#guard dog fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

decojellyfish · 6 months ago

Note

OH MY GOD I just fell in love with the blog and not if you are taking requests but if so I would like to suggest a guard dog!Ghost and Abandoned kitten!reader where price maybe adopt the reader and ghost take care of her??

I am so sorry this took so long! But thank you SO much for being my first request/ask! This idea is really cute, I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I hope you like it! Also, I hope this makes up for the angst fic about Dragon! Price lol

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Bonbon

Hybrid AU! TF141 (Retired) Guard dog! Ghost x Kitten! Reader x Owner! Price !!No Romance For Obvious Purposes!!

SFW ~ Fluff

Warnings: None!

───♡───────────── Beginning

10:30 AM. That was the time John Price would go grocery shopping every day. Today’s list was a few ingredients for tonight’s dinner, more rawhide for his rescue dog, Ghost, and paper towels. What he didn’t expect to be suddenly added to the list, after he had just bought and paid for his groceries, was a kitten. Today, Price had to take a different route to the grocery store. The usual trail he would take was under heavy construction, much to his dismay. But he still managed to get to the store. About 4 minutes after leaving the store, he passed by a short alleyway. Now, no one ever really pays any mind to alleys. Until a noise comes from said hypothetical alleyway. And that’s just what happened. A little grunt, followed by a small cry, and then the sound of a takeout box crashing onto the ground. It made the retired captain stop in his tracks and turn his head to look into the dark alley. He could only hear tiny little munches now, and he could only make out the tiniest little figure in the void. Price made sure to be careful with his steps, he could tell that this little thing could be easily startled. Then he finally realized what he had come across.

It was a you! A little kitten and a very hungry one at that. You were munching on someone’s thrown-out, moldy, spaghetti, your tiny little fangs doing the best they could at tearing the pasta apart. It didn’t seem like you’d been there for that long, considering how young you looked. You remained in a little cardboard box, that appeared to be your makeshift home. It was filthy and withering away, like the blanket you had too. And your clothes. And you in general. You were a very dirty kitten. It didn’t help that your being hungry all the time caused you to be a messy eater.

By the time you had realized a big thing had snuck up behind you, your face was already coated in marinara. You snapped your head to look at the big creature and quickly folded your ears back and fluffed your little tail up. You hissed with all your might, knowing that you were probably the scariest thing this large figure, well over five times your size, had ever seen. Price only looked at you, taking in your starving appearance. Eating tossed food was unhealthy for a young thing like you. Surely, he had to have something on him that would make you trust him. He set his bags of groceries down and searched his pockets. He was relieved when he found one of those strawberry bonbons in his back pocket. You know, the ones that only grandmas seem to have. He unwrapped it and set it down in front of your hissing form. He would then grab his bags and slowly back away, watching for any kind of movement that came from you. After what felt like ten minutes, you would sneak up to the bonbon. Cautiously, you would reach your little hand out to it and snatch it right into your mouth. Price was almost terrified, thinking you would choke on it with how disparate you were for this little piece of candy. But thankfully, you didn’t. You would sit there and just let the hard candy melt in your mouth. This tasted so much better than moldy pasta. You looked up at the guy who gave you this candy, reaching up and making grabby hands for more. Price was relieved at your reaction, taking it as an okay that you wanted to be picked up. So he scooped you up into his arms and began the journey home.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ghost could already smell his owner through the door, peeved that he was a little later than arriving home on his usual time. But something was off about Price’s smell. There was an additional scent, something he’d never smelled before. It was a rancid smell, especially overwhelming due to his strong nose. Whatever Price was bringing home, it needed to either be cleaned or immediately disposed of. The door opened, and Price would quickly set his bags of groceries down before going into the bathroom. Ghost would pause, processing that he’d just seen his owner with what looked like a tiny human. Had he been seeing a mistress of some sort??? Ghost would’ve known, he would’ve smelled some perfume on his owner by now. He continued to think about it while he took the groceries and began to put them away in the kitchen.

Price had drawn a bath, ensuring the water was warm but not scalding. You were sitting on the bath rug, looking around the bathroom you were in. The large dog man sitting in the doorway wasn’t that subtle, so you looked at him too. You looked at him for a long time, mostly because he’d been staring at you for a while. It was like a staring contest between the two of you. “That should be good.” Price said to himself, turning around to you. He watched the silent stares between you and Ghost, causing him to chuckle before he picked you up and gingerly set you down in the warm, bubbly water. You mewed and squealed in protest like any other cat would. Price would quietly shush you as he began to mush shampoo into your hair and tail.

After your little bath, during which you spent a good chunk of it verbally disapproving until you realized it wasn’t doing anything. Now, you were content. You’d been swaddled up in a large towel, your hair air-drying as you rested on the couch. Price could tell you were happy because you sounded like an active car engine. You were purring, and you were purring loud. You hadn’t felt this warm and cozy since… well, you’ve never been warm or cozy once in your life. You were always cold, hungry, and never comfortable. Now, you had this random guy clean all the dust, dirt, and grime off of you and now he was preparing food for you. And yeah, this big dog who’s constantly trying to figure out why you suddenly appeared in his home. But you were willing to put up with him. Eventually, Price came back with a small plate filled with soft foods. He would spoon-feed you a bit of squishy rice to which you happily ate it up, you were starving. You would loudly purr through your little munches, causing Price to chuckle. “This must be a lot better than the rubbish you were stuck with earlier, yeah?” You wouldn’t respond, but still purred and opened your mouth for another bite, to which Price readily spoon-fed you some more.

Ring ring! The sound surprised all three of you, Price was getting a phone call. “Agh, work…” He grumbled when he checked the caller ID. “Ghost, why don’t you feed the wee one for a bit, hm?” He handed the plate and small spoon to his big scary dog, to which, he begrudgingly agreed as it looked like he had no choice. Ghost looked down at you as Price stepped away to take the call. You looked up at him, both of you resuming your staring contest. Until you meowed, impatiently. Ghost rolled his eyes, hastily feeding you a spoonful of pudding. The sweetness of the dessert surprised you, you’d never had a dessert that was fresh, cold, and not coated in mold or garbage juices. You immediately meowed again, demanding more. This big monster of a dog couldn’t believe he was being bossed around by this little kitten! But alas, he fed you another spoonful of pudding, then rice, until the whole plate was empty.

About 10 minutes later, Price returned to the living room. He was pleasantly surprised by the scene that beheld him. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping soundly while Ghost was curled around you and loudly snoring. Price could only chuckle to himself, shaking his head before he grabbed a blanket. He placed it over you and Ghost and relaxed on the couch as well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ghost woke up, immediately alert when he couldn’t smell you. He could hear Price in the kitchen, cooking up dinner for that night. The dog-hybrid got up and began his search for you, faintly being able to smell you from down the hall. Peering into Price’s bedroom, he could see that the television was on. It was set to a children’s cartoon channel, and then he saw you. You were swimming in one of Price’s shirts, making biscuits out of his fluffy blankets as you happily watched cartoons. He would walk up to the bed, sitting on the side of it. His weight caused the bed to dip on one side, making you almost roll over if it wasn’t for Ghost panicking and swiftly holding you in place before he moved to the center of the bed, balancing the weight out. It didn’t phase you, you just went back to making biscuits. It made Ghost chuckle, your nonchalant-ness. Price entered the bedroom after about an hour, ready to announce that dinner was ready. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw you and Ghost playing together. He was using one of his old toys that he had held onto since he was a puppy, playing tug of war with you. Obviously, he was going easy on you, his grasp on the toy limp while you were gripping the toy between your teeth like your life depended on winning. But it made him smile when he saw how happy you would get every time you won each round.

But he would definitely make it harder to win when you grew up.

───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests or asks, feel free to submit them! And thank you again, anonymous, for being my first request!

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penvisions · 2 months ago

Text

gone to the dogs {chapter 6}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: You and Joel make what you can of the life you lead in the zone, though the thought of more begins to form in your thoughts three years down the line.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, age gap (pre time skip reader late 20's and joel is early 40's, post time skin reader is 30 and joel is mid 40's), outbreak fic, degrading language, violence, heated interactions, adult language, fighting, references to injuries, blood, sexual content, rough sex, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v (it's the end of the world, y'all), slight dom/sub vibes, topping from the bottom maybe?, sexual propositions, oral (m receiving), warnings of pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, references to off screen abuse, references to off screen assault (not reader), non con touching (not joel), mentions of past use of narcotics, illegal smuggling, references to death, lemme know if i left any out!

A/N: hi and bye (not back to posting on a regular basis yet but wanted to share this with y'all)

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

The ground beneath your feet tears up with the force of your running steps, panic and terror making you numb to the amount of noise you’re making as you try to escape from the man who had separated you from everything you had ever known. A shock of violence for your quiet group as they had settled for the night just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The image of Frankie being slammed into the ground hard and the breath knocked out of him burned into your mind’s eye. Of everyone, the few still left scattered like bugs underneath a log that was plucked from the earth.

They had come out of nowhere, ambushed your little group a mere five miles out from the zone that you had escaped from at the first sign of trouble, of change. It had only lasted two years, the initial set up for protection and mutual residence. Safety in numbers, safety in routine, safety in working together to preserve what worked from a time past and figuring out what worked in the current time.

But it all deteriorated. You had witnessed it with your own two eyes, the fall of what people clung to, the fall of what little relic of civilization had tried to survive. Frank hadn’t wanted to go, always believing that things could get better, that they wouldn’t fall, that people were good.

He had been convinced when you told him about the officer that had cornered you and tried to force himself on you in exchange for a few extra ration cards. His stuff packed in less than a day and a group of three others who he was on friendly terms with quickly gathering supplies when you showed up at their doorstep.

You had been torn from him, voice hoarse from shouting out at the rough treatment. Distracted by the violence that had befallen your group, territory being protected, and people seen as a threat. The pack of food and supplies was ripped from your shoulders as a man took advantage of your shock, of your shouting for someone who wasn’t you. It was the last time you were ever that unaware of your surroundings. It was the moment that changed the trajectory of your life, altered the very person who you were supposed to be into who you would become.

“Now you listen here and you listen good, little girl.” The man’s breath was ragged as he leaned in close and pressed his hands into the soft give of your chest. Fingers curling in a suggestive manner. “You’re either gonna let me have my way with you or you’re gonna be of some other use. Don’t need no one who can’t earn their keep.”

“Then let me go.” Your eyes look past him, to where Frankie is being thrown to the ground underneath the persuasion of a shotgun. His hands are shaking, held up in front of him. Looking straight at the accomplice of the man who had set his sights on you. A spare glance from both of them, then the man is smirking before turning back to Frankie and saying something that steals all the color from his face.

“Not on the table. We got two jobs for you, it’s your choice which one you’re willing to do.”

“Neither.” You spit into his face, the hold he has on your arm tightening and beginning to sting, your skin smarting.

“Cheeky bitch,” His palm is sharp where it lands on your cheek, stinging. He roughly jostles you, pain blossoming. Throwing you to the ground, all you can do is try to keep the trembling of your bottom lip to yourself and the tears watering your eyes from falling. “You’ll learn to respect me, that’s for damn sure.”

He laid himself over you completely, face far too close, his hands running up and down the length of your body. They lingered in places they shouldn’t, fingers dipped underneath the waistband of your jeans and then settled again over your chest where he feels it in his palms roughly. Moving to caress your face, he croons at how young and pretty you are, unsettling your stomach and rousing bile in your throat. All you can do is force your mind to blank and hope that the others got away…

You feel the same tendrils of fear now, as your boots beat into the ground now. There’s an eerie feeling about the early morning as the rising sun paints the sky with deep pink and orange hues, the distant screeching of possessed beings chasing after you. The safety that’s slowly diminishing as you rush around chunks of concrete and avoid spokes of rebar reaching for you.

Joel isn’t by your side, having pivoted when a clicker ended up between you both. There was a meet up point, in case of separation. That’s where you were headed, even as you hear the runners behind you gain speed at the harsh breaths, you’re unable to silence as your lungs burn.

Your pack catches on the corner as you round a building that still remains standing, the fabric ripping and the contents inside spilling out. You trip on a canister of coffee, the roll of it just right to be wrong and you feel yourself begin to go down. A monstrous snarl is far too close and you don’t even think to look back as you use your hands to push off the side of the building and then shove off the pack, goods be damned. Your life was more important.

He would understand, you know he would, but you still lament the loss of the pack.

You’re suddenly pinned to the ground, a heavy weight on your back uprooting your center of gravity.

Snapping teeth and a deep, guttural snarling fills your ear and drives your heartbeat up to a painful notch. Your hands scrape on the earth beneath you as you plant them as firmly as you can and arch your back to throw off the weight. Gnarled, spindly hands rake down the back of your jacket but the lack of nails on the tips of the infected’s fingers allows for you to buck them off of you directly. As soon as they land beside you, they lunge, crawling toward you on all fours in a terrifying scramble.

The gun you had lays between you both, the safety off. Kicking out, the heel of your boot makes a sickly crunch when you land a hit on the side of the infected’s head. The action pulls out a grating howl but gives you enough time to scurry forward for the weapon and as soon as it’s in your grip you’re pulling the trigger once, twice, three times before the thing collapses on its front and goes silent.

But you don’t waste a second, you don’t think you even take in a full breath before you’re back on your feet and running once again. You can’t see the others, but you can hear them, can sense them honing in on the gunfire and their steps are loud as they careen to where you had been just moments before.

You only watch with bated breath as you hear the distant sound of echoing footsteps from end of the hall. The door to the stairwell pushes open, creaking for the barest of seconds until a single hand curls around it, securing a hold on the handle just so and lifts the door slightly to relieve the tension on the hinges. It’s quiet as it slowly swings open the rest of the way and Joel’s form steps through it.

Your stomach swoops and the tense ball of fear and concern eases in your chest. Because for all your snapping teeth and biting words, for all the brandishing threats of your knife and the deliberate pointing of the barrel of your gun, the power in your decisions – you do have fear. For him to transform into something even you couldn’t bring him back from. From him simply disappearing from you in a heartbeat and you’d be left with nothing but a body that was once warm and housed his soul.

Sucking in a breath to center yourself, you watch as he traverses down the hallway, carefully avoiding the little traps and deterrents you’ve set up over the years. Once he’s cleared the distance and through the door to the apartment that is the hideaway and meet up spot, the door is closed and locked securely behind him.

His hands are scrabbling at you, reaching and pulling you nearly flush to him. Joel’s expression is hard, but behind his eyes you can see the worry and concern that he’s feeling. The steel gray that streaks through his dark hair is more apparent in the sunshine that filters in through broken windows and crumbling walls of the hotel lobby. Prominent in his sideburns, the scruff along the curve of his strong jaw, and the dusting of hairs across his chest. There’s water that has built up over the years, from the rain that trickles in, green with a thick layer of film over the top. It’s not an adjustment anymore to reach for him when you’re overwhelmed, though your voice and instincts betray you in snarky comments and biting rebuttals all the same.

“You did good,” He rumbles, voice breathy as he pants to regain the air in his lungs. He had taken longer to make it to the meeting point, but he was here. He was okay. You feel the harsh beats of your heart begin to calm, your own breathing beginning to even as you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook there. His large palms are sliding down your back as he kneels. Hooking underneath your thighs as he hauls you into his arms, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist.

“Nasty scratch there,” You notice the bloody line cut into the skin of his chest, where his shirt is unbuttoned at the top, his undershirt gone- it’s hanging back in your shared apartment on a drying line from when you had washed it a few days ago. Yesterday’s run was not supposed to drag and turn into an anxious and long overnight stay in the ruins of the city outside of the zone. Not supposed to be a loss, but a win for the collection that steadily grows between two apartments and three partners.

You knew things were getting worse, but this was the first time any run had fallen apart in such a fashion in a long while.

“It’ll heal, they always do.”

He’s littered with them, from runs and trips and even an altercation or two with Bill over the years. But he’s fine, he’s more than fine. He’s…he’s strong, capable, a force to be reckoned with. A big, silhouette of a man that no one would dare to mess with. He’s really come into himself more, defined a clear-cut way of business that he’s taken a more invested front in. You still head the smuggling, the deals, the runs, dictating when and where he and Tess need to be. But he’s definitely the muscle of the operation, the one that people deal with the most.

He's bowing to press his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, spurring hot sparkles to dance along your skin and mingle with the sharp adrenaline that pumps through your veins. Teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip, at cut of your jaw, the column of your neck as he walks you toward the small bedroom at the back of the apartment.

It’s desperate, the way he’s dropping you down on the aged mattress and grasping harshly to flip you onto your knees. It’s depraved, the way his thick fingers undo the buckle of your belt and the fly of your jeans, tears the material over your ass and shoves it to bunch around your knees. It’s reverent the way he skims his palms down the small of your back as he hikes up your shirt and trails them along your sides, feeling the handles of your hips that make him dizzy, the curve of your backside, the ticklish skin of the back of your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that floats from you when he drags his knuckles over the swollen apex between them. But he doesn’t take his time, this round, as you hear the clink of his own belt being undone you can’t help but arch your back more for him. He let’s out a small, breathy fuck as his attention focuses on you and you alone.

The rounded head of his cock is striking as it glides between your slick folds, his skin fire that catches and burns through you in the most delicious way. He’s sliding into you, taking the moment to slow down and catch his own breath, his fingers bruising as they hold tight around your hips.

“Take it.” Joel grunted, hips slamming into the back of your thighs. The heft of his body behind every powerful move pressing you into the creaking bed. The frame was little more than a board of plywood set up on some concrete blocks. The mattress is far too soft from years of use. But it didn’t matter, the only thing that mattered was that he was upright and breathing. It was enough of a comfort in the hiding spot deep in an apartment building that still stands. The windows barricaded and the hallway lined with makeshift sensors to alert of anyone the second they open the stairwell door to the floor. “Such a good girl for me, letting me give you it to you like this.”

His hips slam into you, knocking you forward and one of your hands out from under you. A deep, guttural sound heaves from your chest at the new angle. As you’re bent and arched in a way that allows him to drive even deeper, to fill you even more. The thick feel of him has you fluttering around his base, your clit throbbing at the pleasure that crawls over your skin in a hot sparkling sensation. “Always love to see this thick, fucking ass ripple. How you let me do what I want, give me the chance to show you what you mean to me. See the way she swallows me into her tight, slick heat. God, you always feel so good. Better than any pills, better than any drink.”

He’s never been loud, at least excessively, but the mouth on him lately has even your head spinning. The walls he had constructed around himself lowering when he shared his space and body with you. When you shared your own with him.

You reach into the front pocket of your pants, still bunched around your knees. Taking a pack of travel tissues out and a single one from inside as you move to wipe yourself clean of his drying spend. Behind you he gets up to his feet as well, his thighs protesting the movement, his knees twinging at the weight of him standing. The barely audible pops and cracks of his body realigning itself after the rather intense actions catch your ear as much as it does his. A small groan rumbles deep in his chest as he gathers his breath, face turning away from you as he reaches down to rub at the bends of his knees.

“A little too much for you, hmm?” You needle, unable to help the saccharine coo from your voice as you turn around onto your back and look down to the end of the bed. Your chest is rising, heart racing and body singing as you still feel him all around you, his touch a brand into your skin.

“Ain’t enough, actually.” His teeth glint as he brandishes them at you before leaning over you to playfully nip at the end of your nose. Your eyes light up as a raspy giggle sneaks up from somewhere deep in your middle, the glint in his eyes sparkling as he takes in the mirth his action drew out.

“You say that, but your knees seem to want to argue that.” You lean up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing completely against him. He groans as your unclothed hips meet his, the press of your still slick skin against him where he hadn’t tucked himself away just yet. Another giggle sounds in the air and he’s mumbling underneath his breath, knowing that you’re trying to get a rise out of him with your taunting. He steps back, putting ample space between your burning bodies before he thinks better of it.

He’s approaching, eyes zoned in on the tissues in your hands as he comes up in front of you. You don’t try to hide your smirk as he snatches the small pack out of your hand, lips curling in an ill masked grimace before pulling one free from the plastic.

His hands are shaky, the adrenaline of the separation and then rather…enthusiastic reunion is draining, leaving him a mess of shot nerves. Cooing, you circle him and back his large frame up to the edge of the shitty mattress until his calves are pressed up to it. Locking eyes with him, you place a hand firmly on his chest and push him to take a seat. He does so willingly, body losing some tension as his backside sinks into the fabric.

“Why don’t you let me clean you up?”

“Already got this,” Joel tries and fails to fight off a yawn as he waves the tissue in front of him. His teeth snap shut with a clack as you kneel in front of him, shoulder your way between his knees, and press a caste kiss to the still swollen head of his half-hard cock where it bobs in his lap. The jingle of the belt he had re-looped is loud as his hips jerk, oversensitive where his pants had barely been pulled back up over his hips.

The pack of tissues falls to the ground as you wrap your lips around him and lick your own release where it saturated his entire length. A testament to what he does to you, what he still does to you with a single look. Casting your eyes up through your lashes, you can see the way his own flutter as he struggles to keep them open and trained on you. His eyes snap open wide when the hands trailing over his middle beneath his shirt caress the jumping muscles in his thighs, one wrapping securely around the base of his cock and squeezing while the other sneaks between your legs.

His deep voice rattles of endless praise and encouragement as you both find another crest together.

You move to pick the pack up from the ground, but his hand pulls you toward him. The action is too quick, your legs too weak for the sudden movement, and you stumble into him where he’s still perched on the edge of the mattress. His hands cup your backside, thick fingers digging into the skin as he holds you in his lap, your hands tight over his biceps for balance. His chuckle is dark as he murmurs something about wanting more time to see how much he can really tired you out before he’s leaning in to kiss you deeply. The scruff about his face is a soft hush against your skin but you revel in the feel of it.

Rough movements for a rough man.

The pressure of his hands disappears for a moment before he’s bringing them down to smack his palm to the flesh. Gasping, you look up at him to meet the playful look of shock on his rugged features.

It morphs into a smirk, eyes calculating as he watches whatever crumbs he can glimpse of your thoughts across your face.

It’s not uncharted territory, it’s not uncommon ground, the crackling intensity of shared desire. It’s a facet of your life now, hidden between the seedier parts of survival, fending for yourself and protecting what was yours every minute of every day. The physical connection you found with Joel is equal parts exhilarating and daunting. A reprieve of the harshness of life in the zone, but it could just as easily turn into damnation alongside everything else.

You lean forward and kiss him deeply, his lips bruising as they move against yours again and again.

He sneaks a hand underneath your chin and nudges your face up more. Eventually he pulls away from you and something different swirls behind his eyes that has your heartrate pick up again. Something you see more of as the days come and go.

There’s a depth to them, beyond his hidden emotions and easily displayed ones, as if he was feeling the minute shift in the air that was beginning to take place. One prompted unwittingly by the thoughts that were beginning to tumble inside your brain, one in particular more than others. The idea was a silent one, a personal one. A way to get out, a way to make your own little bubble away from it all. To be more like Bill and Frankie. You think his own mind may be on the same wavelength or that he at least senses the yearning that is beginning to glow in your chest.

“All you gotta do is ask and I’ll oblige.” The words are whispered, like it’s a secret that they exist. Only for you to hear and only this far away from the place you both begrudgingly call home. You duck your head, to hide the small glint of teeth that betrayed a satisfied grin, his eyes catch it anyway and he dips down to nip at your bottom lip in a teasing manner.

You could feel his eyes on you still, as you detangled from him with a lingering caress to his neck, his muscles twitching at the soft touch. His dark eyes always watching as they took in the way you jiggled a little to get the waist of your jeans back up on your hips, the movement making your chest bounce in your tank top.

“Hmm, sure know how to fill ‘em out.” He’s reaching to trace a finger along your collarbone, thoughts swirling in the brown depths of his beautiful eyes. Watching, cataloguing, cautious and on alert every second of every day. “Zone’s getting worse, with the change of the season.”

“Medical bay is already rationing the antibiotics and steroids. Hell, they have been but it’s more apparent as this…strain of flu or whatever wreaks havoc.”

“Don’t want you gettin’ sick.” You hear the unspoken sentiment in his voice, the worry he holds as you had shared with him one night that you have recurring nightmares of suffocating as your body works against itself. Tries to fight off sickness only to be too weak. He hadn’t understood at first, when you whispered it to him. He had thought you were worried about being Infected, of the cordyceps, which you were. But you had explained that you meant you were worried of finding your death in something simple, something completely preventable. Something that would reveal just how weak you were, how human you were.

He had fallen silent, when you explained it. You hadn’t pushed him to share his own nightmares and he hadn’t dug any deeper into yours, but you know he thinks of the exchange often.

Once you were both fully dressed, he pulls you into a tight hold that you wouldn't classify as a hug, but for him it was. You huff as the air is squeezed from your lungs. Your body tenses for a millisecond before relaxing and bringing your arms around him, around his middle. You rest your head on his chest, his chin going to rest atop it. You squeeze him back, just relishing the fleeting casual intimacy.

Knowing it was only a moment and the gruff commands and barks of words would resume the second you both stepped out from the abandoned building. The way he acted in public so drastically different from how he softened when he was alone with you. It had been years, since that first explosive argument and then whispered plea to let him take care of you, it had been a long journey to get to this point and you’d be damned if anything threatened the life you had made for yourself. The life you had made with the man you leaned into willingly and wholeheartedly.

Sickness plagues the zone, from the youngest to the soldiers. It’s nasty, the strain of influenza, and stronger than the medication that has begun to wane in potency the longer is sits in bottles and foil packets. There are no more shots to take, no more antibiotics or narcotics of medical grade. Unless you were willing to pay big, and even then there was no guarantee it would save you.

There are so many bodies to burn each day, you know it and Tess knows it. But Joel doesn’t speak about it, just wordlessly enters the shared apartment and immediately showers after his shifts. Emerges in cleaner clothing and makes a beeline for the hooch you keep hidden underneath a loose plank in the floorboard. Today is one of those days, he’s off at work to earn enough ration cards to make the deal of getting you and Tess medical attention to combat the sickness you’ve both come down with.

Eventually the sickness has found itself at your doorstep, catching you and Tess by surprise even with the extra caution you both exhibited around others. Makeshift masks, excessive hand washing, but it wiggled its way into your immune systems all the same.

It's been two weeks, neither of you able to work or do much beyond organize trades for him to do until dark. Both of you losing weight, with hardly any appetite and fevers that wane in intensity.

Despite feeling like the very little food you had been able to keep down all day was making its way back up your esophagus, you push yourself up from the couch where you and Tess had been going over inventory of all the items hidden in both your apartments when a soft knock sounded on the front door.

Getting a knife into your palm, a small security, you peer through the cracked peephole. A moment passes as you watch the young girl on the other side of the door fidget in her spot, looking down both sides of the hallway before down back at her interlocked hands in front of her. She looks vaguely familiar, like the girl that Joel had once given a thick handful of ration cards one random day and then every two weeks since then. The same girl that you see around the mess hall and on job sites that have to do with the more lightweight work to ensure the zone keeps up in operation.

He hadn’t said as much, but you know he watched out for her. Tried to prevent her from falling into the seedy dealings and scene of the zone that grew bigger each year. The trade of skin for ration cards and goods, for food, for protection too prominent a life for girls and women alike. Their bodies simply another thing they could offer up in order to survive another day. But you know she’s on his radar, though she had yet to set foot in your apartment or Tess’s.

And you didn’t think it was sexual, you trusted him on that front. No, it was born of a need to protect and prevent, much like the way he watched over you and Tess. Another part of the pack that he deemed important. You had asked, once when you first noticed her eyeing him up across a crowded street, if the older woman recognized her. All she knew was that the girl used to work in the speak easy sometimes frequented. That was years ago now, but you always made sure to save a portion of anything you managed to bake from the sorry excuse of supplies the cards still got you. For Joel to give to her, the errant thought of having her move in with Tess was unspoken but on all three of your minds the worse things got.

“Yes?” You crack open the door and peek through the space, but you’re opening the door completely and ushering her in as you spy the tear tracks that stain her delicate face. She’s so young, you realize, a decade younger than you for sure, two more than Joel. You idly wondered the reasoning behind his soft spot for her, but then you realize whatever spurred it also spurred the one he has for you.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. And M-Mr. Miller said to come for him if I ever needed help. Is- is he here?” You turn back to look at Tess, her own curiosity controlled into an even expression.

“He’s run out for something after his shift, are you hurt?” You close the door firmly behind her. Securing the lock in place and taking a deep breath before you reached out to touch a gentle hand to her shoulder. She cowers, a small whimper escaping from between her pale lips. “Do you need immediate aid?”

“N-no, just…bruises that are fading,” She rubs at her shoulder, thin hand reaching up and exposing her wrist and the mottled skin there. Your eyes narrow at the sight, Tess equally, is focused on the girl now.

Fuck, she couldn’t be more than twenty…

“I-I don’t know how I was even going to tell him, so it’s probably good you two are here…” Her voice trembles, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks.

“What is it-” Tess starts, cautiously stepping into the kitchen as you usher the girl into a chair. Her knees knock together as she struggles not to bounce them or cross one over the other. The stilted way in which she pivots her hips tells you more than she had verbally so far and your chest pangs for her. Kneeling down, you gingerly place a hand on one of her knees and assure her that she’s safe here with you both. That she can tell you as much or as little as she is comfortable with, but that you need her name and at least a direction to move in.

“Jean, my name is Jean.”

“Jean, is-who did it?” You can see it in the way she’s moving, the healing that her body is still attempting to do. The bruises that have nearly faded along her neck and the way her eyes cut to every sound that neither you nor Tess caused. The older woman stands at her full height at the shift in your voice from cautious and on edge to thinly veiled anger. “Who hurt you?”

“I-it was one of the guys who I used to work for in the speak easy. He…he cornered me one evening after my shift at the kitchens. He-he-” She breaks down, her sobs creating a valley in your chest that you recall heaving yourself once upon a time. “He did this.”

Something is thrust into your hand, thin and long and plastic. You glance down at it, surprise and anger fighting for purchase as your chest blooms with something akin to fierce protection.

It’s a pregnancy test. And it’s positive.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @orcasoul @itsokbbygrl @keylimebeag

@n7cje @hiddenbabynyc @ameagrice @everythingiwanttoread @furiousmushroom

@vivian-pascal @76bookworm76 @dugiioh @jellybeanxc @littlemisspascal

@undercoverpena @janaispunk @jessthebaker @persephone-girl

@corazondebeskar @harryscum @morgaussy @burntheedges @pascalpvnk

@cavillscurls @joelmillerisapunk @copperhalfcent @blackcatgreengrape

@the-orange-tabby-cat @yxtkiwiyxt @punkshort @cumberpegg

@littlemisspascal @mosssbawls @luxurychristmaspudding @cherrycolouredflunk

@tobethlehem @axshadows @ameagrice @theoraekenslover @mellymbee

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maracujatangerine · 18 days ago

Text

93. Firelight

CW: institutional slavery, pet whump, dehumanisation, box boy universe

The snow glittered in the moonlight. It lay undisturbed and soft like a feather down duvet all over the lawn, the trees, and the roofs of the other houses. Brutus looked despondently out the window, then paced across the room and looked out at the same view from a slightly different angle.

Master and Mistress had just left the house in a haze of sparkly red dress, fine, dark grey suit, fragrant perfume and red-bottomed heels clattering against the wooden floors.

”Down, boy! I won’t need you tonight.” Master had told him. ”This is the sort of party that will have their own security.” He’d added, with a smiling glance at Mistress Cecilia, who was adjusting an errant strand of her up-do in the floor-length hall mirror.

And then they were gone…

And Brutus worried. As usual.

The guard dog tried to convince himself that his Master knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself from restlessly wandering from room to room in the huge apartment.

As he was staring out yet another window, multicoloured lights from the Christmas tree falling over his face, Absalom silent-footedly appeared next to his elbow.

Today, the romantic wore a white shirt, marine trousers and a bow-tie in midnight-blue silk. A sapphire mounted in silver spilled down from his collar, catching the light in undersea reflections.

“Make a fire.” He said.

Brutus started at the unexpected request.

”But… But Master and Mistress just left. Did they really ask for a fire?”

Absalom stared out the window, then slowly turned his head to look at Brutus. Blue eyes meeting dark brown. Smooth, glossy brown hair like a waterfall framing his pale face.

”Make a fire for me.” Absalom clarified. His facial expression neutral, his voice toneless, but there was something in his eyes that hinted of this being a very heartfelt desire indeed.

Brutus was going to refuse. To tell the pet that he could do it himself, if he wanted to risk their owners’ anger. True, they had not forbidden the pets from making a fire, but they had never told them to do so either. It was hardly worth the risk, the room was warm enough already. But that hint of something stopped him.

Instead, Brutus gave a curt nod and turned to kneel in front of the fireplace. It was the guard dog’s task to make sure the firewood rack was filled, and he did it diligently.

The wood was dry, Brutus had already prepared smaller pieces of wood and strips of bitch bark in a basket next to the rack. It was quick work to build a neat staple of pieces of wood, with the kindling and bark in the centre. He could not deny a small sense of satisfaction as he lit the match and watched the yellow and orange flames eagerly catch in the firewood. Brutus carefully fed some smaller pieces of wood to the fire, guarding its progress. When he was satisfied the fire was well established, he tidied up the leftover kindling and put the matches back on their designated place.

Just as the guard dog got to his feet, Absalom came in through the door. He carried a silver tray, his back as straight and his movements as elegant as if he was serving their owners. On the tray was two thick glass cups filled with steaming wine that gleamed a deep ruby red in the firelight. There was also a plate with gingerbread cookies decorated with white icing in shapes of hearts and snowflakes.

With a flourish, Absalom held out the tray to Brutus. The large man just stared at him quizzically.

”Don’t worry, darling.” Absalom said. ”There are lots of leftovers from their get-together on Wednesday. They will never know.”

Brutus still hesitated. Their eyes met. Absalom smiled, just a little. Brutus nervously pulled a hand through his black hair, but finally took the proffered cup.

The romantic gracefully sank down in front of the fireplace, placing the silver tray with the cookies on the floor. He took a drink and cradled the warm glass cup in both hands. Brutus sat down next to him and sipped his drink cautiously.

The mulled wine was warm, and sweet, and strong. The taste and scent of it filling his senses. It was rare that Brutus tasted anything like it, and for a moment, he was completely absorbed.

When he glanced over at Absalom, the other pet was looking into the flames. The orange firelight reflecting in his eyes. His face was impassive, his breathing calm, but silent tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Brutus watched him with astonishment. He’d never seen Absalom show emotion in any way like this before. The guard dog wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Absalom’s quick wit could scratch like cat’s claws, if he was displeased.

He couldn’t just ignore it, either.

Slowly, Brutus reached out and laid his muscular hand on the pet’s thin shoulder. Absalom stiffened. For a second, Brutus thought the romantic might whip around to hit him.

Then, Absalom raised his own hand, thin and pale in comparison, and put it on top of Brutus’ hand on his shoulder. For a moment, they sat together and just watched the fire.

Fun Facts:

To drink warm, spiced wine has a long history, even the ancient Romans and Greeks did it. There are different versions of mulled wine across the world. In the Nordic countries, we drink glögg. It is a quite sweet version of mulled wine that most often is served with almonds and raisins.

Tag List Part 1:

@cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

#pet whump #christmas whump #whump fic #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #bbu #lydia and coriander #guard dog #pet whumpee #writers on tumblr #writeblr #original writing

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joyouslee · 7 months ago

Text

Variations on a Theme: There Was Only One Bed

For @thawrecka

From this post.

(I couldn’t help myself.)

The three of them stood looking down at The Bed. An awkward silence descended. The night was quiet, just the rustle of the cool night wind blowing through dry autumn leaves. Su Xiaoyong was presumably all tucked in and sleeping soundly in the bed downstairs.

Two pillows and a neatly folded blanket were stacked on the bed. Li Lianhua had built his guest room with the idea of renting it out for extra money, so the bed was large enough for two, but – he glanced at Fang Duobing’s shoulders and Di Feisheng’s, well, everything – it’d be a squeeze for three.

Li Lianhua only owned two blankets: the one he was holding and the one Su Xiaoyong was using. The tastefully luxurious one on the bed was one Fang Duobing brought from home. (Other things Li Lianhua had found tucked in previously empty drawers: silver, lots of it; random gadgets and tiny tools; medicines and spices; old (expensive) ginseng; clothes and jewelry.)

After that very first night when Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing nearly tore the tower down around them, Li Lianhua had drawn a firm line and forced the two of them to get along and share or sleep in the woods. They ended up sharing the bed, though not without muttered complaints from Fang Duobing about giants with ridiculous arms and legs taking up too much room. A-Fei was easier-going than Di Feisheng and hadn’t objected to continuing the sleeping arrangements.

A-Fei kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his outer robe, and was laying down on his usual pillow before either of them could say anything. Clearly the awkward silence was only on Li Lianhua and Fang Duobing’s part. A-Fei did not believe in awkwardness.

Variation 1 - a bossy shepherd herds an indulgent wolf and bewildered fox into bed

Li Lianhua looked around the room and started moving towards the bench against the far railing. “You two take the bed, I’ll sleep over here.”

Fang Duobing tsked audibly and said, “Li Lianhua you can’t sleep over there. It’s too cold, there’s nothing to block the wind and it’ll go right to your bones. You’re so skinny - you’re going to freeze to death.”

Taking the blanket and pillow from Li Lianhua, he continued, “A-Fei, turn over, you’re taking up too much room, and take out your guan you’re going to stab Li Lianhua in the eye.”

A-Fei huffed but did as he was told, to Li Lianhua’s astonishment.

“Take off your robe and hairpin, Li Lianhua,” Fang Duobing urged as he put Li Lianhua’s pillow down on the bed. He then shook out the large blanket over A-Fei, laying it across the bed. “Quickly, it’s cold. You should know better - the cold isn’t good for your heart.” He then put Li Lianhua’s blanket around his shoulders, nudging him to sit on the bed.

“Shoes off,” he tutted, before reaching over as though he were going to help Li Lianhua take them off. Li Lianhua held him off with a quickly raised hand as he toed off his boots.

“If you want any sleep tonight, just let him,” A-Fei said. “Otherwise he will go on forever.” Li Lianhua was surprised to detect the slightest hint of indulgent amusement in his tone.

“What are you talking about, A-Fei? I’m just making sure Li Lianhua sleeps well and doesn’t catch a cold. You know his health is poor.” Fang Duobing said distractedly as he pushed Li Lianhua into bed against A-Fei’s back, straightening both blankets over him.

“You need us to block the wind for you,” he continued as he blew out the lamps and readied himself for sleep. He carefully lifted only the top blanket and slid in gently, keeping the night air from touching Li Lianhua, and tucked in with his back to Li Lianhua.

“Goodnight,” Fang Duobing said with a cheerful wiggle, getting comfortable, then within a few breaths he was asleep.

With both of them laying on their sides, Li Lianhua didn’t feel crowded in the middle, just … protected.

Li Lianhua blinked in bewilderment at how easily he – and Di Fucking Fei Sheng! – had been herded into bed together. But as he lay there, fond amusement settled in. He hadn’t a clue where the precious only son of Minister Fang and Sect Leader He of the famed Tianji Manor would have had the opportunity to learn how to take care of someone. But his concern warmed Li Lianhua’s heart as much as the two furnaces he lay between warmed his old bones. He closed his eyes and let himself rest.

Variation 2 - shutting up a yappy pup

Fang Duobing’s mouth dropped open in outrage.

Li Lianhua braced for noise.

“A-Fei how can you take the bed like that? You know Li Lianhua’s sick. He can’t sleep on the floor.” He stomped over and started pushing at A-Fei’s shoulder, presumably to get him to move onto the floor. A-Fei tolerated three pushes before grabbing his arm and uncurling in a flash. With a startled squeak Fang Duobing rolled over him and landed on the other side of the bed. A-Fei rolled on top of him smoothly and covered his mouth with one hand.

“Sleep,” he said firmly.

Fang Duobing flailed at him with his free hand but A-Fei had him fully controlled. Fang Duobing’s protests were muffled but it was clear what he was yelling about with the way he kept looking over at Li Lianhua emphatically.

A-Fei looked at Li Lianhua and jerked his chin at the open space.

Li Lianhua rolled his eyes and put his pillow on the bed.

Alt chord progression 1: A-Fei puts his other hand over Fang Duobing’s eyes and he falls asleep - I’ve seen that trick work on puppies before and expect it would work just as well here.

Alt chord progression 2: A-Fei and Li Lianhua find other ways of keeping Fang Duobing quiet and sharing the bed. i.e., lots of sex.

When Li Lianhua wakes up, Di Feisheng is curled around him, and Fang Duobing is tucked up against his back, a little spoon trying to be a big spoon even though his forehead only hits A-Fei’s nape. Fang Duobing’s arm is around Di Feisheng with his fingers curled into Li Lianhua’s robe, leg thrown over both of them. Untangling is going to be a process but - Li Lianhua cups his hand around Fang Duobing’s, tilting his cheek against Di Feisheng’s nose- something to deal with later. He closes his eyes and falls asleep again.

Variation 3 (minor chord progression to theme in G major) - puppy pile

“No. My house, my rules. No dogs in my bed.” He swept the thick blanket into Fang Duobing’s arms and pushed him towards the clear space on the other end of the room, ignoring his indignant “Who are you calling a dog?!”.

He pointed at Di Feisheng. “Off,” he said imperiously. “You two can keep each other warm over there. Don’t think I don’t know what you two have done up here.”

Fang Duobing choked and turned red.

“But you better keep in mind I’m right here, and downstairs is the granddaughter of the biggest gossip in the jianghu. If you don’t want your liaison published in the next bulletin, keep your paws off each other.”

A-Fei shrugged and grabbed a sputtering Fang Duobing by the arm, pulling him down and rolling them in the large blanket like a spring roll. “Go to sleep,” he said calmly.

Fang Duobing managed to choke out a muffled “Goodnight.”

Li Lianhua blew out the candle and only heard a few rustles and a rather loudly whispered “A-Fei!” before all was quiet. He curled up, rubbing his socked feet together. He’d known about them pretty much since they started… whatever it is. Fang Duobing wasn’t able to keep his emotions off his face; he blushed to the tips of his ears every time Di Feisheng came near him and occasionally tripped over nothing while pretending not to look at him. He’s glad for them - the jianghu can be vicious, so taking comfort where you can is a gift. He doesn’t want what they have, but it still feels …. He shakes his head, no point in being maudlin about something he doesn’t even care to have.

The night wind swept through the room, and Li Lianhua shivered. It really was a lot colder up on the second floor, and he couldn’t expend any neili to warm himself. He was so tired. His joints ached and he worried he might have a bicha attack that he wouldn’t be able to hide. He pulled the blanket over his head to keep the heat in and squinched his eyes shut, hoping to reach unconsciousness before his teeth started chattering.

“Li LIanhua? Are you okay?”

He ignored him, deciding that pretending to be dead was a viable route to sleep.

“Li Lianhua?”

A long pause. He clutched the blanket closer, wondering if Fang Duobing gave up.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he heard as warmth settled over and around him, two warm bodies bracketing him, legs tangling and arms curling around him.

“Don’t call him an idiot,” he felt more than heard Fang Duobing mutter. The heat of them settled into his bones, and he fell asleep before he could tell them to get out of his bed.

***

He woke up warmed through, muscles relaxed for once instead of tight from pain and cold. He blinked his eyes open, shockingly well rested. Fang Duobing was still asleep, clutching him like a favored toy, soft breaths hot against his neck. He could tell by Di Feisheng’s breathing that he was already awake, but he still kept his arm over Li Lianhua’s chest, hand curled at Fang Duobing’s nape. A warm wiggly weight settled over his feet, and he glanced down.

Hulijing had once again snuck into bed.

Li Lianhua sighed. How did he end up with three unruly dogs in his home?

Note: ok, so like, not so much variation because I’m constitutionally unable to leave Li Lianhua sad and cold and alone in bed. Or any of them, really. So. Puppy pile!

#fdb is more octopus than big spoon #fdb is a sunshine puppy and guard dog at the same time #difang #liansanjiao #mysterious lotus casebook #my fic #fang duobing #li lianhua #di feisheng

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romana-after-dark · 1 year ago

Text

Guard Dog

Riader!Joel Miler x Dark!fem!reader

Masterlist : Taglist

Summary: Joel attempts to raid the wrong house, and having the Joel Miller on his knees before awakens something in you... and in him.

Content and Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT Dub con on Joel (Is it non con? idk. Idk how im supossed to tag this but it's no where near the violence of tww someone help), references to non con from Joel to other women, gun sucking, fem domme, dark!reader but Joel is also dark soooooo, subby Joel, dead bodies, Nick reference (if you read TWW you know lol), multiple orgasms, overstim, dumbification?

AN 1: This essentially came of two thoughts, me thinking hmmmm how to write raider!Joel in a new way? 2. I want to avenge Little One. Joel did her so dirty and is still doing her so dirty in the dark timeline addition, lowkey wanted someone to get revenge for her. Plus, subby Joel is always a win for Fen and Maura lol

AN 2: Shout outs to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @toxicanonymity for talking me through this idea, esp Toxi for letting me use the gun blowjob bit lololol if you like that concept, I encourage everyone to check out toxi's raider joel Or maybe Jake's part in the chasing series

***********************

Whoever it was, they had chosen to raid the wrong fucking house.

Yes, you were a single woman. Yes you lived alone. But no, you were not helpless, far from it, actually. Whoever it was is lucky they had made it past the set of boobytraps thus far. Actually, it sounded like a few of them had been taken out as it was.

Joel watched in relief as the arrow went through Nick’s skull. Relief it wasn’t him. He never liked Nick that much anyway, real creepy guy. In fact, he didn’t like any of the men that this house had gotten either. It was exhausting, trying to lead a group of dumbasses and whatever the fuck was in here it wasn’t worth it, so Joel attempted to make his exit. Thing was, leaving was proving just as hard as entering was. Whoever lived here didn’t want anyone living to tell the tail. Stepping over the dead bodies of a few of his men, Joel had narrowly dodged more arrows, spikes, darts; the whole lot, until some secret fucking door opened up like a goddamn scooby-doo house and there you were, gun to his forhead.

“Joel fucking Miller, I’ll be damned.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize you, but you knew him. That wasn’t surprising, he’d gained a bit of a reputation from raiders, fireflies and regular people. “Who the hell are you?”

You tell him your name, first name at least, and make quick work of taking out the gun in his hand. “Armed with anything else, Miller?” He said he wasn’t, but you knew that was a lie. “Don’t believe that for a second.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?” His texan drawl was prominent, especially when he was worked up.

“More fun to mess with you.” Keeping the gun pressed up to his temple, you press your body against his in turn as you pat him down for more weapons. It didn’t hurt that he was handsome.

“JESUS!” Joel jumped as you grabbed at his ass. “Watch your fucking hands.”

You can’t help but giggle; he thinks he's in charge. “You could be hiding weapons anywhere-” He tenses as you slip your hand between his buttcheeks as much as his jeans allow. “-Can’t be too careful.”

Joel was a brutal man, you heard stories of his rage and carelessness for human life, including women. There’d been many such stories of him forcing himself on women, kidnapping and trafficking… maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine? You take your time on his top half, feeling up every muscle, every bit of pudge, every dip on his broad body. Then, onto the lower. Without hindrance, you grope at his crotch and are very impressed by the size of him; and amused by the way he’s already semi-hard. Men are so easy, it’s funny sometimes.

“This make you excited, Miller? Or does it scare you to be at a woman’s mercy for once? Maybe a little bit of both?”

Joel didn’t look at you, lips pursed in a hard line.

You continue, moving the gun to his pants as you kneel before him to check lower. “I bet this is more your speed isn’t it? Having a pretty woman on her knees?”

The scoff above you doesn’t go unnoticed. “Mighty full of ourselves, aren’t we?”

After taking a knife and a gun that were strapped to his ankle, you stand up, satisfied with your work and the ever-growing bulge in his pants. “I own a mirror, Miller. I know what I got going on.” Degrading won’t work on you. With a nudge, you press him towards your room.

“Yuh gonna kill me?” There was no fear in his voice when he asked. This was a man prepared for death whenever it came.

“We’ll see. Gonna have a little fun with you first.”

Having Joel Miller on his knees for you was a goddamn treat. He looked so good like this, so submissive even if his bratty little face wanted to put on a show.

“It’s natural, you know.” With a glance down, you let him know that you are referencing his half-hard cock. “The adrenaline.” You squat in front of him. “How many girl came when you forced yourself on them? How many felt their bodies betray them? Did you laugh at them for getting wet?”

“I didn’t-”

“It’s humiliating, isn’t it?” Your gun was still out, knowing physically he could probably overpower you still. You weren’t weak by any means, but you also were aware he had far more upper body strength, muscles bulging through the seem of his shirt sleeves. The cool end of the gun prodded at his face as he tried to keep calm; the bob of his adam's apple and subtle rise of his chest was giving away his nerves. It was exhilarating, having a man that many feared, the cause of death of so many men, someone of damn-near legendary status and his knees for you… You couldn’t help the reaction the thrill had in pooling in your stomach. It was natural, wasn’t it? That’s what you told Joel.

Using the gun, you move his face around a bit to really take in his features. Strong nose, curly salt and pepper hair, soft brown eyes and lips you just really wanted to make whimper.

“Your quite handsome, you know that?”

An ironic chuckle. “I have a mirror too, sweetheart.”

You can’t help smiling at him as you straighten back up. “Take off your shirt.”

He rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

“Obedient thing, aren’t you? Bet I could train you, bet that’s what you need, isn’t it?” You slip your hand in your pants, feeling up your own wet cunt as the thrill of power elevates things. “Tired of having to decide, having to lead…” Maybe the adrenaline was getting to you, but you suddenly wish you had a dick to make him suck. You don’t, so you settle for the next best thing. You tap his lips witht he barrel of the gun. “Open.”

Joel hesitates, a slight spark of fear in his pretty eyes as he keeps his lips tightly closed, and that just won't do. You slap his cheek with the gun, and as grunts in pain the seal of his lips pops open.

“Ah-mph” His cry of pain was quickly muffled by the gun being shoved in his mouth.

“Suck on it, cowboy. Act like you fucking enjoy it.”

You don’t think he needs to act. Joel sucks on your gun like he would a dick and you furiously finger yourself to his rhythm. As he closes his eyes, you can hear a low groan emitting from his throat and his hands twitching at his side.

“Touch yourself, go ahead.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, his right hand flying to the seam of his pants and palming at his full erection.

“Good boy, good fucking boy” You praise. “Just an obedient little dog pretending to be a lone wolf. Is that it? You just want someone to tell you what to do, huh?” You release the gun from his mouth and can’t help but grin as his lips chase it.

“Y-yes.” Joel admits, face strained in tension as he kept touching himself. Must hurt, being constrained like that.

“Take it out. Eyes on me.” You guide his face to look up at you with the tip of your gun. “Look in my eyes as you do it.”

As he released himself, Joel did indeed look up at you; he looked up at you as if you made the stars in the sky.

Once his cock was out, all 9 or so inches, you take off your sleep shorts and straddle over him but not yet putting it in. “I don’t think I need this gun anymore… but I think you like it.” When you sink down on him, gun pressed to his ribs as a firm reminder of who was in charge, you hold your breath in order to hear the simple whimpers and guttural groans that Joel tried so hard to hide.

“This is where you belong, isn’t it?” You goad him, eliciting a quiet ‘yes’ from his lips. “Under me, belong to me.”

You are speared on him, his dick spreading you open and stretching you unlike anything you had felt before and you loved it. Every chance you had, you felt his muscles, reveling in the fact such a physically strong man was so mental weak for you and only you.

“Can I cum? Please?” Joel begged for you, pleaded ever, lips quivering even as you kissed him.

“Almost there, baby, almost- mmmm- almost there. You can cum after me, okay?”

Joel nodded quick, tiny nods and hesitantly moved a hand to your hips. He looked up at you bouncing on his cock for permission, and when you nod back he goes to thumb at your clit.

“OH GOD!” You shout, breathless, slick all over your thighs and his pants, his touch sending you over the edge. You cum hard, walls pulsing all around him and he doesn’t ask again before spilling his seed inside you, filling you to the brim.

Your body relaxes, but then Joel throws you to the ground causing you to drop your gun and for a moment you thought he bested you, got you distracted; until he dove right into your cunt with no regard for the lost gun. He didn’t care about beating you, he cared about tasting you. As he desperately licked his cum out of your dripping hole, you tugging at his curls, Joel humped the floor as if he hadn’t just gotten released. You pull him close, riding out another orgasm on his face. When you cum a third time, you have to push him back, the overstimulation from the desperate man’s tongue, lips and beard being too much. When you do, he looks up at you with wide eyes as if he had done something wrong, but you pull up and into a kiss before laying him down on the floor to kiss him some more.

“Not sure if I wanna let go of you, cowboy…” You tease, playing with his hair but keeping him firmly pressed to the ground. “Might have to keep you around, but my little guard dog, how about that?”

Joel’s eyes were glossy, his face so fucked out you weren’t sure he was fully cognizant. “Baby boy too tired to speak? That’s okay, I’ll take care of you too. You be the arms; I’ll be the brains. You won’t have to have a single thought outside me again, okay?”

***********

Part 2 here

LOWKEY NERVOUS BC THIS IS SUCH A DIFFERENT JOEL AND HE DOESNT DO A LOT OF TALKING?!?!?!?!?!??! UNSURE HOW I FEEL

Anyway I do hope to write more maybe? so if you wanna be tagged comment below! I liek the idea of having a joel I can kinda just write stuff about whenever instead of a story and an arch and characters to balance. This is just more casual. and i dont gotta go nuts keepingup with posting like my other stories. Im think a v joel tess kinda vibe where she's clearly leading him

I was supossed to be working on the next part to my Javi P x reader x Santi AU buuuutttttttttttt I couldnt get this idea out of my head. So. here you all go! I'll try and work on that, the dark! TF boys, TWW, and the Will Miller story lol its kinda a lot rn

Please consider reblogging and commenting to support your fav writers <3

@fandxmslxt69 @moriartyyouwhore @hereforthepedrofanfic @alwaysmicado @noisynightmarepoetry @morallyinept @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @the-fox-den @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @k-ra

If you'd like to join the dark! taglist, click here! this is different from my regular taglist on my main account

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buddiesmutslut · 2 months ago

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Finishing up my fem buddie for today's kinktober prompt & wondering exactly how many times I said "my wife" in Buck's POV during this fic, bc it felt like a lot when I was typing it; but also, it feels very in-character for that possessive & insane character, especially when it comes to Eddie Diaz lol.

#911 abc #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie fic #fic writer #Buck is a dog and Eddie is the bone and Buck only knows how to resource guard his fav treat #he's fucking insane and i think he would “my husband” the shit out of everyone if/when they get married in canon #also “my wife” just sounds so pretty? idk.

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independent-fics · 2 months ago

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Okay but listen now I’m thinking about Moreau’s “Is this one of your retrieval jobs Eliot? Tell me. Who’s snoopy lunch box do I have” comment. Because this totally implies that even though Eliot worked under Moreau it gives the vibe of him being “allowed” to take side jobs leave Moreau and come back. Moreau trusted him to come back and seemed like it was cute to go take other “trivial” jobs.

#I’m sure this has been spoken about #even by me #but oof that quote got me thinking so hard rn #but I’m also rewatching this episode rn for #✨ fic research ✨#while also at work oops #so idk if I have the braincells to fully flesh out this thought rn #just yall know what I’m talking about #the guard dog/attack dog #Eliot Spencer #meta #but ugh once again #this episode #leverage #the big bang job

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mx-myth · 5 months ago

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I was talking with @kingsandbastardz the other day and happened to get enough inspiration to smash this out. Kind of ooc for dfs? But also it's exactly him because he is that possessive.

The harsh noise of the waterfall has become the background to his meditation by now. His senses easily wash over his surroundings, aware of every stone and tree and blade of grass. Di Feisheng feels one corner of his mouth quirk up, infinitesimally, at a change in the air.

“Mengzhu,” Wuyan says, materializing by his side. He brings the scent of pine with him, as he always does. Di Feisheng breathes it in. “I come to report there are no threats in the area.”

“As expected,” he says. It was Wuyan after all who had found this waterfall for his meditation, and it was him who worked hard to make it safe for him. “Always diligent.”

“Mengzhu,” Wuyan says. It comes out like he’s saying thank you. He leans in and pulls him closer by the back of his robes. “You flatter this one,” he says.

Di Feisheng rumbles as he presses his nose against the warm, vulnerable skin of Wuyan’s neck. It had taken a long time to get him to stop saying this lowly one or this unworthy one. He disagrees with those forms of address because Wuyan is the most capable person he’s ever met. “It is merely a fact,” he says before he turns his head to kiss him.

Wuyan reciprocates. He kisses him like they have all the time in the world, his hands sliding carefully over his ornate robes. Di Feisheng, amused despite how familiar this all is now, lets him take the lead. They end up sideways in the grass, trading breath between their soft open mouths. He considers this too a kind of meditation.

“Mengzhu,” Wuyan says finally, some indeterminable time later. It’s in his apologetic tone that means they probably should stop indulging themselves and resume their normal roles and responsibilities. He huffs and accepts it, sitting up. Wuyan does the same, shaking the grass from his ponytail. He feels something akin to jealousy, looking at his plainer clothes and simpler hairstyle.

“Go first,” he orders. Wuyan gets up and bows, disappearing in front of his eyes. His pine scent, a byproduct of his qi-concealing technique, lingers even as his qinggong carries him away. Di Feisheng breathes it in one last time.

A-Yan, he thinks possessively. It’s too dangerous a thought to have. It’s a double-edged sword, the kind that can kill him or Wuyan or both of them. He breathes it out and leaves it to be carried away by the water as he goes, following.

#master/guard dog dynamic will never not hit #the master/servant dynamic isn't quite what they have #but guard dog? totally wuyan #mlc #mysterious lotus casebook #lian hua lou #wuyan #di feisheng #what's their ship name?#wuyan/di feisheng #wufei? idk #writing #fanfiction #my fics #my writing #my wuyan will always smell of pine

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secret-smut-sideblog · 5 months ago

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The Wolf

Lavellan x Blackwall

PG-13 - death, mentions of suicide attempt, death wish, loss, cultural grief, survivors guilt, relationships forming, sexual tension, rivalry

Waking in a prison, Lavellan finds herself the captive, then leader, of a force trying to close a rift in the sky. Recruiting a gruff dark stranger in her journey...

Masterlist

Sweet swirling dark. Her body wandered, released from exhaustion. Peace. A kind voice whispers.

Wake up.

Her eyes drift open. The world greets her dark with damp chains around her wrists. Low torchlight casts guardsman shadows as twitching giants against stone walls.

She rises onto forearms, tightly clenching her eyes. Gods damn her, she wasn't supposed to sleep. Grief raw in her chest.

A new pain in her palm. Flexing her long fingers, she stared at the sickly green light housed in her skin. Vague memory coming back to her.

"The Dalish elf is awake, Seeker."

A woman with close cropped hair entered her prison, staring down in that complex glare humans always gave her. Her ancestry set them against her, but her visage always drew them in regardless. Otherworldly beauty confusing their senses. Regarding her with distrust but unable to help their awe.

She rose to gently cup her hands on her kneeled thighs. Shoulders back, leveling her eyes to this captor.

The woman's eyes skirted away from her gaze for a moment. A graceful woman came up behind her, long hair and delicate armor. Darting her eyes to her companion and back to the golden kneeling figure.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you." The tall woman urged, her voice thick with righteous grief.

Strange memory overcame her. A wasteland crawling with spiders. A woman made of green light, reaching for her hand. The same hand that now crackled with unsteady energy, pulling her in a single direction.

Aurum rose it, turning her palm to her gaze.

Her life mattered very little, but she had questions. Closing her eyes in a flutter as they were swiftly answered.

"Kill me if you must." She hushed, ignoring the secrets unfolding in her mind like flowers. The woman's name, her goal, already told to her long ago. The rift spewing demons clear to her, high above them. "I'm sorry for what happened here."

Cassandra paused, surprise flicking behind her anger. She grasped Aurum's chained wrist, lifting the green sparking between them.

"Explain this."

Aurum closed her eyes, giving in to the secrets. But they had little to show her.

"There was a woman made of light. She pulled me out. Then I woke up here. I remember little else."

Leilana's eyes flashed, gripping onto Cassandra's forearm. Silent information passing. Well, intended to be silent.

Dirthamen, god of secrets and knowledge, had touched her back. She had been here before. She knew these women and their cause. She knew how this ends.

"You're lying!" Cassandra urged, lunging towards her. The shake in her voice betraying her conviction.

"Cassandra, we need her." Leilana soothed, pushing her back.

"What is your name, elf?" Leilana approached, Cassandra her seething shadow.

"I come from clan Lavellan. I have no name. Your holy men called me Aurum." She tried to keep the bite out of her voice. Their church, the chantry. The ruin of all of her.

"Why were you at the Conclave?"

Their meeting to begin peace talks between mages and templars. The warriors sworn to corral mages, now assigned themselves executioner. Held by their most powerful holy woman, now dead. An explosion.

She had been sent with a mission to gather information for her clan. But it was clear what it truly was. An exiling. A death march.

Before the explosion cut through her, she had been heading up the cliff to throw herself into the sea.

"My clan sent me. The war between your people has bled into our path. They sought information on when it would cease."

That seemed to satisfy her interrogation. Cassandra came forward, cupping her slender shoulder.

"Go to the forward camp. I will take her to the rift."

Cassandra leveled a glare down at her as feet departed. Aurum stared back up.

"I'm ready to die, if that is your intention."

Her jaw clenched, a thin empathy behind her eyes. With a huff, she leaned down and unlocked her shackles.

"You're coming with me first."

She rose on steady feet. The constant self imposed exhaustion receded. Her body sighing out from sleep.

"I have one question." Aurum hushed. Cassandra stopped in her stride, a softness in her gaze.

"Who braided my hair?" The long plait rested against her hip. Shining gold even under the damp lighting.

"Solas." Cassandra sighed, taking Aurum's forearm to encourage forward. Both striding in a fast clip. "He was watching over you."

"Come. We have little time for chatter."

Aurum nodded, the pull of her palm a clear guide.

"Take me to your danger."

"So, how're you enjoying our little band of merry misfits?" Varric smiled, slinging his crossbow, a Bianca, he had informed her, over his shoulder.

Several rifts had been closed, the tangling politics of the human world set before her to un-knot. She was tired, but that was far from a new condition.

"You're good people." She smiled warmly at him. "Though I'd rather Cassandra be in charge."

Varric laughed.

"Nah, she's too deep in the fight. Too many scars and prickly feelings. We need fresh eyes to keep us moving forward."

She rubbed her scar with a thumb. The angry burned skin hidden inside her wrist a touchstone of grief.

"None of us are unscathed in this."

"That's the damned truth." Varric sighed, looking out over Haven. Their small fortress, the remains of the wake of the Conclave. "But you've been impartial so far. We need that."

"Get some rest, kid. Don't think I haven't noticed you wandering the grounds at night. You need more sleep than three hours. We'll find the Warden in the morning."

She smiled sadly at him. How little they knew of her.

"Thank you. Dareth shiral."

She paused, then laughed. Varric's eyes filled with mirth.

"Sorry, I mean goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sunshine."

The night air was crisp in winter cold, breathing it in deep. Snow crunching under her feet on her meandering trail down to the stables.

She had been sleeping there, the small amount she allowed to herself, nearly every night. Being inside the chantry turned her stomach, she tried to spend only needed time there.

"Kin, a word?"

Solas' poised frame took up next to her.

"You have no idea how soothing it is to see a familiar face." She sighed, turning to him. "Speak to me."

He smiled gently, a soft knowing in his eyes.

"I've been wondering about your dreams, if you'll indulge me. There is an... unknown to you. And those with this quality tend to wander in dreaming."

She paused. Weighing how much truth to unravel. Settling on a half omission.

"I don't dream. Not like that. It is a darkness that swirls around me. I walk."

He was quiet for a moment.

"Where are you trying to reach?"

She shook her head.

"I'm lost. Fading. I have to find someone."

There was a strange weighted silence fallen over him. Staring at her with an intensity that held her still.

"You are not lost. You have not been abandoned."

An ichor tear began to well in her eye, blinking it down. Rising her hand to her eyes to rub it away before the mercury silver could escape her.

"I hope you're right. I'd like to reach somewhere eventually."

He stepped forward, peering at her.

"Your god is Elgar'non, is it not?"

Ah, yes. The All Father. Father of sun and fury. His symbol tattooed across her face in deep gold. A diversion and protective measure, subterfuge for those that would seek her power of foresight.

"I was sworn to him, yes."

He kept his stare, nearly causing her to squirm. Then, a slow smile graced his angular features.

"Of course. Only a daughter of sun could shine so bright in beauty."

Aurum laughed, lacing her hands behind her back.

"I do stand out like a sore thumb, don't I?"

"Oh, absolutely. You are a swan amongst finches."

She tilted her head at him, an incredulous smile splitting her face.

"Oh, that was a good one. I haven't heard that one before."

Stepping back, she made down towards her trail again.

"Elves are always sweet talkers." She laughed brightly. "Goodnight, Solas."

"Sleep well, Lavellan."

It soothed her heart to hear a name that once belonged to her. All of the titles they laden on her bristling up her back.

Inquisitor. Herald. Your Worship. Things they called her. None her name. Nothing could bring that back.

The moon hung heavy and full in the sky, her light guiding the quiet hush of her feet. Taking a moment to find Andruil, the goddess of the hunt's, constellation out of habit.

A familiar ache sat in her chest. Settling down into a hay bale. The horses nickering softly at her in familiarity.

So much had been lost. Fire takes all.

"No, don't do this tonight." She whispered to herself. Fingers pushing into her temples, quieting the quiver of her lip.

The stampede of hooves, the cry of her kin, smoke deep and curling up into the ceiling. Rubble hiding her small body. A hand pulling from hers.

"I love you. Breathe deep."

A choked sob escaped her throat. Beating her fist into her thigh. Determined to not break. She couldn't claim this grief. It was poisoned by her. Resolving into slow even breaths.

Laying her head down, she stared up at the moon through the high window. Silver tears dripping down her temple. Allowing her god the smallest sliver of connection she could barter. Allowing her weary eyes to finally, finally close.

"Up ahead, there. I see him." Solas peered down the ridgeline. At the crest of the curve of the lake, a small group of men stood at a cabin. One pacing and dark, towering over the others. The men in his stead uncertainly gripping shields.

He was a captain of the Grey Wardens, a force of men sworn to kill darkspawn. The history of what darkspawn were, and who was to blame for their creation, varied from race to race. But they were close enough to demons, and they certainly needed help with those.

"Perhaps it's best if you go first." Cassandra sighed. "I've heard this one is less... socialized."

Aurum nodded. Though she was Dalish, her beauty and poise had been a helpful tool in disarming their encounters.

Heading down the lake trail, her companions following behind, the man took up more detail in her approach.

Dark thick hair that revealed as he removed his helmet, long and slicked back with sweat. A full forked beard set against sharp cheekbones, eyes burning under a heavy brow. Steel blue and piercing through the men he spoke to.

It had been a long time since she had seen a man so striking, slowing her approach. His focus solely on the men in his stead. Voice deep and thundering, cut through with grit. Pacing like a caged wolf.

"Remember how to carry your shields. You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise it's useless."

"Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?"

He turned to her, the melody of her voice picking up on the air.

He froze, eyes going wide. Then huffed out a breath, striding forward. Glaring down at her, his frame taking up her vision.

"You're not... how do you know my name? Who sent-"

The growl of his voice cut off abruptly. His lip curled back in a snarl, head snapping to her right. Lifting his shield over her head, an arrow snapped into the wood. It's trajectory straight into her temple.

Her eyes widened, darting to the curve of his arm, the recoil barely shifting it. Safe inside of the dark of his frame.

"I... I didn't see it." She gasped, shock pulling her poised mask away. Darting her eyes back to his.

He peered at her. His eyes steady for a moment, then pulled away. A small shiver in his breath that he huffed away. Men on the treeline descending.

"That's it. Help or get out. We're dealing with these idiots first!" He pulled away from her, a sword slung easily in his fist.

She smiled. She always loved the bristled ones.

"Gladly." Unslinging her bow from her back, she fired an arrow right between a man's eyes. Dropping him instantly.

Blackwall's jaw clenched, then dove forward.

The way he fought rose a lust in her. Slamming into bodies like a bear, the power of his swings knocking men into the dirt. Charging and unleashing fury into his foes.

She flanked behind him, using his body as a wide shield. Firing down over his shoulder, under his arm. Moving as lightning around his thunder.

Fighting with him felt natural. And over too quickly.

As the last fell, he drove his sword down into the dirt. Crouching down to stare at the slack face of the dead.

"Someone you know?" She offered softly, coming up to his side.

He was quiet for a moment longer.

"No. But someone should remember them."

He shook his head, voice a growl again.

"Sorry bastards."

Rising back to feet to encourage the farmers turned soldiers he had taken under his wing. Shaken, but alive. His wide back still tense.

They wandered away, and he turned back on her.

"Why do you know my name? Who are you?"

"I'm with the inquisition. I'm here to see about the disappearance of your kin. The Wardens."

"Kin?"

"She's Dalish, don't mind her." Varric smiled, leaning against the cabin.

"Apologies, your men."

Blackwall bristled at her companions' presence, seeming to see them now.

"I prefer to travel alone." He rumbled, eyes cutting back to her.

"So do I, but there's strength in numbers." She sighed. She was fond of her party but Gods, did she miss the solitude of the forest.

"I'm guessing you don't know their whereabouts then?" She offered, pulling his sword from the ground and holding it out with the hilt towards him.

He stared at the blade grazing her chest. Quickly taking it from her.

"No. I haven't seen another in years. We dont keep track of one another." He seated it back with a grumble.

"Right." She smiled, stretching out her shoulder with a pull on her lifted elbow. A small sigh of strain released. "You've been a great help in battle. I liked fighting with you."

He leveled his gaze on her again.

"And I you."

She smiled at him and saw his eyes dart from her.

"Well, that answers all my questions. I'll be out of your way, lone Warden."

She stepped forward, Cassandra's tired stare beckoning her along.

"It was lovely meeting you, I hope to see you again." She smiled as she passed. Varric rising from his lean, Solas picking up at her side.

"Inquisition... agent. Hold a moment."

She turned as he drew forward, a furrow in his brow. Shoulders softened.

"I've heard good word of your cause. I have not traveled with another in ages... but if you're truly seeking to solve this... Maker, this hell..."

She waited, seeing his resolve form, waver, then build again.

"If you're trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."

"And maybe I do." She smiled, his posture pulling straight. "I would be honored to have you."

"Then you'll have me." He breathed, then filled his words again. "I didn't catch your name...?"

Solas took up behind her, a solid presence. Staring over her shoulder.

"I have no name. Lavellan is fine."

Blackwall met Solas' eyes, a cold reproach. Then softened on hers again.

"You have no...? Right."

He took up on her right, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Where to, Vella?"

Next Chapter

#they make me chew on drywall. i have to get it out of my system #guard dog and lamb dynamics make me go crazay #lavellan x blackwall #blackwall x inquisitor #blackwall #dragon age fic #lyrics from: howl - florence and the machine

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danmeichael · 20 days ago

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*jingles zoya/fem!chief from path to nowhere in front of you*

i've reviewed the images you submitted, here are my findings

ZOYA ZOYA ZOYA ZOYA ZOYA PLEASE BABYGIRL CALL ME BACK BARKBARBABRKRKBARBAKRBAKRAWAWAWAWAARARARARWOOFBARK

ahem. yeah that's good yuri.

#not fandom #ask danny #you cannot get me into a mobile game through yuri. but i will be following some tags.#that cg of her in the road illuminated only by headlights. hello.#the way i giggled and got a little flustered #im getting ''submissive in the way a guard dog is submissive'' vibes off this woman #im also getting ''spent a very long time trying to be big and mean and scary and doesn't know how to submit but really really needs it''#and a little bit of ''wants to be a good puppy so bad but would never admit it'' as well #anime-masc woman service top... awooga............#anyway will be reading those fics later.#thank you so much

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stabbysideblog · 4 months ago

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Distorted Echos

“He’s. Fragile.”

I scoff, the last word to describe Dream would be fragile. Sam frowns at me. “I’m serious.”

I lean across the table taking his coffee-warmed hands in my own. “Tell me how.”

Sam smiles at me, he has bags under his eyes. “He’s not. You. Well.” He looks up and away, that look he has when he’s solving a complex circuit or explaining something new to Althea. “He was a dog. Not an actual dog, he worked in Las Nevadas with Me and Quackity.”

I pull away. He grabs my hands holding me in place. “Not. Me. Not our Quackity. I don’t know how but he’s from this SMP but wrong. Twisted, he was a- a- tool to them. He’s barely a person. They hurt him and he’s scared.”

“Let go of me.” I can’t breathe, this is Sam. My Sam, the man I love, my husband speaking kindly about Dream. He lets go, I hold my hands close to my chest, I can feel my heart pounding. “Let me visit him.”

“I don’t-”

“Have you made progress with him?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“He’s Dream. I can-” I swallow, I need to see him. “I can talk to him.”

“You’re too emotional.”

“Next week then, give me time to- to- to think. Let me- He’s Just- Sam-” I take in a breath, quick inhale slow exhale. I let the words arrange in my throat, Sam waits for me. “Give me a week, tell me about him. I’ll be more composed. I can help you, Please let me help you.”

Sam is quiet. He looks at his comms. He looks at the coffee in his hands. He looks at the clock. He doesn’t look at me. “Fine. One hour. One week from today, we’ll have to get Puffy to babysit Althea.”

“Thank you.”

I stand on the platform staring at the lava, behind me is the warden, any sign of my husband is gone. He’s cold, calculating each movement.

“You have one hour. Not a second more.”

I nod. Of course, that’s the deal. I know the rules. The lava drops and the platform starts to move. The elder guardian curses me, I flinch at the noise. Inside the cell I see him. He’s sitting in the middle of the cell staring. His knees are pulled to his chest like a child. His hair is shorter, Sam must have buzzed that mess off. He looks small like this. I step off the platform and his eyes dart up to look at me. He doesn’t move, not even when the blocks are retracted and I step into the cell proper. It’s less decorated than when I stayed here. Bookshelves, bed, plants, and fish tank gone. I don’t think he knows what he’s missing.

“Hello Dream.” I sneer at him, he watches me. He’s different from the last time I saw him, his eyes aren’t as empty, they have a sadness to them. I don’t feel sorry for him. “You think your little ruse is going to work? Oh I’m Dream and I’m soooo sad and soo hurt I’m just so pathetic. Fuck off I’m not buying it. You’re Dream get up and be honest with me, I know all your tricks.” He just stares. It’s infuriating. It’s so infuriating I walk right up to him. “Get.” I shove him backwards. “Up.”

He falls backwards awkward limbs splaying out onto the ground. He’s so thin.

“Sorry.” That’s all he says. His voice is rusty, broken. It doesn’t sound like Dream.

“Don’t- Don’t do that shit. Sound like that. I know you. Do you- Do you even know who I am?”

He shakes his head no, I guess I’m not worthy of words.

“I’m YOU. I am the best version of you, I put in the work. I got help! I’m- I’m fixed for god’s sake! You’re still evil! I saw it in your eyes. You don’t even recognize the person you could have become.”

“Dream?”

“Not anymore.”

He looks down, avoiding eye contact. “Oh”

“Now tell the truth, I know everything you are.”

He shakes his head, stubborn just like I used to be. It’s maddening, how did Sam ever put up with me? I guess it’s time to use the big guns. “He knows everything. I told him everything so any stupid little secrets you think you’re keeping safe with this act- Just give up. I know you. I know how you think, how you feel, have fucking stupid you are. Now. Tell. The. Truth.”

“I am.” he whispers it, I only hear it because I had gotten in his face.

“Prove it.”

He looks up at me finally, tears swimming in his eyes. He nods and scoots from underneath me standing up. Shakily he undresses, his body is littered with scars. One stands out above the others, an ornamental Q with a creeper face inside it branded over his back. I reach out to touch it, he flinches.

“I worked for Sir- S- Sam. He made me right. A good dog. I was a good dog. I am a good dog.” His hands reach for his neck scratching at it. “I don’t know how I left him. Play dead, I did it.” He shows his wrist, the scar from the gash we had discovered.

“You did that to yourself?”

He nods. “I’m a good dog.”

“Stop that- stop saying that. You’re not a fucking dog.” He stares blankly. No wonder Sam hasn’t made any progress. “Look. Just. Tell me everything.” He nods and begins to speak.

I listened as he spilled everything that happened to him. Well not everything- some he can’t remember, some is too bad to be real, some he can only recount with a shiver and a gag. As he speaks my mind wanders, what if my Sam had been like his? What if he hated me as much as his did? He was almost done, getting close to his last time with his Sam when the lava drops. “Time to leave,”

“Wait-”

“We had a deal.”

“Okay,-” I turn to the pitiful thing. “Just trust Sam, this one is good. When he tells you something, listen, it won’t make sense at first but he’s good.” He nods, puppy-dog eyes watching me leave. I stand and walk onto the platform crossing the great molden abyss below. Sam gestures to me to leave, I spare a glance as the lava descends. “He’ll be easier now.”

“I can handle the prisoner.” His face is cold, unbecoming of emotions; just like a good warden should. I nod and walk towards the exit. I didn’t lie to Dream, we have to trust him.

#The actual fic not my high writing #dreblr #leashed au #happy chip au #guard dog au #dsmp fanfic

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