of his palm is planted in his lap. 

When he begins to nod off again, you get up and approach the chair. He stays seated, awake but sleepy, and his breath deepens as you brace your hand on one arm of the chair. You wedge one knee between his outer thigh and the chair’s arm. Then the other side, so you're straddling him. You both look down at his visible erection. He looks up. His lips form a subtle pout, then part slightly. His brown eyes glaze over as he studies your face. 

“Dress like you want it,” you whisper. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. You reach for his cock and he gently stops your wrist. 

“I could be your dad,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper. Your hand doesn't stop, and he doesn't try to stop it anymore as you reach. You grab the rock hard protrusion and he silently grunts from the back of his throat. He’s throbbing against your palm through the thin cotton. Your breath hitches at the first contact. You twitch and ache for him. His brow furrows. 

“‘If you’re gonna do it, do it,” he challenges you in a near whisper. He must be painfully hard. He can't take it. You massage him through the soft fabric. 

Your lips part, and you tilt your head as you read his face. 

He mumbles, “Gonna pussy out?” He cracks a little smile and adds, “with your pussy out?”

You sigh. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Such a rotten girl,” he murmurs with half lidded eyes as his hands come to your thighs. You shiver in a bolt of pleasure as his hands wrap around the backs of your thighs and slowly run down to your knees, then up to your ass. He squeezes your cheeks, and his cock throbs in your hand. 

“Coward,” he whispers with a snarl and takes his hands away, resting his arms on the chair. 

You brace one hand next to his head on the back of the chair, and your heart shaped locket dangles as you take down his waistband with your free hand. His cock slaps against his white t-shirt, making a wet spot. 

Good Lord. Your mouth falls open. You tug the joggers down more. He grunts softly when you cup his soft, fuzzy balls. Then you release them, grab his shaft, and hear yourself moan. Never felt anything stiffer. It's angry and now the tip is actively oozing. Your mouth waters and your body opens up for him. 

He watches your face, then yawns again. You rub yourself and gather your slick, then wrap your slippery hand around his cock. You scoot your knees forward and hover over it. He inhales through his nose as you lower yourself to make contact. You pause with the tip just inside. It's already a stretch, but deeper inside,  your core is begging for more. Your entrance spasms around his tip.  He gasps and tenses, gripping the arms of the chair as you begin to sink down.  He closes his eyes and winces as his cock divides your walls and you moan as your bodies become flush. You sit on his dick while your body makes space for him and you get even wetter. 

“Fu–ohh” he tilts his head back. His neck veins strain. He's so goddamn hot. 

You slowly tilt your hips and let out only an inch of him before bottoming out again. His cock takes up so much space inside you. You look down between  your bodies. His white shirt has ridden up to expose the happy trail and the slight pudge of his lower belly. His stomach heaves with deep breaths. You begin to move on him, slowly. 

“Ahhh, fuhh-uhhhk,” he sighs. His brows knit together and he watches you ride him. 

You tilt your hips, seeking the pressure of your clit nudging his body. “Yeah,” you breathe and move a little faster. Your necklace swings, the silver heart getting closer and closer to him. Then his hand flies up to wrap around your neck, trapping the chain. His grip isn’t firm, but the presence of his hand around your throat is enough to freeze you on his cock and give you a surge of need. Your pussy spasms, your slick walls begging for the friction they've earned. 

“You’re sick,” he mutters, then his hips punch up and he sighs. He lets go of your throat, then tugs your shirt down under your tits. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, the corners of his mouth glistening with saliva. He reaches out and palms your breasts, then hooks his hands under your arms. He watches your tits move with your rhythm. 

“How many times have you thought about this,” you ask. 

“I don't think about it,” he claims, but his face says constantly. You massage your own breasts as you ride him, and he sighs. Hopefully he can't get enough. Hopefully he comes back for more. You roll your hips with a moan. That's why you didn't use a roofie - He needs to remember this. He needs to need it. “Mmm.” Maybe he’ll be desperate, mad. As he watches you ride him, his eyelids begin to droop again. Maybe he’ll be mad enough to take it. 

You gently slap his cheek. “Stay with me,” you command, and begin to ride him harder. You slot your fingers into his hair. “When's the last time you came,” you ask, massaging his scalp as you move on his cock. “Hmm?” You pause with his cock all the way inside, and he twitches inside you. “Hmm?”

“Days,” he whispers. You start rolling your hips again. “Been days, ohhh–fuck.”

“You're gonna come inside,” you nod. His cock twitches again. 

“Ohh, fuck. Are you–ohhh,” he sighs, “are you–ugghh.” 

“It's okay,” you reassure him, “It's okay.” God, the thought of Mr. Miller nutting in your cunt has gotten you over the edge so many times alone. You're close. You bring your body closer against his and grind your clit into him, your body moving his swollen manhood, subtly rocking it as your clit presses into his pubic hair and your insides swell with the pressure of pent up pleasure. “Ohh, God,” you sigh and feel your body tighten, tighten, almost there. “Ohh, fuck,” you pant. 

“Ohh,” he moans and his hips lift under you. The tension snaps and your clit pulses, making you whine. You grind into him as you pulse, release pressure, pulse, release more, losing yourself in waves of release. 

“Oh, God,” you moan, fluttering around his stiff cock. 

“Ugggh,” he groans and his hands come to your ass. He begins to move you on his cock as your climax wanes. He moves you harder and moans unrestrained. He grits his teeth, and his fingertips dig into the plush of your ass. ”Ohh,” he sighs and fucking erupts. 

“Oh shit,” you whine, and keep clenching around him with warm bursts of him flooding your core. “Ohh God.” 

“Oh, fuck,” he pants, bursting again and again, filling you with his seed. “Ohhh,” his pulses fade and you come to a rest in his lap. He lays back against the chair breathing heavily. You lean forward and hug him. He doesn't have the energy to push you away. Soon, he's snoring and you're just sitting there enjoying the fullness of his cock and cum. 

“Mmm,” you sigh softly and begin to push yourself up. You let his cock out and some of his cum comes with it. You scoop it up from around his tip and draw a heart on his shirt, imagining how cute it'll be when it's dry and hard. Then you get off the chair entirely and draw a few small hearts of cum on his joggers. You pull the waistband up for him, then plant a kiss on his lips before leaving him there. Then you go back upstairs and put on your underwear before you get back in his daughter's bed. 

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Thank you so much for reading, ILY 💖 If you really like dark reader, you might wanna try my ghostface fic every inch

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I hear you about notifs not working, i hear you about tags not working (i'm not receiving a lot of my tags either). consider checking my fic notifs blog @toxicfics or the "latest fics" link on my profile header once in a while to see what you might have missed.

[cluelessatthispoint]

I don’t know if your still taking Emesis Blue requests, but would love to see a story with that Mutated Scout thing. Maybe like a Yandere one where it’s stalking the reader while there exploring the slaughter house. Something spooky idk 😋

Sure thing Anon! Sorry about the really long, long, loooonnng wait.

warnings: mild gore, swearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Only One Left

The slaughterhouse greets you with silence—dense, oppressive, the kind that hums in your bones. Each step falls heavy, sneakers tapping against stained concrete, a sharp contrast to the stillness. Only your breath and the occasional groan of warped steel accompany you.

You can’t recall how the trail led here. Only that a letter—plain, forgettable—slid under your door that morning. A promise whispered between its lines: answers. Fool’s bait. And now, this place. A ruin reeking of iron and old death. Blood hangs in the air like fog, sweet and rot-thick.

Your grip tightens around the flashlight. Its beam barely pierces the dark, but it’s all you’ve got. The door behind you creaks—then slams shut. A shiver races up your spine.

Alone. At least, that’s what you pretend.

“This is bullshit,” slips from your lips, too soft to be brave.

That’s the lie you wrap around yourself like a coat.

You press forward through a corridor of rusted meat hooks and shattered tile, their surfaces slick with things you don’t name. Then—movement. Skittering. Not small. Not distant. Sharp and fast like claws on tile.

A cry cuts through the dark. Nasal. Grating. Wounded. Human—but not quite.

You hesitate, and the silence rushes back in like water filling a grave. No breeze. No light, except that sickly cone of yellow in your hand. Walls slick with ancient blood breathe around you. The floor squelches underfoot. The walls weep something dark. You try not to look too closely.

You're not meant to be here. But something called you anyway.

A story, maybe. A whisper passed between frightened lips: They went in. None came out. And now—here you are, walking their bones.

Hooks swing lazily on dead air. One locker door yawns open nearby, streaked with something brown and flaking. A mirror inside—shattered—offers back a warped reflection: a face drawn tight with dread. Tired. Pale. Not quite yours anymore.

You don’t linger.

Past another hallway, words scrawled across peeling paint: "YoU LOVEd ME" The letters drip, their meaning crawling under your skin. The words twitch at the edges of your mind. You try to place them, but they slip from your grasp like dreams on waking.

Someone’s eyes are on you. You feel them. You spin—nothing. But it’s colder now. The dark feels heavier.

You quicken your pace.

Then— A voice.

Thick and wrong, warped like sound dragged through water. It seeps from the vents, low and intimate, like something exhaling against your ear.

“I watched you sleep… You smiled once. At me... I think.” “They screamed. You didn’t. You saw me.” “That’s why you’re mine.”

A broken laugh trails the words, sharp with glee. Something scrapes along

Then the voice returns, closer now. Slow and sticky.

“I remember how you smelled when you were scared.”

Pause.

“You looked at me like you knew me. Maybe you did.”

Instinct overrides reason. Muscles scream as you sprint, breath ripping from your throat. Thoughts stutter—fragment before they form.

Just move. Run.

A door—corroded, half-eaten by rust—appears in your path. You slam it shut, throw the lock, and press your back to it as your lungs claw for air.

Silence.

Then... the scrape returns. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

You step back.

Something presses from the other side. Metal bends inward. A claw—blackened, twitching—sneaks through the seam, trembling with glee. Hungry.

Memory fractures like glass behind your eyes. Not memories that belong to you—but ones that wear your face.

A heavy door appears at the corridor’s end. You throw yourself through, slam it shut, and twist the lock. Your hands shake. Your throat burns.

BANG. The frame jumps.

BANG. The hinges scream.

Then— The door gives way.

Something presses from the other side. Metal bends inward. A claw—blackened, twitching—sneaks through the seam, trembling with glee. Hungry.

Memory fractures like glass behind your eyes. Not memories that belong to you—but ones that wear your face.

And he enters.

Its shadow trembles, showing that it’s excited to be near you again.

Tall. Bent. A thing once shaped like a man. Now too much—too stretched. Skin peels in thin sheets from muscle that twitches in anticipation. Teeth too numerous. Eyes too bright. His grin spreads far enough to hurt.

A crooked figure spills through—limbs too long, twitching in spasms. Flesh sloughs from bone, revealing muscle slick and twitching beneath. His grin—jagged, forced—cuts deep into cheeks. The eyes, pale and glossy, fixate on you with childlike wonder. And something else. Possession.

His ribs stretch against thin skin like prison bars barely holding something in.

He steps closer. His voice comes softly. Almost gentle.

“I saved this place for us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I know that the monster Scout can't talk. But I felt that I needed to add something to make him easier story wise to write. I hope that's okay!

[ugotnojamzzz]

Chapter 11

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.8k

Masterlist

Chapter 10

—

In her long list of world’s end scenarios, the fear that the sky should eventually fall on her head had always struck Y/N as mere superstition.

After two weeks of Jungkook’s strict lockdown, however, it started to sound like mercy.

Past restless and miles beyong bored, YN struggled to admit that what she craved, far more than an escape, was an impact. A crack in the ceiling. A break in the routine.

When the storm hit again, it gave her all three.

She was already asleep when the knock came. Not urgent—just firm. The kind that didn’t wait.

Before she could answer, the door opened.

Jungkook stood in the doorway.

“Up,” he said.

She blinked, groggy. “What—?”

“Power’s out. Again.”

Y/N sat up, rubbing at one eye with the back of her hand. “Seriously?”

“Cameras are dead. Elevator too.”

That made her blink harder. No elevator meant no way out of the attic. But no surveillance meant no evidence.

Just like last time.

She stared at him for a second longer than she meant to. He didn’t explain. He didn’t wait.

He just turned and walked away, expecting her to follow.

It was pretty clear.

Last time the power went out, she tried to run.

He wasn’t taking any chances.

Muttering under her breath, she swung her legs off the bed and followed.

The floor felt colder than usual, the hall silent but for the hum of the storm pressing at the walls, rain drumming against the windows like it was trying to get in.

The common room was pitch black, save for the flashes of lighnting coming through the skylight every few seconds.

YN dropped onto the couch, arms crossed. “This is getting repetitive. Maybe you guys should invest in an stay-in electrician.”

Jungkook didn’t smile, didn’t even turn around. He just leaned against the wall, arms folded. “We don’t need to talk.”

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and muttered, “Aw—And here I thought we were gonna braid each other’s hair and tell scary stories.”

He rolled his eyes.

Y/N let the silence sit for a moment.

She studied him—just a shadow leaning against the wall, all sharp edges and unreadable eyes. Like the storm outside had taken shape and learned how to glower.

“Jesus,” she said dryly. “So you really pulled me out of bed just to sit here in silence until the power comes back?”

“That’s the plan.”

She exhaled through her nose, slow. Let the quiet drag out.

Then, standing, “Can I at least get a drink?”

He didn’t move. “Pour it yourself. Unless that’s too much effort.”

Y/N arched a brow. She walked to the cart in the corner, poured two fingers of whiskey, neat. Took a slow sip, and turned back to face him.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to keep pretending I’m the most exhausting part of your job.”

“I’m not pretending.”

She let out a quiet, humorless laugh and moved back to the couch, curling into the corner. “Right. ‘cause I’m so high-maintenance. What with the whole being-locked-in-my-room-day-in-and-day-out and all that. »

Outside, thunder rolled. The skylight buzzed faintly in its frame.

Y/N sat back down, curled sideways, blanket still wrapped loosely around her shoulders, one leg tucked beneath her. Jungkook remained by the far wall, arms crossed.

The storm outside had swelled. Rain smeared down the glass like oil. Every few seconds, lightning lit the room in flashes—white, then gone.

Y/N spoke first.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just… conversational.

“You ever notice how every time the power cuts, everyone’s first concern is what I might do?”

Jungkook didn’t respond.

“It’s always about where I might run, who I might stab, or what I might break.”

Still nothing from him. But his posture stiffened.

She went on. Lightly.

“Funny no one ever seems to worry about what you might do.”

That got his attention. His eyes cut to her but he stayed silent.

“You don’t think that’s a little backwards?” She didn’t look at him. “No lights. No cameras. No one listening. No one coming.” She paused. “It’s just us. Alone. And you’re not exactly known for your gentle disposition.”

His voice was cold. Controlled.

“Don’t start.”

She turned her head now—just enough to meet his gaze.

“I’m not starting anything,” she said. “I’m just saying… statistically speaking, girls are a hell of a lot more likely to pay for what happens in the dark.”

He clenched his jaw.

She could see it even in the dark—how the muscles in his cheek twitched, how his fingers curled slightly tighter under his crossed arms.

“Say what you mean,” he said, low.

Y/N tilted her head. “I think I just did.”

“You think I’d—” He cut himself off, breathing through his nose. “You think that’s what this is?”

She tilted her head. “I think guys like you rarely ask permission.”

His eyes darkened. Not with guilt. Not with confirmation. But with something colder.

“You don’t know the first thing about guys like me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she said. “The ones who keep their hands clean while doing the dirty work. Tell themselves they’d never, but stop pretending to be decent the second no one’s watching.”

She was still. Unflinching. That was the point.

The silence stretched again—longer this time, with only the storm to fill it. She leaned back in the chair, arms folded under the blanket, voice softer now.

Lightning flashed.

He looked away first.

Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

Only her victory was short lived—

“I know girls like you, too,” he said.

She turned her head, “Do you.”

He went on, calm and bored. “Silver spoon. Always pampered. Always right. Always the victim when things don’t go their way.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “Careful,” she said. “You’re starting to sound like you’ve thought about me.”

“You’re an heiress. Everyone knows what that means.”

“Oh, right,” she said, voice tightening. “Because being born with my name means nothing bad ever touched me.”

“Compared to the rest of us?” He shrugged. “Yeah.”

The storm thickened.

She stood. Sharp. Sudden.

“Is that the best you can do, then? Spoiled little girl?”

He stepped forward once.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Y/N didn’t look away.

Neither did he.

“No,” she said, stepping closer, “I don’t think I did. Why don’t you try it again?”

His jaw clenched.

The wind screamed against the skylight above them. The whole ceiling groaned.

He stepped forward too. The air between them narrowed.“I said s—” he began.

“Fuck you,” she snapped, cutting him off.

The words landed hard, loud. Like a match to gasoline. Jungkook didn’t flinch, but something shifted in his stance. Outside, thunder cracked again, sharper this time. Closer.

His voice came low, even—controlled only because it needed to be.

“I’ll say it once. Get away from the window.”

She let out a laugh—harsh, humorless. “Oh, right. Because the window’s the threat here.”

He didn’t move. The storm did.

Outside, the wind shrieked against the walls, and the thunder hit harder.

She turned her back on him and took one slow, deliberate step until she stood right under the skylight.

“What do you think is gonna happen, Jungkook?” she said. “The sky gonna come crashing down if I don’t follow orders?”

She faced him again. Steady.

“Good. Let it. I’d rather have the sky fall on my fucking head than listen to you bark for one more second.”

His fists curled.

The tension snapped tight between them—no air left, no space to breathe. The thunder roared.

He started to speak.

“Don’t push me—”

But she cut him off, voice rising over his.

“Why not? Go on, yell a little! It’s really cathartic. Besides, who knows? If you’re loud enough, lightning might just strike and put us both out of our miser—”

CRACK. A shatter. A breath too late.

Lightning struck the glass like it had been waiting. The glass above exploded.

The crash was sudden, but his reaction was faster.

In an instant Jungkook had her pinned against the wall, one hand at her ribs, the other braced beside her head. His body covered hers in a hard, instinctive shield as shards exploded across the floor where she’d been standing—not a second too soon.

For a long moment, neither of them breathed.

The drumming of their pulse was barely covered by that of the storm, the terrifying clatter of glass skittering across tile and rain trickling down through the gaping hole.

He didn’t move. Neither did she.

His chest rose and fell against hers.

Too close.

Then—her voice. Dry. Tight.

“You can let go now.”

He hesitated—just for a second—then stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck, pacing once like he needed to burn the adrenaline off. He cursed to himself as he observed the damage.

“Careful,” he hissed, as Y/N stepped around the broken glass, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She didn’t sit again—just stood there, arms crossed, pulse still pounding faintly in her ears.

If she wanted—if she really wanted—this could be the moment.

His throat was right there.

Her foot was already near a jagged piece of glass.

He felt it too.

“Don’t even think about it,” he muttered, eyes still forward.

Y/N rolled hers. “I’m not.”

The wind pushed at the broken skylight, the rain speckling the tile, but neither of them moved to clean it up.

Then she spoke again—flat, offhand.

“Well. I’ll make your life easier and go back to my room. No shattered glass in there for me to swan dive through.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her. “That’d be smart.”

She scoffed, turned toward the door, then paused as she grabbed the handle.

“I hope you’re not expecting a thank you,” she said.

“I’m not.”

—

When she closed her bedroom door, Y/N leaned against it for a second longer than she meant to.

Her skin was still buzzing.

From the cold, probably.

Or maybe it was from him—that too-close weight of his body against hers, the feel of his hand on her ribs.

She scowled. Rolled her shoulders once, like she could shake it off, then crossed the room and climbed back into bed.

She exhaled. Short. Annoyed.

Nothing happened.

Just glass. Just rain.

Just him.

Nothing at all.

But her pulse was still off-rhythm when she closed her eyes.

Careful what you wish for. The sky listens. She had asked for a break, and the storm had kindly obliged. The heat, however, was extra.

—

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 12

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

@loumin908

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter three: the truce

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader

masterlist

summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.

After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?

warnings:  language, mention of being fostered and it being terrible, more hints to reader’s past, dead mother, mentions of sex and reader being dom

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @cjand10 @mcira @calwitch

PREVIOUS PART

A/N: I enjoyed writing this sm! as always, please let me know what you think, all comments and reblogs and likes are heavily appreciated!! love u all <3

You didn’t expect moving to be so much work, and…so much fucking tape. Ever since you escaped the hellhole of your foster house, you’ve been living in the Tower, only ever having to unpack a duffel and a suitcase full of clothes and shoes and makeup. 

The good news that comes from being so tired is that you barely have the energy to argue with Bucky, often falling asleep on the couch halfway through dinner. The TV will continue to blare in the background, and Bucky will continue to chew silently. He lets you take the naps, gently waking you up once he’s done, and handing back your freshly heated dinner plate right back at you, just so you never eat a cold meal. In all honesty, it’s been wonderful.

Somehow, he’s nice to you, now. The two of you haven’t officially called a truce, but it goes unspoken, you suppose. You find yourself helping him more than usual, and certainly have stopped insulting him. You don’t know why. Why he’s being kind, and smiling, even in the privacy of your own home, where nobody else but the two of you have been, so you know for sure that there are no bugs or secret cameras.

The neighbourhood has been pretty quiet, and it seems the Senator is currently on a vacation of some sort, so you haven’t had the chance to profile him in person, or his house. Your own is quite nice, large with a swimming pool in the back garden. It’s modern, and neat, and oozes luxury. 

If you weren’t so fucked up, if you still wanted the ring and kids and picket fence, you would’ve loved it here. You can almost see it — a partner grilling an assortment of meats and vegetables that have been marinating in a secret spice mix for hours, kids splashing and playing about in the shallow end of the pool, you and other guests lounging on the chairs as the sun sets, washing everything in sight in hues of golden orange. Or if it’s just your family, maybe sneak some affection from your partner with a hand around their waist and a kiss pressed to the back of their neck. It’s perfect. Given that Bucky’s from the 40s, he must be losing his mind. He’s pretending, albeit, but he’s gotten the simple life he must’ve dreamed of and clung to. It’s a shame he’s with you.

Which brings you to right now, standing in front of the oven with your arms crossed, waiting for an old-fashioned timer to go off. You stare at it, at the minutes ticking by. There’s nothing much left to do. You’ve already unpacked all the kitchen crockery, throwing away the last of the cardboard. The blue frosting and white icing is mixed and ready on the counter, and you hate yourself. It’s March 10th, today. Bucky’s birthday. 

His kindness in these past two weeks has completely swayed you, so here you stand, baking him a fresh batch of cupcakes you’re going to be decorating, just for him. You don’t know why, it feels like you glanced at your new phone, registered the date, and all you did was blink and now here you stand. Bucky’s still fast asleep in his bedroom.

That was another relief of the house — there were two bedrooms. Thank God, the two of you sleep separately. You’ve shared a bed before, on several missions and attempts to get the two of you to enter a state of permanent civility, and oddly enough you missed those nights sometimes.

When you weren’t tired enough, so the nightmares ran rampant in the small area of your brain and the large expanse of your imagination. Sometimes you’d wake up pressed tightly against him, and you knew he must have held you to ground you. Other times, he’d still be fast asleep, and you would often trace all the intricate ridges and details of his vibranium arm. You’ve gotten adjusted to the sight of his brand new, human arm, but you miss the black and gold. You’d rather die than verbally express so, but you miss it. You miss the way it soothed you, distracted you. The way it created space in your mind for something that wasn’t torturous memories lashing out at you. 

If he knows about it, he’s never said anything. About the nightmares. Not even two nights ago when you had woken up screaming and trying to escape out the window, desperate to escape a phantom wielding a bloodied knife. He’d just calmed you down, talked you back to the centre of the room and held you.

He likes doing that a lot now, finding excuses to touch you. It’s comforting, like you’ve been on edge your entire life and are just now finding peace. You hate it. You hate everything about your current situation, but it’s simultaneously a humongous relief. To not have to constantly have your guard up and be ready to fire insults like they’re bullets. You can just be, and revel in the way he’s not treating you like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The timer goes off. The cupcakes cool. The recipe is something your mother taught you — your only remaining inheritance you carried with you. You smother them in frosting, writing HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUCKY with one letter on each cupcake, leaving two for free reign. You chose to simply put the number 107 on each of them, and arrange them on a wonderful, dark blue tray.

You let yourself smile, proud of the work you’ve accomplished so far, at only 9AM in the morning. And then, a voice grubbed over with sleep, yet not as annoying as you remember calls out.

“Whatcha bakin’ there, doll?” You turn to him, rubbing his eyes and yet thankfully wearing a shirt. His hair is still messy, and you move forward to fix it for him as he shoots you another lazy grin. This has become somewhat of another step of routine between the two of you. He always wakes up with messy hair he cannot be asked to comb, and you got tired of berating him for it. He’d complain theres no mirror around and being to pout until you huffed and fixed it for him.

You try and pretend like you don’t notice his conspicuous eyes fixed on your face like he’s desperate to memorise it. 

“Happy birthday.” You decide to keep your words simple, staring directly into his eyes, so blue that they make some long-forgotten muscle in your chest restart.

You turn around to ignore that feeling, heading back to the counter where your frosted treats await. You miss the desperate, aching look of longing on his face. It brings back memories of him, of how he acted the last time you bothered to remember one of the most basic facts about him — how he’d pretty much thrown your gifts across the room and stormed out of his own birthday party without so much as another word.

He swears to be different now. To be different to you. In all honesty, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why you dislike him so, but on the journey here, he was finally able to read between the lines. It’s pathetically embarrassing to admit why he acted that way towards you, especially now. He wonders if you’d laugh at him, shape it into another painful weapon to aim for his diaphragm.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky. I know being stuck with me isn’t ideal, well, let’s be honest, you’d probably rather be back in cryo—.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he replies all too fast, staring down at the tray in your hands. He tries to ignore the rampant beat of his heart as he registers that you finally called him Bucky, instead of literally anything else. He knows you do it to spite him, and admires that you’d still never call him the Winter Soldier, despite how deep the faux hatred between the two of you ran. Well, faux hatred on his part.

He’s been in love with you for years. And when he finally realised it, you’d already moved past trying to be nice to him. He’s missed his chance with you, he knows this. But he finds himself growing more and more desperate with every passing year to manufacture that chance. But every time he builds up the courage, it seems you’re too busy flirting or eye-fucking literally anyone who isn’t him. And it crushes him beyond belief, every single time.

Without fail.

“Oh, okay. Didn’t mean to bring that up. Erm, I made you these cakes. They’re my mum’s recipe, and as far as I know you’re not allergic to anything in here.” He plasters a grin right back on his face.

“Aren’t you gonna sing for me, doll?” God, you wish you could hate that nickname. But it’s a step above Butterface, that’s for sure. And as much as you hate him, it is his birthday. You don’t know how much you can bring yourself to deny him, especially what with all the kindness he’s been showing you recently.

“Do you want me to?” God, Bucky wishes you could love him back. That those beautiful eyes he dreams about so often, just stare at him with some warmth, some fondness. Like you did when he first got here, when he didn’t deserve your affection. But those versions of the both of you are long gone. 

“‘Course I do. It’s my birthday after all.” You roll those pretty eyes and huff, pretending to be annoyed. 

You grab the candles from the cutlery drawer you bought in a last minute impulse on your grocery shopping run, and stick them in two of the cupcakes, lighting them with your lighter — the only physical inheritance from your mother. You still remember that night, when she pressed it into your small hands and begged you to hide underneath the bed, before all hell broke loose. She always had a lit cigarette in her hand, and the smell of ashes always brings memories of her floating back to you. It’s a simple golden one, engraved with a venomous snake on the front and her name embossed — her name before she got married. It’s your most prized possession. Bucky watches as you run a thumb over it with that fond look in your eyes, and his heart catches in his throat. You’ve never been more vulnerable than you are in this moment, not even when you were on the floor crying over the thought of pretending to be married. All of your guards are temporarily lowered, and he sees how your hard exterior gives way to something softer and warmer, a version of you long buried under the stresses of your job and the malice you exude in his presence.

And he’s obsessed with the ring on your finger, the way you play with it when bored or pensive. Actually, he’s just obsessed with you. You begin singing with a small, yet seemingly genuine, smile on your face. He thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

You have a lovely voice, even if it’s reserved for showers and to be lost in impromptu choirs. But his heightened senses mean he can still pick your voice out of the crowd, can still feel the weight of it wash over him like a perfect blanket. He wishes you’d cling to him like that, like the songs you sing when you think nobody’s listening or paying attention.

And then you call him Bucky again, and his heart goes out the window. He’s practically vibrating where he stands and clutching his fists to his sides in trying not to kiss you. You wouldn’t like that. When you finish, he closes his eyes and wishes for you like he does every year. 

He guesses a lesser man would’ve lost hope, after seven birthday wishes asking for one person, and yet still having them so close yet so out of reach. But he’ll beg, every year, until someone out there decides he shall have no more. He’d beg for you any time, in any way you like. His heightened sense of hearing, and the two of you living on the same floor, means he already knows how much you enjoy being begged for pleasure. How much you enjoy being in charge.

When he first got to New York after Wakanda, the only room that was available was across the hall from yours. He didn’t mind. Even though he’d completely forgotten how to talk to people he finds insanely attractive, so insanely enigmatic that all he can do is try his best to not let drool drip out of his mouth when he watches you do even the most mundane things like eat cereal with your hair still messy from a long night, in a sports bra and joggers. Showing off every inch of that perfect body he’s worshipped so many times in his dreams. It’s why he hasn’t moved out of there, because of the perverted side of him. Something he’d rather die than admit.

And of course everyone in the damn building knows, how could they not? When they see the way he looks at you when you storm out of a room, how he almost misses the punching bag when he sees you training weights across the room with sweat slicking your hair to your forehead. He thinks you’ve never looked more irresistible, and he’d do anything to get his hands on you, in any way you allow. Why do you think he asks you to spar so often? 

You grin at him. “Bucky privileges are only for these 24 hours, then I go right back to James. And I got you something.” You hand him the tiny box, gift wrapped in blue as he looks at you with an adorable blush on his face.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this, doll.”

“I wanted to make you feel more at home. And I needed to talk to you about something.” You’re wearing one of his old flannel shirts, folding your arms across your chest. You’d requested some of his bigger, older shirts to wear, and had told him it’s considered a form of deep intimacy in the 21st century. And those six shirts are all you’ve worn around the house, often with biker shorts on underneath. You know, just to drive him to ridiculous heights of insanity, of course. 

“We should call a truce. Officially. I mean, we’re being civil, and it goes unspoken. But officially, for the record, we should call a truce. At least, not be mean to each other. I wanted today to be the beginning of it, end date TBD.”

“Yeah, that’s fine with me. Now, can I open it?” You nod, gesturing at the box. You watch his face as he delicately unwraps your birthday gift, for any signs of discomfort on his face. If he’s truly okay with the peace you’ve proposed between the two of you. 

“Come here.” He commands. You’re surprised how quickly you comply, walking across the counter to stand mere inches from him. You wonder if he’s going to treat this gift like he did the last, and make sure you end up crying this time. 

“This is a wonderful gift, doll. I really, really love it. Thank you.” Before you can protest, he pulls you in for a quick side hug. You don’t miss how his blue eyes glow as he takes the New York keyring out of it’s container, running his thumb over the Statue of Liberty. 

He feels…so warm. And so cosy, all perfect for snuggling up. You find yourself wishing he hadn’t pulled away from the hug, desperate to feel more of his warmth against you than ever before. You suppress the need as it emerges, but you’re not strong enough.

“Yeah yeah. Whatever. What do you wanna do today? We could go out.” You try to remain impartial, but it’s proving difficult.

Keeping up all of your guards and walls is becoming more and more difficult with each passing day, and you find yourself becoming soft. The one thing you despise, but you also crave. 

You have no idea what’s happening to you.

And it’s terrifying.

NEXT PART

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: mentions of war, anxiety, vomiting, blood and dead animal

In books there's no mention of Tamlin being able to winnow, but for the sake of story, let's pretend he can

Part III | Part V

You woke up with a jolt, unable to take a breath. Something was pushing you from behind into sturdy, but warm object, crushing you. You squirmed and scratched until the thing under you stiffed and moved. It was alive. The grasp on back of your head and waist loosened a bit and you sat up gasping for air. As soon as you calmed down, you looked back to see what held you. Your eyes widened as you recognized the person next to you.

Tamlin was still asleep, lying on top of the blanket on your bed. He looked tired and torn, his cloths were dirty with bloody stains, his golden hair all dishevelled. He didn't have a single scratch on his skin, though he seemed to be trapped in another nightmare. He was moaning, gritting his teeth and frowning. His head was tossing from side to side, fingers clenched into fists.

"Please.. no.. don't le-.." he murmured under the breath.

"Tamlin," you shook his shoulder. "It's just a bad dream. You are.. safe."

High Lord woke up panting. Swallowing hard he looked around, seemingly trying to remember where he was. His green eyes stopped on you. Confusion and pain on his face was replaced by relief.

"You are awake," he breathed out.

"So you are. How did this happen?" you gestured between him and your bed.

"Ah, this.. Don't worry. Nothing happened. You passed out and as it looks I fell asleep while taking care of you. When was the last time you ate?" smirking he slowly sat up, his face just an inch from yours. You tried to put some distance between you and him, but everything went dark for a second. His big hands caught you, grounding you. "Slowly."

"I'm fine now. Thank you."

Tamlin shook his head. "When was the last time you ate?" he repeated his question.

"I don't know," you admitted, shrugging. "Is the war over? Who won?"

"We did, but I already told you yesterday. Don't you remember?" he tilted head in rather an animal way.

You blinked confused. "Really? I-I don't remember any of that.."

"Hmm," he watched you with concern. "It's interesting. When I came in I thought cottage is empty. I couldn't sense you at all. Then you suddenly appeared in the shadows and when I told you we won, you passed out. Don't you really remember it?"

You frowned and shook you head.

"Well, never mind," Tamlin sighed. "Let's find you some food."

"I'm afraid I don't have any at the moment. I.. couldn't go out.. I-I was worried.." you blushed turning your gaze away from him.

A wicked grin appeared on Tamlin's face. "I thought you are angry at me and meanwhile," one brow raised up, "you worried for my wellbeing. I'm flattered."

You blushed even harder. Since when did you have such kind of feelings? You didn't recognize yourself. "I could feel it.. The magic of this world was..wild..roaring."

"Yeah, it was quite a tough fight," Tamlin was once again serious. "War is a horrible thing. Many lives were lost. Too many. Things you see on a battlefield.. It's hard to erase it from one's mind.."

You could feel the enormous weight burdening his shoulders. Suddenly you felt really sorry for him. He was just a young male and yet.. he had a great responsibility. Many lives depended on him. He had to rule entire Court and fae who lived there. He was protecting this land for so many years and then human woman came and things started to fall apart.

"I'm going to get us something to eat," Tamlin stood up, heading to door. "You stay here and try to rest. I'll return soon."

He stopped, hand on a handle. "Uhm.. can you handle a meat? I know you said you don't remember if you've ever eaten it, but.. unlike you I'm afraid I'm not able to collect mushrooms and herbs. I'd most likely poison us."

You giggled. "I'll give it a try," you agreed grateful for anything he could bring. Tamlin's cheeks turned pink. Nodding he left.

Barely twenty minutes passed when you heard Tamlin returning back. His steps were heavier than before. Curious you carefully went downstairs using walls for support. Seeing an animal slung over his shoulder, you yelped.

"You shouldn't stand up," Tamlin said calmly as if he wasn't carrying big deer.

"Are you going to," you swallowed, "cut it open here?" If you had anything in your stomach, you would throw it out right there on the spot. You felt faint and needed to sit down. When Tamlin took a note of your state, he let the deer fall to the ground and rushed to you.

"Easy, vicious witch," he smirked helping you sit to your armchair. The smell of the dead animal stuck on his clothes and you gagged.

"I'm sorry," breathing deeply you tried to work off the nausea.

"No, I am sorry. It should have occurred to me you might feel sick when you see this," he pulled away, fanning you with hand. "It was really bad idea." Thinking about something he narrowed the shining green eyes on you. "I could.." he said hesitantly, "clean it and roast it at my house." You nodded weakly with closed eyes. "But I don't want to leave you alone for so long in this state."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just leave me here," you groaned, the desire to be as far from the dead animal's body and its smell as possible growing with every second.

He studied your face for a while. "Come with me," he said firmly. You wanted to object, but he continued before you could even open mouth. "You can rest in other room or take a walk around if you will feel up to it. I would be less worried. And meal won't unnecessarily cool down."

His gaze was too piercing and you had to look away. The very same feeling you had when you tried to go to check on him in his manor returned. Leaving this forest even for hour or two made you nervous. Whole your body was against it. You started sweating.

"I'll winnow us. No need to be afraid," Tamlin assured you. "Come." He pulled your hand lightly.

"I.."

"If you are afraid I will do something to you, no need to. If I would really want to, I already had a plenty opportunities, don't you think," he grinned and winked. Under all the playfulness there were traces of something dark, cold and painful. He was trying to suppress it, but you noticed it nonetheless.

Maybe it was for that pain that you agreed at last. Uneasiness was crushing you from inside and you had to repeat to yourself that it would be just for few hours and you would return back home.

Tamlin winnowed you as he said. When you dared to open your eyes a little, you found yourself in a room with big windows. It was impressive just as expected from High Lord's manor, but signs of neglect were visible all around. Every surface was covered in dirt and dust, some pieces of furniture were broken. Tamlin blushed looking around.

"I'm sorry for this," he gestured around. "This used to be the nicest room, but certain things happened and.. all servants left.. The state of my house is.. quite horrible at the moment."

Your eyes wandered around the room while he spoke, taking in beautiful details. You turned to him only when Tamlin stopped talking, waiting for your reaction.

"It is still very nice house. And bright," you smiled nervously. "It's so huge."

"For one person, it's too much," sadness filled his eyes. "If you want, you can look around or find some place to rest. Just.. stay nearby, please.. You know.. just in case you pass out again.." he added nervously as if his request needed an extra explanation. You heard that High Lord basically imprisoned his fiancée in the manor after their return from under the mountain and she broke down. That's when somebody from Night Court came to rescue her and she left him for the first time.

"I'm going to take care of the..meal," his voice snapped you out from your thoughts.

"Okay, I won't go far then," you promised and sent him reassuring smile. You watched your High Lord until he disappeared behind the doors on the opposite side, leaving it wide open. Was he really such bad person? He was gloomy, sad and broken, but down under it all, he seemed to be caring and gentle in his own way. You had mixed feelings.

You were weak and felt sick, so you decided to sit on chair near the window overlooking the garden. At least the anxiety of leaving the forest wasn't so bad right now. Resting you head against the frame of the window, you let your thoughts wander.

The peaceful moment didn't last long. Air changed and something felt off. Wondering what's going on you trailed in the direction Tamlin had disappeared in. It didn't take you long to find kitchen, the faint smell of dead animal guiding you. You were about opening the door when you sensed some stranger on the other side. His magic filled air with smell of dark chilly night, so strong it made a shiver ran down your spine. Whoever it was, he was powerful, more powerful than your High Lord. No matter how scary it was, it felt familiar in a certain way. You halted, trying to remember where did you met with such powers, but there was nothing.

You shook your head concentrating on a small gap in the ajar door. Peeking through it you could see Tamlin standing behind the table across the room, his hands dirty from the animal's blood. He was cutting - no, tearing it to pieces, obliviously ignoring the stranger standing on the other side whose back was turned to you.

"I just came to check on you," the stranger purred, even his voice was like silky night.

"Why would you bother?" Tamlin grunted, his eyes trained on the meat he was peeling off the skin.

"You saved my life which I'm really grateful for. Feyre said you even wished her a happiness. We used to be friends, Tam."

"Right, we used to. The past tense," Tamlin snarled.

Stranger stayed silent for a while, ignoring his words and looking around. "This house turned into a great mess. You should do something about that."

"Your mate made sure nobody stayed here," your High Lord snapped. Now it gave sense. The other male was Night Court's High Lord, the one Tamlin's fiancée ran to.

You could see Tamlin's discomfort, his shoulders tensed, jaw tightening. It worried you. You felt hate towards the male who came to tease him, to kick him while he was at the bottom. You were debating if you should go in and support him or stay hidden when Night Court's Lord spoke again.

"Are you really alone?"

Tamlin's gaze shot to the door you were hidden behind, flash of panic in his eyes. It took just mere second, but you noticed. He was afraid the other male could find you here. It was like a signal to stay where you were. "Yes," he rasped.

"Hmm," other male hummed amused. "Maybe I should send somebody to make you a company."

"Shove it up your ass, Rhysand! I don't want your sleuthhound to sniff around," Tamlin barked, his claws punched out.

So called Rhysand raised his hands in surrender. "It was just a friendly offer. You don't have enough men to guard the borderline. I can help you out with it."

"I. Don't. Need. You." Tamlin growled.

"Okay, I've got it. But if you change your mind or need help, let me know," Rhysand laughed and winnowed.

Tamlin stood there, his chest rising and falling as he heaved, sharp claws ready to tear the flesh into shreds. He was angry once again, pain all over his face. You hesitantly stepped out of your hideaway. His gaze shot to you, studying you from head to toe.

"How long were you eavesdropping on us?" His words were sharp like daggers.

"Long," you admitted calmly although your heart rate increased.

"So now you know.." he whispered, voice full of pain and looked down on his bloodied hands.

"That you are High Lord? I know it since I treated your wound."

His eyes shot up to you with surprise, searching your face for disgust, hate or any other emotion subjects of this court usually felt for him. He was taken aback when he found none of that.

"Will you leave like others did?" he asked in a small voice. "I.. won't stop you.."

"No," you answered simply. "I already told you I won't leave my home."

His lips pulled into a thin line. "Your cottage.. right.." he mumbled. He silently stood there staring absently at the table.

"So.. When will be the meal ready?" you changed topic, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Tamlin gave you a questioning look. "You don't mind eating with me?"

You huffed, raising a brow. "Have I ever given you such impression?" He searched your eyes and then returned back to portioning the deer.

"You know what I've done, don't you?" he asked while putting a piece of meat on the spit.

"I heard something."

"I see." You felt him watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You smiled. "Do you plan to lock me up in your manor?"

His head snapped up. "No," he hurried to answer. "I-"

"Easy," you stopped him. "I was just teasing you." You smiled wider. Slowly a shy smirk appeared on his face, his shoulders relaxed bit more.

A silence stretched between you. Tamlin was roasting the meat, while you were standing as far from the rest of the deer as possible, going through almost empty shelves. When his servants were leaving they took most of the useful things with them. In one of the cupboards you managed to find some plates and cutlery.

"Do you.. do you have a name?" Tamlin asked suddenly.

You hummed. "Probably, but I don't remember it," you said unexcited.

"So with your past you forgot also your name," he stated. You nodded. "Well then.. how should I call you?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?" you shrugged.

Tamlin stopped in the middle of reaching out to turn the meat, gaping at you. "Of course it matters. Everyone has name." He stepped closer, examining your face in disbelief. You gazed back at him. He was met with emptiness of your eyes. There was again no emotion, no sentiment nor desire. It was disturbing.

"If that's the case I will give you name," he decided lastly. He took his time, watching you, circling around you with thoughtful expression. "How about... No." He circled around you one more time. "I will call you.. Y/N. What do you think?"

"Well.. I guess it's..fine." It felt strange. You didn't want to, but nevertheless you cared. It was just a name, yet it changed you. You couldn't grasp what it had done to you, but it was big. You felt different.

"Fine?" He raised a brow. He watched you closely, lightly grinning at your reaction. "Your High Lord just gave you new name and you say 'fine'?" He really enjoyed teasing you. You shrugged.

Since then he made sure to call you by the name he gave you at every opportunity. It took some time, but at last you got used to it.

[sincerelyverena]

I'm not sure if you know the character but can you do Jennifer's check from Jennifer's body like she is a demon of course and like Jennifer check demon! reader x Charles Rowland like maybe she is pretending to be human and somehow he found out she is a demon

and of course, she can see them

like how would he react

⟡⁺ WHY DON'T YOU EAT ME NOW, YOU CAN

i took this a different way than expected, but i am so GLAD that it turned out like this. i hope y'all loved this as much as i loved writing it. xox

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X FEM!READER ‘and you want some fresh meat, so why don't you bite me?’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒you fall in love with a ghost as a succubus, who is under the impression you're nothing more than a puny human who wants his love.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒angst﹐jennifer check demon!reader﹐ghost x succubus ﹐established relationship﹐ending up to interpretation ﹐inspired by bones and all﹐yummy yummy﹐i love jennifers body omg i am jumping with joy﹐kind of went off the rails at the end oops

If somebody had told you a few months ago that you would’ve been sacrificed to Satan, you would have probably freaked the fuck out, moved out of the UK and converted to Christianity.

Would you have preferred death to the fate you were faced with today? Maybe. The rest of your life was dictated by how many young men you were supposed to kill, and their souls you were supposed to consume to keep yourself youthful. To keep yourself alive.

At first, you targeted sleazy disgusting males that’d have no problem trying to have their way with you. But at some point, you needed to expand your horizons. Your inner demon was thirsty. So you joined a parade of ghost detectives that worked with both humans and ghosts alike daily, hoping that it’d be a soul blood-bank for you to feast upon.

But falling in love with a ghost was the last thing on your agenda.

And it would be the most painful.

‘This is the third client to vanish after a case. It’s beyond coincidence at this point.’ Edwin sat behind the desk in the agency’s office, hands clasped in front of him as he addressed the others. Eyes stressed with a sense of urgency, of worry.

Charles stood beside you, taking in this information with a flicker of concern in his gaze. ’At least they sorted us with the compensation beforehand, eh?’ He remarked as he turned toward you, in an attempt to lighten the air.

‘Imagine if they didn’t.’ You quipped in turn, hoping that the humour you hid in your voice shielded the dull look that flickered in your eyes. Knowing damn well you were the causes of those disappearances, and how Charles would react if he knew.

So you stopped for a few days. At least you tried to. A few days became a few weeks. And you stared at your reflection in the mirror, hearing from a room away as the others were discussing with their client the next case. Your skin had become dull, eyebags growing prominent. You had grown thinner. If you wanted to lift your shirt, you’d see nothing but ribs.

Charles had noticed. At night he laid right next to you, rubbing circles into your jaw. He made comments, saying that you needed to eat more. That you looked sickly.

You knew if nothing got done, you’d be dead in a few days.

So when you heard that same client head out of the door, you turned on your heel and followed. Down the rickety steps. It took him till the front doorbell jingled above your head for him to notice you trailing behind him, but one look at you had him smiling to himself.

‘Walk with me.’ You said, and he obliged.

‘My name is Arthur.’ He fumbled to say. ‘Arthur Langley.’

‘I didn’t ask, but all right.’

The alleyway towered over the both of you as you led him further in, hips swaying from side to side. Coorusing him in, like a siren seducing a sailor to sea. The buildings above shadowed over you as you spun on your heel, facing Arthur entirely. A smirk tugged your lips slightly as you stared at him.

He remained silent for a moment, excitement brightened in his eyes as he looked at you up and down. ‘You’re a fit thing, ya know?’

‘Yeah, I’m well aware.’ You retort in turn, thrusting out a palm. Running the pad of your fingers down his chest. Cocking your head to the side, you leant in a little forward. ‘But that’s not the only interesting thing about me.’

‘What else is interesting about you?’

‘You’ll see.’

And with a snap of teeth, and a roar of pain, the only thing that reminded me of Arthur Langley was a disembodied bowl peeking out from one of the alleyway bins. And as the curtains drew shut, Edwin proceeded to turn around and tell Charles something that felt like he’d change the trajectory of what he thought was real and fake.

And so did you.

As you wake awake the next morning, your wrists felt as if double-bladed knives were shoved into the muscle. Ripping through every layer of your skin possible. A scream ripped from your throat. You were unable to move unless you wanted to experience the most amount of pain you had ever experienced. Ever.

Opening your eyes, you discovered you had been moved to a different room. The attic upstairs. With two iron cuffs bound behind your back. It was dark. And you were alone. Well, you thought so.

‘[Y/N].’ The last person you wanted to see you like this spoke, with such agony in his voice.

Charles sat against the wall across from you. He had his eyes plastered on you, lips parted. He stared at you as if you were a different person as if he didn’t recognise you. He swallowed tightly, using his arm to wipe his glistening eyes.

You stifled a scream, feeling the iron around your wrists press into your skin. Chest heaving, you stared back. ‘Charles.’ You pleaded. ‘I need you to let me out, please.’

‘Go on, tell me you’re not a bloody succubus.’ Charles rasped, voice breaking the slightest.

Oh, God. Your hands begin to shake, partly from the pain but majorly from the fact that he out of all people found out. ‘I’m not, what are you on about?’

‘Don’t even try lying to me—we saw you chomping on that poor bloke yesterday.’

You wet your suddenly dry lips. Of course, when you wanted at least a chance of staying alive, someone had to see. That Charles had to see. You forced your hands into your lap, stilling them, steadying them entirely.

‘Take these off me and I’ll tell you everything.’

Charles’s eyes softened. ‘You know I bloody well can’t.’ 

You lowered your head, feeling your entire composure crack with those six words. It was useless. You’d either be stuck here forever as long as you could go without feeding, or you’d get a blade to the heart. As most succubuses in the past had experienced. You just hoped Charles wouldn’t be there when it happened, that he wouldn’t be the one to do it to you.

Your head immediately jolted back upward as you felt a weight on your lap. Charles laid his head on the crook of your lap. His curls brushed backward, revealing the soft glow of his face in the shadows.

‘If you were starving, would you go and eat my soul?’ Charles murmured into your lap. He pulled two arms around your hips, scarcely avoiding the iron bands around your wrists.

Silence fell upon you in the light of his question. You stared down at him, you had no idea what he was suggesting. What he was pointing to. ‘What kind of question is that?’

‘Is it mental to say I’d kind of want you to?’ Charles whispered.

‘A little.’ 

The two of you fell into a gentle rhythm of silence, something similar to a peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. Peace that you didn’t know ever existed. You felt the pad of Charles’s fingers circle your hips softly, his head nestled into your lap as he took in your warmth and you took in the gentle coldness he preserved.

In the morning when Edwin checked the attic, he saw two mangled bodies.

WORD COUNT: 1.3K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[lovelykei]

The return of HQ as boyfriends on instagram part 7 I think?

Haven’t done these in a while 😳 hope they’re still fun🤩

Tendou | Hinata | Akaashi

Tendou:

The summer was coming to an end which meant Tendou was moving soon

Which is not very cunty fierce diva of him🙂

Anyhow that’s how you and the rest of the third years found yourself at the beach🏖️

“You’ll be fine y/n you’re moving in with him next year when you finish school”

“Okay semi you’re gonna eat tomorrow so you can skip out on the bbq today” 😒

It had been mostly a normal day until it hit you that this would be the last time in god knows how long where you could all hang out like this 🥹

“Tendou always like his meat damn near raw” “Yn-Chan I’m not dead” “Sometimes it’s like I can hear his voice” 😭

“Sugar you don’t need to cry it’s just me”

“What’s that supposed to mean you’re my everything”

Now tendou is crying and you’re both just wailing in eachothers arms

“OKAY👏🏻 let’s take pictures” semi quite frankly was about to rip his hair out

“Babe pick me up so we can take a cute beach picture”

He picked you up alright, in a very tendouesque way but honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way🥹

Hinata

“Let’s go watch the new marvel movie baby”

It was a thing you both did, you were both busy with club activities but when a new marvel movie dropped? fuck club activities

On the way home shoyo kept kicking and throwing his hands around 🤡

“I totally look like captain America like this” no you don’t Ofcourse shoyo 💗

One thing led to another and you ended up setting up your phone to record the two of you as you played around street fighter style

He kicked his foot up pretending he was gonna kick you which made you catch his foot and make him fall flat on his back

👁️👅👁️ suck on that special move “I won”

He laughed and yanked you down so you were on top of him so you did the only sensible thing you could do and kissed him 🥴

“W wE’rE IN PUBLic”

He pulled you down ONTOP of him and now you’re the indecent one for kissing him?? 🤠

His face looked more like a stop sign and you could probably fry an egg on it considering how hot it was 🥴

“One more” 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Your boyfriend was the cutest little mf in the world and so you obliged and kissed him over and over

Akaashi

Everyday you thanked god, your lucky stars, fate and everything else that had made it possible for you to bag the man that is Akaashi🤩

So when you found yourselves on a nice romantic beach date with bokuto you took all your chances to dote on your boyfriend

“Keiji you should take of your shirt you’re sweating” 😏

“Keiji you’re gonna burn let me put some sunscreen on you” 😏

“Keiji can I lick every drop of water off of your body to dry you” okay no that one didn’t happen sadly 😔✊🏻

Later that night when you had all gotten dressed bokuto left to go buy some drinks

Keiji was holding you in his arms “I have to say your tactics have gotten better”

“👁️👄👁️?”

“You managed to undress and touch me without anyone suspecting anything” busted

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“GUYS IVE HAD ENOUGH STOP LOOKING TOUCHING AND FEELING EACHOTHER AND LOOK AT ME” I guess you’d been busted by both of them 😳

[silmkinkmeme]

Prompts 2022 Fest - Week 10

Continuing reposting dreamwidth prompts

celebrimbor & sons of feanor, gen, time travel

Prompt Rating: T

Prompt: Here's a prompt: feanorian time travel au. But the priorities have changed. In the halls they watched Celebrimbor's torment. They received his spirit. And they watched it find no healing, year after year. By the time caranthir figures out a way to change the weave of time, they are all in agreement.

So, whatever time they arrive in, every son of feanor drops what they're doing and goes to rescue (/kidnap) Celebrimbor. (For context, celebrimbor does not, at this point in the timeline, need rescuing - the torture has not started.) The sons of feanor are united in this purpose. The valar did not know that the time travel was possible and don't know what they've done; as far as outside observers can tell, feanorian priorities all just…turned on a dime.

That's all exposition for the meat of this thing: celebrimbor being (lovingly, so lovingly) kidnapped and more or less held prisoner by his kin. They won't tell him why they're doing this and they won't let him go. He can't be properly angry because they're so careful of him, he can see their worry - but he's not free to go and they won't tell him why!

Kinda just want a glimpse into the emotional minefield a time travel fix it for celebrimbor would actually be. The scars of a thing that hasn't actually happened now still exerting their pull, if you understand me. Strange family fluff where the only person not traumatized by how celebrimbor dies is…celebrimbor.

dreamwidth link

gen feanor&finwe, fingolfin

Prompt Rating: T

Prompt: au where Feanor's insecurity and deep pain over the remarriage comes out in a different way: finwe is telling him about a cute moment between indis and fingolfin, trying so hard to include him in the family dynamic, and feanor just starts crying. The really ugly kind.

He's heartbroken, and he's never going to accept indis, and all of a sudden of that pain comes out.

Of course finwe will start crying, too… what he intended and what has happened are so far from each other and he doesn't know what to do. He loves all his children and always wanted a big family, but it seems everyone is walking around wounded due to his actions and he can't fix it. He can't regret his children by indis, but feanor's pain kills him.

It can be between them, or other people can be involved, like Fingolfin. I just want to see this family drama go in a more usual direction, rather than the kinslayings. Do not want character bushings of anyone; it's a sticky situation where a lot of people have a lot of very legitimate pain, but no one is acting maliciously. No incest. And please don't resolve it by having feanor view Indis as a mother. I think he could learn to stop solely blaming her for what was both her and finwe's decision, but she's never going to be his mother. And that's okay.

dreamwidth link

Sauron/Ar-Pharazôn - consent dead dove, noncon tw

Prompt Rating: E

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Prompt: Ar-Pharazôn likes to fuck his prisoner Sauron, and he uses some method (aphrodisiacs, sex pollen, edging, weird Númenorian tech, whatever) to force Sauron to enjoy it, because that's the most humiliating thing he can think of as punishment for the "Lord of the Earth": to fall so far as to enjoy being raped by the man who defeated him. (And of course, Ar-Pharazôn humiliates him throughout, insulting him and forcing him to be in degrading positions, etc.)

Unbeknownst to him, though, Sauron is completely (or mostly) unaffected, and is carefully pretending to have his pride broken to earn Ar-Pharazôn's trust. He may cry and blush and shake with humiliation, but it's all an act to convince Ar-Pharazôn that he's no longer a threat.

Bonus points (not required):

Sauron POV

Past Angbang in a fucked up BDSM relationship. In his mind, Sauron keeps comparing Ar-Pharazôn to horrible, non safe, sane or consensual things Melkor would do to him, and wishing Ar-Pharazôn knew how to be as cruel as Sauron craves. He's actually annoyed to sub to an incompetent dom!

Krabat on twitter has the hottest art ever, and her Ar-Pharazôn is actually who I'm imagining, so if you want to incorporate that as an inspiration:

https://twitter.com/Krabat__/status/1504836380962164737

finrod dom/sub polyamory cumdump

Prompt Rating: E

Prompt: elves take a long time to finish during sex. Beor and his men solve this problem by making finrod the group slut. They can all fuck him at least once before he cums.

DNW noncon, scat, water sports, gore, violence, injury.

To see all 474 prompts, please visit the kinkmeme's Ao3 collection. Don't forget to give some love to the authors of our 205 works. Check out also our Prompt Post 1 on dreamwidth for prompts and fills not posted on Ao3, to ask any clarifying questions to the prompters or just to squeal under the prompts you loved.

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Resistance AU: Chewtoy, Alt: Bad End Timeline: close to the end

Fever Dog [First | Prev]

A dog barks at the end of its chain. Barks, and barks, and barks. Sharp, echoey sounds like rocks falling into a well. Is this what a dog sounds like? Bark, and bark, and bark, pulling at the chain and the chain clinks and the dog barks.

They kick the dog. Every day, in his heavy boots, steel-toed boots with scuffs on with thick black polish on. He kicks the dog and it yelps, it whines, it whimpers, it growls, and always it gets hit. In rain and in snow and in sweltering summer heat and the smell of tarmac. The dog yelps, barks, growls, whines, sunrise sunset.

The sun wheels across the sky, kaleidoscope shadows, red sun yellow sun long shadows like a nature film and that click-click-click-click film reel noise they used to play at the start of movies. Sunrise sundown sunrise sundown or the sky is still and the world is spinning full circle, upside down, dizzying, unrelenting.

Bark, bark, bark, bark, there is the dog again. At the end of its chain and howling. Every day beaten and kicked but when he calls to it every day it comes slinking, snarling, low to the ground miserable but it comes to his call. 

He is calling now but the dog is still barking. Does it hear him? Does it hear him over the sound of its own voice? Does it even hear itself or is the bark bark bark so constant it is nothing, just nothing, just noise, and the dog doesn’t even know.

Every day the beating and the dog still crawls but sometimes a kicked dog bites. One day the kicked dog bites, and buries its teeth in his throat and shakes him like a rat. One day the dog remembers it is a dog with finger-long teeth and jaws that clench hold strain ache hurt cling bite bite.

—

Riven curses, and slaps her upside the head. It doesn’t dislodge her grip, just jolts her teeth in his skin. 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” 

He thought she was out cold, or near as. Eyes pointed at nothing, unresponsive to his hands and to the kiss of the knife. 

He digs the fingers of his free hand into the muscles of her jaw. When that doesn’t work, he gets a hold of her by the nose to prise her jaw open by force until he can yank his hand free. The skin tears a little further, caught on her lower teeth.

She snaps after him, teeth clacking together like a mechanical trap. She still has those dead eyes, not even looking at him.

“Dirty little bitch,” he growls, “I knew you were still in there.”

Ignoring the blood trickling down his fingers, he grabs one of her shattered hands and twists, feeling the shards of bone grind together between his fingers. That’s gonna have to come off soon before it poisons her blood.

She arches her back and screams – or tries. Her voice is a wisp of a thing as ruined as her body, more breathy hiss than real scream. Ribs move unnaturally under her skin as her chest heaves for air.

“You want to die, bitch?” he hisses. “I know you do. Beg me, and I might consider it.” Still the same vacant stare, not even looking at him. “You remember how to beg? You used to be so good at this.” Stubborn bitch hasn’t begged since the first week. She thinks she can win this?

He twists her hand again. She arches her back and tries to scream.

“Don’t pretend you can’t fucking hear me, you can’t pretend after you fucking bit me.” He slaps her with his bitten hand, leaving a smear of his blood across her cheek, brighter than the caked-on stains of her own blood.

Her teeth clack in the air again.

Seething with fury, Riven pushes down on her chest until he feels the crack of bone slipping against bone. She convulses, limbs twitching, mouth open in a futile gasp.

Still the same empty fucking eyes, faking like she isn’t even processing. Maybe he should rip them out.

—

The dog has its teeth in her flesh. The bark bark bark runs through the meat like waves in jelly. Bark bark agony bark. Raw splitting burning meat cracking and turning to black under the sun. Lungs full of crumpled paper, crackling on every breath. Bark, bark, bark.

[fea-resources]

Unhinged Game Commentary As RP Starters Pt.2

He's either also cold or he's going through withdrawals, one of the two.

STOP BOUNCING.

All those burnt corpses look like bacon to me. Crispy dragon-charred bacon.

Human jerky.

I’d love some jerky right now.

I'd push you.

BACKFLIP. BACK FLIP.

you're a COWARD. GO TO THE TOP. EMBRACE THE JUMP.

EAGLE JUMP.

There's a hay pile at the bottom waiting to catch you. You'll be fine.

This isn't Assasin's Creed!

Hay and parkour = ass creed.

HARDCORE PARKOUR.

_______ looks like a hobbit, not gonna lie.

Jump! You'll live!

Holy shit, I survived.

I told you your little child bearing bones would catch you! They're springy and resilient!

Congrdeurtions.

Am I having a stroke?

Who keeps a deer pelt with bread? That’s why they're all sick in this god forsaken land.

The deer pelt is surprisingly sterile. Its the most sterile thing in this fucking place.

I wanna go some place similar to ______, take up residency in an abandoned castle, spruce it up, and then pretend I'm a ghost haunting it when visitors come.

I don't want "castles" I want C A S T L E S.

We all have dreams.

Sweet dreams are made of this.

My dream is to be able to spell astetic... asthmatic... antsthetic... antstatic... aunt stacy? You know what I mean.

Who am i to disagree?

You mean bees.

Travel the world and the seven seas.

Yes that one!

I wanna lick the sugar candy in the sky.

That sounds like something Ant-Man would say.

Why is that corpse thiccer then I am?

Wait, I missed the corpse. We have to go back for the corpse. Leave NO man behind.

you mean jerky?

Okay, I thought I saw a shadow back there and it looked like a werewolf.

We do not waste jerky.

Mmmmm Bacon....

Meat is meat. They dead, they don't care.

Bacon is delicious as hell.

MEAT MEAT MEAT.

HEATHENS. ALL OF YOU.

SOS jerky.

YOU'RE A HEATHEN TOO. DON'T PLAY COY.

I'm an angel.

Sounds fake.

I don't know what your talking about.

We're all heathens. All my friends are heathens.

Take it slow.

TOO SLOW.

Can’t even remember my middle name.

Adopt a child. It's time.

Replace remembering our names with more important information, like musical lyrics. People use those a lot.

Yep, that's my middle name. Dick. You caught me.

I'm proud of my name.

Naw. Your name is Dick now.

I was named after a slutty country singer. And a car.

THAT HAPPENED.

The kink cavern.

Looks like somewhere STDs grow, not gonna lie.

See, that’s the STDs falling from the roof. Too much sex in this ramshackle place.

No one cleans that place. Don't get paid enough for that shit.

Its the jizz.... it gets between the cracks and degrades the foundation.

Can’t people fuck in the bed like normal humans?

Naw son. Too vanilla, they get bored.

Back in my day, we used beds and called it woohoo. Just like the Sims. That’s where all my Sex Ed comes from.

Back in my day we fucked on the floor like REAL MEN.

WHOA NOW. CALM YOURSELF.

COVER THINE EYES, CHILDREN.

I'M TOO ACE FOR THIS.

YOU BETTER BE PRAYIN' TO YOUR LORD AND NOT CRYING.

Back in my day, we walked 4 miles with ONE FUCKIN' SHOE, and we shared between 5 of us, through the snow, because I ate the other shoe.

Anything chewy and tough is jerky.

Skin is the jerkiest of all.

And I’M the one that needs to pray?

People are jerky, too, 'cause they're jerks sometimes.

Take the pot. Smoke the pot. Taste the pot. Smell the pot. Be the pot.

Why are you HERE?

Smoke that khajiit drug thing.

Why did you come back to the kink dungeon?

DO IT.

We're all pots now. I'm a pot. You're a pot. We're all pots.

...or drink it, i don't remember what it is.

Does the room smell like pot?

I put a pot on me head and now I'm a pot-head.

IT'S ALL OGRE NOW.

Why did you make me read that with my own two eyes?

Go sit in the corner and think about what you've done.

You're no angel.

They cant have them, the corners are mine. All of them.

Lucifer was an angel too.

Lucifer is still pretty hot, I hear.

hoNHON. EIFFEL TOWER. BAGUETTE.

You're banned from my next stream.

NO. PLEASE. I'LL BE GOOD. I'LL CALL YOU MASTER AND WEAR A SHOCK COLLAR AND EVERYTHING.

The Eiffel Tower reminds me of something else but I don't know why.

B A N N E D.

_______'s got that Eiffel tower dick.

Nah, I'm thinking of something ten times as traumatizing.

Are you sacrificing _____ to the old gods?

Honey you've got a big storm comin'.

Sleep is for the weak, and I... am very weak.

Whimps. Sleep is for the dead. Granted... we are all very dead inside, so....

No fire. Only suffering. Face the dark and cold like a dragon.

Fucking capitalism.

Your kindling looks like dog turds, and I know my dog turds.

I've stepped in enough dog shit to know turds when I see them.

_____ WAS STRANGLING A RAT. I HEARD ITS LIL ANGRY RAT SOUNDS.

The rat crashed the game to live.

Rat god.

Why kill a werewolf when you can date one?

That's BS, we all know ______'s always wet because he's a horny rabbit.

Sex keeps you warm... I think.

I'd imagine bodies that sit at 98 degrees F while doing nothing get pretty hot when pressed together and doing activities that raise your blood pressure. That's like a 400 degree sauna right there if my math is right. Pretty toasty. ....that makes me wanna never do anything cause that's HOT.

Good. Sex is bad - its how babies are made and we don't want none of that.

Condoms are a thing, but so are holes and accidents. Why do you think I'm here?

Pornhub is good to us... on what not to do. I found some messed up stuff. That’s where I found that shrek video, and Spongeknob Squarenuts.

I can honestly say I have seen worse. Anime porn is another layer of hell.

And then there were three...

Wood looks so crunchy.

I read moby dick, the three musketeers, treasure island, huckleberry fin, tom sawyer and a few others, but fuck me if I remember them in their entirety.

I read that as “I read my dick” and I was very concerned.

Wood - the original forbidden fruit.

Is that a naked man?

My god. Worst kink.

This is the least sexy sex dungeon, let’s be real here. No mood lighting, cold, no R&B music. Where’s the pizzazz?

Maybe they played music on the bones?

Do NOT. I have nightmares about that.

I can no longer look at a naked anatomical skeleton in all casual and comfort anymore.

I’m glad the men here in this dungeon are napping so well.

I am very uncomfortable with naked skeletons.

Aren’t all skeletons naked?

______'s hair is Cheeto colored which is honest such a look. You rub your hand through his hair, your fingers come back stained with neon orange dust. Cheeto dandruff.

Who's playing the meat sticks again? I heard the meaty slaps. I still hear them.

Alright. Go gather your quotes you quote whore.

[diximixy]

Higurashi theory aka my crack Watanagashi theory that might be wrong bc it basically just a gut feeling

Okay here is my theory in short after the (festival) Watanagashi we don't meat Mion we only ever interact w Shion.(I'm at the very begining of Meakashi rn like ch 1)

Let me explain Mion never really comes to or stays for long in school afterwards but when she interacta w Keiichi it feels very different than before (might be related to the doll incident but I don't think that's it) she has that in my opinion very Shion like edg to her that somewhat vindictive/bitch way to it PSA: I don't think Shion is evil she just kind of has that feel to her character. It just kind of feels like none of the heartfelt moments betwen her and Keiichi never happened which would also make sense if it was Shion bc those things she wasn't present for.

About the phone calls: Shion never gives us her number which would make sense if she was for some reason calling from Mion's house which is in a school registry of some sorts idk kind of sus but not really damming evidance.

About Oryo or the "hag" (I love Shion can you tell she is soooo ahhhhhh love her so far) murder now more than ever makes more sense for Shion she hated her so damm much its not hard to see if she was pushed by circumstance (like Keiichi in Tatarigoroshi w Teppei) she would commit it even Satoko's and Rika's murder would make more sense w Shion neighter of them was she particularly close to as far as we know in the story.

And my last bit of evidance basment "Shion" never confirms who she is before dying (the person in the "basment"). And "Mion" (Shion in this theory) pretends to be her self again taken by the police and let go goes to Keiichi's house and stabs him when he comes out (idiot she told she'd be dead and only a demon would take her place but what ever) then goes back to her apartman falls down and dies. So yes everything can and does still work.

Is this a metric fuck ton of reaching yes but I had fun thinking about this and I'd be dammed if I didn't write this out of me. That's it thanks for reading my deranged rambelings I truly lost my way....I think.

[ckerouac]

What I Read: July

Back with another busy month of books. Sitting in waiting rooms and poolside really adds up.

Fiction

The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo

4.5/5 || It sucked me in, devoured it in two pool afternoons.

In a shabby house, on a shabby street, in the new capital of Madrid, Luzia Cotado uses scraps of magic to get through her days of endless toil as a scullion. But when her scheming mistress discovers the lump of a servant cowering in the kitchen is actually hiding a talent for little miracles, she demands Luzia use those gifts to better the family's social position. Determined to seize this one chance to better her fortunes, Luzia plunges into a world of seers and alchemists, holy men and hucksters, where the lines between magic, science, and fraud are never certain. But as her notoriety grows, so does the danger that her Jewish blood will doom her to the Inquisition's wrath.

The Rom-commers by Katherine Center

4.24/5 || I really enjoyed this story, but the narrator definitely has a distinct style that you’ll either vibe with or it’ll drive you up a wall. I wanted to snatch all the ‘what? WHAT?’ type repeated questions from the author and put them on a high shelf out of her reach. But the story was really fun.

Emma Wheeler desperately longs to be a screenwriter. She’s spent her life studying, obsessing over, and writing romantic comedies—good ones! That win contests! But she’s also been the sole caretaker for her kind-hearted dad, who needs full-time care. Now, when she gets a chance to re-write a script for famous screenwriter Charlie Yates—The Charlie Yates! Her personal writing god! But what is it they say? Don’t meet your heroes? Charlie Yates doesn’t want to write with anyone—much less “a failed, nobody screenwriter.” Worse, the romantic comedy he’s written is so terrible it might actually bring on the apocalypse. Plus! He doesn’t even care about the script—it’s just a means to get a different one green-lit. But Emma’s not going down without a fight. She will convince him that love stories matter—even if she has to kiss him senseless to do it.

Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

4/5 || Unsettling and great. Apparently Argentinian horror is something I’m loving this year.

His wife has left him, his father is sinking into dementia, and Marcos tries not to think too hard about how he makes a living. After all, it happened so quickly. First, it was reported that an infectious virus has made all animal meat poisonous to humans. Then governments initiated the "Transition." Now, eating human meat--"special meat"--is legal. Marcos tries to stick to numbers, consignments, processing. Then one day he's given a gift: a live specimen of the finest quality. Though he's aware that any form of personal contact is forbidden on pain of death, little by little he starts to treat her like a human being. And soon, he becomes tortured by what has been lost--and what might still be saved.

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré

4/5 || A classic of the genre for a reason. Carré can do in 200 pages what takes other authors twice as long.

In the shadow of the newly erected Berlin Wall, Alec Leamas watches as his last agent is shot dead by East German sentries. For Leamas, the head of Berlin Station, the Cold War is over. As he faces the prospect of retirement or worse--a desk job--Control offers him a unique opportunity for revenge. Assuming the guise of an embittered and dissolute ex-agent, Leamas is set up to trap Mundt, the deputy director of the East German Intelligence Service--with himself as the bait. In the background is George Smiley, ready to make the game play out just as Control wants.

Husband Material by Alexis Hall

3/5 || I loved the first book, and this one was… fine. Completely lacking in the charm of the first book for me. I was so disappointed.

In Boyfriend Material, Luc and Oliver met, pretended to fall in love, fell in love for real, dealt with heartbreak and disappointment and family and friends…and somehow figured out a way to make it work. Now it seems like everyone around them is getting married, and Luc’s feeling the social pressure to propose. But it’ll take more than four weddings, a funeral, and a bowl full of special curry to get these two from I don’t know what I’m doing to I do. Good thing Oliver is such perfect Husband Material.

Funny Story by Emily Henry

3/5 || I think I need to accept that I find the plots of Henry’s books more interesting than her execution of said plots.

Daphne always loved the way her fiancé Peter told their story. How they met (on a blustery day), fell in love (over an errant hat), and moved back to his lakeside hometown to begin their life together. He really was good at telling it… right up until the moment he realized he was actually in love with his childhood best friend Petra. Which is how Daphne begins her new story: Stranded in beautiful Waning Bay, Michigan, without friends or family but with a dream job as a children’s librarian (that barely pays the bills), and proposing to be roommates with the only person who could possibly understand her predicament: Petra’s ex, Miles Nowak. The roommates mainly avoid one another, until one day, while drowning their sorrows, they form a tenuous friendship and a plan. But it’s all just for show because there’s no way Daphne would actually start her new chapter by falling in love with her ex-fiancé’s new fiancée’s ex… right?

A Fate Inked in Blood by Danielle L. Jensen

3/5 || Norse magic was interesting, main character acted dumber than a box of rocks on too many occasions. Not opposed to reading the second book, but I’ll be surprised if I remember read book 1 when it comes out.

Bound in an unwanted marriage, Freya spends her days gutting fish, but dreams of becoming a warrior. And of putting an axe in her boorish husband’s back. Freya's dreams abruptly become reality when her husband betrays her to the region's jarl, landing her in a fight to the death against his son, Bjorn. To survive, Freya is forced to reveal her deepest secret: She possesses a drop of a goddess's blood, which makes her a shield maiden with magic capable of repelling any attack. It was foretold such a magic would unite the fractured nation of Skaland beneath the one who controls the shield maiden’s fate.

Big In Sweden by Sally Franson

2.5/5 || You know those fanfics that have a great set up but you quickly realize is written by someone who feels compelled to overexplain everything to prove they have the correct opinions and are aware of how ‘problematic’ everything is? Yeah.

Paulie Johansson has never put much stock in the idea of family: she has her long-term boyfriend Declan and beloved best friend Jemma, and that's more than enough for her. Yet one night on a lark, she lets Jemma convince her to audition for Sverige och Mig, a show on Swedish television where Swedish-Americans compete to win the ultimate prize: a reunion with their Swedish relatives. Much to her shock, her drunken submission video wins her a spot on the show, and against Declan's advice Paulie decides to go for it. Grappling with long-held notions of family, friendship, and love--not to mention her feelings for the distractingly handsome Swedish cameraman who's been assigned to follow her around--Paulie starts to reconsider her past and rethink what she wants for the future.

Nonfiction

King Leopold’s Ghost by Adam Hochschild

5/5 || You think you know how bad the Belgian destruction of the Congo was. Yeah, it’s even worse. Once I picked this up, I couldn’t put it down.

In the 1880s, as the European powers were carving up Africa, King Leopold II of Belgium seized for himself the vast and mostly unexplored territory surrounding the Congo River. Carrying out a genocidal plundering of the Congo, he looted its rubber, brutalized its people, and ultimately slashed its population by ten million--all the while shrewdly cultivating his reputation as a great humanitarian. Heroic efforts to expose these crimes eventually led to the first great human rights movement of the twentieth century, in which everyone from Mark Twain to the Archbishop of Canterbury participated. King Leopold's Ghost is the haunting account of a megalomaniac of monstrous proportions, a man as cunning, charming, and cruel as any of the great Shakespearean villains. It is also the deeply moving portrait of those who fought Leopold: a brave handful of missionaries, travelers, and young idealists who went to Africa for work or adventure and unexpectedly found themselves witnesses to a holocaust.

The Far Land: 200 Years of Murder, Mania, and Mutiny in the South Pacific by Brandon Presser

3.25/5 || Very readable as a travelogue, but takes a lot of liberties in the history presented as fact that can’t be known for certain.

Told through vivid historical and personal narrative, The Far Land goes beyond the infamous mutiny on the Bounty, offering an unprecedented glimpse at life on the fringes of civilization, and how, perhaps, it's not so different from our own. In 2018, Brandon Presser rode the freighter to live among its present-day families; two clans bound by circumstance and secrets. While on the island, he pieced together Pitcairn's full story: an operatic saga that holds all who have visited in its mortal clutch--even the author.