#cw rodent mention

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☻ | Valentino

Send "☻" for my muse to reveal 3 lies and 1 truth

[ Valentino ]

"My blood, sweat, tears, saliva, and jizz tastes like cherries."

"I've never died in Hell."

"I only crash sports cars."

"I think rats are repugnant."

[poebrey]

my sister and I are trying to figure out what to do about the m*use that’s living in our kitchen because we need to eat and our mom is decorating the Christmas tree like nothings going on happy holidays

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Hi hi hii! I hope all is well with you :3 I really enjoy your Boothill fics, they bring me so much joy! If it's possible, could I request something?

I've had this idea in my mind about mechanic!reader overworking themselves, not eating, sleeping, or hydrating as they should be as they can forget to tend to their own needs at times...(sadly you can't solely sustain yourself on candy and sugar)

Then Boothill comes to visit them and finds mechanic!reader in an exhausted state, basically forcing them to eat actual food and rest up.

a/n: 1.8k w.count - cw!!: mentions of being awake a long time and not eating!!

boothill just finished up two different jobs he was on, one solo and another pitching in to help a pal that was conveniently in the area. after such hard and capable work, he figures he's owed a quick pass by your shop. that, and something in the back of his head was nagging at him to swing by- and it wasn't because of his neuro-chip.

stepping through the shop's entrance, the door pushes open and the bell above the door chimes. before he can open his jaw and call out to you, searching you out in the premise, he instead starts yelling in shocked noises.

from above, a small mass of something emerges from the shadows of the ceiling. the exposed pipes that line the walls are the perfect place for something small, like critters or rodents, to trek and hide on.

the cowboy half expected a racoon or something to land on his head. what he didn't expect was the feeling of metal bashing into his face instead of a mass of fur and talons.

"son of a-!" he almost fully curses. taking two steps back in lieu of the 'attack', he raises his hand and grabs the metal clinging onto his face and hair. "get offa' me!" he hisses.

the sound of familiar beeps has him using his grip a bit more carefully. working on cooling down his insides that had been fired up into a friendzy, boothill successfully pulls ore off of his face to look at him properly.

"the hell do you think you're doin', eh lil fella?" the little assistant robot that usually stuck to you like glue flails in the air as boothill holds him between his finger and thumb by the sides of his rectangular head.

the expression the robot has on its face was accompanied by it's flinging arms and legs: [＞﹏＜]!!

"ey, ey, ey, lil dude, chill out."

boothill marches to the desk that acts less like a reception desk and more like a display counter. setting ore down, its flailing stops but the squeezed expression stays put. the cyborg bend at the waist, laying one of his arms over the counter to get- more or less- eyelevel with the little helper with the other going to his hip.

"okay, what's the problem. where's your fixer?" boothill asks. its a joke between the two of you that you act more like ore's guardian than owner. so, in regard to your identity, to ore you became his 'fixer'. ore points one of its metal coated arms behind him and one of its legs stomps. "in that back?" ore nods. "alright, let's go check on 'em shall we?"

ore, instead of taking a ride on boothill's shoulder or being carried in his palm, hops from the counter and rushes around through the doorways that you always keep propped open during shop hours. boothill struts his way through the shop, leisurely following the fella.

as he makes his way through the shop, boothill finally notes the lack of noise he's so used to hearing. no knocking on metal, or drilling of tools. no hint of work, not even your murmuring echoed through the building. it was just quiet.

well now he's just starting to worry.

adding a half-step to his stride, boothill follows the beeping provided from ore and finds himself coming through the cracked doors of your far back work room.

ore is already up on your desk thanks to your installation of small metal-sheeted pullies you made for it. its standing by your head that rests on your arms, folded over your desktop. both of its arms push against your skull, fretting in digital sounds.

walking in, boothill makes his way to your back, placing a gentle touch to the space between your shoulders. his free hand pushes against your desktop, leaning over to try and see if your face was peeking out of your arm pillow situation at all. you were out like a light, but you should be sleeping in bed.

"ey, sugar," boothill softly calls. his hand rubs against your back, rustling your shirt to try gently coaxing you awake. it gets him no where. "hey," he tries again. with a bit of a harsher shake of your shoulder, you bolt upwards. with a gasp from both you and boothill, ore stumbles backward onto its metal backend from the force in which you eject him from your skull. you whip your head back and forth, blinking wearily and rapidly before you finally register boothill's arrival.

"the hell, when did you get here?" your voice is groggy and rushed, and if the ranger hadn't just jostled you awake from your desk, he'd find it pretty cute.

"does it matter? why the hell you sleepin' at your desk? you have a bed."

"what? oh, no, it's fine." you rub your palms into your eyes, blinking back the black splotches it causes when you pull them away. "i just dozed off in the middle of something."

"uh huh." boothill is unconvienced. "you wouldn't be neglectin' your needs just for some work, now would yah?"

"what? no. no, i'm fine. perfectly healthy."

"i didn't ask if you were healthy." you don't offer him anything more and he sighs. shifting his weight, he puts on hand on his hip. "ore," he beckons the robot and it answers with a beep. "when's the last time your fixer here took care of themself?" there's a spinning dial on his digital screened face before a number pops up.

[21 hours ago !!]

boothill's jaw drops in disbelief.

your jaw drops in betrayal.

you jump from your stool, palms against your worktable while ore's 'face' lights up with exclamation points [!!!!!] before scampering away from your ire.

"are you serious right now?" boothill bites as you look over your shoulder at him. his arms are crossed, and a frown settles on his lips. it's rare you're on the receiving end of a scolding since it's usually you telling him off for being reckless or the like when he comes in for repairs. you kind of hate it to be honest.

"it's fineee," you draw out, huffing as you run your hand over your face. you have a headache, and standing up so quickly didn't help.

boothill clicks his tongue. clearly you were in no mood to listen. it dawns on him that ore's little attack from the entrance was probably him trying to persuade potential clientele away so you could rest. but seeing boothill come through the doors, the robot instead took his arrival as his saving grace.

boothill is a hardened galaxy ranger. but he also happens to be a big softie too.

"have it your way," the cowboy shrugs before pushing you away from your workstation by your shoulder. getting just enough distance between you and your job, he bends at his knees, hooks one of his arms around your side and hoists you up. you find yourself face first against his back with his tattered, red scarf brushing your cheek.

you feel and hear the contraptions and hinges in his body hiss and work to accomodate your weight over his shoulder.

"boothill!" you push your palms against the dip of his back, pushing your body up as much as you can as he starts carting you off.

"ore, be a lil' helper and grab your fixer something to put in their stomach. one of them small shakes or somethin' will do." ore, with its marching orders, obeys and dashes off once again. you almost regret that you programmed ore to obey boothill too.

in truth, boothill would prefer food in your stomach, but ore is about 2 fists tall. a prepackaged supplement from your fridge will have to suffice.

you don't fight him as much as he expected as he marches to your room where he rolls you off his shoulder and onto your mattress. landing with a soft thud, you dont have time to recover before he's throwing a pillow from the floor at your face.

"umph! hey, quit it!" you hiss, pushing the pillow aside. the ranger takes a seat at the foot of your bed as you shuffle to sit up and bring your legs in so he doesn't crush them. his knees are perched apart and his arms crossed. he watches the door, saying nothing, waiting for ore to come in. "are you really upset about this?"

"do i seem happy?" he shoots back.

"you dont need to get lippy with me," you bite as he rolls his eyes.

"i apparently do. not taking care of yourself properly? you can't be doing that, sugar." his scolding tone softens the more he talks. seeing how high strung he is about this, you feel almost guilty. you start picking at the fabric of your shirt.

ore soon brings you in something to consume that's better than nothing at all and helps sooth the post-sleep irritation in your throat. you didn't realize how scratchy it felt until you were forced to.

you're not sure when it happens, but at some point boothill has you laying down properly in your bed with a new change of clothes. and not too much later, you're sleeping before you could even try to fight back.

ore takes the empty container that was once full of your meal substitute and trots off to discard of it. boothill sits at the edge of your bed, where he's been planted the whole time. the cowboy observes you from a lean, his elbows resting on his metal knees.

you're breathing easy, which is good, but he still grimaces at the tiredness gathered under your closed, relaxed eyes. with your face washed of muck and soot, he can see your fatigue clearer.

boothill groans quietly, lowering his head as one of his hands comes to brush the hair off the side of his face and ruffle the strands together, definitely knotting it up. when he brings his hand back down, he winces when some strands pull from his scalp- his whole head is sensitive, so he should've known better.

when it seems like you're down for the count and won't wake up the moment he leaves you alone, boothill stands from your bed. the blanket is rumpled from where he's been sitting, and the impression of his presence is visible to his one good eye. oddly, it's comforting.

lifting his hat, he swings it down off his head and sets it gently on your bed side table that's littered with all sorts of odd and ends. along with a barely working alarm clock that has one of the digital numbers flickering in and out. you'll have to rewire that soon. he leaves it with you as he dismisses himself to let you rest.

beyond your bedroom, ore beeps and bops with noises as boothill sits at the reception desk. his legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the desk with his arms crossed as he... talks? with ore.

any customer that walks in is met with a mean glare and a harsh 'get out' before he's shooing them out the door.

his nine-mililmeter is only on the desk next to him for some.... extra incentive.

a/n pt.2: i tried incorporating a few of ore's expressions with emoticons. is that lame? too cheesy? who knows. i love that little robot tho. [anyways sorry this rq took so long anon hnnnnng]

[liveontelevision]

Sweet Radio Demon Alastor x Reader

As promised, here she is -

It's inspired by Living Tombstone's song Alastor's Game!

CW: Reader is a cannibal and it's a p big part of the story so mentions and details of cannibalistic intent and murder

♡♡♡

Some people just don't belong in Hell. The structure of divine judgment must be rigged, punishing any poor soul who commits sin without realizing it. Those individuals don't belong.

Then there are those who do. Those who realize there's an afterlife and instantly come to terms with their placement. That's when all the Oh, I'm definitely going to Hell for this jokes start to bite back.

It's always easier for those who choose to be sinners to adapt to Hell's settings. The job market for porn stars and actors is extensive, and protection is almost guaranteed despite the souls owed or deals made.

But, what interested you the most, you depraved sinner you, was the loveliness of Cannibal Town. Not only was it the nicest part of Pentagram City, but you felt right at home considering your appetite when you were living.

It was immense. Some kind of craving that you could never satisfy, no matter how many callers you invited into your home and how many of them never left. You got creative, playing with recipes, spices, and cooking methods, but it was never, never, enough.

Sometimes, you'd wonder how you got to this point. You were a normal enough kid, went to school, had a nuclear home life, and you were comfortable financially, the works.

You remember it feeling like a stomach ache.

A stomach ache that brought you to tears and kept you from school some days. You almost assumed it was something every child went through until you learned what subdued the pain.

Meat.

It was the solution. You ate like a carnivore at first, then the food became increasingly rare as you aged up. Until you stumbled upon some strange forums online (There's something online for everyone, I suppose). You gave in to the cryptid suggestions. You tried rodents at first, only after thorough mental and food preparation, but fuck did it do the job. It made your body shutter and your mind hazy, momentarily melting any thoughts of guilt you might still have.

As time went on, you grew hungrier. Animals weren't cutting it.. but maybe he could.

You found him online, chatted for a while over some messenger, then discovered how much of a dirtbag he truly was. That seemed to disarm you from the whole idea.

Poor thing.

Maybe if he was kind enough, he would have been spared.

You invited him over.

As you watch him approach your door, you tussle your hair, and adjust your clothes that leave little to the imagination. With a continuous, you can do this, you can do this, you're drawn to the knocking of the door.

"Damn, babe, if I knew you actually looked like this, I would've come over sooner." He props his arm on the doorframe as he speaks.

Is.. is that supposed to be a compliment?

Your eye only twitches a bit before you cover your expression with a cute giggle. Holding your hands behind your back, you lean forward.

"Not too bad yourself, big guy. How's a movie sound?"

One thing leads to another, you're seated on your couch, and his hands are immediately on you. For someone who acts so big and tough, his touch is awkward and uncomfortable. Like he doesn't know what he's doing.. probably because he doesn't know what he's doing.

The inexperience helps.

You didn't take into account how large he was. Assuming this would go as planned, you'd be set for weeks, but the actual action of getting him down still worries you.

You're barely an hour into the movie, which you can hardly remember, before his sloppy lips are on yours, which you respond to with a grimace. He doesn't seem to take into account your reactions, grunting against your very unresponsive lips.

Disgusting.

Pig.

He places a large hand on your waist, pulling you roughly to him.

Strong.

Muscular.

You need more. You need to evaluate your prey. You place your hand on his wrist, delicately running your fingers up the entirety of his forearm, tracing and digging into each vein and muscle you can find. That continues up to his chest. Before long, you find yourself straddling him, his wide hips forcing your legs apart a decent amount. Despite his build, his composure clearly shows he's nearly at your mercy. While you're running your hands along his body continuously, occasionally kissing him or letting out fake moans to his ear, you're feeling his ever-growing length pressing into your leg.

You'd be disgusted by the sensation if you weren't planning your next move internally.

You hid weapons everywhere. If you remember correctly, there should be a knife sitting in the crevice between the couch’s armrest and the side table. You just have to reach -

"Take this off." You command with a breathy voice, tugging at his t-shirt that had some unknown stain on it. You almost regret putting so much effort into your appearance.

Oh, well. You're taking notes in the back of your mind for any future endeavors.

You guide his desperate hands to pull the shirt over his head. In one movement, you drop the shirt and take the hidden knife into your hand. You hadn't realized until just now, but -

You're shaking.

You let out a deep breath. With your arms reaching over the arm of the couch, you're essentially caging him in. Nothing looks suspicious yet. Not to him, at least.

You lean in to give him one final kiss. You aren't exactly sure why. It's not doing anything for you. Maybe some sort of sympathy is crossing your mind?

… You'll have to work on that.

You pull away slowly, giving yourself time to examine the state he's in. His eyes are glazed over, his breath shallow.

Now.

Do it now.

You're ready. You've studied anatomy, disarmed yourself to the idea, and prepared for the worst.

You have to do it now.

You straighten your back, the knife now visible to him. He doesn't seem to notice at first until your arms are in the air, hoping to find some momentum in the stab. With your eyes still open, you find the spot where it should end this without too much pain for either party. You dive as fast as you can, but you made a fatal error.

You shut your eyes.

The moment was immediately silenced by the tension of his hand fisting the blade of the knife. He caught it. He stopped it just before it could pierce his chest, only bleeding from his palm. You both sit silently, in disbelief, perhaps.

A silent curse slips from your lips, and that seems to snap him back to this failure of a hook-up.

"You fucking psychopath!" He screeches. He stands, effectively throwing you off his lap as he does so. The action forces a small yelp out of you, and your grip on the knife is immediately taken from you. You stare up at him from the ground.

The tables seem to have turned. He's looking down at you, stumbling and struggling to find his grounding, all the while holding the knife. Despite this, despite his large build and his newfound advantage, he bolts for the door.

Was this better than him attacking you? Will he go to the police? You almost hope he's fragile enough to not admit he was attacked by a frail creature, or that he'll use this as a story to brag to his friends over, I escaped a psycho bitch last night.

You start cursing again. They become more frantic and louder as you follow him out. You watch him stumble off your patio and back to his car. You manage to find reality when a previous thought hits you.

You hid weapons everywhere.

A shotgun sits by your front door. It wasn't the most hidden, but in your defense, it was dark enough outside that it went unnoticed. And you're in a rural enough area that some wouldn't bat an eye at the sight of it.

With shaky hands, you pick it up, already loaded, and aim it at him. He's already in the driver's seat, but you're too exposed to let him just drive off at this point.

You didn't really know much about guns. But in an emergency such as this, it seemed like it would come in handy. So when you took your shot, you never considered the consequences of shooting bullets at a running car, especially with your poor aim.

You come to moments later, fire and pieces of metal surround you. You try to take in your surroundings, but your ears are ringing, and your senses are overwhelmed by the severe burns covering most of your body. You manage to find your home, still mostly intact. The car, on the other hand, is completely decimated.

In the corner of your eye, you think you can spot some resemblance of your date sprawled along the asphalt. With a heavy breath, which you consider might be your last, you let your head drop onto the pavement.

-

"My my, what a predicament you've got yourself into!"

A voice?

It echoes through your head. You can still only see the crackling of the fire surrounding you, and your ears still ring, but the voice seems clear as day. There's a bit of a static to it, but still it's clearnes startles you. You attempt to respond through the pain.

"W-Who-"

"Save your strength, my dear. I'll be quick since it seems you won't be with us much longer." The voice says. You can hear footsteps, a clear clicking of heels that echo in this ethereal space you find yourself. You struggle to lift your head, only catching a glimpse of the stranger kneeling in front of you.

"I'll clean up this little mess of yours, and we can discuss my repayment once you're in less of a.. scorched state. Deal?"

How could you consider the consequences? Or even comprehend his words while you’re like this? You aren't sure what he means, and you have no time to question. Your consciousness seems to be honing in on the burns.

You let out a horrific scream, clutching your arms, only intensifies the pain. If you could see the stranger, you'd see a disturbingly unphased smile.

"Help me - H-Help me! Please!" You beg and cry out, finally reaching out your hand to him.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

"Deal - Deal! Fuck- I-It hurts..!" You sob, biting your blood-dampened lip to prevent any more screams.

He takes your hand, gripping onto the raw skin of your burns. Your next scream comes out silently. You feel your vision blur before your body finally comes to terms with its seemingly sealed fate.

-

You shoot up from your bed, your face running with tears. They feel cool, running down your heated cheeks. You quickly wipe your face, leaving a wet smudge of makeup and sweat across your fingers.

Right.. make-up from the date.

You scan your bed, no man in sight. It’s a relief to wake up in your bed alone. Shifting out from under the covers, you look to your hands, waving them in front of your eyes and running your hands across your own skin.

Smooth.

Maybe even softer than you remember previously.

Some sort of calming amenity seems to be sweeping over your body. With glazed eyes, you examine your body that should be severely burned, yet you feel nothing.

Still, in a state of shock, you rise and wrap yourself in your blanket before leaving your bedroom looking a mess. You roam your home, looking around with still-damp eyes. You feel like a tourist. Like none of this is yours.

Not anymore.

You find yourself standing by your front door, opening it without hesitation. It's a clear sunny day. The grass is just as green, if not greener, and there were flowers there that you don't recall ever planting.

Suddenly, your bare feet against the heated pavement sends a slight panic through you, as the more gruesome details of the previous night conjured in your mind.

That's why nothing looks right. You were sure your porch was blackened by the fire. The grass was a flame, and there was a car - and that man and the voice -

You approach where his car was parked, only to find a torn-up strip of rubber, assumingly from its tire.

"What the.." unable to even complete a thought, a familiar voice only brings up more questions.

"Ah, my apologies! I assure you it is quite out of character for me to miss a spot." You see a disturbingly tall figure come from behind, swooping down to pick up the rubber scrap. He examines it within his red talons, turning it back and forth. You stand dumbfounded, but he goes on anyway.

"So, what exactly caused your date to ..implode? Was he not to your liking? Too handsy? Too-"

...

You're too tired for this.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, turning on your heels and letting the blanket drag across the rugged pavement behind you as you head back inside. You almost expect some sort of resistance from him, a qwip on how rude it is to walk off in the middle of a conversation, but there is none. Maybe you just imagined that little interaction. Maybe there wasn't really anyone there, and you're still tired or still sleeping.

You open the door, and that same bright smile greets you from inside your own home.

That seems to wake you up.

Your wide eyes scan his face, then peek inside your home behind him. You turn back around to see where he previously was, and obviously there's no sign of his travels. You slowly turn back.

"May I speak now?" His voice is laced with a radio filter, and it hits your ears in the strangest way. The reality of the situation turns your exhaustion into apprehension, yet you nod your head anyway.

"I may have caught you in the midst of your disarray, but I must admit, I'm curious about what led to it." He steps aside and gestures for you to come inside. To your own house.

"H-He got the upper hand is all." You decide not to comment, moving inside sluggishly. As far as you know, this strange being has no idea of the sins you've committed. You quickly fib.

"He attacked me, actually."

"Oh, how devastating!" He lets out a saddened sigh, a hand over his heart with fake sympathy. "Now, was that before or after you attempted to drive a knife through his chest?"

With a defeated groan, you flop onto the couch.

"What are you? A sleep paralysis demon? A.. nightmare? Am I still asleep?" You grumble, running the possibilities out loud and not expecting a true answer. You actually hoped that it would all go away. That this voice in your head, this hallucination, is just that.

In your head.

"Ooh, I like the sound of that.. A nightmare~ has a nice ring to it wouldn't you say?" He stands in front of you, his hands folded formally behind his back.

"Now. Enough with the compliments. What truly happened, my dear?” When his voice suddenly turns sympathetic, you find yourself actually in need of someone to vent to.

“Well, since you're clearly just a nightmare - or.. something - ” You sit up, take in a deep breath, and with its release, you reveal yourself.

All of you.

Every single animal you've killed to curb your pain, what seems to work and what doesn't, and the previous nights failure. You talk about the number of friends and family you've scared off throughout the years, everything.

“I.. was gonna eat.. him…” You squeak out your final sentence. You've never really said it out loud before. And never in front of someone else. It made your own blood run cold. Not the thought of the act itself, but just sharing it aloud. your eyes stay fixed on your fidgeting hands in your lap when a loud cackle interrupts your anxiousness.

“My word, aren’t you just the cutest basket case? You're lucky to be dealing with a demon of similar tastes.” He hisses his final words, all with a sly smile. He sounds prideful in his admission. His words seem like they're meant to disarm you, and even though he essentially admitted to being a cannibalistic demon, it works.

“Well.. since we have sooo much in common-” Your voice drags, the notion of being similar to this demon feeling strange to mention out loud, “-would you.. help me? With all this..?”

Expecting another laugh, maybe some more teasing, you're met with a confusing expression. His smile is still there, unmoving, but you catch the smallest twinkle in his eye. He stands and faces away. The hope of finding an outlet for your cannibalistic intent starts to dwindle.

Your misplaced disappointment is overtaken by the flickering of lights and the soft tunes of a radio nearby, one that you recognized but were sure had been broken for decades. He turns his head unnaturally, looking over his shoulder to meet you with blackened eyes.

“I would be absolutely delighted.”

-

“Lucky for you, some of your late-night delivery seemed to withstand the flames!”

You follow that transatlantic accent to your kitchen, unamused by his continuous puns and casual speech. This big scary demon friend of yours presents a commically large plate, with a very familiar carcass sitting atop.

He did nothing to make it look any less disturbing than it truly was. the skin was nearly burned off, the smell was just awful, and the shirt was somehow still recognizable through it all.

You cover your mouth in response. The fact that it doesn't smell much different than some of the other carnivorous meals you’ve prepared nauseates you more than the sight of the corpse itself.

“Quite a specimen, very good choice! But, you needed tips, correct?”

All you can think of to respond is a simple nod of your head.

“Then let's get started!” With a snap of his clawed fingers, a sleek black apron covers his suit.

The next few hours were grueling, but.. fun? If you're allowed to call it that. You were given multiple pointers, and sure, they were all quite helpful, but they were in excruciating detail. What certain parts of the body you should pick or avoid was one thing, but discussing what wine pairs with what organs? It's not a conversation you ever thought you'd have.

By the time the meal looks normal, all decorated with spices in a baking pan and in the oven, you instinctively go to do dishes. As you fill the sink and start bringing things over, a little creature has you nearly tripping. You look down, seeing a strange little stitched doll carrying most of the dishes to the sink. No matter how strange it looked, you respond with a curious hum, fully desensitized to it at this point.

“Huh..” is all you can say. You take any remaining dishes and follow suit, plopping it all into the water. The little doll seems to be tugging at your leg when you try to walk off. It's holding its arms up to you, letting out little murmurs that sound restrained by the stitches across its mouth. You hesitate at first, but scoop it up in your arms and place it aside the sink. And it gets to work scrubbing away.

“Damn, you're cute, and you clean? Can I keep you?” You ask it quietly, giving it a quick pat on the head. It seems to smile.

“Quite a delightful little thing, one of my better creations, I must admit.” The response from him seems to scare the poor thing straight. It immediately lowers its head and focuses on cleaning. You scoff at the interaction between the two. if his own toy is scared of him, should you be as well? “That being said, I simply can not part with it. My apologies.”

“Oh, I was kidding. Mostly.” You reply quietly. You hear the first chuckle from him that seems genuine. No ill intent, just a joyous response to your little quip. It felt kinda.. Nice.

-

“So, Mr. Scary Demon Man-” You clear your throat before you speak. “-why are you here, exactly? did I do something to summon you? Or-” He cocks his head to the side at the title, a little twitch to his eye.

“Not at all, my dear. I simply wanted to help you in your little endeavors, from one cannibal to another, Haha!” His tone goes back to that of a salesman. Like he’s trying to convince you he’s something he’s not.

“Well.. thank you, I guess. I don't really understand why you’d want to help me without wanting something in return, though. You don't seem like-”

“-A charitable man? I suppose that’s fair.” He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “If you’re so desperate to return the favor, why don’t we strike a deal? Just a little one. Between friends.”

You weren’t stupid. His words made it clear that this was his intention from the moment he chose to save your life. You shrunk a bit.

“Sure, between friends.” You let out a sigh, your somewhat chipper attitude immediately fading. He takes no time to be empathetic.

“Good! Now, you seem to have an eye for food. This meal was ideal considering your poor execution.” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling. “And you can’t get meals quite like this where I’m from. How about you keep providing, with my assistance, and I’ll make sure it’s prepared to the best of my abilities. In exchange for all my hard and generous work, I get half the spoils! Seems far more favorable on your end, but I’m feeling rather generous today.”

Where he’s from? You want to question it. You want to know more about him, you want to know -

“What’s your name?” Your sudden questioning leaves him speechless for a moment, but he’s quick to recover his charming smile. “You never told me.”

“Well, considering you won’t need my name if you don’t agree to this little game, how about I throw that in as well? You provide the living flesh, and I’ll handle the rest. And, you’ll get my name.” He stands before you, a bit too close for your comfort, as he reaches his hand out to you. “Call it a deal?”

An ominous green glow surrounds the two of you. It sends some kind of wind through your clothes and hair. His hand is especially bright, and his eyes go back to that frightening black that you experienced previously.

At the end of the day, if this is what you have to do to stifle those damned pains, it doesn't seem all that bad. You extend your hand, instinctively flinching at the seemingly impending danger. But that still doesn't stop you.

“O-Okay.. Deal.” With the touch of his palm against yours, the glow flashes, forcing your body to tense and your eyes to squeeze shut. It only lasts for a moment, though. When you open your eyes, you first examine your connected hands. His hand is huge compared to yours. From this proximity, you can truly take in how unnaturally tall he is.

Attempting to tug your hand back, his grip tightens, forcing your hand to his lips for a quick kiss to your knuckles. An outdated and surprisingly intimate action leaves you a bit flustered.

“My name is Alastor. It’s been a pleasure, my dear~”

-

And so, your transactional deal went on, right until your demise. You used a similar tactic to bring more meals to your doorstep, finding a handful of poor saps online. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant when he offered his assistance, but when the time came, a strength took over your body that you never experienced before. There were no more shaky hands or sympathy. Your aim was always true, and it was just so easy. Any impending dangers or possible retaliations were alerted to you by a subtle whisper, a voice, coming from just behind you. It was startling at first, but quickly became a comfort.

When it came to preparing the food, which Alastor said he’d handle, you’d essentially leave your victim's remains in the kitchen and would come back to a meal ready for the oven. Sometimes, you’d leave the body as is, limp on the couch, or sprawled on the floor, only when you were too exhausted to deal with the clean-up. On nights like that, you’d wake up to a completed meal the next morning. You liked to picture him going through your home, rolling up his sleeves and wearing that apron, cleaning things up, and cooking in your kitchen how he did that first night.

That being said, you didn't normally see his physical form. There was the lent strength and whispers during your hunts, but other than that, contact seemed to nearly cease. Why was that upsetting you? You cursed yourself for being too much of a romantic - for making this seem like anything more than a delusion you conjured up to make this whole action easier for you.

And that pain? That constant hunger that was never sufficed nearly went away. In fact, you’ve never felt fuller.

He did return on especially rare occasions. You never complained, and you attempted to hide your excitement when you'd catch him lurking in the corner of your eye.

Sometimes, it was to cook for you again. Despite the deal being in full swing, you would ask him to show you some of the recipes. Normally, it would just appear, looking delicious and homemade as always, yet you still pestered him to show you how to prepare some things. He always acted burdened by it, but seeing him cooking felt.. Domestic. Like, when he was cooking, he was truly in his element. It made it easy to forget what he was, which you found yourself questioning less and less. It simply didn't matter anymore.

One particular visit was late into the night. He actually woke you up from the racket, which had never happened before. Stumbling out of your bed, expecting to see police raiding your home or something worse, you’re instead met with a swaying radio demon and a shattered vase. Whenever he was around, soft music would play from your busted radio, a contrasting notion to the fumbling man in front of you now.

“Alastor?” You call out, a wave of relief hitting you and bringing the baseball bat from your hands to the floor. “What the hell are you doing? It’s like.. three in the morning..” The realization of the time makes the previous adrenaline seep out of you.

“Ha-ha! Isn’t that an interesting concept? The Devil’s Hour. Throw some religious implications, and it drives people mad! In reality, it’s just when your feeble body is at its most vulnerable.” He rambles on, spilling the drink from his bottle as he exaggerates his actions. He walks to you as he goes on, his body still swaying. “When your little fragile human heart reaches its lowest speed. When waking you would cause.. distress.” He goes on, his words suddenly sounding melancholic.

“Your breathing is erratic.” He adds, staring intensely at your heaving chest. “And you are hot to the touch-” The back of his claws trace the apple of your cheek, where even you can feel the heat radiating from your skin. Because his voice has no filter. You’ve never heard it like that before. You’ve never heard him sound so human.

His hand traces down your face to press against your chest. He’s feeling your heart. And it’s beating erratically.

“Your heart is fast. Are you distressed?” He leans in closer, to the point where you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Do I make you distressed?”

In a flustered panic, you push him away. His closeness, his touch, it all threw you off guard.

“N-no, I’m just tired. You woke me up in the middle of the night, asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest, watching him laugh and struggle to find his bearings after being shoved. With a groan, you pull him by his slender arm over to the couch. He sits down with a thud, and you sit a careful distance next to him.

“That is what is so refreshing about you, my dear.” He lets out a dreamy sigh, and you pull the whiskey from his hand before he can break anything else. “Why - you have no idea who you’re dealing with, I could be a powerful demon overlord,” He slurs his words. “But, to you, I’m just your sweet radio demon~” He sings out.

Alastor leans into you, uncharacteristically tapping your nose. You swat his hand away, forcing another loud chuckle from him. He stays leaning forward, even seated beside you, he towers over you. Your wide eyes meet his.

“Even your eyes show no sign of fear. How curious.” You stay like this a little longer. His breath still reeks of expensive whiskey, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes from him. You’re terribly focused on keeping your distance, but he doesn't seem to have the same concern.

With a sly smile, he removes his coat and flips to his back, laying his head in your lap. With his long legs crossed over each other and hanging very much off the couch, you’re almost nervous to touch him. He wasn’t especially touchy, only doing so when necessary; fingers brushing against fingers, a hand on the shoulder for a mere second- why can you remember each moment so vividly? Why is it so fresh in your mind?

“Alastor, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home? or.. wherever you are when you're not here?” That’s still something you’ve questioned. You weren’t one to pester him so insistently, wery on losing the good thing you have going on.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure! Be careful with your alcohol, my dear! Ha-haa!” He slurs out with a grin. “I suppose.. I prefer to be here.”

“What? Why? If you’re some powerful overlord, don’t you have somewhere better to be getting sloshed?” You scoff, keeping your eyes away from his head that was still perched comfortably in your lap. He seems to even nuzzle into your thighs a bit, and it only flushes you more. You take an unpermitted swig of his confiscated drink.

“Hm! Well, I can’t exactly get meat this fresh in Hell-” He taps his chin in thought to your rhetorical question that clearly went right over his head. “-besides! It’s not nearly as nice without you.” He sounds so matter of fact, so sure of his words. You hold your breath, suddenly reliving every moment together before this.

You’d chat and joke around in the kitchen, but you’ve really learned more about him than you thought. How he sews together those strange little creatures. And he seems so proud of them, despite their clear fear of his presence. You noticed he always puts some sort of spice in the meals he cooks, and that even if it's too much, you eat it anyway. How he simply hates getting dirty despite his occupation. He rolls up his sleeves, has that dumb apron, and uses those little toys of his to keep clean.

You loved it.

You’ve done nothing but enjoy every moment with him. You don’t need to know what he is to know that.

Wait, did he say Hell?

“You’re from Hell? There’s a Hell??” With a more shocked exclamation than feared, you finally look down at him. He’s too far gone, humming along to the music, he barely hears your questions. With a clearly defeated sigh, you brush his hair from his face. He winces from the action, his smile wavering but not breaking under your touch.

“Ah, I wish I knew how you survive this cozy little life.” His voice is quiet and mumbled.

You.

I can live this way because of you.

He manages to finish off the bottle with one more swig - when did he take that back?

Your thoughts begin to wander, absent-mindedly twirling strands of hair through your fingers, raking your fingers down his scalp, only to startle yourself with the sensation of animalistic ears. And they’re twitching. Whether it be your reaction or his, it seems to force a little yelp from you, so you reel your hand away.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you, darling.. Could you - or.. You can.. Continue. If you’d like.” His voice had dropped that strange filter again. You feel woozy. That whiskey you had shared, maybe it was strong. Or.. it was the middle of the night, you were sure you were just tired. You spiraled to come up with any reasonable excuse other than developing feelings for a Hellbound demon. You wonder if you-

Oh, you’re definitely going to Hell.

But, could it be something to look forward to?

Your intimate thoughts cloud your mind, leaving your hand mindlessly petting a literal demon. Your fingers combed through his hair, delicately clawing up the ears and pinching the softness at the tip of each one. Despite your thorough and elaborate massage, your mind has wandered to how a relationship with a possible hallucination of a demon would work out. But that's ridiculous, isn’t it?

“Alastor, can I ask you-” your words are brought to a halt and your eyes drop. A quiet hum of satisfaction, leaving a barely conscious radio demon, who’s head still sat in your lap. With a curse under your breath you decide you're trapped.

There was absolutely no chance of escape. What, were you supposed to wake him? What if you upset a powerful overlord demon, or whatever he claimed to be? Albeit uncomfortable, you force yourself to sleep. Enjoy it while you can, who knows if it's even real?

You didn't see him for awhile after that.

-

Alastor was a poinient man. He never missed a pick up before. So when you realized the meat you've portioned off for him was still sitting in your fridge, you start to worry. You're not exactly sure why, you’ve pushed any and every intimate thought from your mind.

This is purely transactional.

Even though his portion had gone untouched for a few days.. A few weeks, if you really think about it, you already had a date set with another victim.

It went on as usual. A dumb hunk of meat thinks he’s all that until you’re straddling him. You decide to stick to what you know works; a knife to the heart.

You mapped exactly where to plant it, as he fiddles with your top, and with a raised arm, you go to claim your next victim.

There was no warning.

There was supposed to be a warning.

The next thing you know, you're pinned to the floor, your wrist being gripped so tightly you have no other option than to scream and lose your grip on the knife.

Your date took no time. No hesitation.

The last thing you see is the opposing view. A stranger straddling your body with a knife held high above his head.

It seems so quiet.

And it's awful.

Where was the warning?

If anything, you should've at least heard Alastor's voice telling you how to avoid this. You always do. A slight pang of worry hits you, but it's quickly overtaken by anger.

With a final yelp that's fueled with frustration, hurt, and a broken heart, you met your demise quickly and alone.

By the time you've come to, you're surrounded by a handful of black eyed children. You immediately scramble backward, hitting your back against a brick wall. You’d notice your surroundings if these little scavengers werent eyeing you with an innocent curioustity. You let out a hiss, holding a hand over your eye. A streak of blackened blood comes from it, your palm thoroughly stained with it.

“You must be new~”

“You’re very handsome!”

“How did you die?”

A bombard of tiny voices and questions go straight over your head, a ringing in your ears forcing your mind to go hazy.

“Alright, give ‘em some space, kids!” A sweet voice seems to bring you back. You look down to your seated body. Your skin is a deathly gray, and your top is stained with your own blood. It’s still red. “Don’t overwhelm the poor thing, I’m sure they’re quite shaken!”

Your eyes then trace up the silhouette of a vintage looking entourage, then to a sharp-toothed smile. The woman stands before you, a hand held out to you.

Her eyes are just as black and her skin is just as pale as those children that now whisper and giggle to eachother nearby.

It didn’t take you long to realize your misfortune.

You died.

You’re upset sure, but you find that you’re mostly angry. None of this wouldve happened if you- if he-

“Come on, cutie! Let’s get you cleaned up.” Her considerate smile clears your mind almost immediately. You don’t hesitate accepting her assistance.

-

“He was supposed to help me. He said he would be there for me! I died because of him..!”

A strained smile and a quick nod is the only response you get to your angered rambling. The kind face that scooped you off the streets was Rosie, one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, who just so happens to own most the souls in Cannibal town.

Lucky you.

She did exactly as she said, having her fun and playing a bit of dress up with you. It wasn't exactly your style, but there were more concerning things when it came to your appearance. Your eyes were just as black as Rosie’s. As those children who have been following you around.. In fact, most residents of cannibal town had this feature.

You really are in Hell.

Right where you belong.

Right along side people who are just like you. It almost felt.. Comfortable.

You confided in her, going on and on about some jerk of a demon who broke a promise that cost you your life. How he had been helping you in fights, saved your life a number of times, taught you how to cook, showed up drunk to simply sit in your lap, then just fucking disapeared when you needed him most. Your face was turning red, from anger or the way you gushed about him, Rosie couldn’t quite decipher.

What wasn’t comfortable was the period clothing you were put in. But according to Rosie, it’s Perfect! What a doll!

“Is Alastor. The radio demon?” She completes your sentence with a sigh, standing to tower over you and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, hun, but no one’s seen him in quite a while.. If i’m being entirely honest with you, he’s a dear friend of mine.” You instantly tense at her words. You just went on a rant about how shitty he was, only to find out he’s disapeared with no explanation. Maybe it was a good reason. A good enough reason to leverage your own life? You aren’t sure.

“I have to find him!” You finally say, as if a lightbulb switched in your head. He seemed so unattainable all these years, but now? You’re in his house. “Miss Rosie! Can you help me? His name-”

“I can’t say he didn’t wrong you, but he’s a man of his word, hun.. If he’s not holding up his promises, then he might be in some real trouble.. ” You hear her voice crack, yet she doesn't let her smile drop.

Another factor to consider that Alastor might have bitten more than he can chew, yet she still sympathises with you. You nearly knock the wind out of her with your arms encircling her small waist. Your head rests just at her chest. You can’t see her face, but her arms are around you almost instantly.

-

As you got settled in town, you did actually use the skills that Alastor had taught you throughout your lifetime. You understood why he made your previous deal. Demon flesh was just fine, but you really needed to spice it up to be anything special. And even then, it still couldn't compare to fresh, living, meat.

You started off just making and baking your own food. Then, when one cannibalistic child asked to try some, they told their friends, who told others.

After a while, you were cooking for half the town. You had a line every morning out of your own home. Once Rosie took notice, it was time for you to make a deal.

“Why can’t I sign a contract with you? You’ve done so much for me, I trust you with my soul.” You had taken Rosie out for dinner, where you planned to discuss a potential deal. Even with you barely being in Hell for a year, you heard plenty about Extermination Day, contracts, dealing in souls, all of it. You did your research. You talked to some of the townsfolks and saw no real downside in giving your soul away. Your proposal seems to surprise her, though.

“You still have your soul? Didn’t you make a deal with Alastor?” She asks, quieting her voice when she says his name, as if just the sound of it would make you upset. It only makes your eye twitch, though, just at the thought of the whole ordeal.

“I did, but he didn't say anything about my soul.. Was he.. Supposed to take it?” You question.

“Well.. he’s made deals like that before, favors for favors, right?” You nod. “But to go all the way to Earth just for some food? That’s.. Not like him…” Rosie seems to be lost in thought, trying to piece together his intentions. You clear your throat, and attempt to calmly bring her back. You slide a tupperware container of lady fingers you had made just before this.

“I want a restaurant, Rosie. I’ve been keeping an eye on that abandoned shop in the town square. I can feed everyone in town if you’ll let me. And.. protection, of course. Would that work?”

She opens the box with a sparkle in her black eyes, almost immediately popping one of the delicate treats to her lips. With a hum of satisfaction and a snap of her fingers, the glowing golden paper floats in front of your eyes.

“It’s a deal, darling!”

-

You could barely call it a restaurant at first, but you were elated. Rosie granted you some extra hands to make deliveries and assist in the kitchen. Everything seemed to be going your way. Your first extermination day went by quickly. For some reason, angels weren’t destroying everything in town. And you and your little shop were both safe, untouched, really.

You had a steady job, loving customers, and a residency near the center of town. You were almost surprised how having a shared interest, in eating human flesh, can bring people together. And after just a few years, you had a community.

You had a family.

Something you never really though you’d have, in life or death; A home.

Things were going so well. This was supposed to be your happy ending. It had been a few years since you had signed the contract, and you still feel satisfied with your decision. You could really be yourself here.

In Cannibal Town.

In Hell.

It made you laugh sometimes, how much joy the underworld brought you.

On a say that seemed like any other, you had sold out your stock for the day early, and went on to send the rest of yout employees home, when you heard a ruckus near the gazebo.

The screech of a microphone, and a very distant agitated Susan, is all you can truly hear from where you are. You drop everything to join the crowd.

It was the princess of Hell.. You weren’t one to keep up with politics or media, there was no need for you. You entertained yourself plenty just by residing in town. But, you managed to hear her blow up before being dragged away. A tall, rugged figure takes their place, ready to entertain the crowd while the Princess gathered herself.

“Come one, come all! While our little princess is collecting herself, who would appreciate a quick song, hm?”

“There is no fucking way..” You mutter to no one but yourself.

Alastor.

He holds his hand up to his ear, waiting patiently for the adoring crowd to praise his presence before he went on. You knew Rosie was a friend of his, he was a cannibal afterall, but for the entire town to love him just as much? Including Susan?

It’s absurd.

He went on to perform some showtune, one that sounded familiar to you. The crowd excitedly surrounds the pavilion, dragging you nearly to the front. You held a look of disgust. A look of betrayal.

You didnt want to see him, you told yourself. Things were perfect as is, you felt no need to repair a relationship with your imaginary friend you conjured up while alive.

Although, you never thought you had to. He had been gone for years, he nearly became just a passing thought.

An unreasonable part of you stayed put. A part of you wants him to see you and recognize you, to remember what he had forgotten. You stood with your arms crossed, your heart beating rapidly just at the sight of him.

He looks entirely the same, completely unphased. You’ve changed so much visually, and you’re happier now. Bolder. You’re not shying down now.

He catches your eyes.

The music screeches to a halt, sounding like a record player needle dragging across the disc. You’re holding back a smile, almost proud that you were able to stop him in his tracks. This had to be the first time he’s thought of you in over seven years.

And stops singing.

Lucky for him, the princess is finally ready to make her own point. You stick around, not exactly paying attention to her lyrics. You keep your face of disdain strong, stepping away and flinching at any advance Alastor would make to reel in the crowd. He seems to distract himself just fine until Charlie whisks away the crowd. Again, you're firmly planted in your spot.

Alastor turns to you, much more apparent of who he’s dealing with now that you stand alone from the crowd. His ears are flat against his head, and his smile is turned at the corners. His eyes seem to dart back and forth as if he’s deciding whether or not to stay. To be with you.

Oh, he’s nervous.

You’ve never seen him nervous before. It feels good. You’re making the almighty Radio Demon nervous. You smile just slightly. But not a smile between old friends, but a smile in response to his realization that he fucked up.

Despite your delay, Alastor continues on with the rest of the parade. Your body immediately lost all tension once he leaves.

-

“Well, well! I knew I recognized that menu. I was ready to tear apart some poor sinner for using my recipes.” A familiar, antagonizing voice echoes throughout your little empty shop.

You turn on your heels, almost startled by the sudden intrusion.

Almost.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't hoping for it.

Just a little.

Of course, he'd come back. Maybe to make another lowly deal. Or to get you to do more menial tasks for him, to flaunt his power and authority.

“Yeah, well.. when you've been left for dead, and all you have is your skills, you do what you have to, to survive.” You snap, turning your back to him to continue wiping off an already spotless counter. “Plus, it never hurts to marginalize.”

“I've actually tried some of your food here.. Hm! And I hadn't the slightest idea who prepared such a meal. You've gotten better, I'll give you that! Such a small world.” He says with a nostalgic sigh. You can hear his heels clicking throughout the empty store, circling the room before eventually approaching you.

How can he speak to you like you were still.. aquitanced?

“I hope whatever kept you busy these seven years was worth my life.” You mutter. You weren't sure if you wanted him to hear that or not. Maybe if he did, he'd finally apologize or-

“Oh, it was! A nice little sabbatical is exactly what I needed.” You quickly turn to see him polishing his claws against his coat and smiling quite brightly. “I will say it is a pleasure to be meeting you here! I'm glad you settled in so easily.”

“You killed me, Alastor! You were supposed to keep me safe.. and now I'm dead! Because you disappeared without a word!” You start to scold him, finally hitting a breaking point. All he does is scoff at you.

“Oh please, I didn't even take your soul. And it's not like you'd end up anywhere else if you were to perish later on.” He speaks so casually about it all.

But, you were ready to cry. To kick and scream at his arrogance.

The feeling of sharp fingers engulfing your shoulders leaves you suddenly tense and puts your murderous thoughts on hold. He's vanished from in front of you and now looms over you, his eyes meeting yours from over your shoulder.

“Plus, you seem to be quite happy here! Why don't we just call it even then, hm?”

He can not be serious.

You pull away from him, the tears welling in your eyes finally letting loose.

“Alastor, stop!” You yelp, turning to face him. “That’s.. so unfair! You broke a promise! And you-” you hold your finger out to scold him even more, but you feel your body simply going slack. “-you hurt me.. I just.. thought that after all that time, after that night, you'd care a little more..” You look up to him, in the hopes of being met with some sort of sympathy. But his unnatural smile goes unwavering. You rub your arm awkwardly, losing your confidence as your words turn more vulnerable without your realizing.

“Oh, I can feel your pain, not to worry dear. I truly meant no harm when I couldn't hold up my end of the deal.” He's smiling and drawing out his words, only setting off a sense of unease within you. You finally let out a shaky sigh.

“With everything you've done for me.. I thought that.. you might've liked being around me…” You let out, your voice running slightly ragged from the previous shouts. “I thought we were having a good time! Then after all this?” You grow an uncertain smile.

A previous sight that made you giddy before only brings you dread now. His ears are flat, his eyes struggle to meet yours. He's losing his composure.

“I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted it to happen.” You laugh through your words, your hands raking through your hair in a stressed manner. In your little pits of passion, you don't get the chance to see his wavering smile, the grimace on his face, any of it. When your words are met with silence, though, that's when you finally look up to him.

He's nervous, again.

“Oh.. my-” your sentence barely starts before he attempts to cover his slip up.

“Now let's calm down, I really didn't mean for- I didn't intend-”

“Isn’t there rules to this? Were you ever allowed to meddle with my life in the first place - let alone - be on Earth??”

“-God! You killed me on purpose?? Just so I could come down here to do your bitch work?” You snap, your laugh becomes delirious and your tears betray the anger you're meant to be showing.

He’s scrambling for a witty reply, his expression finally showing his true intentions for the first time in a long while. He’s speechless.

“I’m such an idiot.. Of course, you never cared. Bastard.” You mumble your words to the room, losing any fear of him hearing your insults.

Your vulnerability sends a strange shiver down his spine. One he’s never felt before, one that makes his chest ache and his muscles tense.

“Well - Now, let's just talk for a moment before you-” Alastor extends his hand out to your turned back, but it never reaches you. A delicate grip takes his wrist, bringing him to a full stop. He stops, unnaturally snapping his neck to see who would dare disrupt the Radio Demon himself.

His ears flatten against his head, and with a sudden disbelief in what he’s seeing, his eyes return to their normal crimson.

Rosie towers over his hunched form, her eyes stern.

♡♡♡

“Al, sweetheart, you gotta go. You're disturbing my client.”

I love when Alastor fucks up and found out

THIS IS A TWO PARTER I PROMISE

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[lizzy019]

𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝑀𝑒!

Dallas Winston x Girly/Emotional!Reader

cw -> mentions of attempted kidnapping and rape⚠️, bondage not during sex, cowgirl, some dacryphilia, lazy ending :\

Word Count -> 2.7K

I’m sorry if this is bad, I had no motivation lmaoo

The roads of Tulsa at night were always relatively pleasant.

The moonlit skies illuminated with stars, the chill of the breeze hitting your exposed skin as you watched little rodents run and scurry off at the sound of your footsteps. It was enchanting in a way, the serenity under the darkened skies.

You were walking averagely paced, just trying to make your way home in peace like you always did. That was, until, someone’s unfamiliar voice had startled you from your gleeful travel.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ on the streets so late, hm?” It had you swivel on the heels of your shoes, skirt swirling around as your eyes landed on whoever spoke to you.

It looked like someone who usually hung out at Buck’s.

“I-I’m headed home.” You managed to spew out the words, hands trembling in fear as the cool night’s breeze suddenly became even colder.

Your answer had elicited a gruff chuckle from whoever had first asked you, and the sound practically rattled your spine.

With nervous hands fiddling with your purse’s string, you found yourself briefly lamenting the peace you’d lost while walking home. At least it was silent and serene, but now with these random men staring at you like you were a piece of meat? You felt jitters in your fingers.

“Home? Aw, little girl, why go home when there’s so much fun to be had with us?” One of the boys who spoke was barely recognizable from the shadow of the night casting a dark colour to mask his face. “We’re much more entertainin’ than you think, sweetheart.”

The pure condescension in his voice had the rest making sounds of mirth and mockery towards you. You wished you could curl up and run away, to hide and be in the safety of your home. But not with these men trying to take you with them, no. Going home now would be bad for you and your family.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know any of you.. I can’t go with you even if I wanted to.” You tried to sound disappointed, to sound like you really couldn’t and that you had to go.

Much to your misfortune, that only earned you a few more snarlish laughs.

“Aww, but we don’t want you to go, sweetie. A precious little girl like you has no reason to be walkin’ the streets alone, especially at night. Why don’t you let us help you and we can walk you home, yeah?” The way he said it left no room for argument, no room to try and push him back and further try and pry him off of you.

He was dead set on you, and you would be theirs to malnourish how they see fit.

So with a fear that made his inner loins tighten, he followed close behind you, as did his other little gang member. One hand was tight on your waist, trailing up your shirt to reach your soft skin as the other one tried to talk to you so you didn’t lose track of what you were doing.

Your skin, so porcelain and smooth, was being degraded by this lowlife’s touch, and it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. It was uncomfortable, you felt every nerve in your body trying to reject it as all the hairs on your body stood upright.

“So, sweetheart, you got plans this evenin’? Maybe we could redirect this and take you to our place instead, yeah?” Again, there was no room for choice as the two had almost manhandled you to walk in the other direction.

You were scared, your vision being blurred when tears threatened to spill out of your eyes. The walk was almost agonizingly long, and you felt the cold air become crisper.

They walked you to Buck’s place, smirking as they had tugged you in. Buck didn’t seem to care anyway.

So with eyes that showed nothing but fear, you looked around in hopes you’d spot Dally. Left and right, there was no sign of him. You had to do a double take too, but once you were all out of hope, the tears finally started rolling down your cheeks.

It was hopeless to fight.

The two random men had started pulling you to the apartment rooms upstairs, and this had your eyes widening more in sheer panic. You thrashed and wiggled, trying to at least get some sort of outage, but your strength was overtaken by the two as they had finally pushed you into their room.

Panic had now overridden your senses, and you began to flail, kick, hit and scream. It was worrisome and rushed, but it got you some leverage to move. Your yell was loud, puncturing the steady sound of the music and arguing downstairs.

With quick moves, the two men had you being tied up, further enhancing your panic as you began to scream muffledly. They had tied your mouth.

The ruckus had alerted someone and the door was being banged from the other side. It caused the men to stop, and one of them moved to go and check who it was. The door was flung open, and much to your surprise, Dallas was standing tired eyed.

“Hey man, can you do this later-” He snapped out of his previous thought when he saw you being tied up and forced around. “What the fuck are you doin’, man? Get offa her!”

Everything moved too fast, and you had closed your eyes out of desperation. It was loud, too loud. The sound of Dallas hitting the other men to at least get to you rang loudly within your ear canals, and you found yourself getting a bit overstimulated by your emotions and senses being so overloaded.

You were practically sobbing, the once straight and frilly dress you wore was creased from all the moving around you had done. With blurred vision, you found yourself standing up haphazardly to waddle over and stay within Dally’s protection. It was pathetic, sure, but you were so scared and tired.

“Dal-.. Dally, th-they wanted to rape me.” You heaved while trying to contain your incredulous sobbing, your hands desperately wiggling to try and free yourself. No avail.

Dallas paid no mind to the two men hollering out threats, simply taking you away from the malicious situation and making sure you were alright. Once you had found yourself in his apartment nearby, you practically scrambled in and tried to curl yourself as small as you could.

He couldn’t blame you for being scared. As sensitive as you were, your emotions typically protected you from situations such as these. Your flight or fight reflexes were always there to aid you, more than his own anyway.

You had sat on his mattress, the dulcet yet painful sounds of your sniffles and pained whimpers were all making his heart soften. Just a bit though.

“What the hell were you doin’? Are you tryin’ to get yourself into the mud? You fuckin’ dumbass.” He chided cruelfully, sitting beside you with an irritated expression while he tried to undo the ties that bound your wrists.

His harsh words made a few more tears dribble their way down your cheeks, the only bonus was that your hands were free. Dally found himself growing more concerned than anything. Sure, he’s seen you emotionally unstable before, but nothing like this. You were trembling, closed off and trying to stop crying like you were embarrassed. In truth, you were.

“I didn’t mean to, Dal. They just followed me n’ started tryna take me with them..” You murmured out in a shaky, worrisome tone. Poor Dally was used to your overly bubbly personality.

With rough but cautious hands, Dally began to take some of your layered clothes from you. Your little cardigan was ripped from being tugged around so much, and you found yourself lamenting its tortured state. As silly as it was, it was a fabric you had come to genuinely appreciate.

“Sweetheart.. Just take some deep breaths, yeah? Ya want a cig?” He hummed, trying to accommodate to your needs so you’d finally relax.

You shook your head at his offer, simply letting him take off the fabrics covering your body so he could check for any bruising or damage to your porcelain skin.

His rough hands were gentle when they scanned around your body. Dally was known for being a bit of a perv, but he knew better when you were in such an exposed, mentally challenging state. His hands never came near your chest or your bra, nor your panties that kept you covered. Dally simply needed to confirm that you were alright physically. He had to warm himself up before dealing with you in a more emotional sense.

Once he had confirmed that you were okay asides the digging in your wrists from the previous ties, he leaned you back onto his mattress and tried his best to give you a cuddle. It wasn’t something within his forte, but he tried his hardest for you. Dally was willing to try anything for you.

You didn’t complain one bit, simply relishing in his body heat while you had finally managed to calm your sniffles. Dallas was being kind? You couldn’t find a single thing to complain about.

“Dal- What if you didn’t come in time?” You asked quietly, the nervous tone of yours unable to be shaken.

Dally could only sigh softly and press a soft kiss to your temple in an attempt to calm you.

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart. You’re okay, are you not?” He huffed it out gruffly, simply letting his hand rub your waist.

“But it’s hard to.. not worry, Dal. If you didn’t come in time, you know what they were gonna do to me! I jus’..” You found your eyes dribbling warm tears again, and you stopped talking as to not embarrass yourself.

Dallas frowned a little, lowering his head to peep at your expression. His hand moved from your waist to your neck, and he offered what little of a smile he could to you. His efforts weren’t unnoticed. Clearly Dally did something right, because he had you beaming back at him in no time.

You found yourself looking at him so affectionately, admiring all his precious features with rapt intent. From those pretty, blue eyes of his to his soft but high cheekbones. The way his lips curled so perfectly into a hand carved smile made in the heavens, or even just how pretty his blonde hair was despite being all messed up.

“You’re real pretty, Dal. No wonder all these girls wan’ you to notice them.” You hummed, smiling.

Poor Dallas found his eyes going wide out of shock from your unexpected compliment, but soon it turned into a dry laugh.

“Sweetheart, I only got my eyes on you right now, don’t I? You’re better than they are anyway.” Dally grumbled tiredly, his lips pressing onto yours so you’d be quiet.

It worked.

You simply sighed out of contentment when the kiss was engendered. No controversy, no disagreement or dislike. You both were just surrendering into the kiss with full enjoyment, albeit lazily doing so.

Immersed in the way his lips moved on yours, you found yourself desperately trying to get on top of him, to have that sort of dominance in the situation. He didn’t deny you of it, after what you had endured earlier. The last thing you needed was to feel trapped and stuck.

Once you were successfully pressing your already mostly nude body against him and your lips were still molding together, you were mindlessly grasping at the muscle on his arms, squishing them for leverage before pulling away. A small string of saliva had connected your lips before breaking when you pulled away altogether.

You had finally sat up straight, your arms trailing down his body to find his jeans’ zipper and button. Once you secured the fabric under your fingers, you scrambled to unbutton and unzip them so you could find what you were looking for. His cock was now just hiding in his boxers, and you helped him take the jeans off of his legs.

Dally’s hands were quick to unclip your bra and throw it off somewhere on the floor. He didn’t care where, he just wanted to see your pretty breasts all exposed for him. You smiled shyly when he just continued to stare at them, but you tried to pay his staring no mind.

Your hand bumped his semi-erect cock a few times for good measure before you had to adjust to wriggle your panties off. With the amount of slick you had just accumulated without even noticing, you found yourself becoming a bit shy, but you proceeded anyway.

“Ooh, sweetheart, you wanna be on top? That’s new. You sure you got this?” His voice simply oozed a playful condescending undertone, but you weren’t even quite focused on it. Your body was adjusted to a cowgirl position in no time.

Dally was waiting impatiently, but regardless he tried to keep himself from forcing you. This was all about your comfort level now.

So with shaky hands and wobbly legs, your hand dipped down and moved his cock to your entrance before you could finally let your legs give out. Doing so, his cock was plunged deep into your core, soaking in the heat and throbbing about in genuine pleasure.

Both you and Dally had moaned in harmony, his hands squeezing your thighs as he tried to catch his breath just a bit too fast. You were also huffing a bit, hands on his abdomen as you adjusted to his girth and length before bouncing. You knew he probably appreciated what you were doing, even if it wasn’t coherent in his head.

With you bouncing mercilessly on his cock, Dally had to fight himself to not let out any moans or whimpers. That wouldn’t be very masculine of him, he thought. But once you had found a rhythm and consistency that really got the poor guy overwhelmed, he was almost TOO loud.

“Ohh sweetheart! Oh fuckin’ shit, yeah, thas’ it! Get that dick sweetie- fuckin’ hell!” He would writhe, squeezing your legs and hips mindlessly to try and ground himself, only to fail and make himself into a mess.

It wasn’t like you were any better, jaw all slack and tears rolling freely down your cheeks from the way his girth was stretching you just a bit too much. Sure, you weren’t a virgin, but you weren’t fucking every man under the sun either, your pretty, precious cunt was barely used for these situations, it hurt a little.

“Dally! Dally, fuck me! Oh God, yeah!” Every word that tumbled from your mouth was almost incoherent, just pure nonsense as you fought to keep moving.

Dallas was getting an eyeful of your tears, your body and how you moved. Every sweet reaction his dick brought out from you. While it was a bit worrying, it was just too erotic seeing your fat tears roll down and drop onto his abdomen while you fucked yourself stupid on his cock.

He felt his orgasm bubbling in the base of his dick, but he couldn’t tell you! Not when you were simply too perfect to stop looking at while moving on him. Little did Dally know how close you were, just teetering on the edge with how dazed you were getting.

You were moaning and shivering, tears finally slowing down when you had hit a climax so hard that it pulled the air from your lungs. You clenched on his cock like a vice, which had Dally’s orgasm heightening shortly after until everything had stilled.

You both were huffing and heaving for air, and your poor, tired body flopped down over top of his where you shortly after had fallen asleep. Poor Dallas didn’t have the courage to wake you up, simply pulling the blanket over your bodies and kissing your head softly.

He was glad you were finally comfortable after everything.

Shoutouts to:

@raycravens116 @trial-dogs @goingdelux18

[ace-of-zaun]

You (And I):

Silco x f!reader - 2.6k words - SFW

cw: best friend!silco, fluff, banter, mutual pining, idiots in love, mentions of cat-calling and harassment (not silco), mentions of poverty, soft silco my beloved, a little bit of angst in the form of reader being anxious about not knowing who is climbing through the window, but it's just the boy

summary: Your best friend misses you, so the only logical solution is for him to climb through your bedroom window at three in the morning, without telling you beforehand… It’s a good thing that you love him (and it’s an even better thing that he loves you too).

It’s taking you a little bit longer than usual to drop off to sleep as you lie in bed, curled up under the covers, trying to keep as much warmth in as possible. Your room is right at the very top of your parents’ bar, The Last Drop, which is also where you’ve just started to work full-time instead of just the odd job you’d helped out with growing up.

But now, with money for food tight and the threat of closure even tighter, you’ve found yourself doing pretty much anything to help keep the bar afloat, from running errands and setting up during the day to serving customers all evening and cleaning up after a long night. 

Your first proper job; you’d think with how exhausted you were you’d drop to sleep the very second your head hit the pillow. 

Not tonight, it would seem. Tonight your mind appears to be far too preoccupied to let your body relax. 

Your train of thought easily wanders to what you’d usually be doing on a Friday evening. More often than not you’d be holed up in the corner of a tiny café, trying to read your book while Silco asked your opinion on every little detail of whatever scheme he was working on at the time. 

Or you’d be forcing Silco to give you a piggyback through the streets after raiding the market for the cheapest items you can find, Vander in tow carrying all the loot. 

You can’t help but smile at the memories, a fuzzy, warm feeling spreading through you at the recollection of your best friend. Just the thought of him calms you; your lighthouse even in absentia. 

And it seems to do the trick, eyelids just starting to feel too heavy to keep open, a sure indicator of incoming sleep, when a scrabbling noise outside your window causes you to frown.

…you really hope you don’t have rats again.

Of course, the sensible thing to do would be to get up and investigate. But you’ve only just gotten warm and sleepy, and not only is the window on the other side of the room, but you’re laying on your side with your back to the glass, and honestly who in their right mind would want to get up in the freezing cold just to have a staring contest with some rats?

Scrunching your eyelids even tighter closed, as if it would block out the sound, you attempt to lull yourself back into that bliss you were so close to achieving, vowing to deal with the little rodents in the morning.

Almost like magic, the scrabbling stops and you sigh in relief.

Until you hear the unmistakable sound of the window creaking open.

Your eyes shoot open and your blood begins to pump urgently around your body. 

Fuck, why didn’t you lock the window before getting into bed? You must’ve forgotten in your sleep deprived state. 

One hand slowly inches towards the knife you keep under your pillow as two, almost-silent thuds resonate across the floorboards. 

Your heart practically leaps in your chest when you hear a series of soft footsteps approaching your bed, but you manage to keep yourself as still as possible, your only movement hidden beneath your pillow as you grip the knife handle tight.

A beat. Then another, as you wait for the exact right moment with bated breath. 

The intruder pauses by your bed and you inhale sharply, preparing yourself to strike.

Without warning, you abruptly swing your body around, throwing off the covers as you blindly leap towards them.

But they’re faster, shoving you back down against the bed with their lithe body and clapping a hand over your mouth before you can even think to scream out.

The knife slips from your hand, leaving it to clatter to the floor while you thrash about in your assailant’s grasp. 

“Stop it, it’s just me!” a familiar voice hisses down at you, halting your movements instantly.

You gaze up at the figure in bewilderment, slowly but surely recognising those jet black waves and hooked nose with every rapid heartbeat. 

It’s just Silco. 

He must spot the very moment that recognition sparks in your eyes because he’s soon grinning down at you, boyish, slightly crooked, and entirely too cheeky for his own good.

“Hey,” he says smoothly.

You push him off you with an unamused scoff, aiming to send him tumbling off the bed as you sit up and try to calm your erratic breathing. 

No such luck though, he just stumbles to his feet and quickly drops down next to you on the bed while you plant your feet on the cold wooden boards, running your hands through your bedraggled hair. 

Silco’s hand rests gently against your lower back and you glance up at him from your hunched up position of elbows on knees, palms against your forehead. 

You’re filled with the sudden urge to yell at him. Loudly. 

But your parents are asleep and they’ll be positively furious if they discover Silco in your bedroom in the middle of the night, so you settle for hissing at the ridiculous boy like an angry cat. 

“What the fuck are you doing climbing through my bedroom window at half three in the morning?”

Silco appears completely unfazed. 

“I left my lockpick at home, so I couldn't get in through the front door,” he replies, swiftly dodging the smack you try to deliver to his arm and instead catching your hand to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “And I missed you.”

You roll your eyes and snatch your hand back, but you’re unable to prevent your heart from swelling in your chest at his sweet words. Damn that natural charm of his. 

Luckily, a glance down at the knife by your feet distracts your wandering heart. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve stabbed you.”

“Nah, you couldn’t,” he says dismissively until you shoot him a murderous glare. He returns it with a nonchalant shrug. “Thought you were asleep.”

“So why even bother climbing in?” you ask with a frown. 

And then, from the corner of your eye, he begins to look the tiniest bit bashful, gaze dropping to the floor as he starts to draw random shapes on the material of his trousers with his nails. 

“I, uh… I was gonna wake you up and ask if you wanted to go skip stones in the river.”

Your expression drops as you slowly turn to stare at him, which he meets with a dorky little grin. You groan and flop back down onto your bed, swinging your feet up so you can lay your head against the pillow, completely and utterly exasperated. 

Your best friend has been possessed by a five-year-old boy, you’re sure of it. 

Silco watches your dramatic display with clear amusement. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no, then?” he asks. 

“How do you have so much energy?” you whine, throwing your arm up to hide your face in the crook of your elbow. “Didn’t you have work today?”

“I had some work today,” he says, eyes quickly darting away from you. “Just not at the mines.”

Now this causes you to frown, peering over your arm at his trying-too-hard-to-look-relaxed body language. 

“What kind of work?” you question, which he promptly ignores, so nudge him with your foot, concern growing by the second. “Sil… what kind of work?”

He lays down next to you, propped up on his side with one elbow, and starts absentmindedly playing with your hair. 

“So, how was your day? You didn’t get any creeps trying to feel you up again, did you?”

You sigh heavily, knowing you’re not going to get an answer to your question. To be honest, you wish you didn’t have to give one to his. 

It had only happened once or twice since you’d started working late shifts in the bar, and it hadn’t been as bad since your parents had begun to shut it down everytime a patron got a bit too touchy. 

But it still didn’t make it right. 

“No, just the odd comment,” you reply, suddenly overly-interested in your nails. 

Silco wraps his arm around you and pulls you onto your side so he can hold you against his chest, chin resting on the crown of your head. 

“I’ll hang around during your next shift and kill anyone who even looks your way,” he declares, with a ridiculous amount of conviction. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. Dramatic boy. 

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, lightly tapping your palm once against his back as a half-hearted scold. 

“You’re right,” he agrees with a resolute nod. “I’ll let you kill them yourself, you deserve it.”

Your sigh is laced with exasperation but you still shift to cuddle him properly, arms wrapped around his midsection. You just want to enjoy his presence while you have it, even if he is a pain in your ass. 

“I missed you too,” you say quietly after a peaceful silence, recalling his words from earlier. “It sucks working so much, I feel like I never see you anymore.”

“I know,” he hums soothingly, hand now rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back. “Just means we gotta make the most of the times we do.”

Snuggling him even tighter feels like the only appropriate response, so that’s what you do. 

You could honestly stay here forever. No responsibilities, no stress, just Silco. 

“You free tomorrow lunch? We could grab something to eat and then climb up to the roof of that factory by the river, if you want?” Silco asks. 

A warm smile tugs at your lips.

“Yeah, I’m free.” 

Your parents had been kind enough to give you the afternoon off tomorrow, but you were still expected to help out in the morning and evening as usual.

“Is Vander coming too?” you ask.

Silco shakes his head above you. 

“Nah.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised the third member of your ragtag trio won’t be joining you. “Why not?”

“I thought it could just be a you and me thing, you know?” Silco reasons confidently, although you do spot just a hint of insecurity in his voice, like he’s nervous you’ll interrogate him further. 

Butterflies twirl through your stomach at the phrasing. You and him. You and Silco. A duet in this city of lonely hearts. 

“Okay. That sounds nice,” you say, trying to keep the smile out of your voice. 

He squeezes you once before he sits up a little, twisting around to pick the duvet up from off the floor. The covers are soon pulled over you both, where he tries to wrap his arms around you once more only to be met with you aiming little kicks at his legs. 

“Oi, shoes off, you heathen,” you demand, ripping the duvet away from him. “I just washed these.”

Seriously, you didn’t spend all morning washing, drying, and ironing all your clothes and bedding just for him to muddy them with his filthy shoes. Janna knows where he’s been in them or what he might’ve stepped in (especially considering you’ve never seen him clean them in all the years you’ve known him).

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, muttering a sardonic little,“Bossy boots,” under his breath. 

Surprisingly, he does actually take the time to unlace them and even places them carefully under the bed, instead of just lobbing them across the room like you expect him to. 

Only then do you allow him back under the covers, shifting about until you’re both comfortable in each other’s arms, legs tangled together to ensure you’re as close as possible. 

“You know, you should really lock your bedroom window,” Silco comments after a few moments. “You never know who could be lurking about this time of night.”

You huff an amused breath through your nose.

“What, like you?”

“No, like some weirdo with nefarious ideas,” he insists, annoyed that you’re not taking him seriously.

You pull back in his arms to look him square in the face.

“...so, you?”

Silco pouts so adorably, you have to hold yourself back from just kissing him right there and then. 

“You’re mean,” he says, looking like a little boy who has just had one of his toys stolen in the playground.

In lieu of kissing him, you boop him on the nose with your finger and give him a cheeky, affectionate grin.

“You love it.”

But your heart sinks in your chest when Silco’s face drops, gazing at you intently as if he’s searching for something. Then his gaze darts away, the tips of his ears turning red, and you start to panic that you’ve said or done the wrong thing.

Instinctively, your hands hold him a little bit tighter, scared that he’ll just get up and go. 

“You know, my parents are going to kill me if they see us in bed like this,” you whisper over his shoulder, desperately trying to lighten the mood before he scarpers. 

“Well, as long as they don’t kill me, then that’s fine,” he whispers back, and you can tell by his timbre that he’s smiling through the words. 

You smack his shoulder, relief flooding through you in abundance. 

“Idiot.”

There’s a pause. 

Then, he says tenderly, (almost too tenderly for your poor heart).

“...Yes, but I’m your idiot.”

Patterns are happily traced against his back until you finally notice just how tired you are, leaning back to twist your head away from him so you can yawn into your hand. 

Silco watches you quietly, stroking your cheek with his thumb like a slow, soothing metronome. 

“You should get some sleep,” he says softly, his expression etched in quiet adoration. 

Your eyebrows lift at the sheer audacity. 

“Bitch, you’re the one who woke me up,” you protest sleepily.

He makes a show of turning to look over his shoulder and then back at you, pointing at his sternum with a quizzical frown. 

“Who? Me?”

So, you sneak your cold hands up against the back of his warm neck until he yelps. Silco wrestles your hands off his neck, clasping them in between his palms until he lets you tiredly wrestle them back and smoosh your face into his chest, giggling into the front of his shirt. 

He gently runs his hands through your hair as you both settle down once more, his own quiet laughter feeling like a blessing.

You almost don’t want to sleep now. You don’t want to miss any more time with him. 

“Sil?” you murmur. 

“Yeah, Squidge?” he replies.

Your nickname, from the time he threw a leftover tentacle at you from Jericho’s, named after the absolutely ridiculous noise it made when it slapped against your face. You love to hate it, which of course only makes Silco love it more. 

“We’re always gonna be best friends, right? No matter what?” you say, deep down hoping you don’t sound too clingy. 

You just can’t bear the thought of drifting apart from him. You honestly don’t know what you’d do without him. 

Luckily, he soothes your worries without even a hint of the usual teasing.

“Absolutely,” he affirms, carefully running his nails along your scalp in a calming, repetitive motion. “You’re stuck with me now, come rain or smog.”

“Good,” you nod happily. “Just checking.”

Basked in Silco’s warmth, you’re far too exhausted and cosy to fight against closing your eyes, drifting off to sleep while the boy presses a delicate kiss to your head. 

And right before you fall, he mumbles, oh so gently, into your hair.

“As if I’d want to be anywhere in this world except right here next to you, my perfect girl.” What a coincidence. There’s nowhere you’d rather be than right here, next to him.

[lisenberry]

I’ll be sailing on your deep blue eyes

1/1 4.99k

E/MDNI/18+

Cw: Mention of dirt and filth, rodents (rats/mice), smut, he’s older (it's up to you by how much). Fish/Fishing. Meet cute. Summer love.

John takes you on a first date aboard his fishing boat.  It isn’t at all what you’d expected.

Ao3

It had taken John three days to say one word to you, but once he finally had, you found it hard to get rid of him.  Not that you wanted to. 

For your first date, he invited you for a ride on his boat for some fishing and a sunset cruise along the Mersey Estuary.  Although he'd say it was actually your second.  You didn't think snogging and necking for what seemed like hours, like a couple of teenagers, in the alley behind the pub you worked at all summer qualified, but he could be very convincing.

You were a teacher who supplemented your income cooking in your family's seaside inn during school holidays, and John really liked your great-granddad's fish batter recipe, enough to eat lunch there every day.  He must've known the havoc a steady diet of fryer oil and potatoes could inflict on one's health, but you were too happy for his company to remind him. 

And he probably didn’t care anyway.

He was massive.  Wide shoulders and a thick chest.  He must've worked in construction or something active.  He was cut not by fancy weight machines, but by hard labor.

And he must've seen something in you, too, because the food really wasn't anything special.  Especially when your cousin forgot to set the timer and disappeared to text his girlfriend, over-cooking the whole batch of fried cod and serving it anyway.

You wondered how the place stayed open or had any customers at all when you weren't there.

John told you to dress comfortably and to meet him at the docks at 6:00pm.  You weren't prepared for what awaited you when you walked up at 5:45, in a pair of cutoff shorts and a light jacket in case it got cold.  A bottle of good wine poking out of your bag.

“This is your boat?” you asked, as he exited the wheelhouse to greet you at the railing.

It was an ancient prawn trawler, probably from the early 80s, named the William John and about ten meters long.  Made for hauling in loads of fish and crustaceans, not pleasure cruising.  Rusted nearly through and decaying before your eyes.  It creaked and groaned above the lazy waves of the River Mersey like a contrary, lumbering goose.

You’d lived along the river your whole life.  You'd thought you’d gone nose blind to the smells of low tide and petrol exhaust, but you couldn’t place the stench that radiated from the relic.  Notes of wet tobacco, mildew, and dead animals, perhaps? 

“What’s the matter?  She’s not pretty enough for you?”  He wiped his grease covered hands on an equally greasy rag, defeating the purpose you thought, and reached up to help you board. 

His grip was warm and firm as he helped the bag from your shoulder and caught you against his chest.  His meaty palms on the backs of your thighs and his hot tongue down your throat was enough to momentarily distract you from your doubts.

You hooked your own arms around his neck, and the dampness of his sweat seeped through his layers.  It left you to wonder if he’d showered in anticipation of your visit, or if it would’ve even mattered in the end.  He was filthy either way, and must’ve been dying of heat in his layers. 

Undershirt, overshirt, coveralls.  Topped off with the boonie hat he only ever took off while he was sitting at his favorite booth while he ate. 

When he finally set you down, you nearly stumbled backwards from the absence of his steadying mouth.  Instead, you let yourself fall forward, further into him as you used his immovable form for balance.

“You look nice.”  His eyes sparked with appreciation as he dragged his gaze from your bare legs back up to your face.  “But are you ready to get a little dirty?”

“What do you mean?”  Suddenly apprehensive that you really did have wildly differing ideas of what constituted a date. 

“You’re going to be my first mate for this trip.  How good are you at following orders?”  His hands had traveled to your hip bones, resting as if they were handles molded just for him. 

“I’m not so sure I trust this thing in the open water.”  Your eyes fell upon a hose pumping some kind of slurry off the side of the boat. 

Best case scenario, it was some sort of waste.  Worst case, it had a leak, and that pump was the only thing keeping it afloat.

“Oh, she’s fine.  You don’t have to worry about her.”  He rocked your hips with his hands, as if gauging your pliancy.  Your soft edges fit perfectly in the crook of his thumbs.

“Then what do I have to worry about?”  You inquired with mock suspicion, as you blew away an annoying whisp of hair from catching to the beading perspiration along your eyebrow.

The humid air, and your closeness to him, already had your pulse up and your pores working overtime to cool you off.  You’d have done anything for a stiff breeze to ease the stickiness between your breasts and thighs.  But there was no respite, not from the sun or the intensity of his hungry stare.

“The tides.  We don’t have much time to waste if we’re going to make it back tonight.”  He slipped a hand behind you to unhook the line from the dock’s cleat, in a smooth motion that brought you closer together.

Trapped between him and the railing behind you.

Being stranded out to sea with him overnight didn’t seem so terrible.  Until you remembered the vessel upon which you were standing.  You did a quick mental check for the last time you’d gotten a tetanus shot.  Primary school, maybe?

“I’ve never worked on a boat before.”  You confessed as you moved out of his way helpfully.  “I just cook the fish, not catch it.”

"Try and relax, yeah?  There's no such thing as a bad crew.  As the Captain, it's my job to take good care of you."

“Is there somewhere I can sit?”  You looked around for a chair, only to find a few grimy plastic buckets and rusted out storage hatches.

“Plenty of time for that later, princess,” he said with a smirking shift to his lips that brought your attention to his thick mustache.  “You’re up here with me.”

An innocent enough reply, as he gestured you to follow him to the wheelhouse, but it brought lewd thoughts to your mind.  The kind of thoughts you’d been having for him since he first walked into your pub a few weeks before. 

There was no going back now, you thought, as he fired up the engine with a start that had you clutching his forearm with a white knuckled grip.  Only to have the nerve to laugh as you tried to compose yourself.

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I do,” but you didn’t sound very convincing.  So, you tried again, locking your eyes with his.  They were a deep blue that matched the sea and held a certainty that made your stomach flutter a bit too fast.  “I do.”

He only nodded, content with your declaration, and motored effortlessly up the river.  Your nervous belly eased as bit as you passed by the Liver buildings and underneath the Queensway and the Kingsway, until you reached the mouth of the open Irish Sea.  The familiar stagnant smell of rotting seaweed and burning fossil fuels gave way to a fresh and crisp ocean breeze. 

The sun dipped lower towards the horizon line as you continued north past the statues along Crosby Beach, and the still visible vestiges of shipwrecks that dotted the coast between Fornby and Southport.

Your captain dropped anchor near each of them, and you shared knowledge and debated the history of the wrecks as he casted a few poles into the water, with hopes of hooking into the schools of mackerel that liked to feed in the cavernous ruins.  You'd read about them, and even taught the local lore to your students, but it was a treat to see them in person. 

To witness how the sea had claimed them and used them for its own purposes.  Deformed by the tides, and reshaped with mussels, vegetation and barnacles.

And he was right about the fish.  You took turns reeling in over a dozen of the mackerel he was hunting for, and with each catch, you'd gotten bolder.  The smile on your face grew bigger as each of your conquests stacked up into the ice chest.  There was a certain power to it.   In the team effort, between you and him.  A connection to the wild that sent your endorphins rushing and ignited your sense of competition.

He oversaw and advised, with a half-burnt cigar in his mouth and a growling affection for your quick study as he showed you how to measure them and gauge their weight.

"Good fish," he muttered approvingly, after each inspection.

“Good captain,” you flirted back as he caught the bottom of your ass with a firm clap. 

An unrest had begun to brew deep between your thighs, an uprising of desire and sensation with every heated glance and flex of jaw beneath his beard.  He was having as much fun as you were, judging by the flick of his tongue along his teeth, and the crinkle of his eyes as he took in your laughter.  

A twinge of hope perhaps, and the promise of more excitement to come.

"This one feels bigger than the others," you noted with a warning at the last fishing spot before it was time to head back.  The tip of your rod was bent nearly in half and the force of it pulled you tight against the railing.

"Fuck my old boots, you got a big one there," he grated, urgently, as his arms wrapped around yours and his foot propped against the side to give you more leverage.  “Could be a shark or a tope.”  He coached you through it patiently as you reeled in the line as hard as you could.

By the time you wrestled it aboard, you were both soaked, in both the salty sea spray and each other’s perspiration.  Your blouse drenched through, and your denim shorts smeared with fishy slime.

Your prey gaped at you from the chipped and iron-stained deck as John worked the hook free from its lip.  It was a cod fish, bigger than you’d ever seen.  It must’ve gone after the mackerel that had taken your bait and gotten snagged along with it.

"Now that's a beautiful thing, darling."  He held it up easily by the mouth and tail, and it spanned almost as long as his arms.  "About twelve or thirteen kilos, I think."

The sun had just about set around you and it painted the sky a dazzling pink.  The excitement of your catch buzzed in your chest as you stopped to appreciate the colors of it for the first time. 

Your Gran had often spoken of her love for pink skies at night.  A good omen, she’d always said. 

Was that the root of your building delight as you watched him pack the giant cod into the cold storage with the rest of the night's catch?  Or was it something else that had you gawking at his waist and hips, appreciating the efficient and powerful way he moved?

"I hope you don't expect me to cook any of that," you chanced a quip as he pulled two of the bigger mackerels out of the ice.

You were wet and getting chilled, as the evening breeze picked up.  Your jacket long forgotten in the wheelhouse.  A shiver crept from your feet to your neck and rubbed at your arms to brush the goosebumps away.

"You can take a seat now, love.”  He dropped his worn and smelly hat on your head and stripped off his thick flannel shirt to wrap around your shoulders as he disappeared into the wheelhouse.  "I'll take it from here."

His overshirt fell nearly to your knees as you retrieved your bottle of wine from your bag and hopped up atop the whaleback storage hatch.  Thankful that you thought to bring a few plastic cups and an opener, just in case.  This boat didn't have wine glasses, of that much you were certain.  And at that point, it didn't matter.

He hadn't capsized you yet.  You could cut him a break for the shabby state of his fishing boat. 

"Need any help?"  You offered, as he came back out with a small grill, a cutting board, and a sharp knife.

He turned over two buckets and grunted in a purely masculine way as he sank on top of one and set the board on the other like a makeshift table.  He held the knife with purpose, like an extension of his own hand, as he skillfully gutted, scaled and deboned the fish he’d set aside. 

“Thought we’d have a deck-side barbeque.  Enjoy our spoils.”

When he’d finished prepping dinner and set the whole fillets to cook on the grill, he accepted a cup of the offered wine and reclined back against the wall behind him.  You were already ahead by a few glasses, and it made you soften a bit. 

You felt closer to him now that he’d wrapped you in his warmth and his scent.  His shirt didn’t smell bad, necessarily, but it was ripe.  Like musk and spice, and the salt of the earth.  You decided then that you were keeping this one.

The shirt.  And maybe him, too.

Curious to learn more about him than the brief bits he’d let slip so far, you prodded him with conversation, and learned that he’d been in the army, serving for several years before retiring and returning home.  He’d only been back a few months before he’d stumbled into your pub for a pint one afternoon and saw you hustling back and forth between the bar and the kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you could cook.  Thought you only ate my fish and chips,” you asked.

The simply prepared, oily filets sizzled over the fiery coals as he checked and flipped them over with his bare hands.

“You think I was there because I like the food?”  A raised eyebrow giving him a rather dashing edge.

“You don’t like my food?”  You feigned a mild outrage, but you didn’t blame him.  You didn’t even like it most of the time.

“I like you.”  He pulled a fresh cigar from his pocket and took his time lighting the end.  A distraction perhaps, so he didn’t have to follow it up with another declaration.

You felt a girlish heat rise to your cheeks as you sipped more wine.  The culprit surely, not the giddiness of his attention.  There wasn’t much you could say to something like that. 

Thank you?   I like you, too?  How were you so bad at this?

“I meant to ask earlier.  Who’s William John?  The name of your boat, I mean.”

“That’s me.  My father was a bit of a ne’r do well.  So, when I was born, my grandfather commissioned this boat for him in hopes it would give him some purpose in his life.  A livelihood to provide for his family.  Aside from draining the family trust dry.”

“And he named it after you?  What a lovely gift.”  As rough around the edges as he was, the picture of him as a boy, working alongside his father brought a pang of longing to your heart. 

“You can see, by the condition of it, exactly what my father thought of it.”  He filled his mouth with a hot bite of food to test its doneness, and to save himself from revealing more of his secrets.

But he’d said enough, and the weight of what he’d shared made everything about him a bit clearer.  His pride, and his quiet authority.  He ran hot with something to prove, but was more shy when it came to the personal things.  Was he insecure in his ability to be loved?

The pang in your heart deepened, at the thought of him seeing the physical manifestation of the neglect he may have felt all his life.  That it wasn’t his father who taught him to fish, or drive the boat and chart the tides.  That he’d most likely taught himself, out of spite.

You thought of your own family legacy at the pub.  Still reaping the benefits of its name, generations after its greatness had faded.  Desperately in need of repair.  A little love and care.

“She’s not so bad.  Just needs a good cleaning and a coat of paint,” you offered gently, smiling your thanks as he handed you a plate of fish and a few slices of crusty bread.

“You see the vision, do you?”  An inquisitive light of humor in his eyes, surprised maybe that he hadn’t scared you away yet.

“Maybe I spoke too soon.  I haven’t used the bathroom yet.”  There was a brief moment of panic as he looked at you with confusion.  “You do have a toilet, don’t you?  Running water?”

“The head’s down the stairs on the left, but I warn you, it’s a tight fit.”

After dinner, you retreated down below to find that he was right.  The wheelhouse above held the controls and comms equipment, as well as a small galley with a padded bench, a dinette table, and a small cooktop and oven. 

Down a set of steps was the bathroom on one side and a sleeping area on the other.  A lumpy mouse-eaten mattress and a closet full of shelves holding everything from extra rope, bottles of motor oil, and dog-eared books.

A rucksack full of clothes and a few pairs of boots were stuffed haphazardly under the bed.

Somehow, the bathroom was smaller than the closet.  The door was broken and didn’t close, and there was a toilet and a sink, with a detachable shower head hanging above to wash over the drain on the floor.  It was wet and a bit slippery, with a newish bar of soap in the corner, solving the mystery that he had showered at least sometime over the last few days or so.

You settled for just washing your hands, but the faucet levers were stuck with layers of corrosion and scum.  Abandoning the effort entirely, you chanced a look at yourself in the cloudy mirror as the light bulb buzzed like a dying insect above your head.

Before you could take in your appearance, you heard him move behind you.  Felt his shadow take up mass, displacing the air and affecting the atmosphere like a weather system.

“Are you living here?”  You asked, turning around to find him propped against the narrow doorway with his shoulder.  He must have to pivot sideways just to make it through.

“I’ve gotten used to worse, if you can believe it.  This is downright cozy compared to the places I’ve been.”

It didn’t seem like an exaggeration, and you believed him.  You understood then why he’d been such an effective captain.  Why men followed him into hell.  Because he’d probably already seen the worst—and survived.  He could take it, whatever it was. 

He could take care of you.

Nothing about this date could be considered romantic.  You’d spent the first few weeks that you’d known him talking about yourself and your family.  Chatting his ears off while he ate and drank, patiently listening to your life story.

This date was to show you his.  To show you him.  To test whether you could follow him.  Trust him.  No frills.  No putting on airs. 

You could either hide from it, or embrace it.  It’d been too long since you’d kissed him, you came to the conclusion in that dank, stuffy space.  Hours at least, so you made the first move.  And it was if he’d been waiting for it.  Your acceptance.  Acquiescence.

Because once his hands met your waist, he made a sound of possession, feral and slightly unnerving.  One that bridged no argument between what is and what could be.

What was.

Hands and mouths, hips against his cock.  You stripped each other bare and collapsed into the bed with the squeaking of coils and the scurrying of something you hoped was smaller than a rat.

You took off his undershirt and chanced a look at his bare chest.  The tan lines between light and dark were stark around his arms and neck.  They brought a contentedness to your breath as you buried your face into his collarbone.

“What you laughing at, love?”  He pulled your face up to meet his, towards his eyes once more.  You struggled to find your focus in their depths.

“I like you, too.”  You hoped he would understand.  A simple thing, and yet you both had something to loose.

He only smirked, knowingly, and tipped a finger against the brim of the hat you’d forgotten you were still wearing.

“You’re in charge, sugar.  And I’m going to fuck you to until you beg me to stop.” 

“Please. Yes!”  You were right, he was a weather system.  And you were at his whim.  Do your worst, you wanted to scream.  To throw a bottle of empty spirits into his core and watch it be sucked away.

But he wasn’t wild like a storm.  He was steady, like the shore.  He caught the bottle and gave it back to you, quietly.  Gently. 

You felt a breath of fresh air along your bottom as he pulled you pants away.  And the humidity found you quickly while you writhed sticky and needy along his scratchy, hairy dick.

“You’re just one surprise after another, aren’t you?”  You murmured, as he slipped his thick cock past your entrance. 

Tighter than you thought he’d be.  A fit with no margin for error.  Snug and tight and welcome.

It stretched, reached places uncharted within.   You could whimper and shy away, but not with him.  You held steady and open, talking all of it.  As much as he could give.

“I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”  He wadded up your discarded shirt.  His shirt, and placed it under your head.  Its scent masking the moth balls and the dust as he buried your nose into the mattress.

And the remaining hours passed in a dream.  You beneath him, and then atop his face.  Aligned with his hips as you shuttered and rode his length in that tiny cot.  Kicking and screaming and begging for your own release.  Again and again.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”  You felt the thin mattress creak and dip as he slipped back down behind you, finally, when it was all over.

“Hmm?”  Your brain was too fucked out to form anything resembling a coherent thought, even if your voice hadn’t been broken.  You were sure they’d heard your screaming in Wales.  Maybe even Ireland.

“We missed the tide window.  About five more hours before we can attempt to go back.”

You whimpered, feeling the crush between your legs and the scratchy fabric at your back as he turned you over and pushed your knees up around your ears.

“The good news is I’ve got plenty of fuel in the tank.  A good captain prepares for all possibilities.”

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”  You couldn’t bring yourself to put any real accusation behind it.

“Yes and no.  I had my hopes.”  At least he was honest.

A relieved gasp escaped you as a warm towel greeted your sore cunt, and not the blunt tip of his cock or the prodding of his thick fingers.  Instead, he cleaned you up in soothing strokes that lulled you into security as you buried your face in the shirt that had become your pillow.

You awoke alone in the tiny bed sometime later, nearly hitting your head as you sat up too quickly.  With the size of his frame, he must not have spent much time in such a cramped space.  Eager to find him, and not be left alone with the chittering sound you could only imagine were mice, you slipped on his shirt and creaked your way up the stairs.

You found him at the helm, sipping a hot tea as he looked out at the lights of the city off in the distance.  Back to civilization.  You curled up on the padded bench beside him and watched in a comfortable silence as the light slowly returned to the sky.

By the time you returned to the dock in the early hours of the morning, you felt rancid.  Your skin itched, hopefully not from bedbugs, and your muscles burned and ached.  But you were smiling, floating with the kind of hopeful feeling that only came after something so new, so different, so crazy, it turned your whole world upside down.

“What’d you think?  Come back again tonight, princess?”  He helped you disembark the boat and folded his arms across his chest expectantly. 

“I’ll have to think about it,” you replied sweetly, knowing you’d see him again at lunch in a few hours.  Already looking forward to it.

And of course you showed up that night at the same time, and the same place.  Bringing with you more wine, an armful of industrial grade cleaning products, air freshener, mouse traps, a few preemptive cranberry pills, pest spray, and a rubber mattress pad cover meant for bedwetting toddlers.

You slipped into an easy routine together, until the end of summer.  Some days you’d leave the dock and sail overnight a little further down the coast.  Others, you’d stay in the port and work on the boat.  He’d do the hard job of making repairs and buffing off the rust with a belt sander, while you’d carefully apply coats of thick, maritime-grade paint.

Below deck, you helped scrub off the nearly forty years of mold and crud from the head and the galley until the true surfaces shined like new.   You finished it off with clean bedding and a decluttered storage area to hold the few things he’d owned.

He lent you his hat to shield your nose from the sun while you worked, and wrapped you in his layers at night when the chilly air crept in.

You brought a bit of life back into your family’s restaurant with fresh and simple grilled mackerel and curried cod recipes that your customers had raved about, and the William John got a makeover worthy of its name. 

And it had been the most fun you’d had in your whole life.  Your favorite summer holiday yet. 

On the last official day before the school year started again, with your classroom set up and your lesson plan laid out, you ended your final shift in the kitchen and found him waiting for you in the alley out back.

A bouquet of flowers in one hand and an enigmatic expression on his face.  His eyes danced with promise and his mouth seemed to twitch excitedly with words unsaid.

“What’s all this, John?  I thought I was meeting you later.”

“I wanted to pick you up,” he said, as if it wasn’t a short walk to the pier.  But his hands found your waist as soon as he’d handed over the blooms, and he set your legs around his hips.  A shocked yelp escaped your lips before being silenced by his.  You could kiss him for days and it wouldn’t be enough, you mused as he pulled away first.  “I have something to show you.”

For a moment, you thought he intended to carry you the entire way, but he set you down gently and instead took your hand.  A silly, romantic thing on the surface, when more accurately he was just too reluctant to let you go. 

His instinct to guide and lead, to pull you along in step beside him.  For your part, your curiosity had you skipping quickly to match his long stride, eager to see what had him so worked up.  Bustling with a nervous energy that contradicted his usually stoic demeanor.

By the time you reached the boat, he’d slowed down, walking forward more deliberately.  Waiting to see if you’d notice his gesture on your own.

He’d finished painting the hull since you’d seen it last.  It no longer read William John in tarnished, fading letters.  In its place was your name.  Elegant and bold.  As if he’d tattooed it on his own chest.

“Oh, love, you shouldn’t have!”  Your hands covered your mouth, and your eyes brimmed with shocked, happy tears. 

“She’s as much yours as she is mine now.  Seemed fitting.  For a fresh start.”  He draped a lazy arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head.  “A new beginning.”

“You’d better take good care of her.”  You smiled up at him, your forehead barely grazing the bottom of his chin. 

“Do you think she’s ready for her maiden voyage?  One of the lads I used to serve with is up in Glasgow.  Wants to meet for some creel fishing for langoustines next week.”

“For how long?”  You’d be busy soon with the new term in full swing, and you’d quietly begun to mourn not seeing him in the restaurant every day, or sharing space in his wheelhouse each night. 

Change was inevitable, and it often came swiftly all at once.

“A month or so.  I wish you could come with me.  Never had a better first mate.” 

“Bring me back a few crates of those prawns, will you?  I’ll put them on the specials menu.” 

Saying goodbye to the haze of summer, and to him, was hard but you knew he’d be back.  Especially when he dropped his cherished boonie hat on your head and told you to keep it warm for him.  And sailed off in a boat he’d named after you. 

All the love to @the-sweet-hibiscus for your early support for this.

[weepingchronicles]

platonic yandere strade headcanons tw/cw: strade being a whole warning himself, yandere behavior, manipulation, kidnapping, drugging, torture, slight gore, dead, reader is fucked up too!! animal death mention, cussing a/n: this may be ooc since i dont even know if it would be possible for strade to feel love at all especially platonic but lolz

Okay so I wanted to make this sort of believable for Strade which is hard since he never shows remorse or care for anything. Treating Ren as a pet is the closet we ever seen him care for someone other than himself. From what I know is that he's always been like this since he was born. It didn't stem from trauma or anything like that.. so I got the idea, what if its genetic?

I don't think Strade kills everyone he fucks, definitely hurts them but maybe a long time ago he was drunk and had a one night stand and accidentally let the girl get away.

Then years later, imagine Strade finding out he actually has a kid? To be honest, he probably wouldn't even care, maybe a little curious but wants nothing more to do with you besides knowing your name.

But when he finds out you're just like him? Dude is ecstatic!

You're definitely not as sadistic as him and have higher empathy but I imagine you learned you liked the feeling of hurting people from an early age.. liking the feeling of control. You started small, killing random rodents or prodding at dead animals you came across with morbid curiosity.

Your mother was actually good and sent you to the psychologist which helped diagnosed you. You learned that your behavior was not regular and learned methods to deal with your urges.

You don't hurt people, you might have a tiny criminal record from the time you got into a bar fight or stole a couple things but that's it.

For Strade, it doesn't matter. He gets the closest thing to familial love when it comes to you. To know that his own blood is like him creates an urge to hone that desire within you.

He quickly "reunites" with your mother and uses her to help track you down.

You had just finished your late night shift at your workplace when you notice a man smoking a cigar staring at you, leaning against his car.

You pay no mind, heading to your car. This has happened before and it always ended with them regretting walking up to you.

Right as you open the car door it is slammed shut again, this time the man smoking is right in front of you.

He has an over-charismatic smirk that you know too well, because you have it as well.

He ends up drugging and taking you back to his place, with his victims he didn't care if they got hurt, but he doesn't get that urge with you.

You wake up tied to a chair in a basement littered with utility tools, you were groggy but overall fine. What most stood out to you wasn't the coppery smell in the air or the fact you just got kidnapped but there was a girl very close to you tied up to a pole.

She is bloody and bruised, you notice an overwhelming amount of blood staining her thigh. Shame floods your mind, guilty because her blood excited you.

"Pretty sight, eh?"

You were too absorbed in your thoughts to notice the man that had kidnapped you appeared right beside you, a wide smirk on his face as he peered down at the girl.

Although he enjoyed the frightened expression and confusion on your face, he explained to you that he was your father. It made sense, you had never known your father since you were born and your mother refused to talk about him, you never knew why. Your dad being a sadistic killer seems like a pretty good reason in hindsight.

What made you angry was the fact that Strade insisted that you were the same as him. The same? You're no killer and definitely don't kidnap people just to torture them. You've learned your problems and worked through it.

That's what you tell him but Strade chuckles, petting his unconscious victims hair as he talks with you. This guy is fucking weird.

"That's what you think, but I know you and I are the same. It's a shame, you never got to experience your true desires.. until now."

You perked up at what he meant but as he untied you, you understood.

He places a knife in your hand and wakes up his victim whose already half-dead by kicking her wound.

The girl wakes up, disoriented and in pain. But now there's two people in front of her, her kidnapper and someone with a knife.

You could end this all now, stab your father bloody and get out of here- go back to your ordinary life.

"Go on, sweetheart. I know you want to hurt them as badly as I, hear them scream."

You tug the knife harder, your face riddled with concentration and debate. The girl's pleas fall deaf on your ears, the feeling of Strade comfortingly rubbing your shoulder is what makes you take the first step, then the first stab.

You blink and suddenly return to a gory mess. Whatever happened, whatever you did, it went by like a dazy dream. You return to your senses, Strade is laughing maniacally behind you and you drop the knife. You still hear the girl's last wheezes before her heart finally stops beating. You killed her, you try to justify it. Maybe it was good, you ended her pain but you could have turned the knife onto Strade yet you didn't.

Your breathing is heavy and your heart thumps for the wrong reasons- excitement.

You almost forgot Strade is still there until he comes near you and ruffles your hair- like he was congratulating his kid on their first victory score.

"'Knew you had it in you, you're going to be the perfect protégé for me."

[eiightysixbaby]

i’ll be home for christmas

PART TWO: Run Run Rudolph

previous part || series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.1k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie isn’t enjoying life in chicago, but he’s been too stubborn to admit it. when he's at his breaking point, what comes next?

cw: switches between past and present tense, mentions of food/eating, lots of angst, eddie is an idiot but we love him, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’

author’s note: just wanted to say thank you all so much for the love on part one! i’m so excited to be sharing more of this story. part three is in the works and should be out in the next couple of weeks :) thank you again for giving my story a chance, it means so much to me.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The droning, repetitive sound of the cash register’s scanner is giving Eddie a migraine. Beep. A sweater is thrown into a bag. Beep. Some cooking utensils. Beep. A toy truck and a Barbie doll.

The impatient face of the woman who stands before him only makes him want to move slower, and she scowls when he “accidentally” purposefully drops one of her items to the floor.

“Oops!” he says, giving her a fake innocent grin, shrugging dramatically before he bends down to pick it up. He debates how feasible it would be to fake a stroke or a heart attack or something while he’s down here, but ultimately decides against it and stands straight again.

Beep. He scans a tie with green and red stripes on it, presumably for the less-than-amused husband who stands at the woman's side, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

He can hear the woman’s foot tapping on the waxy floors beneath them, her arms crossed over her chest and her checkbook clutched in one hand. He gives her her final total, watching as she scrawls her pristine cursive writing onto the thin piece of paper before handing it to him. He hands her several bags once the transaction is finished, pressing his lips into a tight line when she yanks them from his grip in a less-than-pleasant manner. The husband follows absentmindedly like a puppy on a leash, paying absolutely no mind to Eddie whatsoever. He might as well not have even been there.

“Happy Holidays to you, too,” he says, perhaps a bit too loud as they walk away.

Sighing, he leans onto the countertop in front of him, pressing his face into his open palms. The store’s speakers play a consistent loop of popular Christmas music, and Eddie thinks he’s heard The Chipmunk Song enough times today to last him the rest of his life. The squeaky voices of the fictional rodents ring out through the decorated space, eliciting laughter from children who can’t help but sing along.

There’s been a non-stop wave of shoppers over the past couple of weeks, and it only seems to be getting worse the closer it gets to the holiday. People in Chicago aren’t friendly about it, either. Everyone seems to be going about their lives transactionally, angry and frustrated that they have to be picking up gifts and baking cookies and wrapping boxes in the first place. Eddie isn’t used to it.

Back in Hawkins, everyone was cheerful around Christmas. The otherwise quiet town seemed to light up in December, bringing even the grumpiest of residents out of the woodwork to celebrate. The funny thing is, he never thought he'd miss it. Never imagined he'd yearn for that town, for that community. But there's a lot of things that hadn't gone according to his plan, so what's one more on that list?

Eddie can feel his name tag poking his skin through his shirt, his argyle sweater that was so impossibly opposite to his taste in fashion but that was strongly recommended by his boss; "to look put-together", he'd been told. And so he'd picked out a few "nice" outfits, for nothing if not to keep his damn job. But the material of the sweater makes his skin itch, and paired with the too-bright lights and the too-repetitive music, this job was a sensory hellhole. The smell of over-priced perfume is engrained into his nostrils at this point, and Eddie literally winces as he catches a customer spray a cloud of the fragrance out of a sample bottle.

He rolls his eyes as Donna, head of the fragrance department, dishes out her usual sales-pitch to the clueless man that stands before her, utterly and devastatingly unsure of what to get the lady in his life for Christmas. I could never be that clueless, Eddie thinks to himself, I know how to get a good gift.

And then, his heart aches as he stares blankly at the man holding two different perfume bottles in each hand. Because he remembers that the last real gift he'd bought was for you.

December 5th, 1988.

The mall was packed full of holiday shoppers, everyone in a mad rush to find the perfect gifts for each person on their lists. Eddie typically wasn't much of a shopper himself, really only coming to the mall to bother Dustin and Will at Scoops, but today was different. You wanted to start getting your shopping out of the way, and didn’t want to go alone, so of course Eddie was going to tag along. He’d been spending every possible second he could with you, running errands or getting food or seeing a movie. Even just hanging out at your apartment or his trailer. With you, everything seemed magical. Every item you picked up and marveled at in each store, every Christmas song you sang along to, it was all shiny and wonderful because it was associated with you.

You currently have him at a jewelry store, looking into a glass case filled with glittering gold and silver accessories. Some of which probably cost, individually, more than all of his possessions combined. A low whistle leaves his mouth before he hears you chirp beside him.

“Eddie! Look at this one!” you coo, pointing eagerly at a flashy necklace that sits in the case.

He’s at your side in an instant, looking where your finger directs him. His eyes land on a dazzling pendant, adorned with jewels that sparkle glamorously.

“Oh, Nancy would love this,” you muse, taking a closer look at the price tag. “I could get this for her… or I could tell Robin about it so she could get it for her. I don’t know, is it too much if I get Nancy a necklace?” you debate out loud, making Eddie smile at how flat-out adorable you are.

He loves your heart, the way you always think about your friends. You truly aren’t looking for a thing for yourself, you just want to get your friends the best gifts possible, physical objects that remind them of your gratitude for them.

“I don’t think it’s too much. Or, why don’t you give Robin a call so you can ask her straight up? Here, use the pay phone,” he offers, pulling some quarters from his pocket and handing them to you.

“You’re right, that’s the easiest idea,” you say with a cute little relieved laugh. “Wait here, I’ll be back in like, fifteen.”

He gives you a little salute with two fingers, continuing to glance around at the selection once you’ve left. His feet stop him instantly when his eyes catch a delicate gold necklace with a tiny heart-shaped pendant. It’s engraved with the letter M, and a card sits beside it that informs potential buyers that you can get it customized with any initial. It’s simple, exactly how you’d want it to be, but it’s far from ugly or bland.

Eddie knows immediately that he wants to get it for you, eyeing the price tag nervously before breathing a sigh of pure relief at the fact that it’s far more affordable than he’d have suspected. You’re the most special thing in his life, and it feels right to give you a piece of him. His initial, to wear on your neck, so you can keep him close at all times. His stomach does a little flip of excitement at his idea, and he’s grateful you’ve left him alone so he can keep this a surprise.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says to the worker after you’ve left. “I’d like to get this one, please. Engraved with an E.”

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

He's pulled from his melancholy daze by another customer snapping their fingers in his face, polished nails standing out at the tips of slender fingers.

"Hello? Anybody home?" the woman asks, chewing her gum too exaggeratedly for Eddie to be able to take her seriously. "Are you too stupid to understand me or what?"

Yeah. It's going to be a long rest of his shift.

•

Cars roll past on the busy streets as Eddie makes his commute home, the holiday chaos evidently in full-swing on the outside of the department store, too. He winces as a car’s tires slosh through the slushy mixture collecting on the sides of the road, sending it splattering all over his coat. He sighs, moving off to the side of the sidewalk that’s furthest from the road, brushing half-melted snow off of himself.

His body is frigid with the cold, his eyes heavy with his incredible lack of sleep and his fatigue from the most draining shift at the world's most boring job. He trudges inside of his apartment building, the tall structure looming over the Chicago streets. The large Christmas tree in the lobby makes Eddie frown to himself, resurfacing that ache he’d felt at work. The ache that really hasn’t fully gone away since last Christmas. It’s always in the back of his mind, always tapping away at his heart, a dull soreness like a bruise that won’t heal.

“Oh shit, what’s goin’ on, Edwardio?” Eddie’s neighbor, Argyle, greets him as he climbs the stairs to his floor.

“Hey, man,” Eddie responds, feeling guilty at the monotony of his voice compared to cheerfulness of his acquaintance.

“You wanna come in for a smoke sesh? Just picked up some new stuff,” Argyle offers, sticking his thumb in the direction of his door as he grabs his keys from his pocket.

“Nah, man, not tonight. Some other time,” and then Eddie’s slinking into his apartment, shutting his door promptly behind him.

Eddie never turns down a smoke sesh.

Once fully inside, he throws his things haphazardly onto the ground. He couldn’t be bothered to care about where they land — his whole place is a mess. A reflection of his mental state. Soft wool fabric of his sweater is tossed onto his bed, traded for a t-shirt so well-loved it has holes in the neckline. He goes to his dining table as he tugs the shirt fully over his head, grabbing the phone off of the wall and anxiously curling the cord around his fingers as he dials a familiar number. It rings a few times before there’s an answer, each droning dial tone making him anxious.

“Hello?” he hears Robin’s voice ring out on the other end.

“Rob, hey, it’s me.”

“Eddie!” she says excitedly. “Guys, Eddie’s on the phone!” her voice sounds further away, and he knows she’s holding the phone away from her face as she calls out to whoever else is there.

Steve shouts his name and he smiles, hearing the commotion on the other end as other people shuffle towards Robin to try and grab the phone.

“How is everything? How are you?” Robin asks him, shushing Dustin as he begs her to let him say hi.

“I, uh, I’m alright. I miss you guys,” he says, resting his forehead on the heel of his palm. “How’s everything there?”

“We miss you too. Things are….” Robin pauses, and it makes Eddie’s stomach drop. “—They’re okay,” she finishes, but she sounds unsure; like there’s something she isn’t telling him.

“Who’s there with you right now? I know I heard Henderson and Steve,” he says, trying to force some happiness into his voice.

“Eddie! You’ll never believe how the D&D campaign is going!” Dustin says excitedly into the receiver, and he can hear Robin’s voice telling him to give it back.

“I bet it’s great, you’ll have to call me on your own sometime and tell me everything.”

“I definitely wi— HEY!” Dustin says, yelling as the phone is seemingly snatched from him.

“Give me the phone back, you turd! Okay, to answer your question…” Robin’s voice is back again. “It’s me, Nance, Jonathan, of course Steve and Dustin, and then, uh… Sunny,” she trails off, getting quieter at the end.

It hurts Eddie’s heart, the way she says your name softly like she doesn’t want you or him to hear it.

“Can I… can you put her on?” he tries, wanting so desperately to hear your voice.

You haven’t talked to him since Christmas Eve. Since the night he told you he was leaving. Every time he’d call home he couldn’t manage to get ahold of you. The one time he called your personal number, the second you’d said hello and he’d announced his presence, you’d hung up. Sometimes, when Eddie happens to call Steve or Robin or Nancy during a group hangout, they’ll tell him you aren’t there, but he knows it’s a lie. Not that it matters much anyway, because even the times they’re honest with him he’ll ask to speak to you and you’ll refuse.

It hurts him, how much you’ve distanced yourself. He obviously wanted you to move forward, but he’d hoped you could at least catch up every once in a while. How stupid he’d been to think that this was a fair thing to ask of you. How stupid he’d been to think the right decision was to leave you behind, the one person who he adored, who was right for him.

“Eddie…” Robin says on the other end, her voice wavering.

“Forget it. It’s okay,” he says, immediately looking to change the subject. “Look, I just wanted to check in and see how you guys were doing. I can let you go.”

“We miss you, Eddie. We’re always thinking of you,” Robin says, and he hears Nancy say a quick “love you!”

“Tell Wheeler I love her, too. I love all of you guys, okay? We’ll talk later.”

And then the call is over. The phone clicks into its place on the wall, and Eddie is alone again. Deafening silence rings in his ears, taunting him as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him.

If he’s honest, truly honest, nothing has been right since he left Hawkins. He tries to grin and bear it, to pretend like his shitty dead-end job is making him happy and that he made the correct decision moving here. But deep down, nearly this whole time, he’s known it was wrong.

Last December, he’d been at a breaking point, feeling like he was unwanted in Hawkins and like he was just a burden to you and everyone else. He’d genuinely convinced himself that you’d be better off without him, had it in his head that you’d move on with time and that you’d be okay in his absence.

He couldn’t be more wrong, but he wasn’t aware of how much you missed him. He didn’t think he was something worth missing.

December 16th, 1988.

Steaming hot plates of scrambled eggs and bacon are placed in front of you and Eddie, followed by two sides of toast with extra butter. Taking a tentative sip of his scalding coffee, Eddie’s eyes meet yours over the rim of his mug. You do a happy little wiggle in your seat, more than content to have a meal after your drinking session at Nancy’s the previous night. Eddie’s stomach was begging for food, and he knows you must be feeling the same way.

You waste no time digging in, and he watches you with a cute smile on his face as you raise your fork to your mouth, groaning when you take your first bite of eggs. You look ethereal, with your hair unbrushed and your mascara messy around your eyes, one of his big t-shirts on your frame beneath your winter coat. His smile falters, then, as he considers how perfect you are. How you’re effortlessly flawless, and how he doesn’t come close to deserving you.

You catch him staring, poking his wrist with the dull end of your fork and breaking him out of his thoughts.

“You can’t absorb my food just by watching me eat, you know that right?” you joke, smirking around your mouthful of toast.

“I can sure as hell try,” Eddie says, pressing his index and middle fingers to either side of his head, humming while he does it as if summoning the food to him.

You laugh, the brightest little sound, before you go back to eating as normal. You don’t see his smile fade yet again as he starts to pick at the food on his plate, his appetite suddenly dwindling.

The last week had taken its toll on Eddie, to say the least. This time of year always tended to be a bit hard on him, making him reminisce on the days when his mom was still alive and reminding him that his dead-beat father couldn’t be bothered to spend the holidays with his only son. Christmas was a time for family gatherings, and Eddie didn’t have family to gather with. He had you, and the rest of the friend group, and Wayne, but it just isn’t the same as having a complete and loving family. He found himself wishing for the Christmas-card picturesque familial comfort, and his heart ached at the lack of it.

Then, to bring his mood down even more, there was the incident at the grocery store. Just last night he’d been at the store with you, picking up some alcohol for the get together at Nancy’s. You’d been following close behind him as he’d roamed the aisles, your hand wrapped around his arm. Soft laughter and warm smiles were exchanged as you waited in the checkout line, inviting the eyes and judgments of onlookers.

“What a shame that poor girl got roped in with the Munson boy,” an older woman had said to her friend as they walked by. “She could do so much better than that…” she remarked, looking Eddie up and down in a way that could only be displeased. He met their eyes, only to have them turn up their noses in response and walk away.

You hadn’t heard the comments, had been too busy selecting a candy bar to snack on, your fingers sifting over crinkly paper before deciding on a Kit-Kat. Eddie tried to shake the stranger’s comment off, really he did, but he found his brain clouded with it. Sometimes he was so good at letting things roll off of his shoulders, but he’s felt it getting harder and harder. The whole night at Nancy’s, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the woman had said; couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked at you like she pitied you, simply for being near him. The worst part is, this isn’t the first time he’s noticed people judging you and him together. Not even close. Everywhere he goes with you, he feels like he catches dirty looks.

It makes him feel like even more of a screw-up than he already does, simply adding to the emptiness that resides within his body. In his head, he feels like that woman at the supermarket was right. You could do better than him. Why did you bother with the town freak when you could have anyone?

“Hey,” you say now, blinking at him from across the sticky tabletop. Your voice is like a shining flashlight through the fog of his thoughts, bringing him out of the murkiness. “Are you alright? I thought you were starving,” you worry, concern etched into your facial features.

He looks down at his plate, realizing he’d been dancing his fork around the porcelain and stabbing mindlessly at the now-room-temperature eggs. He’d taken a single bite of his toast and nothing more.

“Did those eggs do something to you?” you ask, playing tough, trying to get a smile from him. “Do I need to teach them a lesson?”

“Yeah, actually, they called me some pretty mean names,” he joins in, rolling his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. You notice this, able to read him like a book, but you don’t press the issue.

Instead, you simply reach across the table, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. Squeezing yours in return, he tries to brush away the depressing thoughts that had berated him, and he eats his bacon and the rest of his toast before you both get up to leave. He knows he shouldn’t torture himself like this, but it’s hard not to when his whole life he’s felt like he wasn’t quite good enough.

When you arrive at your place, he walks you to the door of your building, ever the gentleman. Trying desperately to savor these moments with you without letting the town’s collective opinion of him ruin them. His heart flutters when your pretty eyes look up at him, your gentle fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat.

“I don’t really want you to go,” you say, laughing a little but turning away as you do it, like you don’t quite want him to see.

“I don’t wanna go either. Hate leaving you,” he says, tilting his head to the side as he gives you a tiny pout.

You stand in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. The tension hangs thick in the air, and Eddie swears he could reach out and slice it with his fingernail. His heart thumps in his chest, he wonders if you can hear it from where you stand. And then, before he can truly even process it, you’re leaning in and he’s leaning in and then his lips are on yours and oh, god.

He’s never felt lips softer than yours, never felt sparks like the ones he feels right now. The kiss doesn’t last long, but in his mind it felt like he’d been frozen in that moment for hours. He can feel his cheeks flush when you’ve pulled away, but as he looks at you his heart just sinks.

You could do better than him. This is a mistake. He can’t let you do this to yourself.

He suddenly wants to sprint as far as he can away from you, he wants to curl up into a ball and hide away for eternity. He feels unstable, like the earth beneath him could crumble at any minute. His gut is telling him to leave, to go home and shut himself in to think. But at the same time, the way you look at him makes it so hard to go. You chew on your lip, giggling as he gives you a soft look and decisively tells you he has to get home. His breathing is a little shaky, and he hopes you didn’t notice.

“I’ll see you soon?” you ask, holding onto his arm.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

Your smile is persistent as you open the door to your building, waving at him through the small glass window. He offers a wave in return, before he turns heel and all but books it back to his van. He feels like he could collapse, like everything is crashing down around him.

To this town, he’s a fuck up, and maybe they’re all right. Maybe he needs to get out, to go somewhere where he can start fresh. Be someone new, not just a Munson.

His mental spiral only worsens as he drives to the trailer park, his thoughts racing in his mind. He hears principal Higgins from a few years back, he hears his neighbors, he hears the PTA moms all calling him a failure, a freak, a weirdo. A burden.

By the time he gets home, he feels like the answer to his problems is already decided. It’s been a slow boil over the course of the last week, a nagging thought that fades in and out of his brain. Now it’s finally coming to a head. There’s too many bad memories in this town, too many people that want him gone.

He needs to leave Hawkins. He needs to leave you.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

Initially, right after he’d left, the gang had tried reasoning with him, begging him over grueling phone calls to just come home. He’d felt horrible about it, but he said no every time. He truly wanted to make something of himself, something that he felt Hawkins could never give him.

But then, getting his foot in the door in the music industry like he had hoped was not as easy as it was made out to be. The guy at the local recording studio had laughed at him when he’d inquired about booking a session to record a demo-tape. He’d laughed harder when Eddie had asked if the recording studio itself was hiring. He couldn’t even land a job at the local record store, and he felt like his failures were just piling up. His first job in the city had been at a small book store, but they ended up letting him go due to their lack of need for his help. Not enough foot traffic, the owner had said. Not worth keeping Eddie around for one shift a week, he’d grumbled.

He’d had several failed job interviews after, growing more and more frustrated after each one. Bills and other expenses were piling up with each passing day he spent jobless, and he guiltily accepted the little bit of money Wayne insisted on sending him to help him get by. He struggled along until he finally scored a job at the big department store down the street from his place. It wasn’t glamorous, by any means, but it paid the bills… barely.

That was another thing. His rent raised unexpectedly a couple months after his move, and he’s been living essentially paycheck to paycheck ever since.

He finds himself missing Hawkins more than he ever thought he would, and it kills him every day. More than anything, he misses you. Every day he thinks about you, yearns for you, wonders what you’re up to. Most of all, he thinks about that kiss. That single, stupid kiss that you’d shared. It had been earth shattering, and looking back he isn’t sure why that wasn’t his reason to stay. Instead, it pushed him further away.

His pride had gotten the best of him, not letting him admit defeat and move back to Indiana because he wanted to seem like he had everything figured out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning after a couple short months and looking like a failure to everyone. Frequent phone calls home to Wayne helped him stay sane, and he tried to keep his tone upbeat for his uncle but he should’ve known all along that the man knows him too well to buy it.

That’s why, when Eddie picks up the phone for the second time tonight and dials Wayne’s number, the man on the other end isn’t surprised to hear the way Eddie’s voice cracks or the sniffles that he tries to hide. It’s why he instantly requests that Eddie tell him what’s going on, because he just knows.

And Eddie pours his heart out.

“I can’t do it, Wayne. I can’t fucking do it,” he sniffs.

“Don’t talk like that, boy, what’s got you worked up?”

“I’m miserable here. I thought this was the right choice, but it couldn’t have been further from it.”

Wayne is silent on the other end, but Eddie can hear his steady, calm breathing. He keeps going.

“Sunny won’t talk to me, and— and I deserve that, but I miss her. I miss you, I miss my friends, I fucked up, Wayne,” Eddie’s voice is raw as he talks, frustrated tears streaming down his face. “Chicago is not what I wanted it to be. It didn’t create some magical new life for me. I have virtually nobody here that gives a shit.”

There’s silence again. In this moment Eddie is so wound up he almost snaps at his uncle, but then he doesn’t need to, because his voice comes through the line.

“So come home,” Wayne replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“What?”

“Come home. Book a flight and get your ass here, I’ll help you pay for it. There’s still time to make it by Christmas.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off for Eddie, in that moment. Why can’t he just come home? What’s so hard about it? He’d been telling himself no, acting as though he had to stay in Chicago. But what was he running from?

Maybe he just needed that final push. Someone to tell him point-blank to cut the crap and come home. He should've been confiding in Wayne all along. And then it all falls into place, as Eddie stews in the realization that there’s nothing truly holding him back from going home except for himself. He’d created this narrative in his head; that he needed to leave Hawkins and that no one benefited from his presence. What if that was all… bullshit? He’s been forcing himself to stay in a city he hates… for what? He slumps back in his chair, letting Wayne’s words sink in, nodding his head slowly as he thinks.

By the time he gets in bed for the night, he knows what he has to do. He knows he’s made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime, but his worst one was leaving you. Settling in under his thick comforter, his stomach turns with anxiety and excitement. He barely sleeps a wink, but for once, he isn’t mad about it when he wakes up the following morning.

Present Day: December 21st, 1989.

Eddie’s hands shake as he steps out of his cab, his breath shallow with his nerves. In a couple of short days he’d packed up his life in Chicago to leave this place behind for good. He’d left a note on Argyle’s door explaining his departure and thanking him for all of the smoke sessions, and he’d tossed his keys at the always-rude front-desk receptionist before walking out of that building for the last time.

He shuffles in through the revolving doors at the airport, hands nervously wringing around the strap to his duffel bag. Wayne had been right, of course, there was plenty of time to make it home for Christmas and Eddie had secured a flight to Indiana rather easily amidst the holiday craziness. He hadn’t told a single other soul he was coming home, and he knew Wayne certainly wouldn’t share the news without his permission. He wanted to surprise everybody, wanted to fix what he’d broken last year, and he could only hope that he would be welcomed by his friends. You were his biggest obstacle, the thing making him the most nervous, but he was more than ready to see your face again and to never let you go this time. Somehow, he’d make it right.

He takes a deep breath as he heads towards his gate, then another.

This is it. He’ll be home in Hawkins for Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem @svbrbnlegends @eddiesxangel @munsonzgf @hereforshmut @eggo-segual @joannamuns9n @lavendermunson @leenameh @micheledawn1975

[late-to-the-party-81]

Blood Lust

N: For my last entry to @buckybarneseventsBuild a Bucky Bingo I’ve picked Vampire AU. I’ve adored this challenge and hope it runs again.

Unbeta’d so please excuse any typos, but big thanks to @christywrites for spitballing with me.

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you would like to join my tag list, click here

Master list | BaBB Master list

Summary: Bucky was just trying to find another lost Hydra bunker to destroy it - he never expected to find a fucking Vampire inside it, or receive such a proposition from her.

You didn’t know who the stranger coming into your territory was, but you could tell from his scent he was powerful - maybe he could provide you with what you needed, in more ways than one.

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Reader

Word Count: 5k

CW: Vampire AU, alternating POV,  blood drinking (what did you expect?), rough sex,  multiple orgasms, canon typical violence, destruction of furniture, guns, stranger sex, smidge angst, discussions of murder.

Even if you hadn’t been able to smell him as he drew closer - musky with fresh sweat along with notes of gunsmoke and metal - you’d have known he was there. His blood sang to you. You could feel it, drawing you in. Closer and closer. Full of strength and power. And, you hoped, the answer to your prayers.

You waited in the shadows and as he came into view, moving slowly and stealthily, you watched him with a growing hunger that wasn’t simply a need to feed.

The thing about HYDRA, Bucky thought, was that just when he was sure he’d found all of their old bases and razed them to the ground, he found mention of another one. Now, here he was, deep in the Appalachians, trying to distinguish a HYDRA bunker from those built by random prepper’s . The signs were there, though - marks carved in the rocks and trunks of trees that looked innocuous to most folks, but were clear as day to someone with the appropriate knowledge.

Dusk had started to fall an hour ago, and now it was almost fully dark. The moon had risen, round and heavy looking, but the sky was covered in those large fluffy clouds that constantly moved and only allowed the bright, reflected light to illuminate the path in front of him at random. Luckily, with his enhanced eyesight, Bucky didn’t need to rely on either the inconsistent glow or a flashlight. His steps were sure and steady, barely making a sound.

Eventually, after following a few false paths, he found what he was after. A broad cliff face, cut with vertical crannies, rose up in front of him. Somewhere at the bottom would be the entrance, cunningly hidden. He reached out with his left hand, running the tips of his vibranium fingers over the weather roughened surface for signs of a mechanism. As he did so, he became aware of two things at once. Firstly, he found the switch to release the door with relative ease. However, secondly, he got the distinct feeling he was being watched. 

Whipping around, Bucky peered into the darkness, his ears straining for any unusual sounds, but all he could hear were the bugs, rodents and owls. If he were any other person he’d think he was imagining it, but years of training followed by a few years of paranoid hiding had taught him better.

When nothing appeared out of the gloom, Bucky forced himself to turn back to the hidden door and trigger its release. Hopefully he could leave his stalker outside and deal with them later, once he’d completed his mission. 

Without further ado, he made his way inside, the door to the bunker closing decisively behind him.

You watched from your perch, your entire body tingling in anticipation, as the man made his way, unknowingly inside your lair. He was confident, you could tell, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop you. His blood would be yours to feast on and you were certain it would make you stronger. 

How long had it been since you’d fed from an unwilling source? Others of your kind may prefer it that way, but in the centuries since you’d been turned, you’d barely ever had to resort to those means. Well, you thought ruefully, apart from in those first few months when you’d been unable to control your hunger. That was a long time ago, though, and now you had a good relationship with the folk who lived near-by - your protection in exchange for fresh blood. 

However, the appearance of a rogue coven threatened that relationship. They were a group who followed the old ways, killing indiscriminately and revelling in the carnage. Yes, you could move on, establish yourself elsewhere, but you had bound yourself to this community of people over 100 years ago. Their blood literally ran in your veins. Therefore, you would protect them, and if it took the life essence of this one, apparently powerful stranger to do so, then so be it. 

Bucky strode down the corridors, trying to shake off the innate feeling of revulsion that always seemed to cling to him whenever he came into one of these places. He knew it was half due to the dank, dark environment and half due to memory. Ghosts stalked these halls, and he was both one of them and not at the same time. It was a strange duality that he was still learning to accept. 

The advantage of being one of those ghosts was knowing his way around without much difficulty. While HYDRA liked to make their bunkers as winding and complicated as possible, they always replicated the same design. This therefore made it complex for anyone new, but familiar for any long standing acolytes and he’d been the longest standing of them all.

Winding downwards into the lower levels, towards the central processing area with its banks of computers, Bucky allowed his mind to wander. There was no-one else in here but him. If there were he’d be able to hear their heartbeat or footsteps. He wondered if the person who’d been watching him outside was waiting for him to exit, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

He absent mindedly patted the pocket that held the flash drive for downloading any uncorrupted data still available. He and Nat would sift through it all on his return and delete anything that shouldn’t be let out into the wider world, which was probably most of it to be honest.

He was feeling pretty confident about this whole mission when the attack came without warning. One moment he was walking down yet another dark corridor, his enhanced night vision serving him well, and the next, something - someone - barreled into him from behind. His instincts kicked in, and Bucky tucked his head and rolled, taking the impact with the floor on his right shoulder, before coming up and spinning around, his left arm raised in a block. A high-pitched shriek filled the air and his assailant slammed against his raised arm. It was with a mixture of shock and disbelief that he realised that it was a woman attacking him, but he didn’t have time to analyse what was going on as she punched and scratched at him. 

He blocked her moves, but her strength was unexpected and he found himself giving ground underneath her onslaught. A punch to the gut had him reeling and it was with a sickening realisation Bucky decided that he could no longer just be on the defensive. His previous self had never discriminated on the grounds of sex - just ask Nat - and it appeared that was something his new, recovered self would also have to adopt, for this encounter at least. 

Using the advantage afforded him by the distance that had opened up between them, Bucky pulled his pistol from its holster on his right hip and aimed at the woman, centre mass. The retort of the gun was loud within the confines of the concrete lined corridor, but not as loud as the woman’s scream. Bucky winced and turned his head to the side in response to the sound, but it was only as she came running at him again that he realised that it wasn’t a scream of pain, but one of rage. It was as though the bullet hole in her body - and he knew it had hit her from both the sound and the spray of blood up the wall behind her - wasn’t causing her a single issue.

“What the fuck?” He raised his arm again, aiming for her skull, but as he pulled the trigger she seemed to blur in front of him, moving a lot closer to him than humanly possible. The bullet struck the wall, embedding itself with a small shower of concrete chips. 

Deciding that something was very wrong, Bucky turned. He needed to get away from her and give himself time to come up with a plan. However, he was jerked to a halt by the back of his tac-vest and then slammed face-first into the wall. It crumbled and cracked under the impact and Bucky had a moment of dizziness, before he was spun around and a clawed hand held his jaw in a firm grip. He spat out a mouthful of grit and blood and noticed the way the woman’s nostrils flared as he did so, her gaze becoming momentarily unfocused. It didn’t last long though, and his unease grew as he watched an animalistic grin spread over her face. A grin that displayed the fangs in her mouth.

“Oh,” the woman said in a low purr. “You’re going to be lots of fun…”

You held the man against the wall, your body alive with the thrill of the chase and the scent of his spilt blood. Your primal nature had been awakened for the first time in years and you were ready to let it have free reign. However, you weren’t sure whether you should just feed, or whether you should ‘play with your meal’ first. 

Your moment of indecision gave the man an opening, and he grabbed your wrist with his left hand, the one you noticed was made of some kind of metal, and squeezed. You felt the bones break and you let go instinctively. The pain didn’t last though, and you held up your hand in front of you, feeling everything reset within seconds.

“That wasn’t nice,” you spat. He looked back at you in shock and now it was your turn to take advantage. No more Ms Nice Vampire. You took hold of both his hands, flesh and prosthetic, and slammed them both above his head, cracking the wall further. With interest you noticed his eyes dilate, and you hadn’t even attempted to use your glamour yet.That fact tipped the scales further in the direction of playing. 

“You can make it up to me though, can’t you?” You crowded into his space, pleased to note that he wasn’t even struggling, although he was far from lax under your hold. Leaning forward you placed your nose close to his throat and inhaled deeply. You shivered at the delicious scent - it was almost completely intoxicating. “You can be good?” You heard his indrawn breath and smiled to yourself. Tilting your head, you carefully scraped your fangs down the skin of his neck, not hard enough to break his skin, but he’d still be able to feel it. Speaking of feeling….  His hips bucked as you teased him and you were nudged by something firm but still somewhat yielding. 

A praise kink? A pain kink? Maybe both? This was going to be good.

Using your preternatural speed and strength you pulled him away from the wall and then threw him towards the floor. His head bounced off the hard surface, making his eyes cross, but you immediately settled over his waist, taking hold of his face in both your hands and roughly kissing him. Blood from his split lip trickled into your mouth and you ground down over his erection in pleasure.

You drew back and looked down at him, pleased to note he was so busy trying to work out what was going on, he wasn’t even trying to escape.

“You can’t be real,” he stated. “I shot you.”

“Oh, I promise I absolutely am. And that lead slug did tickle a bit. You’re a good shot, Soldier. However, you need either silver or wood if you want to slow me down.” You flicked out a long fingernail and drew it down his cheek, this time drawing blood. A small bead clung to the tip of your nail and you drew in between your lips. His cock twitched under you, but then he shook his head, as if trying to get out of the stupor he was in, and tried to push himself up.

“Uh-uh,” you chastised, placing your hand on his chest and pressing down. “You’re not going anywhere. You have something I need.”

“You’re not taking anything from me, bitch,” he snarled, and squirmed under your unnaturally strong hold. You ground down again.

“Who said anything about taking? You’re going to give it to me, and say thank you while you do. You know what I am. What I can offer. What’s a little blood in exchange for guaranteed pleasure. I’ll even let you rough me up a bit if you want?” You leaned back down. Closer. More intimate. “I know you want to…” You licked up the cut on his cheek, both of you shuddering as you did. Then, experimentally, you lessened your hold on him.

In an instant, he flipped you, pressing you to the floor with his left hand on your throat. He didn’t attempt to hurt you though, or escape. Just looked down at you, wide-eyed and panting. You had him just where you wanted him.

Bucky’s head was spinning. He’d seen a lot in his time - but this was something else. A fucking vampire. He looked down at her, noticing the way her dark eyes twinkled in amusement. In all of the tussle it hadn’t escaped his notice how attractive she was. If she wasn’t trying to drain him of his blood he might have been interested. At least that’s what he was trying to convince himself of. His dick obviously hadn’t received the memo, because it had perked up from the moment she’d shown that she was as dangerous as him. 

Fuck! Was he mad for even contemplating it? She’d already shown it would be incredibly difficult for him to hurt her - at least in any way  that would be long lasting - and that was a fact he found incredibly arousing. If he took her up on her offer he’d be able to really let go.

“You don’t want to kill me?”

She laughed and arched up into his hold. “Sweet boy. If I wanted that, I’d have done so already. But if I had, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy each other over and over, would we?”

“What about the people who live here? How many of them have you killed?”

“In the last one hundred and fifty years? None. We have an understanding. Regular, non-lethal tributes in exchange for my protection.”

Bucky furrowed his brow at her words.“Protection from what? What could possibly be worse than you?”

“Many things. You have no idea what evils lurk in the dark.”

Now it was his turn to scoff. “I think you’ll find I do. I used to be one of them. I may be mortal, but I’m not like everyone else.”

She lifted her arms and ran her hands, delicate but deadly, up and down his biceps. “And yet you obviously choose to be a better person. I bet you could take everything you wanted - use your Soldier skills - but you don’t. You compromise. You do what’s right. How does that make you any different from me?” 

There was an undeniable truth to her words, as much as Bucky didn’t want there to be. He constantly downplayed his abilities, because he didn’t want his friends to realise what he would truly be capable of if he wanted.

“What are you waiting for?” she continued. “Just think what it would be like, not to have to hold back. To fuck. Hard. To feel the pain mingle with the pleasure.” She smiled up at him, wryly, and he could feel his resolve slipping. Her left hand tightened on his right bicep, sharp fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt - pinpricks of sensation that lit up his nervous system and made his traitorous dick twitch once again in his pants. Her smile morphed back into that tooth-filled grin and she pressed her nails in even harder. “Go on. Let go. Take what you want.” 

Her voice was a hypnotic purr, and Bucky could hear his blood thrumming with need. It felt as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, only needing one small nudge to send him over the edge. She rolled her hips and let out a pleasured sigh and Bucky fell.

It was difficult to suppress your feeling of triumph as his lips crashed against yours. For a few seconds you let him have the upper hand, before you rolled the pair of you back to your original positions. Then, with a laugh, you pulled away from him and rose to your feet. “Catch me if you can, Soldier.” You skipped away at half speed, which was still faster than most humans, and he chased after you, grinning. Every few minutes, you’d allow him to capture you - let him kiss you and touch you - for a few moments before pulling away and starting the dance again. He only hesitated once, when your escape from his grip ended up in your top being ripped. He froze, looking at you with worry, as if you were about to censure him for his roughness. Instead, you threw back your head and laughed with joy, before taking hold of the neckline of his shirt and tugging on it harshly. The ruined material hung from him in tatters, exposing his firm chest and you licked your lips salaciously before running away from him again.

By the time you’d lead him to the room you’d repurposed as your bed chamber, the pair of you were barely clothed. Your Soldier’s chest heaved and was covered in a thin film of sweat, and you couldn’t wait to taste him. All of him.

With a snarl he tackled you to your bed and you went with him gladly, ignoring the ominous creak of the wooden frame. His mouth roved hungrily over yours and his right hand groped at your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple. You mewled against his lips as the pain mixed with the pleasure and you grabbed at his pecs in turn, digging in your talon-like nails until they broke the skin and ten beads of blood appeared in two beautiful arcs across his torso.

He bit down on your clavicle, hard enough to hurt but not enough to break your toughened skin, and you rolled your hips against his hard length. His hand left your breast and snaked down to the remnants of your underwear. As his fingers slid through your sodden folds, you ran your fingers through his hair as he scraped his teeth down your throat, in an echo of your own earlier move. His left hand, as cold as your own skin, skimmed over your body as he made his way lower, biting your flesh without care. He swirled over your clit, before plunging two fingers inside you without preamble, forcing a cry from your throat.

“Yes! YES! Fuck!”

He answered with a growl, before sucking on the skin of your hip. This was what you’d unknowingly been craving and you suspected it was the same for him. Pure inhibition. Carnality.

Moving even lower, he fastened his lips around your aching bud, laving it without mercy and your eyes rolled back in your head as your orgasm crashed into you, like waves against a cliff. He gave no quarter, though, flipping you unceremoniously onto your front and pulling your hips up.

“Do it!” you hissed, and anticipation shuddered through you as he placed that heavy left hand on the back of your neck, pining you to the bed. When he thrust his cock inside you, you both moaned, but there was no time to process the sensation as he set up a vigorous pace, thrusting into your wet cunt so harshly there was no way you could ignore the protests from your bed. But fuck it - this was the best sex you’d had in decades - if it broke, it broke. You relaxed your body, turning pliant under his hands and enjoying the illusion of physical domination as he fucked into you with abandon. You had wondered if your body was still capable of feeling this level of pleasure, but as he continuously hit that spot inside you, you realised it was. 

His right hand gripped your hip so hard you knew that if you were still mortal you knew you’d be bruised for days, and the way he had you pinned would have impeded your breathing if that were still an issue. He was using you for his pleasure, but at the same time making sure you got yours too. The only noise you could let out were little ‘uh-uh’s’ in time with his thrusts and the creak of the wood of your bed. When the spasms of ecstasy shook you once more you felt his cock tense inside you and then flood you with a warmth that was almost forgotten. 

As you floated back down, there were a few seconds where a feeling of disappointment washed over you that it was over already, but then you realised that he was still hard inside you. He gave a few experimental thrusts, probably checking that you were alright to continue, and you pushed back onto him in a raptured response.

However, he quickly withdrew and when you looked over your shoulder in confusion he pulled you up and off the bed. With a speed that would have taken your breath away, he once again grabbed you by the neck and, with another hand on your ass, he lifted you and slammed you against the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and as his mouth met with yours again, he resheathed himself inside you. You gripped his shoulders, drawing blood once again, and the snapping of his hips became harder as you did so.

“Take it!” he growled against your lips. “You wanted this, so you’ll take it all.” 

You sucked his lower lip into your mouth and bit it, releasing a sweet, sticky dribble of his blood into your mouth, moaning at the taste. It was ambrosia, and you couldn’t wait to have more, and feel his essence buzzing through your veins.

“How long. Can you. Keep going?” you asked between rough thrusts.

“I got three or four in me,” he replied to your joy. 

“Then fill me up again, Soldier. I want to be dripping you.”

His groan was deep and filthy, both of you now attuned to how wet your cunt currently was, your mingled spend already coating your inner thighs and the skin at the base of his cock.

“You have to come again first. Show me how much you want it. Come for me.”

You didn’t need telling twice and leaned your head back against the wall as the sensations washed over you. “Fuuuuuuuck!” He was as good as his word though, reaching his own peak as you clenched around him.

However, as nice as it had been to relinquish control to this man, it was time for you to regain it. You moved your hands so they were flat against the wall behind you and then pushed off. Your Soldier staggered back, with you still held in his arms and his rock solid cock still snug in your cunt, until his legs hit the mattress. He fell back onto it and you smiled from your position atop him, before starting to ride him.

Bucky’s head was spinning. This… There was nothing he could compare it to. This woman - this vampire - was not only taking everything he gave, she was serving it right back to him. He looked up, mesmerised, as she took control from him again, gliding up and down his cock. She looked like some kind of warrior of old. A goddess. Maybe she had been one of those in her previous life? But right here and now, she was the only woman to come close to matching him and it was intoxicating. The earlier cuts she’d made on his chest had healed over already, but she just reopened them with a curl of her hands. The pads of her fingers smeared the drops across his chest before she raised them to her mouth and sucked them clean, all ten, one by one. When she grinned down at him, her teeth were blood-stained and she looked primally beautiful.

“Sit up,” she commanded. “I need to feel you closer. I want to taste you properly.”

He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this, but for some reason he trusted her when she said she didn’t want him dead. He also hoped that if her blood lust took over he’d be able to escape from her before it went too far - although a voice in his head laughed harshly at that. From what had happened so far, he would probably lose, but he was nothing if not a risk taker.

Bucky pushed himself upright and his supernatural lover wound her fingers into his hair and kissed him while gyrating in his lap. He grabbed at her waist, holding her steady and just gave himself over to the onslaught of pleasurable sensations. She tugged on his hair as she plundered his mouth and he could help but jerk his hips up to meet her movements. Thanks to the serum, he could already feel his third orgasm building - that really was one of the unanticipated advantages of it all - and he couldn’t help but chase the pleasure.

It was strange, this frantic coupling. The vampire was cool to the touch under his right hand, but so warm around his cock. It was as though he were heating her from the inside out. And while he was enjoying the way she moved atop him, he really needed to move.

“Please,” he muttered and she seemed to immediately understand. Shifting her weight to the side, she managed to roll the pair of them. Immediately, Bucky’s hips regained their previous pace. He felt untethered - unhinged - in the best possible way. She met him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips and making the most delicious noises.

“Are you ready, Soldier?” she uttered. “I promise it feels like nothing else you’ve experienced?”

He looked down at her, taking in her dark eyes that seemed to drag him down into the abyss. He was helpless not to fall. “Do it,” he replied, an echo of her earlier words, and as he felt her cunt start to flutter around him one more time, she surged up, latching her mouth - her teeth - to his throat.

Bucky knew pain - the man he’d become had been forged in the fire of it. He’d expected this to hurt, but that first bite quickly morphed into something else entirely. It wasn’t pleasure - it was ecstasy - and burned through his veins. His hips stuttered, losing rhythm. There was a roaring sound in his ears along with the heavy th-dump of his heartbeat and the brightness of the world intensified to a white light so brilliant it overtook everything around it, before quickly shrinking to a darkness that pulled him down… down… down… into oblivion.

You lay in the ruins of your bed, your Soldier’s head resting on your chest as you carded your fingers through his hair. You’d have found the destruction of your resting place amusing if it weren’t for the disappointment swirling through you. It wasn’t disappointment at your mortal lover’s performance - that could be described as nothing but spectacular - no, it was the disappointment that his blood has seemed to do nothing to boost your power. You felt no different than after any good feed, the glow of  your sated sexual appetite notwithstanding. You’d have to come up with another plan to get rid of those encroaching on your turf. It would be different if you had a clan of your own, had the strength in numbers, but you were on your own.

Beneath your touch he stirred and you turned your attention back to him. You might be a monster, but you weren’t that type of monster. He’d done all you asked, all you’d wanted, and you owed him your care, as limited as it may be. His eyes blinked open, and in the dull light you took in the unique shade of them for the first time.

“Hey,” you whispered as you continued to pet him.

“Hey, yourself,” he replied with a charming smile before looking around. His cheeks pinked adorably as he took in the destruction. “Umm. Sorry about that.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “It’s alright. I was probably due an upgrade. The locals will bring me a new one.” A wave of fear washed over you and you frowned. 

The man in your arms frowned back. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t know why - maybe it was because you’d had no-one else to talk to - but you told him everything. All your fears for the people you watched over, how you weren’t enough on your own and how you’d hoped that his blood would give you the edge you needed.

“And this other group is really that much of a threat?”

You sighed. “Two weeks ago they snatched a family out camping. I wasn’t there quick enough to help, other than to put the mother out of her misery and assure her that her children weren’t coming back - hadn’t been turned. I buried them all myself and then sent their pastor out to pray for them - I wouldn’t put it past those fuckers to come back just to desecrate them further. They’re sick, they’re-”

“Bullies?” he interjected.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I happen to have grown up with someone who’s entire life was dedicated to getting rid of bullies. Not only is he still around, his mentality sort of rubbed off on me.” He grinned at you. “And he’s got some pretty powerful friends, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’ve got a team - if you want one? Also, although it might be a little overdue, I’m Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” he held out his right hand and you took it in your own, squeezing it a little to see him blush.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. The name I was born with has been lost to time - I’m no longer that person - but you can call me Ailith.”

“Ailith…” You watched as he rolled your name around his mouth. “And are you ready to go to war?”

“Are you ready to have rabid post fight sex?” you countered with a raised eyebrow.

He grinned and leaned towards you. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796

@alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog,

@goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz,

@nicoline1998enilocin, @king814318, @blackhawkfanatic, @strawberrylore,

@scram1326, @hhiggs

[flownintothesun]

     𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 since his departure — or — as some might call it, a sort of fall from grace. It seems as though he’s always learning something new — good or bad or somewhere in between. The difference between living in a manor in the center of Paris and sleeping on the streets is stark, and because he’s experienced both now, he is aware that there are good people and bad people in every walk of life. Though he’s spent the better part of his own buried in fairytales and stories and wishes and hopes and dreams, he’s learned that most people are more grounded to reality. Their life is their life, and they don’t want to seem to share their own stories — and so, they suffer in silence.

      It isn’t unlike what he had done for the better part of his life — played the dutiful role of Henri Devereaux’s golden son — a successor with a flawless record. He’d gotten so used to what they’d wanted him to be that it was almost mechanical — an alter ego that on the best days he would liken to some of his favorite stories; and on the worst, would send him to bed staring up at the ceiling wondering if happiness was ever to be a part of his world or if it was something that belonged to other people, but never to him.

      In a sense, he is happier now — though he has very little — just a small and drafty flat above a bookstore, a couple of little mice that he feeds and speaks to when he’s alone — and half of the space accounted for by his books. He is surrounded by adventure, and love, and heroism — but he’d never experienced any of those things himself. Not like in the stories, that is. And then — Francis had met Simon —

      Everything is different now, and has been so for some time, though he can’t pinpoint exactly when the world started turning a little bit differently. Sometimes, things like that don’t need to be loud. Music is the same way — sometimes it’s quiet, and before you know it, you’re lost in the melody with tears in your eyes — grateful that you got to hear it, and grateful that it moved you so.

    Francis shifts, running his fingers through golden curls, trying to think of how to broach the subject. This is one of those things that aren’t really spoken about. He’s seen Simon’s scars — of course he has. He’d always assumed that if Simon wanted to talk about it, he would — but that it would be unfair of Francis not to allow his friend to move on from the past. Probably a lot of people have held him to the past, as seems to happen. He doesn’t want to do that — it’s only....

     It’s so clear that he’s not all right. Francis has never seen him so distracted and pale and thin. It’s as though someone approached his normally optimistic companion and stole away his humanity — almost like magic. Which is silly, of course, because magic doesn’t exist. But real-life problems do. So, when Simon misses what he’s saying, Francis gets up and moves a little closer, flushing a little as he takes his friend’s hands. They’re like ice. His heart aches — if anyone deserves good things, it’s Simon. “You can talk about it you know. Whatever happened. Sometimes it’s not good to be on your own. You don’t have to be — you have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

@lovepurposed [ plotted ]

Music plays softly from his phone. Nothing really of any value, just a random track on his spotify liked songs. Just something to fill the... Well, the lack of silence for him, now.

It isn't Francis's fault that Simon can hear his heart beating. That he can practically feel his blood running through his veins, even when sitting nearly a foot apart on the couch.

Curled into a ball against the arm of said couch, Simon Valentino looks a wreck. He's much too pale- no color at all on his normally rosy cheeks, he's lost a considerable amount of weight... But more than that, he seems off. Antsy for one, yes, he can't quit fidgeting with his hands or with the choker around his neck. His brows are furrowed and have been since Francis came in. He won't look at his friend, either.

Simon has always struggled with eye contact, but this is a whole new level. The only place he seems to look are one spot. The spot where Francis's neck meets his shoulder, followed by his gaze quickly jerking away. But, in the end, his soft brown eyes always find their way back to that same, special spot.

There is a certain desperation that Simon feels. It dwells both in his hunger and his humanity. How, how does one hang onto their humanity if they were to feed on blood? This question had plagued the young vampire's mind since he'd been turned, two months ago. He had not fed, not once in that time frame. An almost unheard of act for a newly turned vampire to do. Two months, two months. He'd stopped going out for the most part, he'd stopped answering calls, he'd stopped responding to texts. He couldn't stand to. He couldn't stand the bloodlust.

But hunger. Hunger is a tricky thing. It worms its way out of the belly and settles itself in the chest. Heavy and unrelenting, before continuing up to sit in the mind. To play tricks, to whisper rationales, to make otherwise unsavory decisions. And Simon was beyond hungry.

Simon was starving.

His eyes have fallen once again on the special spot. And it's only then that he realizes Francis has not only been talking, but was now looking on him to respond. Simon hadn't heard a word he'd said, frankly, much too focused on that spot. Tearing his eyes away, he looks up, catching blue eyes with brown for only a moment before darting back down to the spot.

"Wh-what? Sorry, I! I must have! Zoned out!" He squeaked, voice shaking as he reached up to pull at his yellow choker.

[ectoimp]

Gonna get on my soapbox because im so mad. KEEP YOUR CATS INSIDE.

cw: animal death

Remember that cute little skunk I got pics of. Well we bought traps and were about to set them up to get him to a rehabber we know since it seems his mother was hit by a car.

We just learned that the neighbors cat killed them yesterday. The fact that a whole family of animals was wiped out by human encroachment just deeply upsets me. Sure skunks arent endangered but that doesnt make them less worthy of protection (not to mention we DO have endangered animals in this area. One is a rodent, so easy cat target)

Please, learn how to properly care for you cat. They do not need to go outside. No I dont care that your cat 'wants out'. My cat is a rescue and he also wanted out at first. He got over it. It didnt take that long.

[entomolog-t]

Bite Me - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is here!! Slight deviations from the OG lil comic, but that just means I will have to redraw it. Aedes is having a pretty rough night.

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Word count: 1686

CW: Mentions of blood, Adult language

June Murphy sits bolt upright, awaking to a sharp pain on her neck. A small but significant weight falls onto her lap as her mind blinks away the remnants of a dream. Confused, she looks down, squinting in the dark of her room. There was something on her lap- 

It moved.

The sudden movement catches June off guard- a startled yelp escaping her lips. Something was in her bed. Something alive. Was there a mouse in her bed?? A rat?? The… thing takes off, scrambling in a way that causes her unease to rise. It didn't move right- It's limbs too long for a rodent, it's body far too thin. What could it- before she could finish her thought, it stood. 

She didn’t scream - she couldn’t. Fear seemed to constrict her voice into some strained combination between a gasp and a yell. 

What the fuck was in her bed!?

This felt like it should be a dream... but everything, despite the absurdity, felt very, very real. Yet, as if under the influence of some bizarre feral instinct, she feels like a bystander as she watches her hand shoot out, catching the figure in a tight fist. As soon as her fingers clasp around it she feels it squirm and thrash within her grasp, weird not-rodent legs kicking wildly. She shudders. It… it was snarling… was it feral? She feels as it claws into the flesh of her palm and a sense of dread wells up along with the pain; What if this thing was rabid?  

In the dark of her room, June struggled to make out details, but whatever it was it did not like being caught. Steeling her nerves, she hesitantly brings it closer to her face. Her movement seems to only result in more frenzied struggles from the…the… What the Hell was that??

She blinks. 

The scene before her is beyond surreal. A man- a very tiny man- thrashed about wildly in her grasp. As her eyes adjust to the dark, they meet with its- his own; wide with horror. 

Her gaze falls to his lips- smeared red with blood. It gives a terrified little cry, sounding all too human in its fear.

All at once, June was wide awake.

It… it really was a man. A very tiny and very terrified man in her hand… A million questions seem to sound off at once in her mind. Was it really a man?? Maybe he was some sort of …creature?? Could he speak? Why was he in her house? Her last question fills her with a growing sense of horror at the snarling being in her hand…Why… Why was he in her bed?

The creature snarls, and before June has time to react- the creature bites, her hand releasing reflexively. She watches in horrified fascination as the thing jumps, diving off the side of her bed, its desperation all too clear in the way it scrambles to its feet.

The tiny frame of the… the what? The creature? The word felt wrong in her mind. That was no creature. That… that was a man. She watched as the tiny frame of the something darted around the corner of her desk. June felt like her brain was on autopilot. In a flash she was out of bed and dropping to her hands and knees, sliding herself in place between the door and the…. The… being. 

“No, no, no, no-” A flurry of desperate words came from the creature. June drew in a sharp breath at the sound… It could speak. For a second, the thought sent a shiver down her spine. What the Hell had she found? As her eyes strained to adjust in the dark, she began to make out more details in its form. It moved erratically; head on a swivel- until its gaze settled on her… She felt uneasy. It looked intelligent… It looked like a man.

He was long limbed and lean, with a mess of black hair cut short at the sides. Her eyes were drawn to his ears, long and pointed and certainly not human. Was he an… elf ? A fairy? Despite him being directly in front of her, her mind dismissed the thought. That was ridiculous… Though, this whole situation was ridiculous, wasn’t it? 

His chest heaved he backed himself into the corner of where her desk met the wall. It… he stared up at her, his large ears pinned back. She thought she might have glimpsed tears glittering in those tiny eyes… but more unnervingly, she could very easily see the blood on his lips. As he catches her eyes on his face, he frantically wipes the blood away- his movements unnaturally quick. 

"Please." His voice, far deeper than she would have expected, cracked as he spoke. The sound made June wince, "Don't…" He stared up at her, eyes wide as he choked out his words "-hurt me."

His words caught her off guard- why would she… she wouldn’t-  oh.  June sees the way the little man holds his side. Had she hurt him when she grabbed him? She hadn’t meant to but… she certainly hadn’t been gentle in her panic either. 

"Oh… no-I …I would never…." June struggled to find the words. She was still battling with the absurdity of the situation and his near palpable fear seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, a fraction of the tension leaves the little man's frame. Almost as if acting on its own, June’s hand slowly reaches forward, wanting to comfort the pitiful sight. 

The movement, however subtle, did not go over well. The man fell back, his back pressed firmly in the corner of her desk and the wall. Had there been even the slightest gap between the two June had no doubt he would have shoved himself between the two to avoid her touch. His face twists to a look of complete terror- eyes desperate and pleading.

“No! No, please!”  She froze. Never in her life had she heard a voice so filled with fear, “Stay away from me!” June immediately withdrew her hand. His chest rose and fell with such speed it made her sick to her stomach. She felt her throat tighten… the thought of causing someone so much distress was overwhelming to the point of suffocating. She racked her brain for something-anything to say, but his shakey words interrupted her frenzied thoughts. 

"Are you trying to catch or-" his voice faltered, "-kill me?"

Oh.

She grimaced. June didn't like that question… mainly because she was all too aware of her answer. 

"If I'm being honest," she began, the words feeling like sandpaper on her tongue, "I do want to …um, catch you." She cringed. The word itself seemed to catch on her tongue..it felt dirty. You didn't catch a … a person. Was that what he was? But people… well people certainly weren't this small- And he was in her house! At the very least she deserved some answers... But even as those thoughts rose in her mind she knew all too well that they were just justification for a much greater force at play; curiosity. For a brief moment, the little man's breathing stops, his jaw agape, frozen from her admission. June watches as he looks quickly to her side, clearly looking to make a dash, then thinking better of it. As his eyes square back to her there seems to be a shift in his demeanor. She fumbles with her words, trying to elaborate in a way that doesn’t sound so blatantly awful, “I mean- It.. its not-”

“-And what if I don’t want to be caught?” There's venom in his words. His voice is angry… accusatory, but most potent of all, his voice is racked with fear. The raw emotion distills an unease June, as if the potency is just too much to take in. There was no lying to herself, no pretending she was unaware. Even in the dark corner of her room his fear was clear as day, and she knew without a doubt she was the source. Yet, his fear of her wasn't quite the source of her unease. No… it was that she knew she had all the power to stop it. She could just let him leave, whatever he was… but she wanted- no, she needed answers. She refused to outright think it, but the concept was still there in her mind, abstract and untouched; Until she got answers, his feelings came second to her own. 

“If you didn’t want to be caught by me, then just what were you doing in my house?” 

All at once he goes rigid. Petrified.

Shit. 

June swallows her frustration, immediately back peddling. 

“Look, you’re not- I don’t have to ca-” June sighs, rubbing her temples. There really was no good way to word this. "You don't have to be… caught…”  The word still sticks in her throat, “I.. I just need some answers.”

She swallowed. Both literally as well as the guilt that gnawed at the edges of her mind. He looked horrified. 

“I.. I really don't want to scare you... I just… don't want you to leave…Not before I get some answers.” June grits her teeth. Each of her responses left a foul taste in her mouth. She knows what her words truly mean;  you’re my hostage until I get what I want. She pushes that thought deep down, wanting to forget her disgust.

“I don't have to be caught as long as I don't leave??” His fear seemed to evaporate for a split second as fury bled into its place, “Being caught and not leaving are the same damn if the premise is I don't want to be here!!” Just as fast as the rage had filled him it left… deflating him. His expression turned desperate, "And what happens if I try to leave, huh?" June sees tears welling up in his eyes. "Would you just catch me then?"

“I-” June’s voice falters. She knows her answer instantly, worse yet, she knows the shame on her face makes it clear.

" … I'm sorry."

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

Barb's Secret Dungeon Drabble

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Welcome! To this adventure! The characters may not be how you imagine! I apologize for any poor jokes, bad spelling, and terrible grammar. Without further ado, please enjoy the content. ♡

⚠︎Caution: Dark content⚠︎

CW: torture discussion, blood is mentioned, Barbs is demon like, lemme know if I missed any warnings!

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Okay can we just talk about the rumored secret dungeon in the demon lords castle that they basically act like is Barbatos's secret dungeon. Now it being a sex dungeon is a different conversation for later because I would like to talk about it being a torture dungeon because that's absolutely terrifying. I love barbs but he has some scary powers, especially as a torture weapon. Barbatos can just continue bringing the individual he's torturing back to life after torturing them so much they die. & This cycle would just continue until he got bored or he deems mercy to the individual. It's not really mercy because he most likely just tortures them to death one last time and doesn't bring them back. If they were put in there by Diavolo, then they won't be released until Diavolo says so, Barbs will actually release these ones and not kill them unless Diavolo tells him to. The only way this would be different is if you believe there's a limited amount of alternate realities and time lines instead of infinite, then Barbatos would only be able to bring the individual back until there is no more time lines the individuals alive in.

You know how Barbatos just seems like such a calm and composed demon? A torture dungeon could be why man. Besides tea Barbs doesn't really seem to have a way to get rid of his stress as far as we know. Barbs is constantly working, mans is underappreciated, always helping from the sidelines, he has a lot of stress whether he shows it or not. Torturing an individual would take that stress away for a demon. Think about it, Lucifer is always happier after stringing Mammon from the ceiling upside down. Satan and Belphie are always happier when trying to torment and prank Lucifer. Demons will be demons, they relieve their stress in ways that any real demon would. But hey don't get sent to the secret dungeon and you'll be fine!

I'm going to try and go into more detail of what an individual would experience in Barbs secret torture dungeon. So I feel like human torture methods are mediocre to a demons methods, especially to a demon that's probably lived an incredibly long time. Barbatos probably knows thousands of torture methods, he could put Satan to shame with the amount of torture knowledge he knows. One things for certain, no rats will be involved in any torture ever. Not because Barbs is merciful just because he's too scared to even be around the rodents. The interesting but scary thing is that demons have magic they can use to add to the torture. So they can curse the individual or cast a certain spell that they know will annoy or cause damage to the individual it's cast on. I feel like a lot more psychological torture happens in the Devildom then in the human world in general. The Celestial Realm has their own torture methods too, Angels are ruthless man. They'd do anything for their 'father'. I feel like Barbs is more a psychological torture kind of guy, but it really just depends on his mood and how stressed he is, sometimes physically torturing the poor individual just relieves his stress more. With the advantages of magic Barbs doesn't have to chain the individual up if he doesn't want to, he can just put magic seals places to prevent them from going places. Barbs could even make a fake "escape" route with magic just for the individual to wind up back in the secret dungeon once they think they've escaped. With magic there's all kinds of possibilities, magic can be a blessing or curse, and for any individual in Barbs secret dungeon it's a curse.

For the sake of actually talking about how I think Barb would torture I may refer to a human torture method or horror movie, but I sincerely think demons would have way more intense torture methods. So for physical torture I don't think Barbs would normally want to do a messy torture method, I think he's usually just there to hear the screams and gain from the individuals pain. For days like this Barbs does methods that don't make much of a mess, for example he may do something similar to "The Rack". The rack is the torture method where the individual is laid on something and then ropes tied to the individuals wrists and ankles pull on them until their joints dislocate, but a demon may have a method that could simply rip the individual in two. As long as he's standing far enough away he shouldn't get blood on him. I think on some days when Barbs is really stressed and just mad enough that he doesn't mind a little mess, he gets real messy. On these days Barbs is covered in blood head to toe by the time he's done in the secret dungeon for the night. For these days I can see Barbs doing any vicious torture method that's going to cause a lot of blood to get everywhere, but the main one I think he'd do is something similar to the torture known as Lingchi. Lingchi is a form of torture where the individual is cut precisely until they bleed to death. The cuts are said to start out slow and gradually become more painful. Barbatos is a precise patient man so I think this method suits him. For psychological torture I think Barbs would use magic to make the individual see things, these things can vary drastically from the individual seeing an escape from the secret dungeons to the individuals seeing their loved one murdered gruesomely, with enough magic Barbs could probably make the individual believe they killed the person. Even though it's all just fake and done with magic, the individual doesn't know that so they'd spend the rest of their time in the dungeons tormented with the guilt of "killing" their loved one.

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Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! I apologize for being gone for so long! I promise I still have content to make, I just haven't felt like writing. I hope me posting a couple of things makes up for being gone! Anyways more content will be coming soon so Stay Tuned! Stay Safe! & Stay Groovy Scooby! ♡

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⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

[bonefall]

re: the last Warriors Bites, is there any advantage to cooking meat? /gen

ik for humans we can’t process a lot of raw meat w/o infections, but cats are pure carnivores

Several!

Human evolutionary history is actually fascinating in that we HAVE to eat cooked meat, it marked a moment in our evolutionary history where our brains were able to get bigger because we needed less space on the skull for a massive chewing muscle

So for a Warrior Cat, which is clearly a species capable of advanced social dynamics, it could be likely that something is biologically going on in that skull of theirs for which cooking is an advantage.

But even for a normal cat living out in the woods? There's still benefits.

Preservation

Drying food can store it for weeks or months. In the books we've seen prey going bad after only a day; there's definitely a lot of food waste that can be avoided if the excess prey is cooked and stored by the assigned "kitchen patrol" after dinner.

(On that note; @hey-its-quill requested an entry on "Who cooks and prepares food?" so this question, including what a 'kitchen patrol' is, is on the official Warrior Bites to-do list.)

Nutrition

Some forms of cooking would cause nutrition loss, but it's easily countered by collecting the juices and serving them as a gravy. For the most part, cooking is just an easy way to break down connective tissue, which would actually make it easier to digest.

ESPECIALLY for kits and elders, who aren't able to chew their food very well.

One thing I will be mentioning when I get to a bird entry, though, is that large birds are rarely roasted. This is because cats eat bones as part of their diet, but when bird bones are cooked, they can splinter and cause internal damage.

(Which is why you should never let your cat eat cooked chicken bones. Raw are fine though.)

Sanitization

And this is the primary reason. Avoiding food poisoning and infection is more important than you think; being an obligate carnivore does not make all food safe.

(CW: Past here, I talk about foodbourne illness, parasites, and animal death. If these topics upset you, I've summed up everything already!)

It's actually a misconception that cats can't get salmonella, e. coli, or listeria poisoning. They're just better at not getting it because food spends less time digesting in their shorter, carnivorous intestines. A lot of people actually switch to a raw food pet diet thinking it's healthier (and in some ways it is, afaik) but then improperly handle the pet food for this reason. Always freeze raw pet food and wash your hands please.

Salmonella poisoning in cats is sometimes called "Songbird Fever" because a house cat gets it by killing and eating a native songbird. In fact I'm going to use my little soapbox for a moment to please ask, if you don't keep your cat inside (which is the only way to completely prevent the death of songbirds), please, at the very least, only let them outside with a birds-be-safe collar cover.

(Salmonella poisoning is also why I've decided that ShadowClan would logically be the Clan that cooks the most. As Marsh and Pine hunters, well over 75% of their diet is birds and reptiles, which naturally contain salmonella)

So that's JUST farm animals and wild birds. Hantavirus, leptospirosis, toxoplasmosis, even the goddamn bubonic plague can be caught from wild rodents.

That's not even to mention tapeworms, roundworm, and other digestive parasites specifically evolved to live in an animal's stomach!

I remember someone made a joke about how these wild cats are eating random mice and walking away fine while their housecat throws up from getting the wrong brand of cat food. And... well... truth is, the wild cats are not fine. They're getting sick constantly.

Warrior Cats is just, ultimately, a young adult fantasy series about romance and political drama that chooses not to accurately portray feral cats dying horribly of preventable foodbourne illness.

SO TL;DR COOKING WILL HELP A LOT.

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

Clumsy Mouse

(Leona with rodent!Syn won, so here it is! Takes place the same week of Late Night Check In, so Leona is a bit salty about Syn’s disappearance AND finding out that Malleus and them hang out.

Also… yes, I may or may not have actually tripped like this before, but fuck off. I know I’m clumsy, lol. Also, yeah, Syn’s a gerbil but ‘Clumsy Gerbil’ doesn’t sound as good.)

Count: 6865

TW/CW: Soft, safe, nonsexual oral G/t vore and a bit of mouthplay

“Your tail’s twitching,” Ruggie said in mild amusement, glancing over said appendage as it flicked back and forth irritably.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leona crossed his arms over his chest and looked as casual as can be, though the illusion was broken by an even stronger twitch of his tail that threatened to flick high enough to knock off anything too close to the edge of the table. His ear twitched at Ruggie’s signature snicker.

“Sure ya don’t,” the hyena raised his arms to lace his fingers behind his head, mischievously adding, “I heard Malleus has been less sulky than usual these last few days.”

“RUGGIE.” Leona practically snarled, making the shorter man yelp.

“Aw, what’s that,” Ruggie asked rhetorically, covering his nervousness at Leona’s snap. “I forgot to take your clothes to the cleaners? Lemme take care of that real quick.”

The hyena quickly left the room while Leona glared at his retreating form for a few seconds. Once Ruggie was out of the room, Leona scoffed and growled to himself.

“Tch. That fucking lizard…”

__________________

“This is DEFINITELY not the right color,” Syn sighed, putting their hands on their hips as they looked at the far too orange concoction they’d ended up with in the small personal cauldron Professor Crewel had let them borrow for this extra credit assignment.

It was supposed to be red.

Huffing, they pulled their phone out of their pocket before hesitating on who to contact for help. They were getting real tired of having to rely on everyone else for their fucking coursework.

The Octavinelle trio were the first to come to mind, particularly Jade and Azul, but they still hadn’t gathered the nerve to apologize to Azul for snapping at him last week and they didn’t doubt the two eels were more than willing to jump them the second the duo was around them alone.

Both of them had already walked up during lunch at some point and told them to ‘watch their back’ lest they find themself ‘punished for their little stunt’. Probably the only reason they hadn’t yet was because of their duties as Mostro Lounge.

Riddle was good, but he explained things in so much detail that their head would swim instead of just saying 'Put two sprigs of Witch Willow in, then the Newts Breath' and they wanted to actually be able to make it themself rather than him just take over and hand them a final product. They weren't close to Vil and he specialized in poisons, though they didn't doubt he could handle the weak transmutation potion that was just meant to turn lead into aluminum… they mostly just felt awkward talking to him.

Syn growled as they scrolled through their contacts, debating just accepting the fail to bump their score when they turned it in tomorrow.

Coming across Leona's name, they paused and quirked an eyebrow. He'd helped them and Epel before… though, that had been because Epel mentioned Rook. Still, he’d been acting a bit weird the last couple days, almost aggressively helpful.

He still insulted them, sneered at them and called them ‘herbivore’, yet somehow he’d been almost TOO eager to try and offer his assistance despite grumbling the whole time and saying they should ‘cry tears of joy for his kindness’. It was only a bit more annoying than usual and maybe they could take advantage of his current ‘compassion’ to help them figure out where they went wrong.

With the full knowledge that texting seldom ever drew the lion's attention, they steeled themself to call him. As long as it wasn’t on mute, he should, theoretically, answer… maybe.

Syn started to peel off their labcoat and gloves as they waited with their phone on speaker, deciding to take a break from the protective fabric until Leona potentially showed up. After a few rings, the man surprisingly picked up.

“What do ya want, herbivore,” Leona’s voice was thick and a bit huskier from sleep, having obviously been woken up.

Well, now they felt a bit bad about trying to get his help. And suddenly very nervous to continue lest they bring the wrath of a pissed off lion on themself.

“Ack, you know what? It’s fine,” they said, waving their hand dismissively despite him not being able to see them. “Not that important, so sorry for waking you. I’ll let you-.”

“You’ve already woken me with something to say, so spit it out,” he demanded, making them sigh.

“Crewel gave me the chance to bump my grade with an extra credit transmutation potion, but I keep fucking it up somehow, so I was gonna ask for some help with it,” Syn reluctantly replied, fiddling with one of the rubber gloves they placed on the nearest desk. “I can probably figure it out at some point though, so don’t worry about it.”

There was a growl from the other side of the phone and they fully expected to be bitched at for wasting his time. Instead, to their immense surprise, Leona grumbled, “I’ll be there in a bit. Dump what you have so we can start from scratch and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Oh, uuuuh, thanks,” they blinked in surprise at his unnaturally amiable behavior, feeling hesitant and a bit suspicious about it.

“Don’t mention it. You owe me though,” they could practically feel the lions smugness from their phone, able to easily picture the smirk usually coupled with it.

“Of course,” they sighed, but it made more sense and was less disconcerting than the man somehow deciding to do something with no strings attached. Pinching the bridge of their nose, they added, “Fine, fine. As long as you can help me, whatever.”

“See you soon, herbivore,” Leona chuckled before the hang up tone sounded from their phone.

Syn huffed, glowering at the now black screen before placing the phone on the desk. As they grabbed the small cauldron by the cast iron handles, grunting a little at the weight, they supposed that it could be a lot worse. They could have Floyd wrapping himself around them to impede their movement or throwing random ingredients to cause something interesting (I.e. explosion) or Azul trying to swindle them for his assistance.

Leona would probably just eat them and pass out for a few hours, too lazy for much taunting and preferring to just get right to the point. Not ideal, but not the worst.

As they walked around a couple desks to the Magical Waste container where it would safely dissipate from a bunch of charms on it, they found themself tripping over nothing. The tip of their shoe just grazed the ground a bit too much as they lifted their leg and caused them to stumble.

“FUCK!”

They were able to keep themself from falling face first onto the personal cauldron and spilling it, jerking to the side to try and use the shelf beside them to remain upright. But, the force caused the shelf to shake, rattling ingredients against the glass doors for a moment before those same glass doors swung open. Several random ingredients fell on top of them and the cauldron, some loose and some in jars.

A particularly heavy jar struck them on top of their head and startled them with the sudden pain, causing them to bend forward in surprise and reach up to rub the spot… realizing halfway that they let go of one of the cauldron handles.

“Wait, fuck, nooo,” Syn practically wailed in tired exasperation as potion spilled and the cauldrons weight shifted enough for them to have to try and take a step to steady themself, sneaker slipping on the now wet floor. Letting out a startled scream as their foot slipped out from beneath them, they fell back against the ingredient shelf, potion and ingredients alike spilling onto them.

An explosion of multicolored smoke and magic sparkles burst in their vision, overwhelming their senses as they struggled to shake off the daze from their fall.

Head and back aching, they were at least relieved they were alive as they pushed themself to a sitting position, coughing harshly as they waved away tendrils of magic smoke from their face to see. And, coming across a somewhat familiar sight, they couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay, okay. I can handle being shrunk at this point,” Syn said, but looked at the mess surrounding them. Letting out a whine, they lamented, “Crewel’s going to kill me for this though… and right after he just told me earlier that he trusted me enough for a solo extra credit potion!”

They couldn’t help but bury their face in their hands for a second, not immune to craving approval. Approval of ‘not being a troublemaker like their Heartlabyul pups’ that was very much going to disappear when the Professor found out about this.

Sighing, they struggled to get to their feet on the potion-slicked floor, yelping when they saw something move in the corner of their vision. They quickly tried to catch a glimpse of it and felt something shift their hair, realizing that there was weight there that hadn’t been there before. Did their goggles not shrink right? They did notice that the plastic was no longer over their eyes.

Syn reached up, recoiling in surprise when they felt something large and round, eyes widening as they exclaimed, “What the-?!”

They forced themself to lift their hands to it again, heart sinking as whatever it was twitched and noticed that large, round ears adorned their head rather than their normal human ones. Which meant that the thing they saw swinging around was their tail, right?

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,”  they groaned as they reached back and grabbed a rather lengthy tail that was covered in tufted fur. They let go of the appendage that they could barely control, pressing a hand to their mouth as they struggled to contain their anger at the situation.

This was going to be a bit more difficult to resolve than just being shrunk.

“Oi, herbivore.”

Syn froze at Leona’s voice, something instinctive seizing their limbs. It was so strong and sudden that it had them questioning WHY considering they’d been in several situations like this. What was one more on top of it all?

But, as their heart raced and they felt their new ears twitch in the direction where the lion had spoken from, their eyes widened for a moment before closing them as realization set in. Not only did they give themself rodent ears and a lengthy rodent tail, it also seemed like their ‘prey’ instincts were magnified to an uncomfortable degree.

“Oh, come ON,” they murmured to themself, those same instincts making it difficult to say anything while around a ‘threat’. But Leona wasn’t a threat!... in the typical sense. It’s not like he meant them harm usually.

“Tch, typical Syn behavior,” Leona’s growl rumbled from the laboratory doorway, causing their ears to twitch again.

The sound of footsteps stepping into the room had them moving to the nearest desk leg before they could even realize what they were doing, blinking at suddenly finding themself hidden. Quickly frustrated at what felt like a lack of control, they silently cursed at themself while trying to rein in the startlingly strong instincts that just left every fiber of their being screaming to run and hide from the lion man.

If they wanted to get back to normal, or at least off the floor, they knew they’d have to both get his attention and his help.

“Hmmm,” a contemplative growl caught their attention, the footsteps pausing before getting closer to their desk. They stiffened in fear as the steps became louder, stopping right beside the desk where they were hiding beneath and right beside the mess of ingredients, potion, and discarded cauldron. He’d obviously caught a glimpse of the spill.

Syn felt like their heart was about to burst from their chest, deciding that maybe distancing themself from Leona would allow them the chance to shove their newfound instincts aside enough to get his attention and, hopefully, help.

Quickly and cautiously, they darted to the desk opposite the side where they barely caught a glimpse of Leona kneeling just as they moved. They heard him grumble something beneath his breath, probably something about the mess, but the blood was rushing too much in their ears as they moved to notice. They did notice the sound of shifting fabric as he stood back up and spoke a bit louder as he walked to the door, his boots and swaying tail visible through the legs of the desks.

“You still in here, herbivore?” he asked, the sound of the doors hinges creaking before it clicked shut. His boots turned as he faced the bulk of the room and added, “I didn’t catch a trail of your scent leaving the room, so either you’ve pulled off one hell of a disappearance trick this time, or you’re in here somewhere.”

Why the fuck was their heart picking up the pace?! It wasn’t like he sounded angry, just disgruntled like usual. Fucking, pull it together.

Syn took a deep inhale to try and calm their racing heart, trying to steel their courage past the near blinding fear that permeated their entire being, forcing themself to speak up before they could second guess themself.

“I had a bit of a potion mishap,” they called out, able to see the way his tail stilled for a second, able to picture his ears perking in their direction.

“Yeah, that was obvious. I hope you don’t expect me to just clean this up by myself,” Leona replied, starting to walk back towards where they were hidden, causing them to jolt and skitter back a couple steps as they struggled to maintain some level of composure.

“A-Ah, don’t get closer,” Syn yelped out, wincing at how desperate the exclamation came out. Seeing his boots pause, they quickly added, “I’m struggling a bit right now, and you’ll make it worse.”

“Tch,” he let out a scoff, starting to walk again despite their protest. “I can’t exactly help ya if I can’t see the damage.”

“There’s no damage,” they exclaimed, finding themself darting from the desk they were hidden under as his steps got closer. Under another desk before they could recognize that they’d started running, they panted from the brief sprint. They supposed the only good thing about this was their speed for the time being, but that wasn’t a big bonus when they were inches tall. “I, just… l-look, can you just make a growth potion or something, and I’ll clean everything up?”

Syn expected some kind of retort or snarky remark, maybe even an insult. But, instead, they were met with silence. A VERY unnerving amount of silence that lasted a few seconds and had them peering out to look in the direction where they’d last seen Leona’s boots and tail.

There was nothing there.

“Oooooh, fuuuuck. Where’d he go?” they mumbled to themself, looking around worriedly. They knew he was in the room still since they hadn’t heard the door open, but now they had no clue how they couldn’t notice a six foot tall man and the fact was incredibly worrying. Feeling like they were going to die from suspense after far too many seconds, they nervously called out, “Uh, L-Leona?...”

“There you are.”

Leona’s voice from behind them caused Syn to jolt and whirl around just in time to see a wall of black directly in front of them, yelping as they found themself pinned unceremoniously to the ground by one of his hands. Black leather slid across their body and they found themself picked up by their tail as the man straightened from kneeling beside the desk they were hiding under.

“Leona! Put me down!” Syn shouted, finding themself a bit dizzy from vertigo that was not helped by the fact that the only thing supporting them was a thin tail that was pinched between his two forefingers, arms and legs flailing for a second without their own support.

“Oh, this is priceless,” the lion laughed, making their ears wilt away from the sound. Sharp fangs glinted in the laboratory light and caused a shiver down their spine. “When you mentioned a transmutation potion, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“That’s because this wasn’t supposed to happen,” they snapped, balling up their fists angrily, able to feel the tip of their tail twitching. It was a very weird sensation that didn’t really help with anything. “It was supposed to turn lead into aluminum, not this! Also, how the hell could I not hear you approach?!”

“Well, my squeaking prefect,” Leona said in amusement, deciding to sit on one of the lab stools beside the desk, using his elbow to recline against the desktop. “I’m just better than you. Though, I’m very surprised you’re remotely okay if this was the result of your little mishap by the shelf.”

“I mean, same,” Syn sighed, glancing over in the direction of the spill with a small whine. “Crewel’s gonna kill me for wasting so many ingredients.”

Leona rolled his eyes, replying, “Don’t be so dramatic, herbivore. You’ll be fine. Besides, he’ll probably be impressed that you fucked up in such a way that you somehow produced a high quality animal transmutation potion and didn’t die. Despite all the trouble you get into, you’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

“Ugh, I don’t feel lucky,” they grumbled, rubbing their face with their hands a bit tiredly. Despite their still pounding heart, they were able to hold their panic at bay easier as seconds ticked on. “If you turn me back to normal, I can clean everything up and then we don’t have to worry about it, and-.”

“No can do, herbivore,” Leona practically purred as they jolted at his response.

“Wha- no can do?! What do you mean,” they asked, startled. Frowning in irritation, they added, “Look, if this is about me owing you, you can eat me afterwards.”

“Sounds like a waste of some growth potion,” the lion replied, smirking as their face flushed a bit in further anger. “But, no, that’s not all of it. I can’t exactly turn you normal because I don’t know the extent of your transmutation potion, so here’s how this is gonna go.

“I’m gonna clean up your mess, show you how to make your original transmutation potion, and then you’re spending the night with me as payment for making me go through all of this. In the morning, I’ll grow ya and we can take you to the infirmary to see about reversing your mouse-ness,” Leona used his other hand to gesture at all of them while they huffed.

“I mean, you don’t have to do anything but make me normal size, but I have a feeling there’s something else going on,” Syn sighed, ear twitching. Something crossed Leona’s expression for a moment, but it disappeared before they could gauge what it was.

“There’s nothing else going on,” he denied, voice betraying that there very much was something else going on. But, metaphorically poking Leona while they were normal-sized was already asking for trouble. Poking him at this size was probably akin to a deathwish, and they’d very much like to see the light of day at least a few more times.

“Riiight, sure.” they said slowly in disbelief. They blinked a bit as the grip on their tail shifted so their tail was pinched between his two forefingers and thumb, making their heart drop as they exclaimed, “A-Ah, what’re you doing?”

“I need my hands free to clean up, don’t I,” Leona asked, giving them a cheeky smirk as he lifted them a bit higher, leaning forward a bit to position them closer to his face. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you. Yet.”

Syn found their heart skip a beat almost painfully as it began to hammer in their chest again, finding that they were struggling to hold their panic at bay again. They couldn’t help but flail uselessly as they exclaimed, “That’s not reassuring, you know! I’m out here with fucking rodent mentality!”

“So you’re a bit more mousey than usual-.”

“I AM NOT MOUSEY!”

“Whatever you say, herbivore,” the man chuckled, opening his jaws. Sharp fangs and teeth the size of their head split apart, allowing him to extend his tongue beneath them as he began to lower them closer. They could see a string of saliva just past his teeth, knowing full well that his throat was just out of sight behind the white bone.

“Leona, don’t you fucking dare!” Syn shouted, protest predictably falling on deaf ears as they were lowered further, their struggling only serving to make them sway by their tail.

Their ears twitched as they felt Leona’s warm breath wash over them, grimacing when they were lowered enough that their hands made contact with the somewhat rough surface of his tongue. It shifted beneath their weight and they yelped as they found themself promptly lowered the rest of the way, tongue quickly curling past their legs and drawing them entirely within his maw.

Well, most of them.

While saliva began to soak their clothes, hair, and now a bit of fur from their new ears, they felt their tail released. He made no effort to have it join the rest of them, tongue bucking beneath them to start savoring whatever flavor they had while the tail flicked about outside in irritation and fear.

“Fucking bastard,” Syn hissed to themself, unable to keep from squirming thanks to their rodent instincts. But, thankfully, the lion didn’t seem to mind it as he tasted them, presumably preoccupied with fixing their mess. They could barely gauge that he was moving past the tongue twisting around them or the chuffing that rumbled from the back of his throat, reverberating through their bones.

After what was probably at least a couple minutes of savoring them, leaving their limbs aching and them tired, they found themself pinned to the roof of his mouth and sucked on a bit as he swallowed the excess saliva.

They felt their tail become taut when his jaws opened once more, shivering as they were pulled back out by their tail. Blinking in the comparatively bright light after a few minutes stuck being tasted like some kind of living candy, they saw Leona licking his lips as he held them in front of him.

“Alright, herbivore,” he said, placing them on the desk where they’d left their labwear. He was donned in his own, small cauldron set up and the spill by the ingredient shelves was gone. Placing his hands on his hips, he asked, “You said that your potion was supposed to be transmutating lead into aluminum, right?”

“Yeah,” Syn shuddered, instinctively flicking their hands to try and rid themself of a bit more saliva as it cooled on their skin, leaving them a bit chilly. They ignored it and gestured to their labcoat, saying, “I have a notebook in here somewhere with the extra credit stuff Crewel told me about.”

Leona clicked his tongue a bit in mild annoyance and brushed their labcoat aside, pulling out a small, black notebook and starting to thumb through it.

“Should be the last page I wrote on,” Syn tried to offer helpfully, earning only a grunt of acknowledgement.

After a few seconds, it looked like he’d reached the right page, green eyes flicking over the page with a bored gaze before he quirked an eyebrow. Flipping the notebook around to show them their own scrawled handwriting, he pointed to their ingredients list with a rubber-gloved finger, telling them, “No wonder you were getting the wrong results. You completely mixed up the measurements of the Wormwood and the Knave Leaf.”

Leona turned the book back towards himself, continuing to look the rest of it over for several seconds before closing it shut with a snap. Placing it back on the desk, he turned away and walked over to the ingredients shelf, stating, “Everything else seemed fine.

“I’m not going to hold your hand through the potion-making process. You seem competent enough that you would have gotten it right if you didn’t get the measurements mixed up,” he continued, pulling down extras of ingredients that they didn’t have enough of after three failed attempts on their own. Walking back, he placed them beside the cauldron and started working, “So, I’m just gonna make it for you so that Crewel doesn’t get on your case as much tomorrow.”

“Oh… thanks?” Syn said hesitantly, giving him a suspicious look. “You’re being… surprisingly helpful.”

Their eyes widened and they couldn’t help the actual SQUEAK that they let out when the lion’s head whipped around to shoot them a glare so intense that they practically expected to burst into flames. They quickly tried to backtrack a bit, of course, adding, “A-Ah, c’mon. You can’t just do a bit of a one-eighty and NOT expect me to sense something is up. I won’t pry anymore, just caught off guard!”

Leona continued to glare at them for a second or two before deciding that they likely weren’t worth the energy to snap at over, going back to the potion with a huff and growled, “You’re lucky I’m in a good enough mood to not bite you over testing your boundaries again, herbivore.”

Syn almost asked if he was ever in a good mood, but held their tongue with the way he emphasized the little nickname he called them.

An almost awkward silence fell, watching him eventually scoop out a phial of the transmutation potion, a proper red hue compared to what they’d made earlier. And, as he placed it on the desk and prepared to clean everything up, they spoke up, “ … I do genuinely appreciate this, you know.”

With his back turned to them, they couldn’t gauge his full reaction. But, they knew he heard them with the way an ear swiveled in their direction and the way his tail paused for a moment. They’d almost think he was touched if he didn’t immediately scoff.

“Tch, don’t mention it. Besides, if my favorite snack gets in trouble, how else am I going to enjoy our special naps,” he looked back at them with a smug grin that showed off his pointed fangs, making them sigh as he cleared everything with ease. “That includes you running off without any warning to anyone.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Syn huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. They watched their tail flick back and forth a bit in mild irritation.

“You should have known what you were getting into when you reached out to me for help,” Leona replied, suddenly back in his dorm uniform as he walked back to the desk they were sitting on top of.

They nodded a bit, saying, “You’re right, but you proceed to exceed my expectations every time. Besides, the amount of people I trust enough to ask for help that aren’t Ace or Deuce AND wouldn’t eat me as payment is small enough to count on my fingers. I should have asked Riddle or Vil or-...”

Syn’s head tilted slightly as they felt like a piece of some puzzle clicked into place, mentally facepalming as they stopped themself from saying the next name. Because while he was still Hornton to them, weirdly eccentric and stoic friend that stalked the grounds of campus at night, he was Malleus to Leona. Malleus Draconia, Spelldrive competitor and someone who Leona apparently hated with a passion.

And he’d taken them to the library earlier this week to help them with Fae history homework where they’d come across him with Leona after going to find the book required.

“Or, who, herbivore?” Emerald green eyes narrowed down at them, the beginning of a snarl on Leona’s face crinkling the side of his nose and corner of his mouth.

Syn had the distinct feeling that whatever they said next would determine their chances of surviving the night under the lions ‘care’.

“Jamil, of course,” they lied, even though the man had never actually crossed their mind just because of how busy he constantly was. They just hoped they were too small for Leona to properly hear their nervous heartbeat or that he would just mistake it for their current rodent propensity. “I heard he’s pretty proficient in a lot of subjects, but Kalim is usually keeping him busy.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed slightly as he let out a contemplative growl, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk and propped his chin in his hand. Completely ignoring their response like he hadn’t just given them a death glare, he asked, “Is it just your labwear and notebook you brought with you?”

“Uhhh,” caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, Syn got to their feet and began to walk along the edge of the desk to look beneath the sides, replying, “My backpack’s around here somewhere. We can chuck the stuff inside.”

“Your phone?”

“Already in my bag,” they said, eventually seeing the black fabric and pointing down to where it was hidden behind one of the desk legs, feeling their ears perk up at the sight. “There it is!”

Leona made a noise of acknowledgement and bent down to see where they pointed, picking up the bag that was only a bit bigger than his head and a lot smaller than a normal backpack. Frowning, he glanced at the bundle of labwear and rubber gloves on the desk, and asked, “All this is gonna fit in here?”

“Yeah! Here, place it on the desk,” Syn perked up, watching the man do so. They walked up to it a bit excitedly and explained, “It was expensive as hell, but check it out! Watch the little pin on the front.”

The lion raised an eyebrow but they watched his gaze fall on the currently colorless pin that shined iridescently in the lab light.

Clearing their throat, they spoke clearly, “Labwear.”

Almost immediately the pin began to shift through a multitude of colors on its faceted surface before settling on a white and black color scheme that was almost reminiscent of a chunk of marble. Before Leona could question the pin's color, Syn spoke up.

“Okay, now open it,” they said, almost bouncing on their feet. Leona shot them a look that suggested he didn’t understand their excitement, but they didn’t care, watching him unzip the top of the bag and look inside.

“It’s just another labcoat.”

“Well, duh, but check out the size,” Syn exclaimed, walking over and peering inside when he turned the opening to face them. “That labcoat should be bursting the bag at the seams! But, Vil said this is a Poppin’s brand bag, made specifically to hold more than meets the eye. And it’s voice activated for specific needs! I have pockets for all of you.”

“What?”

“Here, put my stuff in there and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Leona grumbled something about taking orders from them but still packed their stuff inside, albeit a bit more haphazardly than they’d like, feeling like their notebook was now a bit crinkled. It’d usually just go under their name anyways, but they’d fix it later.

Gesturing for him to rezip the bag, they sat down cross-legged and said, “Leona.”

The pin swirled its plethora of colors before settling on a marigold yellow. When he gave them a questioning look, they gave him an encouraging motion to open it, watching him expectantly.

They felt an almost odd feeling in their chest but ignored it, unable to keep themself from saying, “I got a bunch of snacks for everyone! Yours is a bunch of stuff like beef jerky, and meat sticks. There’s also this stuff called biltong that’s like beef jerky, but it’s more tender apparently.”

Leona’s expression, naturally sour sometimes, was almost unreadable as he reached in and grabbed a bag of aforementioned biltong out of the backpack. A coy smirk made its way onto his face as he commented, “I see you’re taking a leaf out of Ruggie’s book about sucking up to me to get what you want.”

“Wha-? No,” Syn found themself squawking a bit in indignation, placing a hand to their chest. “I literally said I have snacks for everyone!”

“I’m just messing with you, herbivore, no need to get your tail in a twist,” the lion chuckled, placing the bag back in the backpack. “I’ll definitely be trying some of those later. After all, I’m a large lion, and you’re just a little herbivore that wouldn’t provide much sustenance anyways.”

“I’m going to ignore that last comment for my sanity and take the rest as your version of a compliment,” they huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. But, despite their irritation, they couldn’t help but feel pleased with themself that they had picked things that he at least seemed interested in.

That pleased feeling gave way to alarm when they felt a rumble from their trachea that rattled all the way down to their chest.

Syn couldn’t help but jolt at the feeling, instinctively curling in on themself a bit and wrapping their arms around their torso as they let out a bit of a startled noise that had Leona giving them a funny look.

“The hell was that?” he asked, glancing them over.

“I-I don’t know,” they admitted, uncurling cautiously. “It was just… I don’t know, like some sort of vibration throughout my upper torso, it was really weird.”

His brow furrowed a bit in confusion before a look of recognition crossed his face, laughing for a second as he asked, “Are you talking about PURRING?”

“What? No! Rodents can’t purr,” Syn exclaimed, before second-guessing themself, giving him a startled look. “ …Can they?”

“Don’t know. Never had a rodent happy to be in my presence,” Leona said, reaching over and grabbing them off the desk’s surface carefully in his fingers, thankfully not dangling them by their tail this time. Straightening up, he lazily tossed their bag over his shoulder. “When you said you were going to take it as a compliment, I didn’t expect you to think so highly of me that it would cause you to PURR.”

“I swear, rodents don’t purr,” they protested, feeling their face heat up in embarrassment as they shifted in his hold. “I’ve never heard of rodents purring!”

“Then why is your face red, herbivore?”

“Because you’re embarrassing me, asshole,” Syn instinctively tried to hide their face behind their hands but they couldn’t hide their rapidly twitching tail. “I’m fucking flustered!”

He only proceeded to laugh at their misery while they struggled to calm themself enough to not have their face a mottled red, walking towards the lab door as he pocketed the transmutation potion he made for them. Lifting them up to his face, they could feel his breath as he said, “Alright, I’ll give you some protection potion when we get to Savanaclaw, but I’m not carrying you the whole way there.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” they replied with a groan, running their hands across their face as if it would just wipe away their embarrassment. “Just stick me in your mouth so I don’t have to hear you talk.”

“Gladly,” Leona chuffed a bit in amusement at their response, jaws opening in front of them.

Despite their rodent instincts flaring up a little at the sight, they couldn’t bring themself to struggle much as they were popped inside of his mouth, still trying to recover from being flustered and still tired from his tasting earlier. Unlike before, he made sure their tail was carefully tucked inside before his teeth clicked closed behind them.

Probably more because he didn’t want to deal with potential questions on why he had something sticking out of his mouth as he walked rather than any sort of benevolence on his part.

In the half hour or so it probably took him to reach the Hall of Mirrors - and, in turn, Savanaclaw - Leona tossed and turned them in his jaws, tongue easily maneuvering them around to try and get all of their flavor like a living hard candy. A living hard candy that was very much drenched and still stiffened everytime they found themself pressed against his teeth, whether it was intentional or not. Anytime they worried that they would become overwhelmed by pools of saliva, they found themself to his palette as he swallowed any excess.

They also didn’t appreciate the occasional points where he’d open his teeth slightly and give them a light nibble, yelping and cussing him out each time while kicking his tongue. Their only response was a chuckle that mixed in with his pleased chuffs that still rattled their bones.

Syn was pretty sure they heard at least a couple people’s voices outside past the sloshing noise of him tasting them, but if anyone was trying to get his attention they were apparently ignored very easily.

Eventually, they could sense the tasting begin to slow, allowing them a breather that allowed them to hear a familiar muffled voice. They couldn’t discern whatever it was Ruggie asked, but they yelped as they were pressed to the roof of the mouth again as Leona swallowed the saliva buildup before they were pulled out by their tail. Again.

“I was helping herbivore here with some kind of lab work extra credit,” Leona replied while Syn blinked spots from their eyes in time to see Ruggie’s startled expression.

“What kind of extra credit results in this,” the hyena asked, caught off guard at the sight of the prefect dangling in his housewarden’s hand.

“THIS was the result of a lab accident. I’m helping them fix it tomorrow.”

“Hey, Ruggie,” Syn greeted tiredly. As they took in their surroundings, it looked like Leona had walked straight to his room, their bag already tossed haphazardly on the floor.

“Man, you just keep finding yourself in these predicaments, huh,” Ruggie said, initial shock giving way to amusement as he raised his arms up and placed his hands behind his head. Laughing a bit, he added, “I don’t envy your luck! I guess I’ll leave you be for now, Leona, but don’t forget about the Housewarden meeting tomorrow.”

“I won’t. I’m not Draconia,” Leona growled, rolling his eyes.

The hyena left with one last snicker, leaving the two alone as the lion walked over to the desk beside his bed.

Leona placed Syn on a clean spot on the desks surface and began rummaging through the drawers while they still got used to being in the outside world for now. Savanaclaw was warmer than the lab usually, but that still didn’t stop a small shiver.

“You’re quieter than normal,” he commented, closing a drawer as he straightened with a protection potion in hand.

“Yeah, I kind of spent the last half hour feeling like I was going through a spin cycle,” they snapped in response, taking a handful of the stuff after he popped the phial open and offered it to them. “Thanks.”

Leona snorted in amusement, placing the phial back and plucking them back off the desk as they shuddered from the feeling of the protection potion running through them. Licking his lips, he said, “Well, luckily for you, I’m eager to get this over with and go to sleep.”

“Goodie.”

Syn’s sarcastic reply didn’t phase the lion as he opened his mouth and placed them in once more. He really wasn’t lying about getting it over with because they only found themself lapped at a couple times to slicken them before a powerful swallow pulled them down into his throat.

It was all a lot louder than usual, their ears trying to flatten against their head as his chuffing and heartbeat intensified, everything constricting further as they slipped past his collarbone.

There was a jolt around them that would have jostled them if it wasn’t for the confines of his esophagus, realizing he had flopped back on his bed when they slipped into his stomach and found that there was already a weight on one side of the stomach where his hand was resting. They shifted to get a bit more comfortable as he let out a content sigh, mumbling, “Night, herbivore.”

“Night, Leona,” Syn replied, barely getting the response out before the man started snoring around them. Which was also louder than normal. Sighing a bit at the knowledge that they weren’t going to get much sleep tonight, they grumbled, “Yeah, that seems about right.”

………………….

“What do you mean I’m stuck like this until next week?!” Syn exclaimed, appalled as they stared at Professor Crewel.

“I mean just that, my Ramshackle pup,” Crewel continued to call them a pup despite their rodent features. “Since it’s not an emergency, we can’t get a specialist Medical mage with a Transmutation license until the start of next week at the earliest.”

They tried to not let themself seem upset over this, but their newfound ears wilted at the information. At least they were normal sized.