#he’ll scratch your furniture

[alirienn]

To add on to your lovely catboys collection… I think the ever adorable cat-coded Kaiser would fit right in🤭

meowchael kaiser?

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

I have recently become obsessed with Logan (I haven’t even seen the new movie yet!) I would love to request a bookworm!reader and Logan pairing. Like the two of them could not be more opposite and everyone is confused about why they are together except for them! Take your time I know you just got back from a break, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you do if you decide to do it! Even if you don’t decide to write it know that I think you’re awesome and really cool and I hope that you have sweet dreams and clear skin for the rest of your days 💕

fem plus size bookworm!reader, wc: 407.

a/n: this was such a welcome reprieve you don't understand! this fic literally has such a mystical vibe, i don't know how to even explain it. this is so seriously fluffy!!

Days spent with Logan are quiet ones.

Your dynamic is laughable really; the self-proclaimed hot-headed Wolverine often finds himself wherever you are, which is more often than not the school’s library. 

Sure, you have your own personal room with more than enough comfortable furniture to house your bottom, but you are attracted to the literary aesthetics that comes with being surrounded by constant knowledge and information.

You love the small sounds of pages of books being turned, pencils scratching on paper, and pens dropping to the floor, plus, it doesn’t hurt that there’s a large window that houses comfortable bay seating, giving you a cushiony view out into the gardens.

It feels like a breath of fresh air amongst the crime fighting and world saving. A reprieve.

Logan’s come to find himself enjoying the library as well. It’s hard for him to settle down, to get comfortable and just relax. He feels like he has to be on his a-game all the time when that simply is just not the case. There’s always another shoe to drop, because if there isn’t, what is he supposed to do?

Well, since he’s gotten with you, he just sits.

It’s not like you force him too or anything, he chooses to do it. He chooses to sit at your feet on the bay window as well, sometimes pulling them into his lap to massage your calves mindlessly. Sometimes he’ll even pick up a book for himself. 

That isn’t to say that there isn’t any silent chatter, but Logan’s a horrible whisperer, something that you’ve teased him about before. It took him a long time to realize that he’d do anything for you. He’d go where you’d go, and if that’s to somewhere as monotonous as the library, then so be it.

On days where he’s busy, he already knows where to locate you once he comes home, he doesn’t even have to rely on his enhanced smell, even though he does it anyway because you always wear his favorite perfume.

It’s always a serendipitous meeting when he finds you curled up in your spot. Sometimes you’re asleep, snoozing quietly with your head resting on the pane of the window, or you’re so lost in your own world that you don’t even notice him.

It’s okay, because he once recalls you telling him, “Even though I’ve lived hundreds of lives in my stories, this one will always be my favorite.”

He can’t help but agree.

[faux-ecrivain]

Yan neko

(Second Official Post)

(This yandere is slow developing, so it won’t seem particularly yanderish.)

Yan neko who approached you in his cute little cat form, meowing for you attention (but in reality all he wants is your food)

Yan neko who happily makes himself at home, ignoring you when you shoo him off the furniture or tell him to stop eating your food. 

Yan neko that enjoys the soft pets you give him (even if he bites you when you pet him for too long). He enjoys the love you give him, the cuddles (no matter how reluctant you are to give them), the kisses too…(Although he hates it when your kisses muss his fur!)

You place a gentle kiss on the forehead of your cute cat and your hand gently running through his soft colorful fur. He purrs loudly as you continue to grace him with excessive amounts of affection, he knows that despite your indifferent exterior you love him. (His delusional mind may be conjuring up a different sort of love, the type that taunts him with the thought of revealing who he truly is)

You don’t know when this cat managed to worm its way into your heart, but you can’t say you hate it. 

Although, this joy and contentment is destroyed when he reveals himself. He expected you to greet him with the same amount of love you graces his cat form with, but clearly he was wrong.

You’re panicking, you’ve been living with a person this whole time?? Others might not view it as a big deal, but you do, you feel betrayed and angry. 

There’s been a person masquerading as your pet cat this whole time?? A person that’s been eating your food, sleeping in your bed (albeit in cat form, but who’s to say he didn’t turn into his human form at night?), probably stealing your clothes too! (He was totally stealing your clothes, he hid them in a floor board where he’s hidden everything else he’s stolen from you)

Yan neko is flabbergast by your behavior, why are you screaming? Why are you angry? He didn’t do anything to you! Sure he might have stole a few intimate items of clothes, but he returned them and he’s been pitching in around the house! (He’s been doing the dishes, even the laundry and it’s very difficult to get stains out of the clothes you own!)

Yan neko tries to calm you down, insisting that he’s still the same old cuddly cat that you’ve been doting on. (Despite the glaring differences, after all cats don’t speak English, and they definitely don’t have hands)

Yan neko who gets tired of your shouts and decides to shush you up (he just covers your mouth, although that backfired and you bite him). Eventually you do calm down, now yan neko is your roommate and he has to go get a job.

Yan neko is appalled by your request (what do you mean I have to get a job? So what if I’ve been living here rent free and eating all your food! I’m a cute cat boy! Don’t you want to take care of me?)

Yan neko who begrudgingly gets a job, although he struggles with hiding his tail and cat ears. But he’ll do anything if it means staying in this warm house of yours and having endless supplies of food! (Although he’s rather upset that he has to stop sharing a room with you)

Yan neko who becomes fiercely territorial the moment he sees you invite someone over to your house. He growls (do cats growl?), he hissed and snarls. His anger only tempered when you spray him with water, then he’s banished to the guest room. 

Yan neko grumbles, already plotting the demise of your guest.

He scratches his nails against the wall and tries to listen in on the conversation you two are having. He can only hear murmurs and then he’s distracted by the sound of you laughing. His hearts flutters and he laments, wondering why you never laugh when he’s around. He sighs and then he hears your guest laugh, and his mood sours.

He snarls, (how dare that stranger flirt with you! Yan believes that he’s the only for you..), then slams a fist against the door. It startled your guest and you excuses yourself to go scold your neko roommate.

Although he hates being scolded (your lectures take way too long), he can’t help but reveal in your attention. (Of course he does, He’s a cat). He reluctantly agrees to quiet down (you threatened to take away his catnip), only after you promise to let him cuddle you tonight. 

Of course this doesn’t stop him from sneaking out after your guest left, stalking your guest and then promptly eliminating them from the world. (It’s a mess to clean up, but he’s persistent, and soon enough the entire area is sparkling clean. Then he has to find a way to clean himself off, maybe this wasn’t the best idea?)

He does his best to distract you from his sudden and unexplained disappearance (boy, you sure are persistent! You must be really worried about him…) it takes hours, but you’re eventually placated and you get ready for bed. Although, that calmness is destroyed by tomorrow morning, as the news comes on and reveals the unfortunate death of your guest from last night. (Your guest was named Gene Robinson, their parents are absolutely devastated to hear of Gene’s passing.)

Yan neko instantly becomes on edge when you start to question his excuses, you start to point out flaws in his logic, you start to doubt him. (don’t do that, he doesn’t want to loose house privileges!)

Yan neko tells you That Gene was a threat, that he was only doing what was necessary to keep the two of them safe! 

Yan neko panics when you don’t believe him (calling him a criminal and threatening to call the police) and decides to take action (he knocks you out), he wants to keep you safe, but he can’t lock you up here (people will notice your absence). He doesn’t know what to do, for now he’ll just get you comfortable in bed, and when you wake up he’ll try to explain the situation to you.

(Phew, this took some time, but this isn’t exactly my best work. Still, enjoy the post and feel free to comment! I’m having trouble with coloring the font, so I apologize if certain parts of this post aren’t highlighted or italicized.)

[stararch4ngelqueen]

For 🍯 anon! I accidentally deleted the last draft so this is a quick draft of what I remember! So sorry! 😢

Credit to the comment I saw somewhere that called Jason “kitty-coded”

—

Time Written - 10:10 p.m

—

No other thought came to mind except going back home to his sweetheart, who was in the kitchen from what his exhausted mind could comprehend, cooking up something with a wonderfully delicious aroma of toasty bacon.

His hidden face plastered over a decorative pillow seconds after he dropped lifelessly onto the couch, nearly making the furniture squeak from sudden weight shift. Arms splayed out carelessly from his sides, legs awkwardly draped off along the armrest of the couch he barely fit on, due to the bulkiness of his armor.

He just looked like a sad, red lumpy potato. Barely having an ounce of strength to move so much as a finger.

The urge to make this your phone background was incredible.

“Y’know how tempting it is to pile ontop of you right now?” You call from your amused stance from the kitchen, knowing he had gotten home from the ever so familiar whirr of the living room window being yanked open by a careless vigilante.

“Try it, babe. I’ll roll over an’ make you regret it.”

If the bubbling pot on the stove was just a tad bit louder, you’d have barely heard an ounce of what Jason had said. Wiping your hands with a random kitchen towel, you approach the now slanted couch, smiling at the exhausted bulk of a man cascaded over it, nearly taking up all the space.

You shimmy yourself to sit in the most awkward way possible. Jason had enough upper strength to lift up his head and shoulders, raising his head off the pillow to unclasp his mask from his face.

The same hand carelessly tosses the pillow aside before he shuffles closer, proceeding to let his head drop on your warm thighs with a groan of heavy appreciation.

Your soft giggle warms his heart, making him feel fuzzy with a highschool crush’s giddy embarrassment. You two were together, yet you always made him feel this way.

“Fucking cold out there.” He murmurs into your lap, amusing you as you settle your fingers through his hair after pulling down his hood. Those soft, perfect little fingers worked magic along his damp locks, nails lightly scratching against the back of his scalp.

Dogs had it lucky with their owners, receiving heavenly treatment such as this.

“I’m making soup.” You say to him, smoothing down his hair after tussling small locks all in different directions.

“What kind?” Came his muffled grunt of a question.

“Potato soup.”

Irony never sounded so sweet.

“Loaded, with extra cheese.”

“You’re a goddamn angel,” Jason sighs, knowing he’ll enjoy your cooking in the comfort of a warm sweatshirt and your loving arms, after a graciously hot shower consisting of him standing under ridiculously hot water for ten minutes, rinsing off soap he borrowed from your shower rack.

“What would you do without me?” You lightly rouse his hair into a weak, limp Mohawk of sorts, unable to see his hidden smirk against your soft, flannel pajama pants.

He’d probably die again, for all he knew.

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me! Cats

Completely original art of the boys and Thirteen as cats in my art style :) I hope you like it

Beelzebub is the one always looking for food. He’s also really big but it’s not fat despite how much he eats. He has a deep meow.

Belphegor is always asleep and you never quite know where he is unless he’s cuddling Beel.

Asmodeus is as gorgeous as a show cat and wants to be one. He has to have pretty accessories.

Satan is the most cat-like cat. All the strange things they do and all the stereotypes. He’ll wake you up when he wants something, he’s an indoor cat but you’ll find him in the oddest places. Everyone seems to know him.

Leviathan is sweet but also shy. He asks for pets but then slinks away. He scatters at the slightest noise and always has a look of concern.

Mammon is the spazy loud cat. If something is knocked over it was him, loud meows at 3 in the morning, and unexplainable behavior.

Lucifer is the alpha cat of the house. He bops others and keeps them away. He seeks your attention most but plays it off. If he’s with you, the other cats know not to be.

Diavolo is the energetic king. He takes up so much space you know he’s there, he has a weird meow, and you can hear him coming. He’s the first one at the door to greet you home and he’s unapologetically all over you.

Barbatos is elusive. You can never find him and he’s always bringing you things, worried you aren’t eating. He’ll slap you awake if he’s hungry and he’ll slap the other cats if they act up.

Mephisto is a proud cat. If you see him slip or miss a jump he’ll hide in embarrassment. He’s not as energetic and playful as the other cats. He’s always somewhere in the room, usually by the window or tv.

Thirteen is the cat who finds the weirdest things has stashed if bottle caps and hair ties, and scratches up all the furniture. She also picks fights with the other cats for no reason.

Raphael is the quiet cat. He’s the guard cat too, he’s by your side if something is up and he’s a siren if the weather is dangerous. Otherwise he’s hiding somewhere and avoiding the other cats.

Solomon is the eccentric cat. Usually has his tongue out, a confused look, or is clearly up to something but you can never tell what. He likes to mark his territory and acts like the boss but will get chased away. He plays fetch like a dog.

Simeon is the caring and cuddly cat. He takes all the naps with you, lays on your chest when you sick, and purrs when you’re in the room. He also acts fatherly to the kittens.

Luke is the loud and energetic kitten. Always playing and running around and hiding from the other cats. He’s very attached to the calmer cats in the house like Simeon, Raphael, and Satan.

[charliemwrites]

Some feral and keeper Price stuff..? I don’t mind what, honestly. Just bring it in, broski!!! Smut? Wouldn’t mind. Fluff? Wouldn’t mind that either!!! Angst? Would probably sob, but sure as hell wouldn’t mind that either!!!!!!!

Don’t gotta respond to this or go through with it, but I’ve always liked how feral and keeper price are due to feral being(I think?????) a little somewhat scared of Price, and im just overall interested and intrigued about how it would go and how it would be like if they ever had sex and any intimate moments, or if it would ever actually happen between the two or not (I damn hope it would..).

Tyt, thanks though whatever you do lmao. Not really much of a rush for this, though I’d love hearing what you might have to say/write for this little req thingy😭 Love the things you write!!!🫶

Hi, bean!!! Their relationship is always a fun challenge to write because it’s hard to pin down lol. But I’m pretty sure the last few (apart from that daddy post) has been angst between them, so let’s do some soft platonic intimacy.

Price is visiting again and you’re mad. Not at him, because he hasn’t actually done anything to you. And not at Simon because he warned you well in advance of Price’s arrival. You’re mad at yourself because you were fine all week until he walked in the door - and then that creeping instinct to run and hide reared up.

Youre forcing yourself not to this time, though you couldn’t help skittering across the room when he reached out. He just chuckled, gave you an amused look, and continued chatting with Simon.

He’s pretending not to see you creeping nearby. Your nervousness is manageable when he’s not looking directly at you. And when he is looking at you, you’re okay as long as there’s something between you two - furniture or Simon will do.

You’re making yourself sneak closer and closer, pausing and gauging with each step to see if he does anything. He’s got a bowl of pretzels that you’ve been eyeing, wondering if he’ll let you filch a couple while dinner is cooking.

Within touching distance now. He smells like cigars and nice cologne. You like it, dammit. Not as much as Simon’s scent…. but still good.

Just as you come too close for a quick retreat, his arm bends, a couple pretzels in hand, offering to you over his shoulder. You blink, hesitate a second.

“You want some?” he coos, tilting his head to watch from the corner of his eye. “Go on, little one.”

You pluck them carefully from his hand, sit back to safely eat them. He chuckles and leaves you be while you enjoy your treat. Simon is watching you with amusement from the other side of Price, a whiskey in hand.

When you’ve finished your pretzels, you consider. Check the wall clock. Still twenty minutes until dinner! No, no, you need a little more to hold you over.

You edge closer again, lean up carefully against Price’s back. He doesn’t even pause, adjusting to support your weight while keeping the conversation going. You brace and lean over his shoulder, reaching for the bowl of pretzels. He tugs them just that last inch to let your grabby hand get a few.

As you’re stuff one in your mouth, his other hand slowly comes up, telegraphing. He’s going to touch you. You hesitate, debate staying or going as you munch. Eventually his fingertips brush your cheek, then skim up into your hair to scratch gently. You lean into a bit until he hums and you catch his eye.

“See? Not so bad, wild thing.”

You twist, nip his arm, and then scramble over to Simon, who happily lets you clamber into his lap and steal a sip of whiskey to wash down the pretzels.

[dollivication]

thinking about cat hybrid!dmc3!vergil and cat hybrid!dmc3!dante with owner!user…….

you cannot take these bitches anywhere. “cat fight!” YEAH NO LITERALLY! your furniture will be RUINED, i suggest you get ready to step into stuffing the moment you enter your house. everything will be scratched up, from the couch to the pillows on your bed.

maybe that’s to be expected from two twins who can hardly get along, with one of them constantly annoying the other (dante……. smh)

speaking of dante, he’s already lazy as is, now imagine him with feline characteristics. this fucker will knock any devices or book out of your hands just to sprawl out on your lap, purring like a damn motorcycle engine!!… aww don’t look so mad, just pet his fluffy tail yah? he promises it’ll make you feel better! :3

i fear there is little to no taming him.. spraying him with water will only have him shake off the droplets, purposefully wetting you in retaliation. or he’ll just cuddle up close to you, soaking you both in freezing water. there’s no winning with dante. just feed him and pet him and praise him (for being a fatass) it’s not that hard!<3

vergil.. there’s not much of a shift in his character! he’s got a pair of cat ears and a tail now, but there’s nothing really different from how he normally is.

he’s still quite independent, minding his own business and only approaching you whenever he needs something. his distance remains, with very RARE instances of him purring.. like it’s once in a blue moon! this fucker suppresses all of his sounds, and he almost never lets you pet him :/ (swats your hand away if you even lift it in his direction… sigh!)

——NSFW——

there will be times when they’ll get reaaaally fucking needy! almost at the same time. so it’s just double the amount of getting pawed at, your clothes being tugged on and your thighs/sides getting kneaded. dante is far more touchier than vergil, more shameless as he sticks his head under your shirt and grinds his cock against you!

vergil is somewhat anxious in his approaches until he sees just how reactive you are towards dante’s advances. it seems to alter his brain, and suddenly he’s at your other side, sinking his teeth into your shoulder in hopes of you getting noisier!!

they’re stuck to you like glue, their hands wandering and grasping at your skin. it starts off as a bit of a rivalry, seeing who can make you twitch and moan the most—until they get caught up in how hard you fucking make them!

dante will happily guide your hand to his cock, while vergil practically shoves and forces the other towards his own. their dicks are already shiny from their pre-cum, each stroke of your hands only sounding filthy and slick.

dante is the one who lifts your shirt up and exposes your chest, wasting no time in latching on to one of your nipples. vergil won’t ever admit it, but it sparks a bit of inspiration as he follows shortly after, taking the other into his mouth.

their tongues will swirl around the perked buds, switching between suckling and nibbling ever so slightly. it’s the first time in a quite a while that they simply co-exist, purring into your chest as the vibrations tickle your skin. the fluffy ears on their heads flick on occasion, the identical blue eyes of the twins trained on their beloved owner.

patience is a virtue; but not to them. sandwiching you between them, they’ll stick their hardened cocks inside of you, vergil grunting as dante damn well near mewls at how tightly you squeeze them.

they’ll fuck into your shared hole, dante making a few cheeky quips here and there as vergil immediately shuts him down, his frustration with his twin brother only prompting him to drill into you faster. their tails will brush against your legs, wrapping around as if it’ll bring you closer to them.

both move their hips with a relentless fervor, not once granting you a break as the three of you lose yourselves in a blissful hysteria. they’ll use you as their personal fleshlight, vergil forming slowly blooming love bites across your body as dante licks up any sweat, drool, or tears with a haughty grin.

it was almost humorous just how much control they had over you in that moment. and now that they realized it—you’d do well to provide them a litter. let them fill you up with their seed. let them fucking breed you. take their warm cum.

..that’s what a good owner does, after all<3

[comatosebunny09]

If Astarion were a cat, he would:

🐾 Always be nearby, purring and awaiting pets and praise, but would wander off with a turned-up nose because you didn’t pet him in the exact way he wanted.

🐾 Greet you daily by trying to trip you, zig-zagging between your legs, and head-butting your shins, the little shit.

🐾 Show you his belly to convince you he completely trusts you but would secretly do it to scratch the living hells out of your hands when you try to rub him.

🐾 Walk onto your laptop or step in front of your phone because how dare you pay attention to something other than him?

🐾 Knock things off your shelves and attack your ankles when starved for attention—or just because.

🐾 How dare you lock him out of your room at night! Guess he’ll sing his misery until the wee hours of the morning.

🐾 Be the bane of your existence regarding your expensive furniture and rugs. Screw those ridiculous scratching posts.

🐾 Often leave you little presents on the carpet, whether it be hairballs or dead rodents, because you’re clearly too stupid to fend for yourself. And your decor is dreadful. As far as he’s concerned, he’d be doing you a favor.

🐾 Always be close enough to you so he doesn’t feel alone, but not in your lap or in loaf mode on your chest. He’s not that comfortable with you.

🐾 Make biscuits on your expensive clothes, leaves fur all over your blankets, and tears down your drapes at least once a week.

🐾 What’s the point of you even having blinds?

🐾 Stare at you judgmentally no matter what you do, licking his paw, contempt on his little cat face. That is not how you are supposed to cook that. Ugh. You’re wearing that? You should consider showering today. You smell awful.

🐾 Slow blink at you when he’s well-fed, nurtured, and cozy.

🐾 Despite being an absolute terror, he’s always by your bedside when you drift off into sleep and always there when you awaken, purring and waiting patiently to wreak more havoc on your poor, undeserving ankles again.

[midnightcinderella]

Little dating headcanons <3

Characters (in order of appearance): Leona, Azul, Cater, Rook, Vil, Sebek, Jamil

Notes: sfw, fluff/crack, gender neutral pronouns for reader

Leona

♥ He is the gf who bites you for no reason

♥ He will try to get you to feed him entire meals. Don’t indulge him too often or he will take advantage

♥ Doesn’t start trimming his toenails until you complain that they’re scratching your ankles

♥ If you’re the type to play your music out loud, he takes almost no time to adjust to be able to fall asleep to it

♥ Lets you mooch off his detergent and fabric softener for when you do your own laundry. Ruggie ain’t too happy about having to go buy them more often

♥ You once sprinkled some catnip on his pillow as he slept and all it did was make him sneeze and blow it all over the floor

Azul

♥ Will grumble something about sodium and fats when you bring him fried chicken, but will immediately chase after you when you pretend to take it away

♥ If you ever tell him about the kind of furniture and decoration you like, expect a few pleasant changes in the lounge’s decor

♥ Gets so pouty when you say you can’t cuddle in his octopus pot with him

♥ Azul pls they can’t fit in there, they have bones

♥ Bottomless drinks at the Mostro Lounge <3 but you have to go get em yourself lol

♥ Azul doesn’t send the tweels to be your bodyguards. They just come pester you on their own and scare off anyone who tries to pick on you because they’re the only ones who can do that <3

♥ “Can’t you make them stop?” “I can’t make them do anything.”

Cater

♥ Contrary to popular belief, you don’t show up on his Magicam as often as you’d think. Not in pictures anyway

♥ You’re tagged in every post as his photographer, and there has been a noticeable improvement in the quality of his photos with someone to man the camera for him

♥ Gets so many matching couple items, it’s crazy. Mugs, phone charms, key chains, phone cases, bracelets, the list goes on

♥ Once lost one of the matching bracelets and flipped the entire dorm upside down looking for it. It was in a pocket of the jacket he’d lent you

♥ Tried to show off his guitar skills for you but he was nervous so he flubbed a couple chords <3

♥ Was unaware of how hot you found him until he had his hair down in front of you for the first time and you crumpled to the floor

Rook

♥ Prone to running off on a whim as he is, he always tries to return before you get worried and appreciates that you welcome him with open arms

♥ Will try to gift you his quarry to soothe the pain of his absence. Some of them are flowers <3 and some of them are school supplies he stole from the student he was hunting -.-

♥ If you guys get couple items, he wants them to complement each other, not match. If you wear gold, he wears silver. If yours is blue, his is red

♥ Will not lend you his hat no matter what. He’ll give you his coat instead when the elements are on the attack. Not super helpful when it’s hot as balls out

♥ You never see him go to retrieve his arrows, not even with magic, but somehow he never runs out. He says he makes more with the power of love but you have no idea what that means

♥ Got a taste of his own medicine when you had an impromptu sleepover at Heartslabyul and he came to Ramshackle for a surprise visit. He was in such a tizzy, it took him a whole half hour to figure out where you were :(

Vil

♥ You once gave him a compact mirror shaped like a macaron because you thought it was cute. He carries it with him everywhere

♥ Once tried to teach you how to walk in heels but got distracted by your legs -///-

♥ Doesn’t mind lending you jewelry, but makes you polish/disinfect it when you give it back

♥ Likes doing your skincare when you’re drowsy. The way your eyes droop and the way you hum because you’re too sleepy to actually speak gives him terrible cute aggression

♥ Will cuddle you at night but you can’t cuddle him back. It’s fine if your jammies get wrinkled but he can’t say the same for his own so you just lay there while he carefully wraps himself around you like a pashmina shawl

♥ Once heard you humming a song that you were helping Epel practice and stepped in to show you proper technique

Sebek

♥ You once fixed his hair and collar for him after gym class and he thought about it for 3 weeks straight

♥ You swear you saw his lip wobble when he asked you why you insisted on spending so much time at Diasomnia and you answered that it was so he wouldn’t have to go so far from Malleus

♥ Wants so badly to pitch a fit when you let Silver sleep on you, but the one time he did you scolded him and learned the definition of a kicked puppy expression

♥ The first time you slept over at Diasomnia, Malleus overheard you fighting about who would take Sebek’s bed. Sebek insisted you take it and Malleus offered him the couch in his own room and when I say Sebby leapt at the opportunity

♥ He came crashing back into his own room once he realized that he left you with his roommates lol

♥ “Welcome home, cheater,” you said while fending off one of the other boys’ attempts at looking at your cards

Jamil

♥ He brought you home once and you thought Najma was so pretty, you spent almost your entire visit chatting with her, stars in your eyes the whole time

♥ He thought he’d have to watch out for the Asims stealing your attention, but it be your own family smh

♥ Once caught you eating instant curry and looked like you’d told him you didn’t love him anymore

♥ If there’s ever a time when you need to dress up for one of Kalim’s banquets, Jamil will style your hair with magic

♥ Won’t say it, but he likes when you hang off of him in the kitchen. Feeding you small bites of what he’s making while you hold him from behind is what happiness is for him

♥ He likes to use you as a weighted blanket at the end of particularly stressful days

[moongreenlight]

ok ok so about this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/moongreenlight/729759450340130816/headcanons-for-captain-john-price-and-his-very

i was reading it while listening to mozart’s requiem: confutatis maledictus

https://youtu.be/hN7DZhGNCxY?si=knTn38X98KovFvzL

and i was thinking what if the age gap is the same BUT reader was also military?

like this sweet little thing who dresses in pretty, dark red cherry print skirts used to have the same dark red splotches of blood on their uniform in the field. reader who’s a bit deranged, who plays the strings on her violin until the deep indents on her fingertips threaten to cut and bleed. a bit strange reader who immediately snaps her head to the slightest out of place sound on her private garden, face dropping from her stepford smile into a focused scowl. loose screwed reader who demands the cook to cook the same dish 4 times on a random thursday because it didn’t taste like the same as when he prepared it 4 months ago. bit rabid reader who keeps her staff dogs on a tight leash, including her husband, demanding things to be done on her standards. pretty show cat reader who hisses and scratches when john doesn’t greet her with the same amount of joy at the door when he has a bad day at work.

this cat, no matter how pampered and spoiled, never fully became domesticated to be a house cat, still feral under her shiny new coat. her new appearance however, is truly just a guise over her rabid tendencies. god forbid john ever pushes readers buttons because his things will get destroyed, his ego deflated, his paperweights cracked, his uniforms ripped at the seams, sturdy until needed, his pens lacking any more ink, fountain pen nibs bent ever so slightly, furniture moved every so slightly, hair and facial appointments cut in half and only being once a week.

i just LIVE for deranged!reader. i love love love it when reader is the crazy one too who feeds and takes ideals from her husband 😼😼😼

Katz I am almost certain you read my rough draft for these Headcanons because I swear to you I almost wrote reader like this. Your mind. You also know I’m a sucker for an animal comparison you literally forced me to write this. :’(

I am a crazy bitch SYMPATHIZER. She is me I am her. It takes a lot of me not to write every reader as a little off their fucking rocker but I’m glad you’re endorsing this.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

He probably takes a liking to you shortly after you start training. Catches you tearing into one of your bunk mates viciously for leaving one (1) sock on the ground next to their hamper. Doesn’t bother to break it up, just immediately goes back to his office and figures out who your training officer was and how quickly he could get you switched into his group.

He pulls rank on Soap to get him to agree to let you switch over. He doesn’t look happy about it, but he huffs and agrees to take a significantly less advanced rookie in exchange for you. Completely unfair trade, but Price is over the moon about it.

He doesn’t come off too strong at first because you’re young. Just turned twenty and joined the military to get loans for uni. He knows he’s much too old for you.

But still, he lets his hands linger on your waist when he’s correcting your posture, kicks your feet apart and plants his leg between yours when he’s teaching you how to properly handle a shotgun. Hears his other rookies complaining about you being favored by him because you’re the only one he’ll compliment during sessions.

Doesn’t even bother saying anything about the rumors spreading because you beat him to the punch- sometimes literally. Like he’s fairly certain you shot the worst offender in the foot on purpose during a mission to shut them up.

A few months go by with no real progress and no real payout until one day after training he wanders back to his office and finds you already sitting there waiting for him. You say something about how you’re hoping to advance pretty quickly after training, you wonder if he sees any potential in you. Lean over his desk and bat your lashes and ask what he thinks about giving you some private lessons, only if he has time of course. He nearly passes out.

And then a year later you’re married. He doesn’t have time to dick around, nor does he want to, and he now knows you well enough to know that you’ll throw a proper tantrum if things aren’t done exactly to your liking, so sure, it was a quick turnaround, but you really did love each other.

I think he asks a few times if you’ll leave the service, and you shut him down immediately. Scowling and pulling a face at the suggestion. Saying no just to say no. And then you go spent like $600 at the shops with his card. So he learns to keep his mouth shut and just supplement you with the life he wants you to have until you come to your own decision to be discharged.

And while you’ve grown accustomed to your new plush life, you never quite lose your fire. Truly, you’re a feral little thing turned prized show cat. You let him dote on you and provide you with all the finer things in life. Let him preen you and dress you up and play his perfect little wife. Oftentimes gives people the impression he’s got you tucked under his thumb when the reality of the situation is quite the opposite.

You let him play captain when you visit him at work or when he brings the boys over for drinks. Smile and stay relatively quiet tucked in by his side when you’re hosting dinner. Put on a nice outfit and a big smile when he introduces you to his chain of command during holiday parties and outings. You’ve gotten quite good at playing domestic.

But you like things exactly how you like them. Very particular about your life and your house and the people in it. You make it abundantly clear that it’s your way or no way at all.

Lounging out by the pool in the back while the landscapers work and noticing as they’re trying to slip out the gate that they didn’t properly trim the grass around the perimeter of the fence, so you storm out after them and hiss and yowl your complaint until they fix their mistake. Making a spectacle in your tiny bikini in front of the whole neighborhood until they finally correct the issue. Then you shake off any irritation and flash them a bright smile and offer your thanks like nothing had happened.

Hovering around the cook in the kitchen irritatingly close after you’ve asked them to prepare a dish that your mother used to make when you were a child. Peeking over their shoulder and punctuating their work with comments and corrections that are presented like suggestions, but everyone understands they’re demands. Going so far as to dump their progress in the trash when they’re not following your instruction well enough.

Sending John to work for two weeks straight with an empty bag that was supposed to hold his lunch because you’d asked him to please stop kicking off his mucked up work boots directly in front of the front door when he got home and he didn’t. Not even bothering to make up an excuse as to why you wouldn’t be coming to base when he called to ask if you’d bring him food. Simply saying no and ending the call no matter how many times he apologized.

Spilling his mug of tea over paperwork if you felt like he wasn’t paying you enough attention. Even if you were sat on his lap and obstructing his view of his desk.

Growing agitated with his working late so you go up to base when you know he’s out training and locking all of the drawers and cabinets in his office. Wearing the key on a dainty chain around your neck and telling him he can only have it back once you feel like he’s gotten his priorities straight. Calling in the aid of a handyman to bolt the mail slot on his door shut so he had no excuse to be doing any excess work.

Pulling a duchess from Wolf of Wall Street and wearing tiny little dresses with no underwear. Intentionally bending at the waist in front of him and leaning over his desk with your elbows pushed together in front of you when he’s done something to piss you off. Batting his hand away when he tries to grope you.

Or what felt like the worst punishment of all to him- making a point of being in the shower when he came home. Not giving him the pleasure of giving you the lush bubble baths he loved so much. Sometimes just sitting in the bathroom with the water running until you heard the front door swing shut and turning it off. Coming out wrapped in a towel that barely covered you. water beading on your shoulders. Sauntering away from him with your tail flicking back and forth when he tried to voice his protest.

He’s infinitely patient with you. Mostly because he is absolutely infatuated, but also because he knew what he was getting into when he married you. He’ll correct you when you go too far for his liking. Maybe pull you over his knee and make you apologize for how you acted until he feels like you mean it. Giving you a mean swat to the ass every time you’re snarky or flat out refuse. Sometimes gets fed up with your smart mouth and shoves his cock down your throat for a few hours to remind you that speaking is a privilege and not a right. Or he’ll parade you around the house fully nude. Maybe forcing you to crawl around on all fours like the feral cat you are in front of all the staff (or the task force boys) just to remind you of your place. Has you curl up on the sofa next to him, even though the whole time you’re pouting like you didn’t do anything wrong. Looks at you over his newspaper with a mock-sympathetic smile but says nothing until you decide to get over your anger and settle in his lap. Purring while he smooths a hand over your hair.

[sister-lucifer]

The Demon Brothers + Their Love Languages 

How do the bros show they love you?

genre: fluff 

content/warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff

like my writing? i take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio!

Lucifer: Acts of service 

Lucifer knows how it feels to have too much on your plate. He knows how exhausting it can be, both physically and mentally, and he has the gray hairs to prove it. He likes to do favors for you when he has the time, even if it’s something small like cooking dinner for you or running an errand when you don’t have time. He’ll do whatever you’ll allow him to to cut down your work load. 

Mammon: Gift giving 

Definitely the most obvious one. His spending habits are already less then desirable, but he only gets worse with a partner. Every time he sees something even tangentially related to something you like or sees something that makes him think of you, he HAS to have it. After all, who wouldn’t be happy to receive a gift from The Great Mammon? 

Leviathan: Quality time + Physical Touch 

Sorry, I just couldn’t choose between these two. They both fit Levi so well. For physical touch, he’s very touched starved. Any sort of touch from you is more than enough to have him melting against you. His favorite things are when you scratch his head, or when you slip your hands under his hoodie when you wrap your arms around him. He loves having your hands all over him, and not even in a sexual way. The intimacy of having your hand under his shirt or on his thigh is so blissfully warm.

For quality time, Leviathan bonds through parallel play. You can play video games with him if you’d like, or you can do your own completely separate thing on the other side of the room. No words needed. As long as you’re together and enjoying yourself, Leviathan considers it a date. 

Satan: Quality time 

There’s nothing Satan loves more than curling up with a good book. Well, besides doing it with you. He loves laying and reading together, commentating on the events of the chapters, theorizing and trying to predict what will happen next. He could sit and talk with you for hours about his favorite series and never get tired. 

Asmodeus: Physical touch + Words of affirmation

Asmodeus may be the horny one, but his touch has its tender, sweet moments as well. There’s hardly ever a second when he doesn’t have his arms around you, or at the very least is holding your hand. He likes to hold your face too, and run his hands through your hair. He just thinks you’re perfect all over, and perfection deserves to be admired! 

Speaking of which, he is going to tell you how perfect you are all. The. Time. Every second of every day he’s reminding you how beautiful you are, how smart you are, how talented you are, how utterly in love with you he is. Asmodeus holds the cure to all insecurities. 

Beelzebub: Acts of service 

Beelzebub is the easiest brother to ask for help; he’s not as abrasive or difficult as some of the others can be, and he’s hardly ever busy besides when he’s eating. Why wouldn’t he help? Besides, the look on your face when he lifts the couch for you to retrieve a lost item or when he helps you put together IKEA furniture is more than enough payment for him (although some food in return wouldn’t hurt). 

Belphegor: Physical touch 

Belphie absolutely loves both using you as a pillow and being used as a pillow. When he’s laying on you, he can snuggle in close and get comfy. He can take in your warmth and lay his head on your chest to hear your calming heartbeat. When you’re laying on him, it’s like having his own personal weighted blanket. The pressure is calming but not restrictive, a constant reminder of your presence. 

[syoddeye]

pursuit

poly 141 x reader ~1k words, lightly edited cw: chase/pursuit, human furniture continuation of spoils 2024/04/01 Update: This series is now Poly141! x transmasc!Reader.

The fireplace crackles, logs groaning in its flames. A mute servant slides narrow slats of kindling into the gaps and collects the ash. Reading in the privacy of his study after an indulgence is a languid ritual, and John leans in the seat of the tufted armchair like a lion sated. The servant continues their work in silence, with only the sound of turning pages cutting the quiet.

His eyes lift to the door seconds before the first knock falls, ending his peace abruptly. The grim face of a subordinate pokes through.

“Sir? You need to see this.”

John stares a moment before lifting his feet from the ottoman. The curled, nude man beneath his boots grunts quietly when he nudges him aside.

He allows the subordinate to bring up the security feed at his desk, one brow arched in intrigue rather than concern. He smirks as he watches a figure force themselves through a hedge. He summons his hounds with the press of a button, and one by one, they slink into his office, tails wagging at their own pace.

“Our little bird has flown the nest. Find ‘em, but do not engage lest they stray too close to the garden’s edge,” Reaching for his jacket, he pulls it on a sleeve at a time. “‘S preferable we allow them to believe they’ve slipped our grasp for now.”

With John’s instructions given, the three men race from the room. The Captain turns to the windows. If their plunder sought a game, he would indulge them.

~~

Over comms, John monitors the chase’s progress, tone detached as he saunters down the shallow steps leading from the manse to an exit of the maze. “Drive them towards the northwest corner.”

With precision timing and manipulation, John orchestrates the movements like a conductor guiding an orchestra, ensuring that every step their quarry takes is one he guides. The hollering and whooping voices of his men echo across the garden’s expanse, loud then soft—all to keep them uncertain and on edge. They’re far from being the first rabbit loose on the grounds, on the run from his dogs.

“Give them a little room,” He lopes along the outer path, then hooks into the exit, scratching at his beard. “Only tighten the lead on my command.”

He stops at a stone bench nestled within an alcove of tall brush and hedge and eases into it. A soft groan escapes him. Perhaps he overextended himself when welcoming their guest in his excitement. Clearly, next time, he’ll need to wear them out more. The fact they had the energy and strength to climb out of the window of their chambers was a miscalculation on his part. A distant shriek makes his lip curl.

He checks his watch. Any minute now.

~~

The ache of your knee and the warm track of blood are negligible, given current circumstances. The fabric is heavy, clutched in your fists, hoisted, and hitting against your calves with every step. You believe the head start will be enough. You must. You abandoned the bracelets and necklaces at the base of the wall beneath your window and tied shredded pillowcases around your bare feet.

Your heart hammers in your chest, lungs burning. After a few minutes, you skid to a halt and gulp down air. From the window, you estimated the maze was an acre and saw that it butted up against an iron fence, but it feels longer as if new paths spring up around each corner. Just as you catch your breath to continue, you hear it. Hear them.

Shouts.

Muttering a curse, you scramble onward. Although you try, it is impossible to keep quiet; whimpers and squeaks slip out as your poor makeshift feet coverings gradually rip away. The soles of your feet find every twig and pebble, and your scraped knee slows you further. Then there are the bruises that little your backside and thighs, thighs unhelpfully chafing and raw from John’s ministrations.

Your movements become more frantic as you weave through the garden, the voices—at once murmurs in your ear and distant howls beyond the shrubs—play tricks with your mind. Shadows await within the deadends and dark corners you find, morphing into figures, only to dissipate when you reel away.

A loud crunch of wood shocks you off your feet, and you hurtle into a wet patch of earth, biting your lip through. A burst of copper blooms in your mouth, but you gather your limbs up in a ball, tucking into recess on one of the living walls. Just as you retreat, the monstrous form of one of John’s men—Simon, the beast in black—stalks out from the gap you emerged from seconds before, sniffing the air like a dog. Heart in your throat, you watch him turn with a chuff, and disappear down a different passage.

You wait until his steps disappear. Cries erupt from a far corner of the grounds, and you shakily stand, trying to count the tones. One…two…

“Boo.”

A shriek rips out of you, and you stumble out of your hiding spot to take off. A deep laugh echoes behind you, and terror licks at your heels. It’s the mohawked one. The man with the teeth. MacTavish.

You must find a way out. No part of you can afford a second or third surrender. Your sides are in stitches, fisting the unwieldy drapes covering your body. Desperate, flawed math maps your footfalls, your panic-stricken mind trying to calculate not only your rough location within the maze but the routes least likely to land you in the clutches of one of John’s men.

Rounding a corner, every part of you aching, you glide clumsily to a halt. The cool mud on your feet and legs meets the warmth of your blood.

Seated upon a bench as if it is a throne, is John.

He smiles. Teeth tombstones in the dark.

“Did you have a nice run?” 

You wheel around to disappear into the garden and meet a wall of solid mass. You bounce back a step and look up. The third man grins and encloses your wrist in an ironclad fist.

What about Kyle? He usually keeps his hands to himself.

Kyle's companions loom over his shoulders. He gently turns you to face John, who’s still seated.

Steps to your left and right crunch. Surrounded on three sides.

“Let’s see if they can’t work that insolence out of your system, eh?”

[noxturnalpascal]

The Chase (Part 1)

SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader   (5.4k)

DARKAU! SEQUEL TO THE HUNTED. POV will switch between Joel and Reader. This is dark, even darker than the first part. Read the warnings if you’re worried. Skip them if you don’t want anything to be spoiled.

Summary: Joel Miller is on the run after being released by his captor - a woman who claims to be a killer just like him. He’s so focused on trying to outrun her that he hasn’t killed anyone in months. Will her obsession or his own be his undoing?

Warnings for Part 1&2: 18+ MDNI. This is dark. Unprotected PiV sex, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, kidnapping, stalking, bondage, violence, punching, kicking, slapping, choking, blood, mention of needles, talk of murder. *TW: Character Death*

A/N: REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD! When you see "*****" - that indicates a POV switch. This is Part 1, at 5.4k words (there is almost no smut here - sorry), Part 2 will be slightly longer and will have smut.

He’s been on the run for almost five months now, though it feels longer. He saw the hungry look in your eyes when he suggested you let him go in order to chase after him again, but when the needle went into his neck he thought it was all over. Suffice to say that ever since he came-to in that empty garage he has been scrambling to stay two steps ahead of you. 

What he realized too late was that you still weren’t planning on playing fair. You left his wallet but took his driver’s license. His actual driver’s license with his actual home address on it. He also realized you had searched through his truck when you cleared out his cabin, taking all of his ‘hunting supplies’. And finally, it struck him much later than it should have that the phone you kept waving in front of his face was his own phone, which you also took with you.

So you have the location of his northern cabin, his home address, and would probably be able to find his secondary southern cabin with his map data in his phone. All three were burned. He has to start from scratch, and he has to do it all while staying hidden. He decides to risk it and immediately heads home, thinking there’s a chance that if he drives through the night, he might beat you there. If you didn’t head there as soon as you left, and maybe you didn’t - thinking it was too obvious of a place to start  - he has a shot.

He gets there and the house appears empty, no strange car in the driveway, doors locked the way he left them. He thinks things are looking up. Then he finds another note on his kitchen table. It says ‘Miss me yet?’ in a looser, more erratic handwriting scrawled in the middle of a large piece of paper. Covering the rest of the paper are lipstick prints smooched in varying shades and intensities. Jesus fuckin’ christ, he thinks, you are unhinged.

He checks the house carefully, looking in closets and under furniture, but you aren’t there. You must have been there for a little bit, there is evidence you made yourself some food and took a shower, but didn’t stick around. He gets right to work on his plan. He showers, his reflection and another lipstick print staring back at him from the vanity mirror. Then he spends the morning packing up anything he thinks he’ll need into boxes and totes and limping them out to his truck bed, his leg wound still fresh.

He doesn’t pack much, he’s not that sentimental. He packs up some old photo albums, all of his non-perishable food, a bunch of cash, a variety of clothes, a variety of weapons, and all of his camping supplies. While packing he notices that you spent enough time in the house to go through a lot of his things. You have stolen a bunch of his clothes, his toothbrush, some photos off his walls, and his pillow.

He makes some phone calls to arrange for the packing up and donating of the rest of the items in his house and then selling the house itself, making up some excuse about moving to his cabin permanently. He gives his forwarding contact number as the burner phone that he picked up at a Walmart halfway back home. 

Neither of his cabins were purchased through ‘regular channels’ and his real name isn’t associated with either of them, so they should be safe to hold on to for now but as long as you know about them he can’t step foot near them. He gives his truck a very thorough once-over for tracking equipment and leaves his neighborhood. 

That was 21 weeks and 3 days ago.

He was so careful at first. He would constantly check his mirrors to watch for following cars. He wouldn’t use any roadside motels or even register at campsites, preferring to drive deep into public land and boondock in his tent. He washed up and did his laundry in creeks, ate the canned food he’d packed up, and even utilized his boy scout skills - foraging for edible plants and hunting small game animals. 

He would think about you constantly. Not even because he wanted to, but because he was constantly gripped by the panic that you were on his tail. One time he could have sworn he heard your voice calling his name as he leaned over a mountain stream, the bubbling water carrying it downstream. He saw movement across the water out of the corner of his eye, but when his head jerked up, all he could track was the tall dried grass swaying in the light breeze. 

After a couple months of this behavior his food supply was completely tapped out. He was tired of sleeping on the ground, tired of washing his body in cold streams, and tired of hiding away like a prey animal. He got in his truck and drove for three straight days back to the deep south, so he could escape the cold of winter where he had been further north. Halfway through the second day he was so tired he almost pulled over to sleep, but then it was as if lightning jolted through his entire body when he thought he saw your face in a passing car. A double take relieved him of that fear, but it woke him up enough to keep him going for another day.

He checked into an old roadside inn that he drove by twice before stopping. He didn’t see any security system outside of the building. In the office he inquired about a room and noticed that they weren’t even using electronic equipment, instead keeping a written logbook of guests. He paid for a week in cash and when they asked for his ID, he handed them one of his fakes, watching as they copied the false information into their book.

The musty smell of the room didn’t bother him, nor did the squeaking of the ancient air conditioner in the window, nor did the roaches that scurried out of view when he turned on the bathroom light. This place was such an upgrade to what he’d been living with, it felt like the Ritz. He took one of the longest showers he’d ever taken, groaning with relief at the warm water and the clean feeling of his skin when he’d slathered it with soap. 

He gave his hair a proper wash, the first in many weeks, and felt just how long it’d grown. He ran his fingers through his hair and remembered your fingers in his hair, scratching his skull and tugging at his curls. He remembered your mouth on his neck, and your moans in his ear, and before he could stop his thoughts, he was half hard in the shower. He refused to touch himself and give any merit to those thoughts of you, that his traitorous body was enjoying.

What he should have been thinking about is not what happened last time you caught him, but what might happen if you catch him again. He knows you’re crazy. He thinks you’re like him, at least that’s what you said. And if you’re anything like him, then he knows you’re very dangerous. He tried many times to search for you with the limited clues he had, using his data on his prepaid phone. But with almost nothing to go on, any attempt at getting additional information about you had been futile.

After a week of sleeping in scratchy sheets and listening to the sink drip all hours of the day, he’s ready to move on. He didn’t just stop somewhere for the relative comforts. He stopped somewhere in order to stop running. He wanted to stand still for a time, to see if you would pop up behind him. He wondered if he could catch your scent on the wind, sense any sign of you approaching. It was a week of silence, of stillness, of nothing. It was a week of peace.

His next weeks of travel took him to remote towns along back roads. He didn’t spend more than a couple nights in each place, but he was able to replenish his canned food stash, wash clothes at a laundromat, do some repairs on his truck, and replace some of his hunting and camping supplies that had worn out with use. He even splurged and got himself a new tent, the old one having sprung a leak a week before he stopped using it.

The pressure to stay hidden starts to lift off his shoulders. He feels less like a frightened baby gazelle being stalked by a lioness. He doesn’t feel the need to constantly check over his shoulder, fearing the ghost of your hot breath on the back of his neck. He is careful but he’s more relaxed. He decides to stick by the Gulf of Mexico, and travels between four states now, repeating stops in little out-of-the-way towns. He sees familiar faces, but finds that it benefits him.

In another life he was handy, taught by his dad to build things, to fix them, to take them apart and put them back together. He has struck up a deal with some of the motel owners to do some minor repairs when he stays there, in exchange for a reduced rate. He doesn’t have to go more than a week now without a hot shower. He helps repair machines at the laundromats in exchange for free laundry services, so now he doesn’t have to re-wear dirty clothes. 

Several food markets give him boxes full of dented cans and near-expired products. He may wait until he looks dirty and unkempt enough and stop by these places to give them the impression that he’s struggling and homeless. It very well may be a working ruse, but it also might not be a total ruse. He kind of is struggling and homeless, thanks to you. It’s been almost two months of this routine. He still uses fake IDs, pays in cash, and doubles back when driving well-worn roads.

To further conserve his cash supply, he alternates between stopping at the motels and camping on public land. If he’s honest with himself it’s also not just about saving money. He isn’t ashamed to admit that he enjoys the amenities that the cheap little roadside stops provide as compared to the backwoods camping he endures, but his urges start to creep up on him when he’s around people for too long. Sticking himself in a tent all alone in the middle of the woods keeps him from killing anyone.

One afternoon last month he entered a small room in a dump outside of Lafayette, LA, where the guest complained the door wouldn’t lock properly. Without even needing the masterkey, he entered the empty room and was overwhelmed with the feminine smell that hit him immediately. An open suitcase laid on the bed, items of clothing draped along the side. A bottle of perfume, hand lotion, and lip gloss sat on the dresser next to the TV. Each item his eyes landed on was more tempting than the last. 

How badly he wanted to snatch a piece of clothing, to pocket the perfume, to leave the lock unfixed so he could return to the room later and put his hands around the throat of the woman who was staying there. It took every ounce of self control to only fix the lock and leave empty-handed. He couldn’t give into his urges. He couldn’t draw any attention. He couldn’t risk you hearing about his lapse in judgment.

He checked out of the hotel that very day and drove into Mississippi to escape the scent of the room with the now-fixed lock. You were on his mind the entire drive. He hadn’t thought about you that much in a long time. But as he laid in his tent in the growing dark, his mind was consumed by you. He couldn’t remember what you smelled like, but he imagined. He barely got the chance to touch your skin last time, but he fantasized. He definitely recalled what you felt like; the weight of you bouncing on his lap, the wetness of your tight cunt. Your moans played on repeat in his mind as he, not for the first time, fucked his fist while dreaming of fucking you again. 

The moniker little bird passes his lips as his cum spills over his hand, and he wonders if this delusion will ever come true. Will he get to fuck you again? Will he want to? Will you want to? What will happen if you catch him? Sex might be the last thing on your mind. You’re fucking crazy. You might just kill him. He might not even see it coming.

Yesterday he was working on the back of a dryer in a laundromat and he listened as a young man, trying to impress a young lady, explained how he was traveling alone in an old cargo van across the country to the grand canyon. He listened to this man confess everything you don’t want a stranger to know, only to have the girl giggle and walk away, excusing herself while admitting that she doesn’t speak English very well. 

Joel took almost three hours to repair the dryer because he spent so much time kneeled behind it planning a way to inconspicuously kill the young idiot without alerting you or the authorities as to his activities. By the time he had a plan in place and emerged from behind the appliances, the young man was gone. He allowed common sense to return to him before he could run outside to seek the camper out, and carry out his desire for blood.

And that is how Joel finds himself setting up his tent again, this time in the Florida Panhandle. He has once again had to run away from his urges, which grow stronger with each passing week. It’s been almost five months since you left him in that rented storage garage and almost six months since he killed anyone. He hasn’t gone this long between kills in a very long time. He likes to think of himself as methodical and controlled, even though you called his cabin disgusting and implied he was sloppy. 

But he has self control. He doesn’t kill on a whim, he plans it. He keeps it discreet. No cop has ever come knocking on his door. No one at all has. Except you. Even if you picked berries in his yard instead of knocking, you knew what you were doing. You were hunting him. He had no idea. He thought you were alone. He thought you were scared. He thought you were weak. He thought he was in control. How wrong he was.

And how wrong he is now. How wrong he’s been to have stopped looking over his shoulder. How wrong he’s been to let himself get comfortable with his surroundings. How wrong he’s been to ever doubt that you could catch up to him. Because as he turns around to reach for the rainfly to his tent, there you stand. Hands on your hips at the tailgate of his truck, smiling.

“Hi honey.”

*****

You watch him intake a quick breath, his face falling in dismay, his pupils dilating. It’s so obvious how hard he’s trying not to look at his rifle, which sits on the tailgate behind you, partially covered up by his tent’s rainfly. He makes a quick calculation as his brows knit on his forehead and you see him twitch forward an inch.

“Watch it now honey,” you point one finger to your hip, tilting your pelvis to display the 8” knife hanging from your belt. He freezes again and eyes the knife, then rolls his eyes. He must recognize it. You took it from his truck almost five months ago.

“Looks a little familiar,” he huffs.

“Does it? I had to replace the one I used to have…. left it somewhere a while back,” and you nod towards his leg. He winces, then looks at you for a moment before a cocky smile settles on his face. There’s that shit-eating grin you missed.

“I got myself a new one too,” and he tilts his own hip, showing off the sheathed knife hanging from his belt loop. “It’s ten inches.”

Your eyes go wide in a mocking display and you tsk your tongue against your teeth. “Oh honey, haven’t you heard? It’s not about size…. it’s about knowin’ what to do with it.”

His smile turns ugly. He’s feeling confident. He slowly reaches his hand back as he takes a step forward, muttering, “oh trust me I know what to do with it.”

You quickly reach your hand back into your waistband and grab the small revolver out, pointing it at him with a smile. “This look familiar too?” You ask him, mockingly, watching as he once again freezes in place. His smile is gone, replaced by an annoyed look as he registers that the gun you now have aimed at him also once belonged to him.

“You don’t really look happy to see me, honey.”

“Should I be?”

“Well the way we left things, I just thought you were gonna be missin’ me a lot more.” He is frozen still, watching you wide-eyed, struggling to find the words that will piss you off the least. He kind of looks scared shitless, this is amazing. He looks down for a moment and when he meets your eyes again, his whole face has softened.

“I did miss you sweetheart.”

There he is, there’s your charmer. You can’t help the smile that flashes across your face.

“Oh you did? You missed me?”

“All the time,” he nods slowly. “Every single day,” he adds. Now he’s pushing it. You try not to roll your eyes. You don’t want to be a brat after all this time apart.

“What’d you miss about me?”

Silence. Too long of a pause. He holds his breath and then begins to stutter something out. It’s too late. You’ve caught his lie.

“You didn’t miss me you fuckin’ liar. You’ve been runnin’ away from me for months,” you seethe.

“Runnin’ away was the point sweetheart,” he attempts to soothe you. “This game we’re playin’. Me: Mouse, You: Cat. That’s the game, right?” 

Maybe he has a point. It still annoys you. Maybe it even hurts your feelings a little. Feelings?

“I just thought you’d be sufferin’ more than you seem to be,” you try not to sound whiny.

“I’ve been so busy sweetheart,” he coos.

“Busy?”

“Busy tryin’ to stay two steps ahead of yo-” 

You can’t even help the laugh that bursts out of you. You clap your empty hand over your mouth but it’s too late. He’s got his face scrunched up, watching you too closely. Oops. You might as well tell him.

“That’s what you’ve been busy doin’? Is that what you think?”

The crease between his eyes deepens, his body settling into his stance while also visibly tensing up. He’s bracing for your next sentence. 

“Were you two steps ahead of me washin’ your laundry in that creek in Wyoming?” He’s holding his breath. “Or what about when you finally came back to civilization in Arkansas? Man, you really needed that shower. You stunk to high heaven!” His eyes look like they could pop out of his head. “How many steps ahead of me did you think you were in Mississippi, when you got in your tent, turned off your lantern, and whispered little bird into the dark?”

“What the fuck?!?” he gasps out, expression wild. “What th- How long- Did-,” he can’t even think of what question to ask first. “Was I ever even one step ahead of you?” he says through clenched teeth.

You just shrug your shoulders, trying your best to hide your smile, fully enjoying his realization and subsequent freakout.

“I shoulda fuckin’ known you weren’t gonna play fair,” he’s shaking his head, scowling.

“The fuck you mean by that? Play fair?”

“You always had the upper hand. You haven’t been playin’ fair. AGAIN.”

You mockingly frown at him. “If I wasn’t playin’ fair then why didn’t I just hide under your bed and kill you when you went home?” Men always have something to fucking complain about.

“I dunno. Probably has to do with the fact you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

What the fuck did he just say? Your right eye twitches. Your fingers tighten on the revolver.

“You had all the advantages,” he continues. “You had my first and last name, my home address, and my fuckin’ cellphone. I don’t even know your first nam-”

“And whose fuckin’ fault is that?” you interrupt, absolutely livid.

He snaps his eyes to yours, noting your tone. “I-”

“You never asked me my fuckin’ name did you?” you snarl.

“I-”

“You didn’t. Never asked. It was all wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” you glower.

“That’s not exactly how I remember it goin’ down,” he mutters under his breath.

“What’s my fuckin’ name?” you take a step forward, white-knuckle gripping the gun now.

His eyes flicker between yours and the revolver in your hand.

Your eyes bore into his, growing wider and wider. His mouth opens and then shuts, his pupils fully dilated. He swallows loudly, the only sound he makes.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” you growl, pointing towards the passenger side with the gun.

He stiffly marches to the passenger side and plops himself on the seat, pulling the door closed once seated. You raise your leg and stop the door from closing with your foot.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute cowboy,” you mock. You grab handcuffs out of your back pocket with your free hand, the other still pointing the revolver at him. You toss him the handcuffs and warn him, “make ‘em tight, this ain’t my first rodeo.” He clicks them into place and then you double check them, giving each a couple more clicks until the metal is digging into his wrist bones. 

Slamming the door closed and walking around the back, your arm sweeps his rainfly and his rifle off the tailgate onto the ground. You close and lock the back up, and round the truck to the driver’s side door. You look in through the window and make eye contact with him, his face expressionless. You know that getting into a small space with him is dangerous even if he’s handcuffed. Better not to have a gun for him to grab.

Well below the window and out of his eye-line, you flip the revolver open and let the loaded bullets fall into the grass. You flip it closed and tuck it back in your waistband at the small of your back. Opening the door, you climb in the driver’s seat. You hope he thinks it’s still loaded. Part of you even hopes he reaches for it, so you can punish him for his indiscretion.

He lied about missing you. He didn’t seem to be suffering without you. He looked like he was having fun playing cub scout in the woods. He called you crazy. He said you weren’t playing fair. He’s acting like a fucking victim when you gave him 21 weeks and 3 days more to live than you had originally planned. What an ungrateful fucking asshole. He has ruined this reunion.

*****

You drive in silence, which he takes as a bad sign. He can vaguely hear you grumbling under your breath through clenched teeth and see you white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel. He thought he had you calm for a minute back there. He was smiling, you were smiling, things were looking up. And then he said something that pissed you off, right about when he said you weren’t playing fair. He’d insulted you and now you were taking him somewhere, probably to kill him.

He thinks about grabbing the wheel, about grabbing his knife, about going for the gun he’s pretty sure is back in your waistband. But he knows you have the knife on your left side and probably a syringe hidden somewhere waiting to stab him with if he makes the wrong move. He sits in silence during the short drive and feels slight relief when you pull his truck up to a cabin, smoke billowing out of the chimney. This is better than what he was expecting - a six foot hole in the ground.

You park the truck right outside the cabin’s front door, exit the vehicle and head inside, front door slamming behind you. You’ve left him out in the truck alone. He should run. But he’s handcuffed, and you have his truck keys. What did you do with his rifle? He slowly exits the truck cab and shuts the door as quietly as possible, watching for movement at the cabin’s door. He heads to the back of the truck and quickly realizes you’ve locked both the tailgate and the bed cap’s door closed. Looking through the windows he doesn’t see his rifle and assumes you left it at his campsite. 

He might be willing to run for it with these handcuffs still on but he can’t leave everything in this truck and take off with no weapon at all. You’d catch him again in no time. He can’t run, he has nowhere else to go. He has to go inside the cabin, which of course you already knew and is the reason why you didn’t bother to drag him inside or babysit him until he came in.

He walks inside the front door and you immediately shout “SHOES!” His feet shuffle as he skids to a stop. You’re less than six feet away, at the sink of the small kitchen, not even bothering to turn and look at him. He toes his dirty boots off at the door as he looks around the small cabin, assessing the layout. To his left is a small couch, chair, and wood burning stove. Beyond the small sitting area is probably a bathroom and at the back of the cabin he sees a bunk bed through the open door.. On his right is the tiny kitchenette and directly in front of him sits a small dining table. 

He can’t help but notice that sitting on top of the otherwise empty table is the small, shiny revolver. He can’t help but notice it because it’s glaringly obvious. It’s clearly not an accident. You left that there for him to see as soon as he entered the cabin, turning your back to entice him into grabbing it, probably so you could shoot him with a different gun you have tucked into your waistband now. It’s such an obvious trap, he’s actually insulted that you think he’s that stupid. 

“Come ‘ere,” you snap, grabbing his attention.

He waits a beat but shuffles towards you, your back still turned. When he comes up behind you, you turn around, a knife in your hand. He flinches slightly and hopes you don’t notice. It’s a paring knife. You’re peeling potatoes. Knife still in your right hand you grab onto his handcuffs, pulling his arms up in front of him. You reach into your pocket with your other hand and produce the handcuff key, unlocking them without a word. 

He resists the urge to rub at his wrists where the metal has been digging into his bones. You point towards the back, at the door he assumes is the bathroom, and then turn back to the sink. You still aren’t speaking. You must still be pissed but at least he’s still alive. He won’t test your patience. He heads into the bathroom and quietly closes the door behind him, noticing a cardboard box sitting on the toilet. 

Inside the box is a change of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and shaving supplies. He recognizes all of them as items you stole from his home all those months ago. He showers, shaves, changes, and takes a deep breath to steel himself as he exits the bathroom. You remain at the kitchen sink, the gun remains on the table.

He stands just outside the bathroom, able to see the entire cabin from his vantage point. Behind him is the bedroom, bunk bed on one side of the room and a double bed on the other. He can’t help but notice his old pillow on the unmade side of the double bed, presumably where you’ve been sleeping. The larger room in front of him is filled with the smell of dinner, a large stockpot simmering on the stove.

He slowly makes his way into the kitchen, looking into the pot and seeing a creamy stew, green flecks rolling along the surface as it gently bubbles. He approaches you timidly and sees you’re still armed with a paring knife, slicing strawberries now. He takes a risk and places his hands on your hips. You still your movements, but don’t move to stop him. 

He’s pretty sure you have a weapon stashed somewhere. He slowly moves his hands along your hips towards your belly button. No gun tucked in the front. He presses the front of his body up against the back of yours. He hopes it’s not obvious that he’s checking for a weapon at your back now. He feels nothing but your hair tickling his nose. He inhales. You smell like a campfire. 

He presses his nose deeper into the back of your head and inhales again. He faintly smells the shampoo from the shower. He realizes he’s still gripping you at your stomach and pulling you into him while pressing himself into you. He also notices his growing erection is pressed against you, digging into your ass. You haven’t resumed your strawberry slicing but you haven’t stabbed him either, which is a surprise.

He lets go of his squeezing grip of you and puts his hands chastely back on your hips. He waits while you slowly resume your preparation of the last of the strawberries. Impulsively, he moves his head to the side of yours and noses around the shell of your ear, his freshly shaved face brushing against your cheek. He can’t stop himself from inhaling again, memorizing your scent.

Suddenly losing all control, he closes his eyes, kissing just below your ear and slowly down your neck. A part of his brain tells him to keep checking for weapons and so he moves one hand up to cup your breast and the other hand down, fingers dipping below your waistband. He hears the clatter of the knife being dropped in the sink and his eyes snap open, you turn in his arms to face him. You gently push him backwards, his arms dropping back to his sides.

“Dinner’s ready,” as you nod to the table, an obvious instruction to sit down.

You ladle the stew from the pot on the stove into two bowls, setting one down in front of him and the other down in front of you. You drop a spoon in each bowl and sit down across from him, the revolver now serving as the meal’s centerpiece. He still won’t look at it, knowing it’s a trap. You bring a spoonful to your lips, blowing on the steaming liquid.

“Eat,” you order, your eyes not leaving his.

He grabs the spoon and mimics you, blowing on the steaming soup before taking a loud slurp. It’s very hot. You’re still watching him. What even is this? He thought you were going to kill him but instead you brought him here. What are you doing? You made him shower. You implied he should shave. You cooked him dinner. He swallows another burning spoonful. Are you playing house? What the fuck is going on?

This is just part of your game. You’re fucking crazy. 

You’re still blowing on the spoon in front of your face, watching him. He lifts another spoonful to his lips, and freezes. You haven’t put that spoon in your mouth. You’re just staring at him, watching him eat. He looks down, past his spoon, into the bowl. What is this? What is he eating? He looks back to you, your eyes still boring into his own, still gently blowing on your spoon.

“Eat your dinner,” you bark, “little bird,” you quietly add.

What. 

Is. 

This?

*****

NEXT PART: The Chase (Part 2)

**CABIN LAYOUT POST IF YOU'RE A VISUAL PERSON LIKE ME**

[w3r3theli0nshunt]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑴𝑬 𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓔 𝓜𝓔 L̸̼̞̰͘O̸̜͉̹̳̎͒̎̄͘͘͝Ṽ̴̮̻̼̙̋͐̿̋̌̇̊E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ Ṃ̸͊̊̈́E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ

⚠︎︎︎𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸⚠︎︎

𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 ’𝙶𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝’ 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚐𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚃𝚆! 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚢/𝚗, content that is upsetting (don’t really wanna give to many warnings to spoil as the chapter is really short) mention of rape.

PART 1

PART 2

Part 3: last chapter

There’s light now, no dreams or strange voices, but a surrounding, a real one. You try to move - impossible, something’s holding your arms back. You try to jerk against it to break free while gazing around with lazy eyes and a throbbing headache. It’s not your room, not Alejandro’s either. You don’t feel the familiarity while processing the furnitures and the room’s huge build, almost like a castle. You try to jerk against the hinder of your movements, but it doesn’t budge so you look up, seeing your arms tied in a silver chain to the hollow bed frame as if you’re being held hostage. You instantly panic as you remember Ghost, that he’s killed Alejandro and that he’s been hunting you. And you’re probably chained inside of his room and the violent thoughts about the things he’ll probably do to you is building massive lumps of agony and fear.

Your thoughts and silent cries for help gets interrupted when you hear the door handle and see the way it sinks. He’s coming. You close your eyes and pretend to be asleep while making up plans on how to escape this psycho in one whole piece. You hear his loud footsteps and how they get louder by mere seconds as if he’s rushing towards you. Fucker probably knows you’re awake, and that is frightening. You feel the mattress sink in a rapid pace as you lean against a warm body and a big arm wrap around your body and a head that almost crush your chest while resting on it, then his fingers starts rubbing and squeezing as if he’s trying to soothe your ‘sleeping’ body.

“I’ve missed you so much, y/n. And now I finally got you…all for myself” Ghost mumbles into your clothed chest, his warm breath causing a humid sensation between your shirt and body and his fingers repulsively travels through your body while you have to suppress the uneasy shudders it’s causing you.

ILL MAKE YOU LOVE ME YOULL LOVE YOU WILL YES YOU WILL

Ghost moves his head from your chest and you feel at ease again, finally able to breathe. His hands stop moving, but the bed shifts and you feel your body slightly sinking deeper into the mattress as his heavy weight closes up to you. You’re pretty sure you feel his breath on your face, and the sudden lack of air confirms it. You feel his lips crash on yours, he shamefully and roughly kiss you while you feel the disgust. His chiseled jaw scratches yours, you even feel some scars caress your skin. It keeps going and it’s against your will, so you’ll have to come up with a plan and quickly.

As he has his eyes closed, you begin working on the restraints on the bed frame. Carefully slipping them through a crack in the bed frame, you carefully lower your arms to not alert him. You reach for a bedside lamp that is located next to you while not moving your head a single inch, you grip on it is tight as if your life depends on it - which it does, before you strike him with all of your power that is combined with determination and severe fear. He grunts in pain and you push him off and begin running towards the door, only to find that it’s locked. You try jerking the door handle but it stays shut. The intimidating laugh behind you is what makes you stop and turn around.

Ghost is sitting on the side of his bed, his unmasked face is showing a nasty grin and the trail of blood running down at the side of his head, staining a bit of his blonde hair. His bruised knuckle swipes away the blood and licks it clean, as he rise from his bed in a slow pace. Reminding you with his height that he’s much bigger, more intimidating than you are. But he stays put, he knows you’re afraid by the way you’re backed up against the door and by the look in your eyes.

“You’re smart, I’ll give you that, but not smart enough to escape me. I always think far ahead and I eventually prepared for this” You hate the look of pride in his face, the way he’s convincing you that you have no chance against him and that the smartest move is to surrender already - but still, you can’t. You don’t know how much of the amount of rebellion and determination you hold anymore, but you know it’s enough to keep you trying.

“But that hurt, you know. You’ll need to be punished” This is when Ghost think it’s a good idea approach and you back away until the door behind you prevents you.

“You motherfucker, I’ll kill you if I need to! I wont let you use your sick fantasies against me!” There’s cruelty in your words, but also fear and the fear is what reaches Ghost’s ears, the noticeable fear is what makes him laugh.

Ghost grips your legs and easily tosses you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing to him, and he starts moving towards the bed which makes you panic even more. You kick and punch against him, anything to make him put you down, anything to get away from him. He gently puts you down the bed whereas you expected him to just carelessly throw you, but before you can make another run towards the door, he cages you into the bed. His forearms placed on either side of your head, his thighs trapping your legs and he lays his heavy body weight on you, making it impossible for you to even squirm or lift a limb. And he rests his head in the crook of your neck, his breath slightly tickling you and sending shivers down your spine.

“So what now? You’re gonna rape me? Now that you finally got me captive? You’re so fucking sick” You feel tears run down on the corner of your eyes and you helplessly gaze up the dull ceiling, hoping there’s any gods above to help you, to grant you mercy.

“I won’t rape ye. I’m not that heartless, ya know. I just want ye to shut up, stop trying to escape me and just let me embrace ye like this, yeah? And I’ll be very nice to ye”

“You are heartless” Is all you dear to mumble, despite the will to shout at him for killing Alejandro and that poor rookie is strong, but not strong enough. You finally smarten up and reckon that it won’t be a good idea to be rebellious, and you don’t feel like challenging yourself on how many buttons you can push on him - and what consequences follows along.

“Shut up” He grunts and his grip on you becomes tighter, uncomfortably. You oblige, sensing there’s no need to cause unnecessary arguments with this sicko.

If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to use my cock to shut you up bet it’ll look real nice down your throat

It’s been three years.

“I now pronounce you two as spouses” The priest says, then rush away in fear and Ghost roughly smashes his lips against yours and his hands tightly hugging yours in a hurtful grip, not giving a damn about Soap and Gaz’s intense stares that they still have despite being corpses. You can smell their rotting stench all the way to the altar.

Your only best friend is now your tears and your heart that is caged in a tornado of agony and despair.

One day….one day you’ll see when I avenge my dead friends on you.

And one day never came around.

Now two adopted kids are playfully running around the house that Ghost bought and the wedding ring on your finger is yet another painful reminder of everything that has happened, everything you hoped was a bad nightmare that you’ll weep about but then forget and move on from, but everything is real even if it feels surreal. You don’t wanna be there and you don’t belong there…….

It’s like you were made to be consumed. It’s as if you were born just to become a bird in a cage. It’s destiny’s cruelty, and the gods for abandoning you despite your silent desperate pleads for them. You wanna leave.

But you won’t leave, you can’t. Not when there’s two innocent children in the picture….

DO YOU LOVE ME YET???? YOU WILL YOU WILL

[aquaquadrant]

What would the au where tango never got experimented on and as a result never left hels look like

you said that tango would have found his way to timmy eventually and that’s really interesting if they would have been friends I wonder how close they would be

the bond like the one Jimmy and tango have was only possible because tango had spent at least a year in hermit craft learning to open up and jimmy was raised not in hels

even if tango wouldn’t have the experiment trauma he still would have trauma and Timmy well I’m pretty sure he would’ve been open to it

Can you share your headcanons on the hypothetical situation please

(i know i’ve been sitting on this ask for ages but i had to turn the idea over in my mind a few times, like really let it get in there, let it simmer, rearrange the furniture. so uh, here ya go!)

~*~

“timmy,” tango calls urgently, ducking into the netherrack cave.

“yeah?” timmy pokes his head up from their nest. there are a few stray sticks caught in his hair- he must’ve taken a nap like tango suggested, thank god.

“sminor said there were blackcoats at the market yesterday, asking about hybrids.” tango talks quickly, his tone low and impersonal. he crosses over to the double chest they’ve set up, starting to rummage through it. “we gotta go, pack your stuff.”

timmy makes a noise of dismay, sitting upright. “is sean gonna be okay?” he asks tentatively, wringing his hands together.

tango scoffs. “c’mon, you know him. long as he stays outta water, he’ll be fine.” okay, that’s everything he can carry. he pops his ender chest down and starts reorganizing, trying to fit as many resources as he can. “now we, on the other hand, happen to be a bit more visibly obvious hybrids, so like i said, we gotta go.” satisfied with his ender chest, tango mines it back up before turning to face timmy. “now c’mon, scooch, i gotta burn it.”

timmy glances down at the nest, his face falling. “but i just got it how i like it…”

“well sorry, but it’s gotta go!” tango huffs, totally unapologetic, tugging at timmy’s arm. he manages not to scratch him. “now hurry up, get packing-”

“can’t we just hole up here for a few days, til they clear out the area?” timmy asks desperately.

“timmy-”

“you hid this place really well, they’re not gonna find it.”

tango doesn’t let the compliment sway him. he knows he’s hidden their base really well; countless hours were spent mining a virtual labyrinth of tunnels through the mountain, painstakingly shaped to appear as if they generated naturally. the way up to the cave is subtly marked by ever-so-slightly misplaced blocks of netherrack, completely imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know they’re there.

but if the rumors about the blackcoats are true, that won’t be enough.

“we can’t take that chance,” tango says sharply. he jerks his thumb back at the chest. “last warning. get packed or i’m burning it all.”

sighing, timmy finally relents, climbing over the edge of the nest and shuffling over towards the chest. his head is bowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. pouting, like a little kid. fucking typical.

leaning over the rim of the nest, tango dips his clawed fingers into the brush. he closes his eyes; fire flows from his fingertips, easy as breathing. the stick-and-leaf structure catches light almost instantly. fire crackles and pops in the still air.

timmy has turned his face away as he digs through the chest, shoulders hunching by his ears and wings tucked closed to his body. tango refuses to let himself feel bad for it. it had to be done.

“how’s your hunger?” he murmurs, stepping away from the burning nest.

“hm?” timmy doesn’t look over at him, preoccupied as he sorts his inventory.

tango sighs. “timmy. your hunger.”

“oh, uh- fine?”

“did you even check your comm?”

“i’m pretty sure it’s fine-”

“lemme see.”

“tangooo,” timmy whines, in that plaintive way of his, willing tango to drop the subject.

but tango remains firm, holding out a hand expectantly. after a moment, timmy wilts under the pressure, as expected. he meekly hands tango his communicator, glancing away.

tango quickly scans timmy’s stats. full health. thirty-eight levels (it’s been a while since his last death, tango notes with no small amount of pride). two armor points, cause of the iron boots tango made him last week. and his hunger bar-

“two haunches?” tango hisses. he can almost feel his blood start to boil. “damn it, timmy, how many times do i gotta tell you? you keep it at four at the absolute lowest, in case you have to run or fly. i told you, you don’t have to ration food, if we’re low i’ll go get more.”

timmy gives him a pleading look. “tango-”

“no- no, stop it with the puppy dog eyes! i already- i told you!” tango shoves the communicator back at timmy, none too gently. “do you want the creepy scientists to catch you? huh? want them to experiment on you? you want them to do a- a live dissection- a vivisection on you?”

“hang on,” timmy protests, a nervous tremor in his voice, “we don’t- we don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen if they find us-”

“what do you think happens?” tango snaps, tasting flames on his tongue. he knows his blaze rods must be spitting fire at this point, but he can’t bring himself to care. “everywhere they go, hybrids disappear. what, you- do you think they’re all just enjoying some super secret hybrid party, joining hands and singing kumbaya? don’t be stupid.”

for a moment there’s silence, nothing but the steady crackling of the burning nest behind them. timmy just looks at him, those big sad eyes shining with tears, and tango’s anger extinguishes.

as easy as it is to lash out at timmy, as good as it feels to get that release, tango always regrets it pretty quickly afterwards.

“hey…” tango exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “okay, okay, sorry. you’re not stupid.” he steps closer, carefully taking timmy’s face in his hands. “and- and i don’t wanna leave either. but it’s the only way to keep you safe. i mean- i promised i would, didn’t i?”

“yeah, i know.” timmy sniffles, avoiding tango’s gaze. “there’s… another town fifteen hundred blocks north?”

“no,” tango says, taking care not to let his voice harden. he picks a stick out of timmy’s hair before stepping away. “no towns for a while. we need to lay low til they clear the area. we’ll find a nice mountain in a forest somewhere, okay? maybe- maybe we can even have a little skylight.”

“yeah?” timmy asks, his voice going up hopefully.

“yeah.” tango pulls a cooked salmon out of his inventory, handing it to timmy. “here, eat.”

in hindsight, tango should’ve known they wouldn’t be safe for very long, living near a coastal town. oceans are few and far between in hels, so they get a lot of traffic. but god, it’s so nice to have actual meat for a change. he loathes the thought of going back to rotten flesh and spider eyes.

timmy takes the fish without complaint and starts nibbling on it. satisfied, tango turns to their double chest and breaks it, letting all the excess items and blocks spill onto the floor. a single well-aimed fireball sets the whole pile ablaze, leaving nothing but smoldering netherrack.

lastly, tango mines their respawn anchor. now that their spawn point is untethered, he feels the anxiety start to kick in with renewed force. a death now would strand them at the world spawn, and that would be all kinds of bad. he takes a final look around the cave; there’s no sign they were ever even here.

“alright, let’s get moving,” he says, putting his pickaxe away and heading for the exit tunnel.

timmy follows him out of the cave. they travel in silence for a few minutes, tango keeping an ear out for mobs since the only light they have is the faint flow of his blaze rods. lighting the area up would give them away, so they’ve had to get used to seeing in the dark.

“someday,” tango says quietly, “we’ll go far enough that we won’t have to worry about those guys ever again. and- and we’ll be able to make a little happy house together, nest and all.”

timmy hums, his arm brushing against tango’s in the dark, wing spread around his shoulders. “yeah, a proper home. i like it. we can- uh, d’you think we’ll make like, a farm or somethin’? a little cozy cottage, like a- a homestead, or…”

“a ranch?” tango suggests, feeling a grin pull at his mouth. like they’d ever find enough passive mobs for that. but for some reason, the idea appeals to him.

timmy huffs a laugh, something tango hasn’t heard for a while. “yeah, sure, we’ll be ranchers.”

“ranchers,” tango agrees. his inner fire has dimmed to a gentle warmth, now; some soft, weak thing he doesn’t have a name for. “team rancher.”

~*~