#hope he didn’t leave any meat on the floor of your kitchen

[eggshellwbacon]

Silly

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k

content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉

> in which masterlist!

note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3

—

“jungkook, baby?”

your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.

“babe?”

you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.

him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.

and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.

but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.

you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.

the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.

he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?

agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.

maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.

whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.

in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.

you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.

jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.

clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.

but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.

your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe��� you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.

not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.

the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.

you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.

anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.

—

jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.

when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.

night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.

“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.

the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.

“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.

his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.

“are you crying?!”

your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.

“baby!”

he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”

“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”

this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.

“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”

his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.

you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.

“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”

from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.

“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”

now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.

but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.

“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.

he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.

“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”

“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.

he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”

fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.

“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.

the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.

“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”

“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”

“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”

you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.

“____!”

and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.

“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”

you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.

“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”

you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”

“are you sure?”

he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.

“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”

“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”

“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”

“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.

“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.

and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.

“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”

“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”

“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”

he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.

“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.

he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.

and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”

if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.

however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.

“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”

jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.

may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.

“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”

he winces guiltily.

“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”

“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.

he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.

“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.

—

“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.

“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.

you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.

of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.

“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.

“rice,” he demands as he chews.

you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.

“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.

witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.

“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.

“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.

“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”

but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.

“i just told you to eat first!”

you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”

he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.

“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”

he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.

—

you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.

with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.

and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.

and it was cold. it was always cold.

“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”

“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”

“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”

“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”

“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”

your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.

a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.

your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.

oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.

“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.

the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.

“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.

the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.

he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.

“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”

you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.

you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.

“are you spiderman?”

he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”

you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”

he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”

“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“

“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”

your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.

“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”

you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.

“uh?! i’m serious over here!”

this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.

“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”

he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.

“i’ll go with you,”

“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”

“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.

“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”

“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”

that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.

“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”

“this is very normal,” he argues.

the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.

“some would even say romantic.”

a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.

you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.

you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[novasintheroom]

A home for you and me

Combining these two asks since they both ask for the same line! Hope you don't mind <3

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: It's a new chapter in your lives.

Now part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hot day. Most people are avoiding the worst of it by staying indoors, where some have cooling vents from the Plant, and others just have shade.

Vash feels sweat drip down his back, his knuckles lightly cramping around the cloth handles for bags laden with food stuffs. He’s happy with the haul from the market. Fresh fruit and vegetables, with synthetic meat that didn’t look too grey. This town really was a good place to settle down. He’ll have to tell you again when he gets home.

Home.

What a strange concept. Over one-hundred and fifty years on No Man’s Land, and Vash could hardly call any place truly home. Sure, there’s the ship, Home. Luida and Brad are wonderful. But he never wanted to overstay his welcome there, always leaving within a few days to hoof it once again across the deserts and try to repent for his wrongs. And always being on the run as either an outlaw or just an unwanted or unwelcome stranger made it impossible to settle down anywhere.

Until now.

Home comes into view as he rounds a corner. Sitting along a row of similar houses, it’s small, built of metal and rock and precious few beams of wood to bend in the desert winds. Three painted pots sit near the door – a craft you’d insisted on doing to help brighten the outside with more than oranges and browns. The string lights sway in the slight breeze over the doorway, waiting to turn on once the suns dip lower and the shadows come.

Someone might say it’s not much. But give them a century of travel, and it’ll become the best thing a man has seen.

His left hand turns the handle of the door – unlocked, you probably saw him coming through the window – and goes inside.

He only has a moment to hear your squeal and drop the groceries before you launch yourself at him. He catches you, feels your legs wrap around his waist to keep yourself locked in place. He is pummeled by your lips on his jaw, his neck, his cheeks. “Mayfly – !” He’s already overheated, but this is making it worse. “What are you – “

“I’m so happy we have a house!” You exclaim, planting a big kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m so happy you get to get groceries!”

Ah, zoomies. You’d been doing this lately, just too happy to have a house to do anything but run around or kiss him. He lets out a laugh, pulling you into a hug to stop your onslaught. “Can I at least shut the door before you decide to pounce on me the moment I come home?” He walks into the hallway, gently kicking the door closed behind.

You snort and pull back with a look. “You know you love it.”

He hums. “I’m sure the neighbors love it too,” he says. Still, he leans forward and catches your lips in a full kiss.

When you pull back, you finally put your feet back to the floor and stoop down to gather the grocery bags. “C’mon, I’ve been rearranging the furniture and I need to get your opinion. Oh, also, one of the neighbors came by and gave us a casserole! Isn’t that weird? She was super nice, though. I think she said she lives a few doors down, but I’ll have to check again. I think she has those two teenage boys that we saw walking earlier. Looked a lot like her!”

You wander down the hall, expecting him to follow at your heels, just like when you travelled. But Vash has to take a moment. You’re carrying groceries instead of supplies for camp. There’s food in the house, a place to safely lay your heads. You cut a beautiful figure, knocking into the corner as you go to the kitchen with what he brought home. Already trusting he got the right supplies, that this is going to work. You want him to look at the furniture.

You pop your head back in the hall when he doesn’t immediately show up. Your face falls, and you’re rushing to him. “Birdie, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” You reach up, and Vash is surprised to feel tears being wiped away. He hadn’t known he was crying. “Did something happen at the market?”

Vash takes a moment to rein it in. Then he pulls you into a tight hug, a watery laugh spilling out. “I’m just…really glad we have a home.”

You coo and rub his back. It still has all the scars and metal plates under the shirt. All the reminders of where he���s been, what he’s gone through. You feel your own tears prick in your eyes. What you would give to make that go away. But it’s what made him the man he is today, and you wouldn’t have him any other way. Your sweet man. You rock him side to side with your feet and whisper, “Me too, sweetheart.”

Vash sniffles into your shoulder, glasses pressed into the crook of your neck. Then he pulls away, sighing and wiping his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m done.” He laughs. Then, looking down, he asks, “One more kiss? Please?”

With a smile, you say, “See? I knew you loved it.” You go to your tiptoes and press your lips to his.

[whoisneo404]

What about a nick x younger brother where the younger brother thinks he might be gay so he goes to big brother nick for advice ( p.s. i know this isn’t like any of your other stories but i cant stop thinking about it ) ( the younger brother is gay )

Proud of you, buddy.

Summary: you think you have catched feeling for one of your classmates, unsure about these new feelings towards this boy, you decide to ask your older brother Nick for some advice.

Note: Nick, Matt and Chris call reader ‘Buddy’. Also a bit short, hope you like this.

The bell rang, I stood up grabbing my backpack and walking to the parking lot of the school. I was excited because my brothers were home for mom’s birthday which is on the weekend. As I check my phone to see if Matt was already outside to pick me up like he said he would I feel an arm resting on my shoulders.

‘’HEY! Why are you in a hurry?’’ Jackson is my friend since I entered this school, he’s outgoing and loves to do sports and play videogames. Recently, I have started to feel weird around him.

‘’I didn’t tell you? My brothers are here for mom’s birthday.’’ We walk side by side, his arm around me, my face red and my gaze focused in front of me, I didn’t want him to look at me like this.

‘’That’s so cool. That means I’ll finally meat them, right?’’

‘’Yeah, I almost forgot mom told me you could come to the dinner.’’

‘’Of course I can go, she loves me.’’

‘’Yep.’’ I try to not let out a sigh, I try to not run away. Why do I feel like this? ‘’Hey, I think that’s Matt there, so I need to go, bye, see you tomorrow.’’ I don’t give him time to reply and rush to the car.

‘’Hey, buddy. Everything okay? You are all red?’’ Matt looks at me while I put my seatbelt on.

‘’Yeah, all good. I’m glad you guys are here.’’

‘’Me too, buddy.’’

-------

‘’Omg, you are actually taller. That’s amazing.’’ Chris hugs me as I entered the kitchen. ‘’I think you might be as tall as us one day.’’

‘’Soon, you’ll see.’’ I smirk, and punch him playfully.

‘’Careful ladies, my bro is not here to play.’’ I stop smiling, he doesn’t notice ‘cus he’s already sitting at the table with Matt.

‘’All right, Chrissy. Leave your brother alone.’’ Mom says while putting another plate with food on the table. ‘’Honey, can you call Nick?’’ she looks at me and I nod.

I go to Nick’s old room and knock on the door. ‘’Come in.’’ I open the door and he is taking out some stuff from his backpack. ‘’Oh, Hi. How have you been?’’ I rush to him and hug him; he laughs and messes up my hair.

‘’Do you think… maybe, we can talk after lunch?’’

‘’Of course buddy, did something happened?’’ he looks down at me concerned.

‘’No, I mean, not really. I just wanted to talk to you about something.’’

‘’Okay, after we eat, we can talk about whatever you want.’’ After another quick hug we go downstairs to eat.

We talk about everything. How is it where they live, how’s school, old friends, about mom’s birthday, dad’s new hobby, Justin wanting a new car. Just a lot of chatting, and a small pit of anxiety grew on my stomach. I know Nick won’t say anything bad, he will be so supportive, understand me, but I’m not even sure if I’m gay, maybe I’m bisexual, I don’t know if I have ever liked a girl that way? What if I do some day?

‘’Buddy, lets go.’’ Nicks hand is on my shoulder. Matt and Chris were cleaning up the table. Mom and dad were picking up a movie to watch together. Nick and I went to the backyard.

‘’So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?’’ he sits on the cement floor, I sit besides him. The breeze messing our hairs.

‘’I like someone.’’ Nick looks at me and tilts his head. I think he know; I could tell anyone at this house, I can talk about girls with dad, Matt, Chris, Justin. Why would I be telling him about my crush if they weren’t a ‘he’.

‘’Okay, and?’’

‘’That someone is a boy… and I don’t know if I’m gay or I don’t know. Also, I don’t know what to do, because I want to be with him but what if he doesn’t want the same? And I’m freaking out, so I wanted to talk with you because maybe you could help me.’’ I cover my face with my hands.

‘’Wow, that’s a lot to take in… First of all, thank you for telling me. Second, you don’t need to know what you are, you don’t have to put a label to yourself yet, or ever, if you don’t feel like any sexualities define you, that’s okay.’’ My eyes start to water up a bit. ‘’So, about this boy. What is it that you like about him?’’ I let out a chuckle.

‘’What is it that I don’t like about him? he’s the best, so funny, kind, smart. I’m afraid because he’s my best friend, and I don’t know if he likes boys. I’m terrified to mess things up.’’

‘’Ow buddy.’’ He pats my back. ‘’It’s all right, you are still young, it’s okay to mess up and be in love. You can try to ask him out, I know it’s terrifying. But sometimes being afraid it’s better than regretting not doing it.’’

I nod and a few tears start to stream down my face. I feel Nicks hands wrap around me. This reminds me when he came out to me, he cried, and I cried because he was crying, we hugged and I told him I loved him. I bury my face in the crock of his neck I let myself go, all my fears, my anxiety, it went out in form of tears. After a while I stop, I back up a bit and clean my face with my hands.

‘’Want to get something to drink?’’ I nod.

‘’Don’t tell them yet. Please.’’ Nick gifts me a warm smile and nods. He knows what I’m experiencing, and I’m so glad to have him by my side to live this and learn about myself.

[virginsexgod69]

6| Squirrels & Wood

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

summary You and Daryl go out looking for some wood to use to board up the broken window, but before that, he brings back something to eat

cw typical twd violence, this chapter's pretty chill

1.5k words

Series Masterlist

 Now that he had his crossbow back and the skies were finally clear, Daryl could finally go out and hunt. Some fresh meat would be a nice change from the usual expired canned goods. He felt at peace, finally being outside following the small tracks of squirrels in the cool, sunless morning breeze. He wasn't sure what you liked to eat, but he hoped you'd be happy with what he'd bring back, if he even had a successful trip. 

 The sun was almost fully up by the time he started heading back to the cabin with the few squirrels he carried in his hands. He sat down on the porch and pulled out his knife before he began skinning the dead woodland creatures. He fell into a peaceful rhythm, cleaning out the animals while taking in the scenery around him. His mind couldn't help but wander to his friends. He was used to hunting for them, that is, after all how he felt he solidified his place in the group. Normally, this wouldn't be enough for all of them, but he hoped it'd be more then enough for you and him. He wanted to leave you with enough food, so that when he left you'd have more to eat than just whatever canned stuff you found. He didn't doubt that you could take care of yourself, but he felt that he owed it to you, at least a little, since you took care of him. 

You sat at the kitchen island as you nibbled on some canned peaches, not the most nutritional breakfast, but you were making do with what you had. The peaches only made your stomach, that was already in knots, churn uncomfortably. When you had woken up and came to the living room, you saw Daryl wasn't there in his usual spot. His weapons were also gone, which could only mean that he left. Paranoia got to you, convincing you that your actions from yesterday scared him off, despite him actually not knowing what you did. It made you sick. Not only was your baby's room in your cabin still busted, but now Daryl was gone. You'd be fine on your own and you knew it, but it kind of stung that he didn't even say goodbye. 

 You nearly jumped out of your skin when the door swung open and Daryl walked through. 

“I-I thought you left?” You admitted, confused. Your relief from seeing him overshadowed the guilt you felt from masturbating to him. 

“Jus’ went huntin’,” he said, holding up the skinned and gutted animals like trophies. You frowned at the sight of their blood dripping onto your wooden floors, but you didn’t say anything, you were just glad he was back. You looked away from him and back down at your peaches. Sure, they were sickeningly sweet, slimy, and probably expired, but squirrel didn’t seem too appetizing either. 

“You gonna eat those?” You asked after choking down another peach slice. 

“Nah, jus’ thought you’d like to use ‘em for decoration.” You rolled your eyes at him, but fished out a pan for him from the cabinet. 

“I prefer art over dead squirrels, thanks. You can use this to cook ‘em.”

“Don’ need none of that, I’ma cook ‘em outside. Jus’ came to see if you want any,” he explained. Canned peaches wasn’t gonna hold you over for long, so you accepted his offer, even though you were a bit skeptical. You followed him outside and saw the small fire he made. He sat down by it before spearing the squirrels with sticks and handing you one. You hesitantly accepted, careful to avoid his touch, and sat across from him, holding the meat over the fire like he did. You did everything in your power to not look at him and focus on your cooking, and it was working. That was until he spoke. 

“We gotta go out ’n find some wood we can use to board up that hole.” 

“I know a strip mall a couple miles east. The windows are all boarded up, so maybe we can take those,” you suggested. Daryl grunted in response and rotated his squirrel, so you did too. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Daryl told you they were ready. You waited a few moments for it to cool down before ripping off a piece and taking a small bite. It wasn’t anything delicious or disgusting, but it was food, so you ate it. You peeked at Daryl to see if he was done and immediately regretted when you were met with the sight of him licking his fingers. Heat blazed across your entire face as the scene before you brought you to last night in the shower. Suddenly, being in his presence felt like too much and you quickly stood to your feet.

“Ready to go? I’m ready to go! I’m gonna pop in and grab my stuff real quick, okay bye!” You hurried into the cabin as he watched in confusion. 

Armed with that big ass sledgehammer of yours, a bag, and a gun, you were ready to go. Daryl, with his crossbow and knife, followed beside you. 

“How’s your leg healing?” You ask him. It had been so long since you’ve checked on his injury, that you almost forgot about it. 

“S’fine,” you said at the same time as him. He side eyed you as you laughed to yourself. 

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” you jested. 

 The walk was peaceful, for the most part. You took care of the walkers that straggled by before Daryl could even aim his crossbow. The hot sun was beating down on the two of you as you walked together, making the journey uncomfortable. After a few hours, the two of you were in front of the stores, most of which had boarded up windows and doors. There were a few abandoned cars in the parking lot, along with tipped over shopping carts, dead bodies, and a bunch of walkers that were slowly starting to notice you two. 

“We should clear the area before we try taking some of the wood off,” you suggested, although it sounded more like an order. He nodded in agreement before shooting a bolt into the head of the walker coming up behind you. The two of you split up and got to work on clearing the parking lot. After firing a few more bolts, Daryl switched to his knife instead. Repeatedly stabbing and pulling his knife out of their skulls grew tiring and seemed like it would never end. He felt the cold, clammy hands of a walker behind him grabbing at him, trying to take a bite out of his flesh. He tugged and tugged at the knife that was currently lodged in a walker’s skull, but it wouldn’t give. He turned around and shoved it away, but more kept coming, surrounding him. He finally got his knife out, but by the time he did, you were by his side, cracking their skulls like eggshells. Thanks to the dual effort of you two, the parking lot was now littered in bodies, none of which could pose a threat anymore. 

 You followed Daryl up to one of the stores with boarded up doors. “How do we take it off?” You asked. Without a response, Daryl started pulling at the wood. He could feel you staring at him, well, his arms in particular, which made him self-conscious. The wood wouldn’t budge, though, since there were nails keeping it up and unfortunately, neither you nor him had anything to remove them with. 

“Let’s check out some o’ these stores, maybe they got a hammer in there,” Daryl suggested. 

“You check out the boutique, and I’ll check out the pharmacy.” Daryl grunted in agreement before you split off. 

You didn’t just want to check the pharmacy for a hammer though, you thought it’d be good to stock up on antibiotics and other medications. When you got inside, however, most of it seemed to be cleared. There was empty shelf after empty shelf as you walked through the small building. The few things that were left were some over the counter allergy pills and children’s cough syrup. Your mood dampened, upon seeing the bottle. It was the same kind you used to get for your son when he was sick. You shoved it aside and pocketed the allergy medication just in case. You wandered over to the counter and climbed over it before looking through every cabinet until you found something you thought’d be useful. You loaded your bag with the bottles of antibiotics you had found, your spirit feeling lifted at the small victory. Your real reason for searching the pharmacy had slipped your mind as you continued looking around the store. You grabbed the few rolls of bandages you were able to find, but you froze when you felt the familiar cold metal of. A gun pressing against the back of your head. 

“Drop your weapons and hand over the bag.” 

Next Chapter ►

thanks for reading =]

join the taglist?

Taglist @eternalrose81 @the-dixon-effect @millybaby @daryldixmedown @theoraekenslover @aeriean @lesbian-horror-fan @paintlavillered @zhannamustdie @thegeorgiahuntsman @bigbaldheadname @Lumi362 @lettersfromyourlover-blog

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 34)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (33) | Next (35)

Content Warning: Vore themes, vulgar language

Word Count: 2.6k

------ Chapter 34: I Can't (Won't) Help You ------

Bucky was furious after the whole incident with Chef Gore. He came into work the next morning in a disgusting mood: smacking around the lower-level kitchen workers, demanding the floors and counters be mopped to an immaculate shine, and cursing out his staff over the most trivial errors. Cruor didn’t get the chance to fawn over Addison and feed her breakfast, as was his typical morning ritual. He tried to stay out of his boss’s way, but Bucky was hankering for a confrontation. 

“Cruor!” he blustered, swinging his arms aggressively as he stamped over. “What’s the hold-up?” He clapped his hands rudely in the chef’s face. “Hurry your ass up! We’ve got food to serve!” 

Cruor huffed. “Working on it, boss.” He poured pancake batter into a skillet and sprinkled in a handful of blueberries. 

“Well, work harder. You’ve got some big shoes to fill with Chef Gore gone.” He regarded Cruor with skepticism, plucking at his blond mustache, as if inspecting a fresh meat delivery that he suspected was rotten. Cruor squinted back with irritation, wishing he’d just leave already so he could get back to cooking. “You’re so dang bony too, like a half-starved chicken. You need to fatten up. You know I like big meaty boys.” 

“Uh, no. Absolutely not. I’m not replacing Gore as your slut, you freak,” Cruor snapped, tossing his wavy hair back. “You’ll have to find a new dog to torment.” 

Bucky scowled before a seedy grin grew across his face. “Speaking of fattening up...” Cruor stiffened. “How’s your little lady in the jar doing?” 

“She’s getting there. It takes time,” Cruor mumbled. 

“Hmph. You know, I’m starting to think we’ll have to dispose of her, if she’s not ready for dinner soon.” 

“What?! No! That’s…” He scrambled for an excuse. “That’s premature, to say the least. A huge waste.” 

Bucky clucked his tongue. “We’ll see.” He spun around, spotting a gravy spill on the floor, and stormed over to rake one of the kitchen workers over the coals. Cruor ground his teeth in troubled thought as he flipped his pancakes. With Bucky’s attention diverted elsewhere, he dripped a few drops in the pan to make fluffy, human-sized pancakes for his girl.  His heart fluttered when he thought about her. At least somebody appreciated the blood, sweat, and tears he poured into his culinary art. 

Bucky stopped over at the human tanks, glaring down at Eren with vicious hatred. She stared back smugly, crossing her arms in fearless defiance. As upset as she had been over her recapture, she was elated by her unprecedented victory. She had accomplished the impossible, without dying, so she was very proud of herself. She wanted to do it again, scheming over how she could sate her thirst for blood. She hoped to see her confidant Joey again. 

Bucky lowered his face to her level and pounded on the glass with his fat finger. “I may not be able to kill or mutilate you, ya little bitch, but don’t think you’ve gotten away with it without any consequences. I’ll be sticking you into every last food order that comes out of this kitchen, mark my words!” He snapped his teeth at her before stomping off, shaking the glass walls with his footsteps.  

Eren was unintimidated by Bucky’s threat, but Jackie was shaken. She couldn’t understand how Eren was able to be so gutsy around those giant brutes. She gave a sidelong glance to Eren, hoping that her fellow human wouldn’t wind up dead, before looking over sadly at Iris. During the entire drama, with the death of Gore and Eren’s recapture, she’d remained as immobile and indifferent to her surroundings as if nothing of note had occurred at all. Jackie hated to see such lifelessness. 

She was already struggling not to cry, but the sight of Chester strolling into the kitchen really made her heart bleed. She didn’t want to face him in her distressed state and pretend to be unruffled by his gigantic presence. She didn’t want to be eaten again, to have him slobbering all over her with voracious desire. She didn’t want to play his game; she doubted if she’d even be able to sway him to her side, after seeing him thwart Eren’s escape attempt. She felt like giving up. 

Bucky intercepted Chester on his way over to the humans. “Chester!” he growled. “I know why you’re here! Pay up! All of it!” 

“Bucky, that’s not fair,” Chester reasoned. “A little human isn’t worth all that. Besides, I helped you catch the other one. Shouldn’t that count for something?” 

“I shouldn’t have to credit you for doing your fucking job!” Bucky snarled in return. “Pay the bribe or get the hell out of my kitchen!” 

Chester pouted, but he recognized he couldn’t win. He had no leverage, and Bucky had called his bluff. To him, Jackie was worth a lot more than the comparatively trivial trinkets loading down his pocket. “Alright, Bucky. I’ll pay,” the hungry giant agreed quietly. 

Jackie watched with trepidation as Chester dumped a truckload of sparkling jewels and gold into Bucky’s greedy fat paw. Her heart dropped into her stomach. For that exorbitant price, there was no doubt he would eat her this time, whether she was willing or not. She backed away into the wall, feeling small and trapped, as the gargantuan man approached. 

He looked down at her with softness in his green eyes before opening the lid and offering her his hand. Unlike last time, she cringed away, hiding her face and whimpering. She wasn’t ready to be eaten again, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. Chester frowned, not expecting this response. He gingerly wrapped his hand around her shaking form and lifted her out of the enclosure. He clutched her protectively to his chest and retreated to his customary hideout, the food closet. 

Once they were secluded from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, Chester settled in and carefully cupped Jackie in his palms, surveying her closely. She curled up in the bowl of his hands, trembling relentlessly. He thought about what to say to her. The withering glare of betrayal she had scalded him with yesterday, followed by the fear she exhibited today, suggested to him that he needed to mend the trust that he’d broken. 

“I can’t take it anymore…” Jackie stammered faintly. 

“Hm?” Chester leaned closer, prompting her to coil her body tighter. Her eyes turned shiny and wet. 

“Please don’t…” The fear and despair in her tone was palpable as she hid her face again. “Please don’t eat me… I’m begging you.” 

Chester furrowed his brows and swallowed the inevitable deluge of saliva that flowed through his maw at the suggestion. Her aroma was tantalizing, her flesh beckoning mere feet from his waiting mouth. “No, no, Jackie, I won’t. I just… want to talk, I swear.” He restrained himself from licking his chops. 

“T-talk? Really?” Jackie looked up him, glistening trails streaming down her cheeks. 

“Oh, Jackie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Chester apologized tenderly. He stroked her back and huddled shoulders gently with his pinky. “I know I must look like some sort of monster, but I really do have quite a fondness for you.” 

“For my taste,” Jackie spat bitterly, wiping away tears with her slender forearm. 

“Not… just that,” Chester confessed. He found his shameful inner thoughts difficult to bring into the light, but he wanted Jackie to know. “Ever since I met you—and yes, first tasted you—I’ve been obsessed with you. I can’t get you out of my head.”  

He gazed upon the object of his affection in earnest. “And—and yes, I’ve fantasized desperately about putting you into my mouth, and tasting you, and swallowing you, and keeping you in my stomach.” Jackie blanched. “B-b-but don’t misunderstand! I’ve felt so much more than that! Feelings I shouldn’t have for my food, for a human—inappropriate feelings, admittedly—but intense ones. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this way about a tiny woman before, but you’re just so sweet and cute and lovely, I can’t resist…” His fingertip, thicker around than her whole body, trailed down her back. “I… I might be in love with you.” 

Jackie gazed at him with stupefaction, mouth agape. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She never expected that the giant man who wanted to devour her so badly, enough to risk stealing from the princess to pay bribes to have her, would feel anything more for her than he would for a supremely delicious cut of steak. She had hoped to influence him, perhaps gain his trust, but she never believed in a million years that he would be in love with her! The very concept was astounding, impossible, implausible. And yet… here he was, pouring his heart out to her, those brilliant green irises fixated on her, waiting urgently for a response, as if she held all his hopes and dreams in the palm of her tiny hand, within his much larger hands. 

Jackie gulped, unsettled by his obsessive attention on her. She realized in a rush that she had accomplished the first step in her plan, despite her failures. Her pulse rocketed up with intensity. “If you really mean that, and you care about me that much, then help me! Save me!” she cried out, slapping her hands into the cushion of his palm for emphasis. “Save us all!” 

Chester blinked, the adoration in his expression fading. “I can’t,” he informed her sadly. 

Jackie’s hopes shattered and her eyes moistened with fresh tears. “W-why not?” 

Chester sighed. “You’re the property of the king. If I stole you, or let any of his precious humans escape, he would slaughter me.” 

“Then… then… take down the king!” Jackie shouted. Chester’s eyebrows shot up at the bold declaration. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“But why?! Why NOT?!” 

Chester had no intention of performing regicide, no matter how badly Jackie may want him to, but he humored her and listed all the reasons why such a feat would be impossible. “First of all, even if I wanted to betray him, how in the world would I accomplish that? He’s got his guard Ajax always by his side, so physical violence is out of the question. And I have to eat and drink the same food as him, right in front of him before he eats it, so I can’t poison him.” 

“You can’t just slip it in, while you’re pretending to check it?” 

“Hell no. I mess up and he notices, that’s instant death for me. And what if I somehow succeed? What then? He dies, and then his brat of a son ascends the throne and executes me for treason. No thanks. Even if I somehow miraculously kept my head, nobody would trust me any longer. I’d lose everything.” 

Jackie ruminated on his words, seeing in them only excuses. “So it’s hopeless. You won’t help me,” she uttered in words as heavy as lead. More tears sprinkled down. 

“Oh... Jackie...” Chester curled his fingers around her lovingly and brought her up to his chest. “I’m sorry...” He felt a need to reassure her, even if he didn’t believe his own words. “Don’t fret, Jackie. We’ll find a way... somehow...” 

She sniffled and buried her face in his shirt. “My friend, Iris... she’s going to die. They keep talking about disposing of her.” 

“Oh... the lethargic one in the case next to you? Yes, I did observe that.” 

Jackie nodded. Chester petted her with his fingers. She let out a shuddering breath. “I’m scared for Eren too.” She glared up at Chester, her temper flaring. “Why did you have to bring her back? She almost escaped and now Bucky will probably squash her!” She smashed her fist into Chester’s chest out of frustration, but to him it felt like nothing more than a small poke. 

“It’s my job, Jackie. I had to.” Chester knew this explanation would be insufficient in Jackie’s eyes, but it was the truth. He elaborated, “I can’t just let humans run free. The king knows I can track their scent. If one gets away from me, he’d likely have me executed.” No human had ever escaped the castle, thanks to Chester’s acute senses. 

Jackie beat her fists against the giant’s sternum to vent her spleen. “You’re not even trying! Why won’t you HELP me?” She collapsed with a heaving sob, burying herself in his shirt as hopelessness washed over her. She understood Chester’s point, but she knew if he truly cared that much, he would find a way. He was too comfortable in his palace job to really sacrifice anything to save her. She was still a lesser being to him, and they both knew it. 

Chester cradled her in his hands, hugging her snugly against him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. He held her against him for a long time, rocking her soothingly as she wept until she was dried out. The giant felt a stab of guilt over his unwillingness to do more, but he couldn’t see a happy ending for Jackie, or any of her friends.  

He felt even worse when his stomach grumbled, exposing the inner desires of his flesh that he strained to repress around Jackie. He didn’t think he’d be able to save the other humans, but he had secretly considered stealing Jackie for himself. However, if he absconded from the castle with her, cut all ties, and went into hiding, he’d lose access to the magic anti-digestion potions. He doubted he’d be able to restrain his ravenous urges around her for an extended period. He’d eat her, and she’d be dead. That was not an avenue he was willing to explore. 

Sitting on the dusty hard floor of the closet was uncomfortable, but Chester lingered, relishing every last moment he had with Jackie. He realized, with the extortionate price Bucky was demanding, he would probably never be able to share personal time in private with her again. He couldn’t get away with stealing any more of Princess Bianca’s jewelry, and he wasn’t a rich man by any means. Perhaps cutting all contact was for the best, since she resented him now. A pang of sadness wracked him to his core. Why couldn’t he have his cake—his girl—and eat her too? He couldn’t win. 

He stayed, refusing to leave until his time was up. As angry and heartbroken as Jackie was, she understood, in a cynical way, Chester’s perspective. Remaining with him, despite the unpleasant situation, was preferable to being on display as a food item in the kitchen. She could even find some comfort with him, the only giant who saw her as more than just an edible scrap, even if she still wasn’t quite a real person to him. She could sense the care and tenderness in his every touch as he caressed her with his fingers. She couldn’t entirely blame him for existing as the giant that he was, she supposed. After all, he could’ve just treated her as insignificant and gobbled her up, rather than taking the time to talk and reason with her.  

When Chester didn’t emerge from the closet by dinnertime, Bucky had to barge in and ruin everything. “Time’s up, Chester!” he belted out. Chester glared at him morosely. He didn’t hand Jackie over, but he didn’t resist either as Bucky clawed at his hands and wrenched Jackie away from him. She maintained doleful eye contact with Chester as she dangled from Bucky’s fingers. 

“Now get out!” Bucky demanded and pointed to the back door out of the kitchen. With a labored sigh, Chester hauled himself to his feet and dusted off his pants. He gave Jackie one last look, swollen with meaning, before washing his hands of the whole affair and trudging out. 

Chapter 35

Tag List: @yummynomms @tinycoded360

[pastramiace]

- Sanji is upset or hurt and luffy tries to “fix” him by giving Sanji food, but not just any food…luffy’s food.

Sanji hung a cold towel over the back of his neck, wincing a little at the cold temperature before letting out a small sigh. Sweat plastered his forehead and his button up clung to his back with an unflattering feeling. Warm would be an understatement for how the kitchen felt. To Sanji, it felt as if the mid-day sun was burning a hole straight through the wooden ceiling.

Opening the small window above the sink had done little except invite more humid air into the kitchen. A short huff came from the cook as he dejectedly sat down. He raised his arms above his head, a couple of pops sounding shortly after and granting a bit of reprieve to his aching body.

The crew’s latest battle at Alabasta had done more than a number on them and Sanji was definitely feeling that residual pain. It didn’t help that it was certainly hot enough to get off with minimal reprimand from Chopper if you happen to take off your bandages. The swordsman had definitely taken advantage of that.

So, bandage-less and sweaty, Sanji rested his forehead against the table’s surface in front of him and closed his eyes, tired eyelids relishing in the action.

He hadn’t even noticed he had fallen asleep until something soft poked at his cheek, Sanji frowning but still keeping his eyes closed, hoping that whatever or whoever it was would leave him alone. Another poke, this time followed by a whine that had Sanji peeling his eyes open in disappointment.

“Sanji~” Luffy’s face was right in front of his, the captain’s breath puffing over his nose as the younger pouted, eyes twinkling when they met Sanji’s. “Sanji~ I’m hungry.” Luffy’s hands gripped his stomach in faux agony…or many it was real agony, Sanji was never sure when it came to his captain.

Sanji’s dry lips stuck together a little bit before breaking apart, his head throbbing as he lifted it up to confront the problem at hand. “There’s food in the fridge,” he mumbled, hand pressing against his throbbing head as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“Sanji, you never leave the fridge unlocked for me,” Luffy’s pout grew and Sanji groaned in displeasure as the younger threw his stretchy arms around him, Luffy sticking himself to Sanji before letting out an amused sound. “Eww Sanji’s sticky.”

“Cause it’s hot captain,” Sanji brought his hands up, trying to push or pry Luffy from his body, missing the confused look in Luffy’s face, “Seriously it’s too hot, leggo of me.” Sanji huffed and Luffy’s eyebrows drew together, lips forming a small line as he puffed his cheeks out.

“It’s not hot, it’s like regular,” Luffy protested and Sanji rolled his eyes, finally managing to push Luffy off of him.

Hand pushing against the table’s surface, Sanji pushed himself upwards, grimacing as his whole body protested. He made his way over to the fridge, making sure to hide the lock combination as he opened it. Surprisingly enough, Luffy didn’t seem much interested as he sat cross-legged on the floor, head resting on his fist in an inquisitive position.

Only ten minutes had passed before Sanji was putting the final pieces of Luffy’s meal together, his favorite combination of meat, rice, and veggies - Sanji convinced him they weren’t veggies - that were formed into balls. Luffy had moved himself from the floor and was now rolling himself back and forth on the bench as he waited impatiently for his meal, shooting up with stars in his eyes as Sanji placed down the food in front of him.

Sanji didn’t bother to tell his captain that they were still hot from the stove. Nothing could stop Luffy from food in front of him and Sanji let out an amused huff as Luffy’s hands moved at lightening speed. The cook put together a couple more rice balls.

“Mfph Mm Umfh,” Luffy’s inaudible words caught Sanji's attention, the cook turning to see Luffy with cheeks stuffed and stretched out with food, a sight that always warmed his heart. Sanji gestured to the rice balls he just finished making as he turned the sink on, running his hands under cold water -- a refreshing feeling after standing by the stove in the smoldering room.

"There's some more right there," Sanji answered what he could only assume Luffy was mumbling with his mouth full of food, "I don't wanna hear from Chopper later about an upset stomach, eat those slower."

"MPFH," Luffy protested, and Sanji turned off the water, taking the towel off his shoulder as he dried his hands. Turning around, Sanji raised an eyebrow in question, looking between Luffy and a single rice ball that had managed to survive the massacre.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Sanji panicked a little, taking a couple of steps towards Luffy wondering what could possibly be wrong with the captain's food that would prevent him from eating it. Luffy held his hand up, Sanji stopping before getting a closer look at the food.

Luffy beckoned him closer and grabbed the rice ball in his free hand, the other gripping onto the bottom of Sanji's shirt. Before the cook could react, Luffy's hand was shooting towards his face, rice ball in hand which was soon stuffed into Sanji's mouth along with a certain captain's hand. Sanji choked a little as he tried to chew the food, Luffy's hand retracting with a proud smile on his face.

Sanji didn't even want to think about the last time Luffy washed his hands or what grime might have been covering them as he carefully chewed and swallowed the rice ball, Luffy doing the same with his accumulation of rice balls. They both swallowed.

"What the f-"

"I fixed you!" Luffy's voice cheered over Sanji's polite question, Luffy jumping up onto the bench and punching his fist into the air. "You should be feeling better now that you've had some yummy food, no more sickness."

"Sickness?" Sanji protested, meeting Luffy's eyes as the captain leaned down so they were eye-to-eye with each other, "Luffy I'm not sick." A puzzled expression arose on the younger's face, his head quirking to the side.

"Yeah you are," Luffy declared with a matter-of-fact tone, "You're all red and saying it's hot when it's not and you got injured in Alabasta which Chopper and Robin explained to me that injured can cause illness sometimes so I should always go to Chopper." Luffy's pinkie finger somehow found its way into his nose halfway through his explanation.

Placing his hand on the back of his sweaty neck, Sanji paused for a second, deciding to hear Luffy out which should have been the final reason to accept that he was ill. He had been feeling hot and achy since Alabasta but he had just chalked it up to the weather and post-battle injuries. Not that it wasn't, but being sick could also be contributing to it.

A sigh. "Alright Luffy, I'll go talk to Chopper, but you can't just put your hands in other people's mouths," Sanji reprimanded as Luffy beamed, his arm stretching behind Sanji and bringing back the final amount of rice balls. But, instead of shoving them into his mouth, Luffy grabbed Sanji's hands and dumped the remaining food into them.

"Chopper can fix you," Luffy stated as Sanji stared at him in surprise, even more shocked that the other had given up more than one of his pieces of food, "But your food makes me feel all better too so you should have some."

Another smile stretched across his captain's face before he plucked one of the rice balls out of Sanji's hands and shoved it in his own mouth, pulling himself out of the kitchen with a familiar laugh. A snort left Sanji's mouth and he looked down at the pieces of food in his hands. His heart swelled with pride and happiness that Luffy had not just shared his food but had done so with the prenotion that it would heal him.

The cook popped another one of the rice balls into his mouth, smiling a bit as he left the kitchen in search of Chopper. It never hurt to get checked out by their own personal doctor.

[wordsmithings]

“Is it?” Reza tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing together slightly and lips pursed in thought. He supposed compared to Chae’s situation, it was better to have some kind of connection to the spirits and their own magic than not being able to tap into it at all, even if the connection was frayed and tattered. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” He turned his gaze to the man next to him, a smile on his lips. He had long given up on trying to fix his connection with the spirits, accepting that this was the price he had to pay for his youthful desperations despite knowing the risks dabbing in something forbidden.

Reza nodded to the sentiment. “She’s one of a kind.” He tried to gesture with his hands, but since both of them were occupied,  he ended up raising the one linked with Chae and waved it around instead. “I’m glad that she makes you feelin’ hopeful, pretty. Lookin’ desolate and all gloomy doesn’t suit you. Leave that to someone else, hm.” Truly, he was grateful for what Helia had done for him as well. At least he knew that if he went missing or ended up dead like those poor sods, someone would sincerely mourn him. But he would never it out loud, of course.

“Well, dependin’ on who’s cookin’, but the basic ingredients are ground meat, tomato, potato, and carrots. I like to add olives in mine and eat them with white rice. You can also have it as fillings for tacos and empanadas.” He waved their interlinked hands as he gestured around, already drooling over the hearty dish that he envisioned in his mind. “Hey, you’re just like me. Looks like we have one more thing in common.” Reza grinned. “Do you have any allergies, though? I don’t want this to be the last time we have our meals together, you know.”

Reza couldn’t help but grin when he saw the smile on Chae’s lips, giddy that he wasn’t being pushed away despite the verbal protest. “So you’re sayin’ I can hold you tightly in other settings?” And as if to emphasise on his words, he pulled Chae closer to him, his brows raised and his eyes and smile twinkling in mischief. “Didn’t know you’re that bold, Oh Chung-Ae.” He had to release Chae from his embrace since they had to climb the stairs, though having Chae take the lead allowed him to enjoy a pretty good view, so it wasn’t all that bad. “So you had someone special before.” His tone was teasing, idly wondering who it was that Chae brought home and enjoyed their company. “Was it one of your blind dates that your parents set up? Or was it someone you found on your own?”

Once they reached the floor and Chae welcomed him inside, Reza couldn’t help but let his gaze wander, taking off his shoes as requested and setting them aside before padding towards the open space living room and kitchen. He placed his groceries onto the kitchen island, eyes still wandering to take in the personal style Chae had curated for himself before landing on the owner itself. “Will you be giving a tour later?” Reza started to familiarise himself around the kitchen as he located all the utensils that he would be needing for the evening.

“It’s good that you’re still able to have some connection to magic,” Chae replied earnestly. He’d never been able to form a deep connection to magic, his relationship with his own had always been complicated, an unseen force that was determined to cause him strife whether he used it or not but he’d always wondered what his life would have been like if he’d been normal. What sort of person would he have been if he’d been able to use magic like a normal witch? Would he have remained the same or would he be someone entirely different? Would he have made his family proud effortlessly or would he still have to work hard to earn it? 

He could relate to the noise of the spirits causing headaches, they often did the same to him even if he couldn’t understand them. Most of the time they tried to avoid him, seeming to know that their presence caused him discomfort but it was hard to avoid something as ethereal as air, no matter what was done it would always be there, like particles of dust being carried on the wind, you would inhale it even if you didn’t mean to. “I appreciate what she’s done though,” Chae added on in regards to Helia, feeling deeply in his chest that it was okay to joke around a little bit about her prodding into others business but also wanting to at least let it be known that he still respected her greatly, “She works hard and cares a lot. She reminds me to be hopeful.” 

“I don’t know what that is,” Chae admitted when Reza said he was intending on making a dish called picadillo, “but I do like Mexican food. I’d be interested in trying it. I’m not a picky eater.” 

The unexpected pull of Reza’s arm around his waist made Chae let out a breathy sort of laugh, “Aish,” he exhaled as he landed softly against the other man’s side, a kiss planted against his cheek, “How are we going to walk up the stairs if you’re holding me so tightly,” he wasn’t actually holding him against him that tightly, they were still able to maneuver well enough and despite his mild chastising a broad grin had stretched over his features. “No, no one special. Especially not lately,” he started to walk up the stairs now that Reza had released him, “I’m on the second floor,” answering Reza’s question quickly before he quietly wondered how many special people Reza must have. Someone as charismatic and charming as he was, he must have plenty and Chae wondered how many of them did he also called ‘pretty.’ 

They would soon reach the appropriate floor and Chae quickly input the door code to let them both in, the entrance was a smallish seeming narrow hallway with a door to the right that would lead to his bedroom, the door to that slightly ajar so if Reza felt curious enough to peer through it he’d see partly inside, then walking further down the hall would lead toward the full rest of the flat, open concept kitchen and living room, no dining area aside from the kitchen island that had a few stools lined in a row. “No shoes please,” Chae said to Reza, already toeing off his own and setting them neatly to the side.

[darling-i-read-it]

Leftovers

Hannibal Lecter x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: cannablism, really shy reader, murder talk

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy darling!

Requested: by @ateliefloresdaprimavera, another reason for me to smile 😍I was thinking about an Hannibal imagine(shocking, I know) of him and his wife( they still give me serious Gomez and Morticia Addams vibes) where even though they share the same "tastes" Yn doesn't like to talk to people that much like her husband, and so he does everything to make things easier for his wife(10000% supportive hubby) but she always goes out of her way to treat him as the king he is, so one day when she's at his office,so they can go to lunch, Will and Jack are there, and are gobsmacked by the domestic/romantic scene they never saw on Hannibal before. what do you think?

Summary: the request

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

You leaned against the counter, careful not to get your fingers on any of the things Hannibal had out for dinner. There were a lot of different piles, many things you didn’t recognize but things you would eat regardless. You wore your own apron, though you had no intention of helping him prepare. He was far too picky for that. But you kept him company and wore the apron so nothing got onto your work clothing.

“I imagine Jack Crawford will be a problem,” he said, thinking allowed. He put his back into cracking a bone. You didn’t even flinch.

“How so?” you inquired. You put your elbows on the counter and put your chin in your hand, looking at him as longingly as you did the day you were married.

“He’s oblivious but he’ll use Will till he breaks.”

“Doesn’t that mean it’s a good thing? We want Will to take the fall for the Chesapeake Ripper if we can, right?” He shrugged, separating the meat.

“I imagine Jack will be too smart for that. Right now. I may be able to get a little wiggle room in the weeks to come,” he explained.

“Well do what you must,” you said. Hannibal’s wedding ring was on the side of the sink, where he always put it before cooking. He used to tell you it was bad luck to wear it while he cooked meat. You were pretty sure he just made that up. Cannibal superstition. You still had yours on. You messed with it unconsciously, the rock of a ring on your finger always there in the back of your mind. “Does Jack know you’re married?” you asked.

“He’s never asked,” he said amusingly. “Though he had bigger things to worry about. Like the bodies we leave in the sun for him.” You rolled your eyes.

“If he were really worrying, he would have figured out it was us already dear.” You followed him as he moved around the kitchen, adding things to the pan. “When’s dinner going to be ready?”

“Patience.” Hannibal gave you a soft look. “Soon.” He chopped up some vegetables. “I could introduce you to Jack if you want.” You shook your head. You had never liked social settings. Hannibal was very accommodating to your desires but everyone in a while he asked, not wanting you to feel like he was hiding you.

“He sounds awful,” you said. He smiled.

“He is.”

“Is it alright if I bring leftovers to the office tomorrow? I have the afternoon off and want to eat with you.” He nodded pleasantly.

“I would very much enjoy that. Just remember to preheat it before you come over. I have no appointments from noon to 1:30.”

====

You pulled into Hannibal’s office at 12 in the afternoon on the dot. You were always punctual. It was the first thing about you Hannibal had fallen in love with. He adored people who were on time.

You got out of the car and brought inside the freshly preheated leftovers from the night before. Hannibal’s office was like a second home to you. You had spent hours here when he was getting it prepared. You had put the books on the second floor together and picked out the chairs for him and his clients. You and Hannibal had been through it all together and came out the other side.

You passed the empty secretary desk and walked into his office, leaving the door open ajar in case a client came in early for a session. Hannibal was sitting at his desk reading on his tablet.

“Freddie Lounds is awful,” he muttered.

“I could have told you that.” You set down his small plastic tin with all his food. He smiled at it and then at you.

“You preheated it,” he said pleasantly as you handed him a fork.

“Of course I did. I don’t forget important things like preheating my husband's leftovers so he doesn’t throw a silent fit the whole day.” Hannibal chuckled.

“I have never thrown a fit.”

“No, you just insist on being witty till I bring it up.”

Jack and Will walked into the office quietly, not wanting to alert Hannibal if he was in a session. They were met with the sounds of bubbling laughter from a female voice and Hannibal’s.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him genuinely laugh,” Will said dryly. They had just come to alert him of a new crime scene they were on their way to see. Jack took off his hat and put it on the coat rack, noting the open door.

He peeked inside without knocking. Will did so as well.

You and Hannibal were sitting across from each other. You had pulled up one of the smaller chairs and looked childish as you straightened your back to get to your food but Hannibal seemed to be laughing about it and you were laughing with him. Will noticed the fancy silverware from Hannibal’s personal collection.

Jack decided it was probably fit to knock. He rasped his knuckles gently against the already open door. You and Hannibal turned around, the laughter stifling. Hannibal raised his eyebrows, immediately protective of you.

“Jack, Will. I didn’t know you would be stopping by.” He put down his fork and met your eyes.

“It’s alright,” you insisted quietly.

“Is this a client? If so, why don’t I ever get snacks?” Will asked dryly. Hannibal shook his head and stood to greet them.

“This is my wife, Y/N. Y/N this is Jack Crawford and Will Graham.” Will held back a snort.

“You’re married? I can’t say I knew that,” Jack admitted. You walked up to the guys and shook their hands shyly. Jack had to admit, you and Hannibal fit well together. It was an unspoken kind of understanding the two of you had. He could tell.

“I try not to leave the home,” you said as a joke, though it was completely true. You smiled politely and Hannibal was about ready to kick them out. It was rude they had come without letting him know.

“Is there something you need?” Hannibal asked.

“There’s a new crime scene,” Will said bluntly. Hannibal nodded slightly then turned to you.

“I’ll have to rain check our lunch darling.”

“No worries,” you said quietly. “I’ll see you at home?”

“Of course.” He turned to the boys. “Shall we?”

“It was very nice meeting you both,” you said. They nodded their heads in agreement and left, wondering how on Earth they had missed you before.

Hannibal Tag List: @michaelmyersthestabbyboi, @elisaa-shelby, @russian-soft-bitch, @lov3vivian, @ceruleanrainblues

[dcbbw]

Suburban Housewife

I have no idea what this story is. What I do know is it isn’t TRR related (that I know of) but leaving the characters to reader’s choice/imagination.  

Huge THANK YOUs to the folks who read this over; the feedback and idea-bouncing was amazing, as it always is.  

THANK YOU to any and all who will read this; your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. I really hope you enjoy it! 

Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. I did a decent proofing and edit … but it’s me, guys. If it makes any difference, MS Editor rates this story as 98% error free.  

Rating is M for Mature

All characters belong to me 

Song Inspiration: Safehouse, Collar 

Word Count: 2,033 

Content Warning: implied/alluded to animal abuse

The woman quietly entered her kitchen through the back door, careful to shut and lock the door behind her. She flipped the light switch, bathing the room in soft light. The house, like her neighborhood, was blanketed in darkness and filled with stillness and quiet. The furnace kicking on confirmed what she already knew: the early morning was chilly on this dawning autumn day.  

She carried a pair of running shoes in one hand; they were dirty and needed to be put in the washing machine. A quick glance at the hoodie and yoga pants she wore told her they needed to be tossed in as well. The woman didn’t like dirty clothes.  

The girl’s eyes were squinted tightly against the fluorescent lighting as she was led from what was termed “the cubbyhole”, a small, tight closet with no light or toilet. She had been there for three days, and her meager clothing was soiled and stiff with urine and feces. Her voice was hoarse from screaming obscenities, crying, and wailing pleas for release. All of which had gone unheard.  

Freeing her hair from the loose ponytail she had pulled it back in, she silently traversed her way into the adjoining washroom where she quickly stripped herself of the outerwear, placing the attire atop the waiting load in the washer. She liberally coated everything with detergent before setting the water temperature to cold and beginning the cycle.  

Clad only in a pair of navy-blue boyshorts, she made her way back to the kitchen, pausing at one of the counters to pull a banana from a wooden bowl filled with fresh fruit. A glance at the microwave clock showed her it was just 5:30; she decided to prepare the day’s lunches. Chewing slowly on the fruit, the woman opened the refrigerator, her eyes surveying its contents.  

Her husband would have last night’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes; the children would have deli meat sandwiches, chips, juice boxes. As she pulled the ingredients, the woman also made a mental note of what to add to her grocery list besides what she needed to make chicken tortilla soup for that night’s dinner.  

They were low on milk and lunch meat; she planned on cooking her family a hot breakfast that morning, so more eggs and sausage. Juices. Pasta and sauce. Potatoes. Bread. Produce. Maybe a roast for Sunday dinner. 

As she prepared the noon meals for her family, the woman looked around her cozy kitchen with satisfaction. Neat, clean, orderly and painted in a soft green color with gray accents, stainless steel appliances. The entire house had been painted in soft neutrals: beige, grays, greens; the woman didn’t like the color white.  

The hospital had been all white: walls, floors, doors, sheets, uniforms.   

Straightjackets.  

All gleaming harshly and austerely beneath 24-hour lighting.  

Her gaze paused at the butcher’s block filled with knives. One was missing; she would need to replace it. 

 Soon.  

Once the lunches were prepared and packed away, she placed them on the top shelf of the refrigerator. She pulled out the eggs, placing the carton on the counter.  

She looked around, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything; the silver-colored dog bowls in the corner caught her attention. The woman absolutely loathed the dog; he ate her shoes and shitted all over the house. When outside, he tore into her azalea bushes and rummaged in the garbage cans.  

Her family loved the animal.  

She emptied the day-old food into a plastic bag, tying it tightly before placing it inside the kitchen trash can; the water she poured down the drain. She placed the bowls back where they belonged before exiting the room; she made sure to turn off the lights as she went.  

She was a silhouette as she crossed through the living area, the only illumination coming from the streetlamps barely visible through the closed blinds. The woman passed the groupings of family photos on end tables and the fireplace mantle without glancing at them; she wanted to shower and dress before anyone else woke up.  

In her bedroom, she paused in the doorway to stare at her still-sleeping husband. He lay on his side, facing her; his strong features were softened, almost vulnerable in repose. The stubble covering his jawline and chin was thicker. He would need to shave today; the woman would leave his razor on the sink’s ledge as a reminder.  

In the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet for toothpaste; her medication stared back at her. The woman exhaled a small sigh; it was no longer as potent, as evidenced by her middle-of-the-night awakening and recurring dreams. She should tell her doctor, but she was fine. She had a real family now and was loved by them.  

It was all she needed.  

The wooden frame house was engulfed in flames so bright, it lit the small community as if it were sunshine. Plumes of thick black smoke curled against the night sky, obliterating the stars. Firefighters battled the blaze while neighbors wondered if there were any survivors other than the young, barefoot teenage girl clad in a white cotton nightgown at the forefront of the crowd. Her hair hung in a straight curtain, framing her face and hiding the cruel smirk that curved her lips.  

When questioned by local police officers the girl, through tears and in a quavering voice, cited a childhood filled with a promiscuous mother who subjected her to physical, emotional, and psychological abuse. She claimed her mother prostituted her out to the many men who passed through their doorway.  

It was all a lie.  

The faded bruises and open wounds on the child’s body were determined to be self-inflicted, and a gynecological examination found the girl to still be a virgin. Her mother was happily married to her college sweetheart, the girl’s father.  

The girl was sentenced to the county’s psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane until such time she could stand trial.  

The woman was toweling off when her husband appeared through mango-scented steam. She smiled brightly at him.  

“Good morning!” 

He dutifully kissed her cheek, but his expression was troubled. “You left the bed at 3am. I thought you were taking the sleeping pills?” 

He had no idea her sleeping pills were actually a grade-A level anti-psychosis medication to suppress her homicidal rages. The woman took great care to ensure he would never know.  

Her eyes searched his face quickly. “I forgot last night,” she lied. “I woke up wide awake and couldn’t get back to sleep. Decided to go for a run.” 

Her husband nodded slowly. “You’ll take it tonight? We both know rest is important to you.” 

She nodded. “I will. Promise.” She gave him a quick kiss on his lips.  

The woman felt a sliver of fear coil in her belly. She loved her husband, loved her children. She didn’t want to lose them, lose the security being a wife and mother offered her.  

It was a good life, for the most part: Friday night football games at the neighborhood high school, followed by pizza and ice cream; chores on Saturday, and church on Sunday. Backyard barbecues, bike riding in the nearby park, family game nights.  

This house was their fourth move in six years; she and her husband both liked and enjoyed the home immensely as well as the neighborhood: lots of children, leafy trees, friendly people, and close to necessities and amenities. But just as in their previous neighborhoods, incidents began happening.  

Missing pets, small fires, vandalism upon neighboring houses.  

Her husband hadn’t heard the rumors and whispers, thank God. He was a trusting man, not a stupid one.  

Abruptly she turned, pressing her naked body close to his as she wrapped her arms around him. She sighed in relief when she felt him return her hug. She wasn’t ready to let go of what she had built.  

But she was prepared to.  

While her husband showered, the woman hastily dressed and made their bed. She took care to tuck the fitted sheet closer to her side of the mattress than usual. Her husband trusted her implicitly, but so had others. And still she had been found out.  

A half-hour later, her family was seated at the kitchen table, eating their hot breakfast of sausage links, scrambled eggs, grits, and toast. The children were giving their father one-word grunts in answer to his questions about what would be happening at school that day. He soon gave up and continued to eat his meal quickly and quietly.  

Her daughter looked around in puzzlement. “Mom, where’s Toodles?” 

Toodles was the dog.  

The inquiry caused her father and brother to look around the room expectantly, anticipating the pet to appear at hearing his name. 

The woman was rummaging in the fridge for the lunch sacks. “He ran out when I went for a jog this morning. He’ll return at some point.” 

“What if he gets hurt?” her daughter asked in a panicked voice.  

“He won’t. He’s smart,” the woman assured.  

Her husband rose from the table, preparing to leave out. His wife admonished her children to hurry up, the school bus would be arriving soon before following her spouse to the front porch. She kissed him sweetly, with just a touch of tongue. He returned the kiss, a tad more deeply.  

“You get some rest today. I’ll bring home dinner.” 

She nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. “Chinese?” she asked hopefully.  

“You got it, kid,” he winked at her over his shoulder. 

The woman stood on the porch, watching his dark blue Maxima back down the hilly driveway. He had just pulled off up the street when her kids came tumbling through the doorway, shrugging backpacks over their shoulders.  

Her eyes darted between her son and daughter.  

“Homework?”  

The children nodded affirmatively.  

“Lunches?”  

Again, they nodded.  

She held her arms out to give them hugs and kisses. “You are brave and kind and smart and good-looking. Have a GREAT day!” 

The kids gave her kisses on her cheek before walking down the incline the house sat on; her son looked back uneasily at his mother. The woman watched carefully from a porch chair as her children talked and joked with the neighborhood kids as all waited for the big yellow bus. As she always did, the woman waited until she saw her children board the bus, and the bus turn the corner before entering the house.  

She locked the door behind her and turned on the television to a local new station for background noise. She placed pans, plates, utensils, and glasses in the dishwasher before wiping down counters and the kitchen table. She wrote out her grocery list, deciding she would go to the store tomorrow after the kids were off to school.  

As she did her tasks, the woman decided she didn’t need to call the doctor; despite her body’s newly-found complacency with the medication, she was still fine. Nearly fifteen years since her release, and she was both wife and mother to a family that was very much alive and well, happy and healthy.  

No, she didn’t need to call the doctor for herself.  

But her son was a different story ... 

She yawned heavily; she was beginning to feel tired. A daytime nap would be a good thing.  

But first, she had to bury the damn dog and dispose of the missing knife.  

She was a good mother.  

Tagging:  @jared2612​​ @ao719​​ @burnsoslow​​ @marietrinmimi​​ @merridithsmiscellany-blog​​ @queenjilian​​ @indiacater​​ @kingliam2019​​ @bebepac​​ @liamxs-world​​ @mom2000aggie​​ @cmestrella​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​  @neotericthemis​​ @twinkleallnight​​ @umccall71​​ @superharriet​​  @busywoman​​ @gabesmommie1130​​ @tessa-liam​​ @phoenixrising0308​​ @beezm​​ @gardeningourmet​​ @lovingchoices14​​ @foreverethereal123​​ @mainstreetreader​​ @angelasscribbles​​ @lady-calypso​​ @emkay512​​ @jovialyouthmusic​​ @21-wishes​​ @princessleac1​​ @charlotteg234​​ @queenrileyrose​​ @alj4890​​ @yourfavaquarius111​​ @motorcitymademadame​​ @bbrandy2002​​ @eversoaringqueen12​​ @queenmiarys​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​

[bcdwhcre]

“Territory,” Levi x Reader

Summary: Levi overhears the cadets confessing their feelings for you so he decides to show them that you’re his.

Warnings: ⚠️ smut zoneeee ⚠️

Levi x Fem!Reader

This was requested btwwww

.

.

.

It was the weekend, meaning the scouts were off of work until another expedition comes along so you had decided to stay inside the kitchen, teaching yourself how to bake simple desserts like cookies or brownies to occupy your mind.

The hobby had suited you, made you forget about the overbearing stress you would deal with during the week of training or going outside the walls which was always a overwhelming time.

Most of the guys sat inside the mess hall, sitting down and playing random games while talking to each other about probably the most random stuff, anything that came to their mind.

You had walked out of the kitchen, being nice enough to set the cookies down on the table to have them do a taste test for you, considering Levi probably wouldn’t.

“I hope this recipe turned out a little better than the last.” You laughed at the memory of last week trying to bake and the boys cringed at how hard it was to chew.

Eren was the first one to quickly reach over and eat it before the rest of them followed, their eyes lighting up and all of them looking up at you in awe.

“These are so much better.” Eren hummed to himself, grabbing another one and you rolled your eyes, keeping the plate there.

“Thank you for being my taste testers. I’ll give you some brownies later.” You smiled, turning back and going inside the kitchen to somewhat clean up the mess you made.

After you left, the boys all looked at each other while eating the cookies. They stayed quiet until you were gone out of sight and Jean was the first one to speak up about his big crush on you.

“I doubt you’ll have a chance, Jean. She’ll probably be better off with someone like me.” Eren was being cocky, nudging Jean’s side with his elbow and he gave him a dirty look.

“I don’t think she would want a Titan shifter.” He scoffed under his breath and Eren had shoved his friend playfully.

“Do we all have a crush on her?” Armin spoke, his cheeks turning a light shade of red and everyone looked at each other.

All of them nodded their heads then quickly went into a discussion on who you would like better, who you would have a better chance being with but little did they know you had a secret little fling going on with your Captain behind closed doors. The secret being Levi’s idea because he didn’t want to cause any issues.

Levi had actually heard the argument from down the hall as he walked down to go do some work but once he heard your name get brought up, he froze in his spot, listening to the boys argue about their crush on you and continue talking about which guy had a better chance.

A sense of jealousy had washed over him, hearing them all talk about you without you being there also made him a bit angry. He finally got sick of listening to them bicker and walked into the room, all boys freezing and looking at Levi’s cold stare.

“All of you, outside. I don’t want to see you back in here until I say you’re done training.” He ordered them, watching them all scatter without a second thought and rush outside.

He moved his hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose and looked down at the plate of cookies that he knew you made. He decided to move his feet towards the kitchen, opening the door up and seeing you near the sink.

“When you’re done, can you come to my office.” He asked, making you turn to meet his gaze and you simply nodded.

“For what?” You turned off the sink, drying off your hands and walked to where he stood by the door.

“Just need some help with something.” He mumbled, tilting your chin up and stared down at you, a evil little plan popping right inside his head as he tried to hide the smirk.

Your stomach had twisted into knots at how serious he looked, you couldn’t help but overthink about what he needed help with as you followed close behind him down the hallway until you both entered his office.

He closed the door behind you, being swift with locking it and went over to the window to see the guys outside training like he wanted them too, hearing their whines and complaints about doing so.

“What is it? Should I be worried?” You spoke first as he stayed silent, your body standing right behind his and placed your hand on his bicep.

“I missed you is all.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, his eyes moving down to meet yours and he lifted his hand up to caress your cheek, the soft contact made you melt right under his finger tips instantly.

“That’s all?” You teased, watching a small smile come across his lips and he shook his head.

“I don’t think you understand, I really missed you.” He said in a much lower tone, his hand sliding back to tangle in your hair and pulled your face closer to his.

Levi’s lips just barely brushed over yours, the dots now connecting in your head and you knew what he wanted and it made your heart pound inside your chest, you were sure he could hear how loud it was.

You were the one to close the gap, pressing your lips on his and he instantly backed you up until you were sitting on the edge of his desk, settling between your legs while his lips molded with yours.

The guys making noises outside the window had completely slipped your mind, it’s not like they could see you through the curtains and the thought of having to be more quiet than usual made you even more excited.

Levi had tugged on your hair, slipping his tongue in your mouth all while thinking about the small plan that had popped inside his head. He didn’t want to really out the secret hook ups you two were having the last few months but the way they had talked about you like you were a piece of meat, he was positive he wanted to show them who really owns you.

He wanted them to hear you moan his name and show them who really makes you feel good at the end of the day. Fuck the secrets, fuck everything. He’s just being the overpossesive jealous boyfriend that will make sure people know you’re off the market.

He wasn’t going to take it easy on you, of course he was going to pleasure you but he was going to make sure to over pleasure you to the point where your sounds will echo throughout this whole base. He was sure of it.

His hands had slipped down to your shirt, unbuttoning the plain white top and pushing it off your shoulders, throwing it to the ground while latching his teeth onto your bottom lip, pulling it back and letting it go as his eyes met yours.

He started to plant kisses down to your chest, his eyes burning into yours while his large hands slipped around and unclipped the bra you were wearing, watching it slide down your arms and onto the floor beneath your feet.

The butterflies swarming your stomach made you almost want to pass out, the way his eyes stared into yours, the intense yet satisfying eye contact he kept while his lips peppered kisses on your bare skin.

Soon he grew impatient with the tint underneath his tight pants only getting bigger as the material got tighter. He groaned, the sight of you instantly turned him on more than you could know and that was his weakness- he couldn’t control himself when he was around you.

He was addicted, he couldn’t get enough as he quickly tore off the rest of your clothing including his and his lips were back on yours in a much more heated kiss, not hesitating to slip his hand up between your legs, brushing his fingertips along your thigh, practically dancing on your skin before he had dipped his fingers to collect the wetness that pooled between your legs.

He knew he had a strong effect on you, it was proven every time he touched you and your cheeks started to grow hot while his fingertips slipped and rubbed between your folds, a soft hum leaving your lips and being muffled against his mouth which only caused him to further his actions.

A finger slid inside of you painfully slow, feeling the warmth and brushing it against your walls that almost made your back arch as your hand reached down to grip onto his wrist, feeling his smirk against your lips as his tongue swirled inside your mouth, the patience he had today to make you unravel multiple times, he wanted you completely weak.

A second finger slid in, continuing his slow pace and hearing the whine linger off your tongue made him pull back to keep his eyes on you, his hair hanging over his face and the smirk never leaving as his tongue ran over his lips, almost mesmerized over you.

“Don’t hold back, I want to hear those pretty moans.” His free hand grabbed a hold of your chin, brushing his thumb along your jawline and started to move his fingers at a much better pace.

It had made your toes curl, your fingernails digging into his wrist and your lips parting open at the pleasure as you let a soft moan slip out of your mouth, your surroundings being thrown out of your brain as the only thing you saw was Levi over you.

He could hear the cadets outside, the evil smile on his face only getting wider as he kept finger fucking you into oblivion, his fingers working wonders between your legs to the point where your head had fell back and multiple profanities had left your lips, making him instantly pepper kisses on your throat.

All you saw was stars as your vision began to blur, the knot building up in the pit of your stomach had made your legs tremble and deep inside your head you had felt embarassed at how fast his fingers could make you cum all over them, he knew your body from head to toe and what could destroy you and make you unravel in minutes.

The entire encounter had lasted for almost an hour, the way Levi had made you cum around his fingers and then around his length while he was deep inside of you.

The boys stood outside, training until they had heard muffling noises near the window. Eren didn’t want to be nosey considering they knew that was Levi’s office window but soon your moans had became loud enough for all of the color to drain from their faces.

The way you continuously moaned Levi’s name, the way he had you almost screaming while on the brick of an orgasm, they grew quiet, their cheeks flushing deep red and that’s when they knew to stop speaking about you.

They knew better to get involved with you or even continue their desperate crush, they knew that they didn’t stand a chance now. You were Levi’s and it was as clear as day.

The embarrassment and the humiliation had spilled over their minds for a long time after that. Now when they look at your face or talk to you, all they can remember is the endless sounds of you saying Levi’s name.

It was traumatizing almost. Not even bothering to look their Captain in the eyes for the first few days, feeling as if they even looked your way that they would be outside doing exercises until their collapse.

Levi had chuckled at the reactions, it was exactly what he wanted. He wanted their eyes to stare at the love bites he left on your neck, he wanted to remember your voice saying his name, it made his ego that much more bigger.

Now he knew they learned their lesson when it comes to what’s his.

.

.

.

I didn’t really want to go into farrrrr detail with smut. I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging bc idk how much I’ll be able to post over the weekend🤧 quite a busy weekend for meeee.

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

[bestiesenpai]

Canidae - Geto Suguru

Ah, my first hybrid au and full on yandere piece for jjk! A momentous occasion, I hope everyone likes it lol, femme reader btw. 7.5k words

part two

Content warnings: pseudo-incest, yandere shit, kidnapping, not a/b/o but there’s mentions of going into heat, size difference(although I’m not sure how well I wrote it), talking about a past murder(but no actual killing), choking, stalking, dumbification, kind of shy/skittish reader, drugging(w/ pills and w/ a syringe), brief mention of drug usage, needles, slimy men...there’s a lot of slimy men in here

(S/N) = stage name

It’s been about two months since you ran away from home. You try not to think about it, but in the quiet moments of the day, the hours that you should be using to sleep before your next shift, during meals and even at work, it creeps up like a sickness that just won’t leave.

You hadn’t wanted to leave your home, even if the people there weren’t really your family by blood. After being adopted by the Getou family in your late childhood, you thought life would get better. They seemed like a wonderful family of fox hybrids, all silky black hair and cunning little smiles. Although they weren’t in your same species family, as a house cat you could get along with them easily, a subtle praise to evolution for making foxes more like cats than dogs.

“Hey house cat, stop sulking by the bar and go talk to customers.” A slap on the wall next to you jolts you out of your thoughts and into the loud and bustling world around you.

“S-sorry boss.” Ducking your head away from your furious boss, you adjust the skimpy shorts and crop top that truly did nothing to hide your skin. Working at a seedy hostess bar wasn’t exactly the plan when you ran away, but they were the only place willing to hire you.

Looking out across the crowded bar floor, at least you didn’t have to worry about going out on the street and handing out flyers to get customers tonight. There were several men of different species and ages, sitting at the bar with dark liquor or having pretty bunny girls pour drinks from overpriced bottles at private tables.

Taking a glance at what table you’d been assigned, your stomach twisted in knots. It was a table full of lion men, their business suits wrinkled beyond hope and their manes even more disheveled than what was normal for a lion.

“Hey pretty kitty!” One of them shouted drunkenly, waving a large clawed hand at you as you shuffled closer.

“H-hello.” Giving a nervous wave, you felt a little better at seeing a coworker - a red panda hybrid - sitting between a few of them.

“Ah this is (S/N), she’s a newbie!” The girl, who called herself Fuyumi, announced. Holding up her glass in salute, she took a sip.

“Fresh meat huh?” Suddenly, all eyes were on you again, but the atmosphere shifted. A predatory look was shared between the group and a few men got up to let you slide into the booth, next to your coworker.

“What a pretty little thing you are.” A lion purred loudly next to you, putting a heavy hand around your arm and squeezing your shoulder.

“T-thank you! Let me- let me pour you a drink?” Shrinking under the weight and his lecherous gaze, you grabbed the liquor bottle they ordered and refilled a few drinks that needed to be topped up. Your ears were pressed flush to your head from the nerves, tail slightly puffed up behind you.

“So, your name is (S/N)?”

“Mhmm!” The stage name was something you thought of on the fly, trying to make it the least like your real name as possible. Accepting a drink from Fuyumi, you tried to ease the anxiety pricking at your skin.

Listening in on a story being told by one of the men, you tried to act like you were paying attention. Faking a smile, laughing loudly and keeping the drinks full - those were the only things on your mind. Not the clients walking by being escorted to secret back rooms or the people so obviously snorting something up at one of the tables in the back.

“(S/N), you’ve been quiet!” The man with his arm around you shook you side to side, his eyes falling to your breasts moving and being squished together when he squeezed you to him. “Tell us about yourself!”

“Uhm-” Taking a quick glance at Fuyumi, you cleared your throat. “Well I’m new to Tokyo-”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He cut you off, an eager look in his eyes. You shook your head obediently. Even if you did have a boyfriend, you couldn’t say yes. You had to be seen as attainable, just within arms reach if they wanted to have you for themselves.

“That’s good, the boys in Tokyo won’t do you any good.” A man to your left chimed in. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his hairy chest covered in golden fur. “But the men in Tokyo are a different story.” He winked at you and you forced a giggle up, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your slight displeasure.

“Yeah, what you need is a man, (S/N). You seem so nervous!”

“House cats usually are.” Fuyumi piped up. Grabbing your chin, she pursed your lips with the tips of her white painted claws. “Isn’t that right?” Cooing at you like a baby, she shook your head and turned you to face the men at the table. “(S/N) was so nervous for her interview she nearly cried!”

A round of mocking teases sounded at the table as Fuyumi let go of you, some of them calling you a ‘poor baby’ while others offered to buy you another round of drinks to help you feel better. Your face burned, embarrassment and the close proximity of all the bodies around you making a light sheen of sweat glisten on your skin.

“I’m fine now, though, promise!” Biting your lip, you did as you’d practiced before your shift: putting an arm under your breasts, you pushed it up and tilted your head down, looking up at the men from beneath your lashes. “I feel much better with all these big strong men here.”

It made you sick, the way they all leered at your body and visibly adjusted the front of their pants. Ordering a few more bottles for the table, the sick feeling refused to leave. It clung to the back of your throat, rising bile that refused to be swallowed down.

Hours later, as the sun began to rise and proper members of society were starting to head to work for the morning, you were finally done with work. The table of lions had bought your time for the whole night, their egos boosted by your show of submission.

“You actually did okay tonight, house cat.” Your boss grunted, thumbing through the cash she was counting. “Here’s your cut.” Holding out a handful of bills, you knew better than to question how much was in it. The last time you’d tried to speak up about being shorted, your only window was shattered by a brick and it cost all of your money to fix it.

“Thank you.” Nodding politely, you took it from her hand. It felt slightly larger than normal, but you knew it wasn’t the full amount you’d been promised to receive when you started working. There was always a bit taken off the top, and since you were a newbie, even more.

Quickly changing into baggy sweatpants and a hoodie, you slinked out of the club's back entrance with your hood drawn tightly. Located in the red light district, no one batted an eye at you or where you worked, but it wasn’t them you were worried about.

Running away from home meant running away from the only family you had left, an over controlling big brother with an obsession. An obsession with you. Ever since you met, got adopted all those years ago, he had been infatuated with you.

As a young, freshly teenaged fox, suddenly acquiring a little sister had been exciting. Especially when it turned out you weren’t the same species. He always wanted to be around you, ask you questions about what it was like to be a cat. At first they were innocent, asking about your diet and favorite toys, but as he got older, his interest in you skewed.

You saw the search history on his computer, he spent hours researching cat hybrid heat cycles and when the best time to mate was. He started to go through your phone, taking it away from you under the guise of just being an annoying older brother while secretly looking through all your messages. Always getting jealous if you hung out with friends or didn’t want to sit in his room with him. And his friends knew about his obsession, feeding into it and talking about how much they wished to have a little sister like you, and if he’d be so kind as to share.

Your older brother became more obsessed with you while he was looking for a job after university. Spending hours applying for jobs and going to interviews, he wouldn’t shut up about getting a good job and moving out with you. And when he finally got that good job he always mentioned, that’s when you had to run.

Walking with your head down through the streets, waiting at a crosswalk to pass had you on edge. Just remembering the way he held your hand in public with a grip tight enough to cut off circulation had you shoving your hands into your pockets. A couple walked across the street with their arms around each other, and suddenly the suffocating weight of your brother's arm around your waist as he slept in your bed with you was back.

Forcing air through your lungs, you ran the rest of the way home. It wasn’t a long way to the crummy apartment block you called home and you were inside your cramped studio space and crumpled against the door in no time.

It didn’t always feel good to be in here with it’s water stained ceilings, barely usable pipes and the one, barely big enough window near the front door. You could hardly call it a home, it was just a room with the mattress you bought second hand and the clothes you ran away with strewn across the floor with a tiny kitchen shoved into the corner and a bathroom that surely wasn’t up to code.

But for now, it felt amazing. Your running had only exacerbated the exhaustion you had from working such grueling hours, and just crawling over to your dirty bed took all the energy you had left. With the sun beginning to rise properly into the sky, you closed your eyes and went to sleep.

The sudden alarm from the crappy phone you bought was what woke you up, the early evening sun and the sound of your neighbors yelling at one another through the walls pulling the last few bits of sleep from the edges of your mind.

And so do the set of crystal blue eyes staring in at you from your window, one that not even you can see out of because it’s too high.

“Sat-” The name catches in your throat, and when you blink again the eyes are gone. Rushing out of bed, you rip open the front door and look up and down the hallway. But there’s no one there, no bright white arctic fox fur to be seen, and certainly not the man attached to it.

Gripping the door tightly in your fingers, you linger in the threshold. The longer you stayed out, the more the vivid eyes watching you sleep became a memory, something your overworked mind must have conjured up as it went from sleeping to being awake. With a shaky sigh, you step back into your apartment to get ready for your next shift.

Meandering through the busy streets, you passed by shops that were starting to become familiar to you. There was the odd convenience store, a few illegal gambling dens with restaurant fronts, strip clubs and sex shops.

With time to kill before your shift, you dashed into a convenience store, it’s stark fluorescent lighting a nice switch from the everchanging neon signs outside. Scrounging up what little pocket change you had, you bought the cheapest food possible and sat down at the tiny table near the windows.

Eating slowly, trying to savor not only every bite but every minute before going back to work, a flash of white caught your eye as the convenience store door was opened. The little jingle that played was the only indication someone had actually entered, you barely saw the door open or close.

You could only see a glimpse of the pure white, not even a full on look. Glancing over your shoulder, you didn’t see anyone standing in the aisles, no ears stuck out to give you an indication as to who had come in.

But there was the feeling of being watched that had you on edge. When you turned fully away from the window to look at the store behind you, there wasn’t anyone watching you, yet the feeling still stuck. The target on your back had just been shot dead center, a sharp pang of fear gripped your heart the longer you looked at the seemingly empty aisles.

“Long way from home, little kitten.” A familiar face emerged from your right, but it wasn’t the man you thought it was.

“N-nanami?” It was a shock to see him in a neighborhood like this, his pristine suit more fitted for the financial district a few train stops over that he sometimes visited for work. He was in his usual suit, the one he liked to wear when he was over at your house, and his blond ears and tail were as immaculately trimmed and proper as ever.

“Hm, you’re not calling me Kento-nii anymore?” He said scornfully, sliding into the seat next to you and leaning his elbows on the table.

“Sorry, Kento-nii.” Bowing your head, you turned back to the table as well. Clenching your quivering hands in your lap, your claws dug into your skin to try and ground yourself. Kento hadn’t even said much and yet you were ready to pass out.

“Why’d you run away? You know we all miss you.” Leaning his head in his hands, Kento stared out the window at the people walking by. His lip curled a little in disgust, and a low growl rumbled from the back of his throat. “This isn’t the place for a girl like you.”

“You know why I had to leave.” Staring down at your hands, your eyes burned as you blinked away tears at the memories forcing their way back to you.

“I don’t. Enlighten me.”

“Kento-nii, please-” Your voice trembled, catching in your throat as it broke.

“Tell me, (Y/N). Why did you leave?”

“S-su-” It made you want to throw up just saying his name, so you didn’t. “He killed our parents.” Saying it out loud made the painful burn behind your eyes grow stronger until you were blinking hot tears down your cheeks.

“That’s not true.” Kento said calmly while turning to you. “Your parents died from-”

“Don’t lie for him!” You shouted, finally looking up at Kento. As soon as your voice raised, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck, forcing your head against his chest and pulling you into a tight hug. Dipping his head down, Kento’s chin brushed your ears as he pressed his lips to them.

“Listen little kitten, you know better than to raise your voice at me. And you know better than to lie.” The fingers around your neck tightened and Kento dug the tips of his claws against your pulse. “Your parents died in a murder-suicide, nothing more nothing less.”

“Let go!” You sobbed, thrashing around in his hold. It was truly useless to try and fight against him. Foxes - and truly, a lot of other hybrid types - were much larger and stronger than you. There wasn’t any chance you had at trying to beat him in strength, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t try.

“Calm down, you’re making a scene.” Fully enclosing his hand around your neck, Kento squeezed the air from your throat and shut down the subsequent scream that followed. Reduced to whimpering, you stilled your body and tried to tug his hand off.

Gasping and choking when he finally let you go, your body was weak from the lack of oxygen and you fully slumped into Kento’s hold. Struggling to catch your breath, there was little solace you could find in his hand stroking between your shoulder blades.

“Come home, (Y/N).” He said gently, like he was coaxing a child into eating their unwanted vegetables.

“No.” Shaking your head weakly, your body trembled violently. Kento didn’t need to speak for you to know he wasn’t pleased with your answer, the pregnant pause that followed was enough.

“Why must you be so difficult, hm?” With a heavy, disappointed sigh, Kento let you sit upright again. Tsking at your bloodshot eyes dripping with tears, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped your face clean.

Your lower lip shook as you looked up at him, honey colored eyes to match his blonde hair. Vertical pupils stared back at yours, the only thing the two of you really had in common.

“I’ll ask one more time: will you come home with me, (Y/N)?” Cupping your cheek, Kento wiped the snot dripping from your nose and the drool that had started to drip past your lip. “If you say no one more time, I can’t promise anything.”

“Kento-nii…” Sniffling pathetically, you blinked hard and shook your head.

“(Y/N).” Groaning in annoyance, Kento dropped his hands and put his head back. “I don’t think you’re listening-”

“Y-you listen to me!” Standing up abruptly, your chair fell over from the force and loudly clattered to the ground. “I’m never going back there! Not ever!” It was dangerous to shout at Kento, especially as you saw his pupils begin to dilate. Out of all your brothers friends, he was the one who took the rules most seriously.

Grabbing the food you had left, you ran out of the convenience store. As your feet slammed against the pavement, you didn’t dare look over your shoulder to see if he was chasing after you. Kento hadn’t been the type to play those sort of chase games back at home, but the desperation to have you back in that house was strong enough that he just might follow you.

Running all the way to the clubs back entrance, you slipped inside and hid in the storage room. No one truly bothered to come back there anyway, it was the perfect place to hide behind a few untouched boxes until it was time for your shift.

“Hey house cat, someone personally requested you.” Your boss grunted when she saw you, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.

“Who is it?” Attempting to look at the clipboard in her hands, you didn’t quite catch the name of the person that was written down.

“Who cares, it’s some rich fox wearing glasses. He’s at the back, you can’t miss his white hair.”

“What?” Your eyes shot open, heart stopping as her words bounced around your skull. It was too much of a coincidence that Kento had found you and now a white haired fox had requested you.

“Hey.” Grabbing you by the shoulder, your boss glared at you and turned your body around. “Get to work already and stop zoning the fuck out. You don’t want to make me put you on flyer duty do you? There’s some weirdos out tonight that would just love-”

“No! No, I’m sorry ma’am. I’ll get going right away.” Stepping away from her tight hold, you tried not to tremble as you walked to the back table. As you got closer, your knees nearly gave out on you as the fear you had was materializing right before your eyes.

It was indeed Gojo Satoru, your brother's best friend and the deadliest arctic fox you’ve ever come to know. With his pristine snow white hair and ears, keen blue eyes and those trademark dark sunglasses he wears, there was no mistaking him.

“Hey, little sister.” He crooned as you slid into the booth next to him, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. “Missed ya.”

“Toru-nii, why are you here?” Keeping your eyes locked on the melting ice in his cup, you could barely breathe from the weight of your fear. There wasn’t anything that Satoru couldn’t - or wouldn’t - do. He’d always been the smartest, the strongest, he could beat any hybrid in anything he set his mind to, even with clear biological differences set between them.

“What do you mean why am I here? I’m here to see my favorite little kitten at her new job!” Throwing his arms open wide, Satoru had an easy smile on his face despite your obvious discomfort. “Although, I can’t say you’re doing very well so far. My glass is still empty.”

Wordlessly, you stiffly poured him a drink and slid the glass over to him. Pouring one for yourself as well, you clinked your glasses together when he raised it and took a short sip. Usually you didn’t drink on the job, getting the bartenders to mix you something that was mostly pure juice. But tonight you needed to take a bit of edge off.

“Please just go.” Forcing the words out of your tight throat, a wave of nausea washed over you as Satoru put his hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t leave here without you.” His lips brushed your ears like they used to back at home, but this time he wasn’t whispering crude little jokes to get you to giggle. Sliding his hand from your shoulder to around your ribs, Satoru quickly overwhelmed your personal space with the size of his body.

“Toru!” You gasped as his claws dug into your ribs, threatening to push through the spaces and break them entirely. Tugging on his hand, you looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention to your lonely little table in the back.

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Kento already tried to be nice and you were just so mean to him.”

“T-toru-nii, please!” Desperate tears sprang to your eyes as every word he spoke was punctuated with a tightening grip around you.

“And here I thought we trained you to be a good girl, (Y/N), I really did. But good girls don’t yell at their big brothers, they don’t lie and-” Satoru broke off to send a charming smile to a few passing hostesses before returning to you, “They certainly don’t run away.”

A choked sob racked through you, drowned out by the loud music being played overhead. In your struggle to get his hand off, you hadn’t realized Satoru slid you onto his lap until it was too late and he could wrap both long arms around you.

Forced to lean back against his lanky body, his fluffy white tail wrapped around yours, deftly hugging it close to him. Engulfing your scantily clad body, Satoru burrowed his nose between your ears, inhaling the scent he always said he liked back home.

“I’ve always wanted to see you wear something like this, ya know.” Thumbing the edge of your crop top, Satoru dipped his fingers underneath the fabric. “Always wanted to dress you up and play pretend, be my cute little hostess for the night.”

“Stop.” Grabbing his wrist, your eyes desperately searched for someone to come save you. But being seated at a table so far in the back of the club was playing to Satoru’s advantage; no one really paid attention to the back of the club because that’s where the truly shady things happened.

“C’mon kitty, play with me.” Satoru whined, bouncing you on his lap a few times. He was always childish, always whining for you to pay attention to him whenever he got the chance, and now was no different. You couldn’t see it, but you knew he had that trademark silly smile on his face regardless of the fact he had a death grip on your body.

“Toru-nii.” Jutting your lip out in a pout, you finally lurched your upper body forward enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“There’s that cutesy little face I missed.” Cooing at you, Satoru loosened his grip enough to let you sit sideways across his lap. Forcing you to wrap an arm around his middle, Satoru kept a tight grip on your back.

“Toru-nii…” Fiddling with the fabric of his shirt, you stole a glance at the eyes staring right through you. “Why do you- why are you helping him so much? You know what he did, I don’t-”

“I helped him do it.”

“What?” Your jaw fell slack and you stared right at him.

“Look, there’s no point in lying to you.” Leaning forward, Satoru grabbed his drink and took a generous swig. “I helped your brother kill your parents and stage it. We even practiced on a few drifters before moving onto the real deal.” Satoru’s smile had fallen, an unfamiliar serious look taking its place.

“You have no idea how long we all planned it, all three of us. Kento took care of your trust fund and the insurance, I subdued your parents and got them in position, and Suguru was the one who pulled the trigger.”

Tears were streaming down your face, smearing the makeup you’d put on, dripping into your open mouth. All other noise in the club fell away, leaving your ears ringing loudly from the silence in your head. Air was barely coming in or out of your lungs, your throat too tight to properly breathe.

“We had it all planned out perfectly, but then you just had to go and mess it up.” Satoru landed a swift slap to your thigh. “You just had to be a bad kitty and run off.” A second slap knocked the air back into you and your body jerked back.

“Toru-nii, why?!” Your scream was loud enough to be heard over the music, and Satoru looked around at the few curious eyes that were now looking at you, his ears flattening against his head as he forced a smile.

“We had to do it (Y/N), so we could all live together as a pack.”

“B-but we already had one.” Sure, you didn’t necessarily need to live in a group but it was nice to be in your adoptive family's pack and be surrounded by their love and care.

“That one...wasn’t the right fit.”

“For who?” Sniffling loudly, you wiped the snot from your nose. “Who wasn’t it right for?” It had been perfectly fine for you. There wasn’t any fighting, no strained dynamics and when your parents were alive, there wasn’t an overbearing older brother trying to completely consume you.

“You’ll do much better in the pack we have now, (Y/N).” Gripping your upper thigh tightly, Satoru leaned forward to press his lips against your ears once more. “Your big brothers will take great care of you.” A sound got caught in your throat, something halfway between a gasp and a scream.

“T-toru-Toru-nii.” A fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes and you blinked hard to keep them at bay. “Can I use the restroom? I just- I really need to use it.” Satoru stilled for a moment, sizing up your words and his options.

“Alright, but be quick.” Slowly releasing the tight hold he had on you, you could finally breathe again. Sliding out of the booth, you bolted to the employee bathroom and collapsed against the far wall.

There wasn’t a way out of the club without Satoru seeing. Even if you ran out the backdoor, he would still see you coming out of the bathroom. The front door was no use, there were too many people you would have to maneuver around.

“And then I said- what the hell, house cat? Are you drugged out?” A few bunny girls walked in, their long floppy ears decorated with silk ribbon. They never really spoke to you, but they weren’t mean to you either.

“My client- he’s just- I-” Stammering, you couldn’t find the words to explain the situation.

“Is he being a fucking freak?” Sauntering up to you, they tugged you up from the floor to lean against the sink counter. Sighing loudly as you nodded, one of them pulled out a small baggie from her bra, a few red pills tucked safely inside. “Here, slip one in his drink and he’ll be out like a light. Then you can have security escort him out.”

“No, he’ll notice.” Satoru would notice without a doubt if you tried to slip something into his drink. He was always watching you, sometimes more than your brother was.

“Alright well I’ll mix a drink and bring it to him, tell him he gets a free drink as a first time customer.”

“You’d do that, really?” You were nearly beside yourself with a sudden rush of hope.

“Yeah, why not? It’s been a while since I’ve had to drug a client. Plus, we can’t have our newest recruit quitting on us already!” Giving you a cheeky wink, the girls sent you on your way, promising to handle it swiftly.

Returning to the table, Satoru pulled you onto his lap once more. You didn’t struggle or make a single peep as his arms wound around you again. His grip was much softer now, not threatening to bruise and crush you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the girls you talked to walk to the bar. They didn’t look at you at all, going straight to the bartender and whispering a few things in their ear. Attempting to make conversation with Satoru, you didn’t have to wait long for them to come to your table.

“Hi sir, we heard it was your first time here!” One of the girls shouted, bouncing on her heels and making her ears flop around.

“Mhmm, so we thought it would be a nice treat to give you a drink on the house!” Another girl came up, setting down a bright pink cocktail. “Go ahead and try it, I bet you’ll like it!”

“Hm, okay.” Shrugging his shoulder, Satoru grabbed the drink and took a sip, smacking his lips together at the flavor and then taking another. “This isn’t bad, thank you!”

“Of course sir, our pleasure.” Winking at the both of you, they walked away slowly, keeping their eyes on Satoru and fully turning away after seeing him down half the drink.

Satoru always did like a bit of liquor, and it would quickly be his downfall. The drink was a sweet fruity concoction to mask the bitter pill as it dissolved and Satoru’s deadly sweet tooth was hooked immediately.

You didn’t even fully wait for him to pass out before getting out of his lap. His heavy head bobbed side to side, his words slurred not like you’d heard before and his arms had fallen slack off of you. Only his droopy eyes could seem to follow you, silently demanding you to stay in place.

Throwing on your outside clothes in the back room, you kept your hood tightly drawn as you ran from the club. You weren’t worried about pissing your boss off and having to deal with the repercussions, you wouldn’t be returning to that place ever again.

Bursting through your front door, you grabbed whatever clothes you could and shoved them into your bag. The small stack of bills you kept hidden in the bathroom was a welcomed weight to your growing pile, there was enough to at least buy a train ticket and a hot meal a good distance from Tokyo.

Under the cover of the moonless night, you tried to stick to the back alleys on your way to the station that would take you out of town. It paid off to live in such a seedy area, you knew all the ins and outs and where to go to avoid being seen.

Popping your head out from an alleyway, the street before you was deserted. A long string of old warehouses called the street home, their brick and mortar facades well worn from time. Dodging the streetlights as best you could, you could practically taste freedom on the tip of your tongue.

“Oh little sister.” A voice rang out into the dead street, an eerie song sung on the lips of the one man you’d never wanted to see again. Keeping as still as possible, your eyes burned from not blinking, and your lungs from not breathing.

His slow, methodical footsteps scraped across the cement ground, echoing in the silence and heightening your anxiety with every slow drag of his feet. As the sound drew closer, you pressed yourself against the doorway of a warehouse. There wasn’t any way you could outrun your brother, so you had to devise a plan to outsmart him when he got close enough.

“Little sister, I’ve been looking for you.” Suguru came to a halt right in front of you, his towering build casting a shadow over you in the already dark alcove. He was wearing what he had on the last time you saw him, a simple black tracksuit and his favorite slides. His hair had gotten a little longer, resting a few inches past his shoulder blades with the top half in a bun.

Quirking a brow, Suguru hummed low in his chest, reaching an arm out and resting a hand next to your head. His long black claws scraped against the wood of the door, his hand easily large enough to encompass your whole face and then some. The natural musky scent of his body was sickeningly familiar, like you’d only gone just a few hours without smelling it.

“Tell me, did you have fun playing hide and seek with your big brother?” Flashing two rows of gleaming white and perfectly straight canine teeth, Suguru leaned over you, the expanse of his chest blocking out any wiggle room. “I hope you did, because I’m done playing now.”

“Y-you’re not my- my big brother anymore.” Screwing your eyes closed, you twisted your head away from him as much as you could.

“Don’t say such things, (Y/N), you’ll hurt my feelings.” Suguru laughed dryly, clearly unamused.

“Getou li- ahh!” In a flash Suguru had his other hand around your neck, lifting you up to dangle on your tiptoes as he choked you.

“Don’t you ever call me that again, do you fucking understand?” Staring at you with unblinking eyes, Suguru squeezed hard. When your eyes started to roll to the back of your head he let go, stepping back slightly to let you fall to the ground.

Struggling to regain your breath, you tried to crawl away through the small gap left between the wall and him. You barely got one full step before Suguru grabbed you by the back of your hoodie, forcing you to stand and practically dangling you in the air like a doll.

“What’s this?” Seeing the sliver of skin underneath the hoodie, Suguru wrenched it off of you. Your sweats came off shortly after and you were exposed to the elements and his growing glare. “Care to explain why you’re half fucking naked?”

“G-” You started but quickly pressed your lips closed at the sharp look he sent you. “Suguru, just let me go.”

“Answer my fucking question.” His tone left no room for further argument, and you slowly drew your arms over your exposed midriff.

“I started working at a...a hostess bar.” Your words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy and clinging to every part of you. Suguru’s face made no change, the only thing that tipped you off to his anger was the intense flaring of his nostrils.

“My precious little sister has been working at a hostess bar for the past two months? You’ve been dressed like this every night, getting stared at and perved on by god knows what kind of men? You ran away for this?” Suguru’s voice was far too steady for the situation, spiking the already high adrenaline in your blood.

“Suguru please-”

“And it seems you’ve forgotten the number one rule. You know what you’re supposed to call me.” Backing you up onto the door again, Suguru’s fluffy black tail flicked out behind him, it’s long drawn out shadow swaying back and forth.

“You’re not my brother.” Licking your lips nervously, your eyes followed his tail. There was no way you could look him in the eye after saying that. Suguru began to laugh, a cold and hollow sound from the base of his throat that sent a chill down your spine.

“And why exactly is that?” Slamming both hands down on either side of your head, he leaned down to make eye contact with you, his pupils blown wide against his already pitch black irises.

“You know.” Forcing the words out of your mouth, you curled into yourself as much as you could.

“No, I don’t.” Speaking slowly, Suguru waited just a few seconds before slamming his hands down again. “Tell me little kitten, right now!” You let out a piercing scream, covering your face with your hands.

“You killed our parents! You killed them and I heard you fucking do it!” Coming face to face with your adopted brother, the man that killed your parents in cold blood, and having to talk to him about it were all making your head spin.

“No, no I didn’t do that, honey. You’ve got it all wrong.” Suguru’s voice dropped low, instantly adopting a soothing tone. His fingers toyed with the edges of your ears, brushing the soft fur gently. “Mommy and daddy...they had problems. And I know it must be hard to believe, but they did it to themselves.”

“You’re such a liar!” Smacking his hand away from your ears, you glared at him, frustrated tears stewing on your lash line. “I heard you shoot them Suguru! I heard mom-” Your voice cracked, and the tears began to stream down your face. “I heard her tell you not to do it.”

Falling silent, Sugurus face remained neutral. His hand remained in the air from when you smacked it away, and the only indication he was still alive was the subtle flicker of his eyelids and the way his chest barely moved as he breathed.

“I knew I should have drugged you more.” He finally broke the silence, putting his hand back on the door to keep you trapped. Everything Suguru did felt like you were watching it in slow motion. The way he drew in a deep breath, expanded his chest and arms out wide and then drew you into a tight, bone crushing embrace all felt like it happened too slow. Like you should have been able to prevent it.

“Suguru!” You screamed his name from the top of your lungs, throat quickly going raw from the volume of your shouts. “Let me go! Let me go!” Writhing around, you felt the air quickly being squeezed out of you.

“It doesn’t matter now though. It’s all in the past!” Laughing to himself, Suguru took a few steps back, going to the middle of the deserted street and under a light post. “That’s right! The past! No need to worry about it, what’s done is done!”

“Su-Sugu-nii! Sugu-nii please!” You finally broke. You finally called him what he had trained you to call him for all those years. Your precious big brother.

“Oh how I missed hearing you call me that!” Still laughing, Suguru let out a loud hum. “I think I should record you saying that so I can play it over and over whenever I need my fix.”

“Sugu-nii, please!” The tears of frustration were now turning to tears of fear and desperation. The squeezing had stopped, you could just barely suck in air, but your feet still dangled off the ground. “Please let me go- this isn’t okay!”

“What does a dumb little kitten know about what is and isn’t okay?”

“Sugu!”

“You’re just a stupid little baby who got scared without her mommy and daddy and ran away. Well don’t worry, my darling sister, Sugu-nii is here to take care of you.” Nuzzling his nose against your ears affectionately, Suguru sighed contently. “We’ll be a family again, just like before. You’ll be with the pack just like you’re supposed to.”

“I’m not- not even a fox, Sugu!” Your chances of leaving his hold anytime soon were quickly diminishing, there wasn’t much you could say - if anything - to convince him to stop. “I don’t need to live in a pack, I don’t- I’m not a canine at all!”

“Hm, like that matters. Foxes act more like cats anyway.” Shrugging his shoulders, Suguru put his hand on the back of your head, raking his nails softly against your scalp. He was holding you now like a baby doll, the arm that had previously been crushing you against him now coming to rest under your bottom and cradle you.

Something caught your eye, making you twist away from Suguru in hopes that it was someone that had heard the screams and was coming to save you. Your heart deflated just as quickly as it swelled when it was Kento who had appeared, a metal briefcase in his hands.

“Look, Kento-nii is here. Go to him.” Putting you on your feet, Suguru nudged you forward. Your knees locked, refusing to move toward the imposing figure.

“It wasn’t nice to drug Gojo like that, little kitten. He’s passed out in the back of the car as we speak, you’ll have to apologize to him when he wakes up.” Kento closed the distance between the two of you, eyes glowering and brows tightly knit together.

“How did you-”

“You think just because you run away we can’t track your scent? How do you think we found you at the club after you so rudely left our conversation? Just a few sniffs and it was like you walked us right there.” Flicking the briefcase open, Kento’s face was obscured as he began to dig around for the contents. “I was waiting by the backdoor of that shitty little club, I had a feeling Gojo wouldn’t be able to convince you to come back and you’d make a run for it again, and you did. It was far too easy to call up Getou and let him know.”

The words Kento was saying were barely sticking inside your head, your complete focus going to the loaded syringe he had pulled out from the briefcase and was now holding in his hands, an almost bored expression on his face.

Taking a step back as he took one forward, you bumped into Suguru’s chest. He made a tsking noise, quickly sliding an arm under your chin and another around your middle to keep you from moving.

“Stop! Stop, Sugu-nii please!” The tears that dripped down your face didn’t matter anymore. Your voice going hoarse from all the screaming didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. At least, nothing you wanted mattered.

“Just try to be calm, little sis. Kento will be quick.” Suguru chuckled darkly, resting his chin atop your head. Any further words you had dissolved into frantic screams as Kento grabbed your arm and wrenched it away from your body.

Pushing the needle into you, he injected you with a serene face. Like he had practiced this before, almost as if he was a doctor giving you a flu shot. Whatever was in the syringe was gone quickly, Kento unloading the whole vial into you before calmly placing it back in the briefcase and shutting it.

“Don’t cry baby.” Suguru cooed, pressing a flurry of kisses on your head as he loosened his hold and began to wipe the tears off your face.

“Sugu- Kento-” You were losing track of the world and fast. Things blurred together, the crisp edges of Kento’s body were melting into the brick walls behind him. Your limbs were giving out on you and Suguru was quick to pick you up and cradle you like he had done before.

“Sshh, just go to sleep.” Pressing his lips against your ear, Suguru whispered softly, giggling at the way you closed your heavy eyes and relaxed into his embrace. “We’ll be home before you know it. One big happy family.”

[casuallyimagining]

Fix You (2)

hybrid!Min Yoongi x female!reader

Summary: When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal? Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, fluff Word Count: 2,987 Rating: M Warnings (may not appear in every part): minor character is a dick to animals, mentions of a gun, main character injury (non-serious), discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

Notes: Banner by @birbdae; thanks to @voiceswithoutlips, @taetaesbaebaepsae​, and @hoebii​​ for editing this for me.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

When you woke up, the cat was nowhere to be found, and your pillow was missing. It was just your luck that the random cat you had saved would end up being a kleptomaniac. You sighed and began to get ready for your day. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it. The cat was probably scared and confused, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to be comfortable.

As you passed your TV stand, you bent down to peer underneath it. Copper eyes stared back at you. You greeted the cat and his tail swished back and forth against the floor, annoyed. So he wasn’t into mornings, then.

Heading into the kitchen, you quickly made yourself a cup of coffee. If the cat wasn’t a morning person, then you would probably get along. You were an early riser, but that was mostly due to insomnia, not because you actually enjoyed being awake.

You brought him the rest of the chicken you had cut up the night before, prepared with his morning dose of the antibiotics. Laying down on the floor, you pushed the plate under the TV stand for him.

He sniffed at the chicken, eyes not leaving your face as he started to eat. His canines were long and pointy, you noticed, and if you paid attention when his mouth was closed, you could barely see the tip of the right one poking out from his lips.

“I’m going to go shopping today to get you some stuff.” The cat didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He was a cat. “I know you’re feeling better, but please try not to jump on stuff. You’ll hurt yourself more, and I really can’t afford another weekend trip to the vet.” His copper eyes seemed to soften at that for a moment before hardening back into a glare.

You weren’t sure what you did to make the cat constantly glare at you. Maybe he had a resting grouch face. Maybe he was just uncomfortable in his new surroundings. You hoped that, if nothing else, he would eventually warm up to you. All the pets you’d had in the past had opened up to you right away, although you supposed that was because they were babies when your family had adopted them. You’d never adopted an adult cat before.

“Eat up,” you told him before pushing yourself off the floor. “I’ll be back soon.”

The pet store was larger than you remembered it being. When you were a kid shopping with your mother for your pets, there were only a few departments in the store. There was, of course, sections for cats and dogs, as well as areas for fish, birds, reptiles, and small mammals. Now though, in addition to the old departments, there were additional sections for hybrids of all kinds--there was even a department dedicated to large and exotic hybrids like lions, panthers, giraffes, and elephants.

Hybrids weren’t a new species by any means, but it had only been in the past decade or so that people had fully started to embrace them in society. Before, shops that catered to hybrids were usually small and boutique--hybrids used to only be seen as pets or servants, and ones that lived without ownership were few and far between. But after fighting for and receiving the rights they deserved, hybrids had become more prevalent in society. There was even a hybrid serving in the president’s cabinet, and quite a few serving in other high-ranking government positions.

You wandered through the cat section of the pet store, unsure of what to buy. You had a couple toys in your cart--catnip mice and little springs and balls that had bells in them. You knew the cat was somehow going to act offended by them, but you reminded yourself that he’s a cat, and indoor cats needed something to stimulate their minds.

You also had put some cat shampoo in your cart. The cat was dirty, and you weren’t sure how much blood was going to be caked into his fur under the bandage, so you figured a bath was somewhere in his immediate future.

Sighing, you grabbed a bag of air-dried food. He would probably hate that, too, but you couldn’t keep feeding him raw chicken. For one thing, you couldn’t stand the feel of it, and the less you had to touch the raw meat, the better. But also, chicken was expensive, and while your job paid decently, you weren’t sure how well it could support an all-raw diet for the cat. This air-dried food was turkey and salmon, and would be the next closest thing to raw.

Eventually, you would probably end up getting the cat a cat tree, but you didn’t think it was a good idea right now. With his shoulder injury, he really shouldn’t be climbing or jumping, and a cat tree would only invite that more. So you left the aisle, even though they had a tree that had a little house you knew he would love to hide in.

Before checking out, you stopped by the little kiosk that sold ID tags and collars. You knew he would hate wearing a collar, but if he ever escaped, you wanted to know someone could return him to you. You would ask the vet about microchipping later, but for now, a collar would have to do. Looking at the options, you couldn’t help but laugh. Most of the plain collars were pink or had things like little butterflies on them. A few had bells, which you knew he would find absolutely repulsive, and a couple others had bowties. You considered a dark blue plaid one with a bowtie, but decided against it. As cute as he would look, you knew the cat would probably bite you if you went anywhere near him with it.

You settled on a collar covered in piano keys. It was the plainest one they had in stock that wasn’t bright pink. You grabbed a small, circular tag, too. He would hate it, but at least maybe if you picked the least offensive options, the cat would tolerate wearing a collar.

On the way home, you stopped and grabbed a coffee from the chain cafe down the street from your apartment. You were still a little tired, and when you got home, you were glad for the extra caffeine.

“I’m home, kitty!” you called into the seemingly empty apartment. You hadn’t really been expecting the cat to be anywhere out in the open, but a small part of you had hoped.

Walking into the kitchen, you deposited the couple bags from the pet store on the table. You couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Nothing was broken or in the wrong place that you could see from first glance, but the niggling feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away. Something had been moved in your kitchen. Your mug from your coffee this morning was washed and sat in your drying rack, along with another cup that you had thought you put away and the dish from last night that you had used to feed the cat. You didn’t remember washing the dishes this morning, but you were still a little tired, so maybe you had and just forgot.

You didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary, so you let it go, choosing instead to go find your cat. As expected, you found him under the TV stand. He was panting as if he had just run under there from somewhere else in the house.

“You know you’re allowed to be in other rooms, right?” you asked him softly, pulling the empty plate out so you could take it to the kitchen. “You don’t have to run under here every time I come home.” Copper eyes met yours for a second, and you could see panic in them. Then you saw it. The bandage around his shoulder was gone.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Dr. Jung’s assistant had wrapped it securely. He must have really been running around the house to not only loosen it, but to dislodge the bandage entirely.

“What were you doing while I was gone, dude?” you questioned. The cat looked terrified. His eyes were large as saucers, his ears flat against his head. His mouth was open in a silent hiss, his long canine teeth on full display. “Are you hurt?” That seemed to catch him off guard. “Are you still bleeding? Can I see?” You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to,” you said softly, waving your phone in the dark. “But can you at least turn so I can see?”

It took you a second to realize that, again, you were talking to a cat. He wasn’t going to listen to you, despite how human his reactions to you seemed to be. In the second that it took you to remind yourself that your cat is, in fact, a cat, his demeanor changed. His ears were still pressed back against his head, but he seemed less agitated, more resigned. He crawled toward you slowly, the limp almost entirely gone.

When he was out from under the TV stand, he stood fully. You pushed yourself up so you could sit and examine him. As you reached for him, he backed away slightly. His copper eyes met yours for the briefest of seconds before they flicked away, focusing on the floor. He stood still and allowed you to scoop him up into your lap.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, scratching his head gently. “Let me just look at your shoulder.”

You ran your hand over the joint and he froze. For a second, you thought maybe he was going to bolt back under the TV stand. But he sat there stiffly, allowing you to feel for the bite marks and anything that might still be bleeding.

You found nothing. Not even a scab. The only signs of the dog attack yesterday were a ring of indents--scars, you presumed--that ran from his shoulder blades down to his chest and onto his leg. There was no way he had healed that fast.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you smiled at him. “If you don’t want to wear the bandage any more, you don’t have to,” you said soothingly, scratching at the base of his ear. His copper eyes met yours, and you pulled away at the apprehension in them.

He stepped out of your lap as soon as your hand was away from him. You nodded once, smiling at him. “I’m going to go do some work, kitty. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

You were a researcher. Always had been. When you were looking for apartments in the city, you had created spreadsheets and pro/con lists and had spent weeks researching neighborhoods. And when you decided on the right neighborhood, you had debated floor plans, after weeks of second-guessing finally settling on the single floor, three bedroom, two bathroom with the decent sized kitchen and living room.

You hadn’t done any research before taking in the cat. You loved cats, had had several growing up. You knew enough about them to not need to do any research before committing to taking home the stray living near your parents’ house.

Maybe you should have.

Although you weren’t exactly sure how researching could have possibly prevented anything. You pushed it out of your mind, though, choosing instead to focus on your next work project.

Except you couldn’t focus. Your client was a hybrid-owned cafe just outside the city, and you were trying to design their menus. Normally, it wouldn’t take you long at all. They were great clients, and they had given you all the information you needed, but your mind kept drifting to the cat in your living room. You assumed he had crawled back under the TV stand. He seemed to be comfortable enough under there, although clearly he felt comfortable leaving the shadows when you weren’t home.

And then there was the problem of his name. You had no idea what to call him, but you were sure he had a name. Though how you’d figure it out, you had no idea.

You had wanted to watch this movie for months. It had appeared on streaming services around Christmastime, but it was now April, and you still hadn’t had the chance to watch it. You curled up on your sectional in the living room to watch it, a bowl of popcorn sitting beside you. You had turned the lights off in the living room, so the only major source of light was what was coming from the TV, and it was a fairly dark movie.

Though you were invested in the plot, you still scrolled through your phone, your attention divided between social media and what was happening on the television.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a shadow moving under your TV stand. Your cat’s head poked out a second later, copper eyes watching you scroll through your social media. In another second, the rest of his body emerged from the shadows. You forced yourself to watch the movie. You didn’t want to freak him out by watching him. When you glanced back at where he had emerged, he was gone.

The movie was about halfway over when you noticed him again, slinking back into the living room from the hallway. Where he had gone, you had no idea. But he sat for a moment, staring at you from beside the wall. You had grabbed a blanket in the time that he had been gone. Your apartment tended to get chilly at night sometimes--it was old, and the insulation wasn’t the best--and you were a little cold.

Before you knew what was happening, he was up on the couch and in your lap, laying in the valley between your outstretched legs. He paused for a moment, copper eyes meeting yours as if gauging your reaction. In the dim light from the TV, you could see that hint of panic again, as if he was terrified you would shout or push him away. You smiled at him gently, resituating so more of your lap was available and going back to scrolling through your phone.

The cat was apparently satisfied with your reaction, because he readjusted himself, as well, curling up so he was taking up more real estate on your lap. You didn’t mind. His little body put off quite a lot of heat, and from what you could feel of him through the blanket, he was cold, too. Eventually, he settled in, his head rested against your leg beside your free hand, his tail flopped into the crook of your elbow, the tip flicking lightly back and forth.

After a moment, you felt him shift again, and you almost jumped when you felt his head press into your hand. It took you a second, and a few more tentative bumps from him, but you eventually opened your hand and allowed him to press his forehead into your palm. You rubbed your thumb gently over the soft fur of his cheek. He leaned into your touch and you could feel him relaxing. You heard the rumbles of a purr start to stutter in his chest. It wasn’t constant like other cats’--it sounded vaguely like popcorn, crackling and popping at random.

You sighed, resting one hand on his back and continuing to stroke his cheek. He stiffened for a moment and raised his head, wide eyes staring into your face, before he slowly started to relax again.

“I can’t keep calling you kitty,” you said softly when he was comfortable. He didn’t raise his head, but his ear swiveled in your direction to show he was paying attention. “And I’m terrible at names, so you’re going to have to figure out a way to tell me what yours is. Unless you want me to call you something ridiculous like Smudge or Shadow.” The cat grunted. Apparently he didn’t like those names, either. “I didn’t think so.”

Your attention returned to the movie, but you kept petting him. His stuttering purr resumed. He directed your hand by nudging it, up his head and down to his shoulder. He adjusted how he was laying so you could rub where the scars of yesterday’s bite marks were. You massaged the area gently, his purring increasing in volume.

His fur was soft and considerably less dirty than it had been that morning. If you concentrated, he smelled like your shampoo.

“I have to take some stuff back to the pet store tomorrow,” you said finally. “So you’ll have some time alone to do whatever.”

He froze, and despite the movie playing, it was quiet without his purring. His eyes were wide, and he hissed, but aside from his ears flattening, he didn’t move. He was scared--no, he was terrified.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You kept your voice soft and even. “You can stay here for as long as you’d like. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

You sighed. You still felt a little weird talking so seriously with a cat, but his reactions confirmed what your research had told you. You had questions, and you were a little concerned about the logistics of everything, but you had started to come to terms with it.

Him smelling like your shampoo. The dishes being done. The stolen pillow and blanket. The things that were moved ever so slightly. The oddly appropriate reactions to what you were saying. How fast he had healed. Maybe you’d always known. Maybe that’s why you still talked to him like he was a person.

He was a person, more or less.

Your cat was a hybrid.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or thoughts about the series. I’d love to hear from you!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Taglist: @min-yus, @melindagrace31, @shrimpmsg, @ghostkat23, @demcreeps, @ggsmashgg, @findingourtreasure, @20emma0, @springbean​, @black-rose-29, @cuteipat, @agustneeds, @deeepvibes, @yzkyzkuniverse, @softbbyg0rl​

[elias-code]

The Feeling’s Mutual - c!Techno x Reader

PT 1 because I‘m taking too long lmao

Characters: c!Technoblade x gn!Reader, Philza, Quackity, Charlie S

Summary: [from an ask] The reader is kicked out by Quackity from Las Nevadas and was forced to roam around to look for somewhere to live and they end up in Techno’s cabin after passing out in the tundra. At first, you have a shared hatred of each other, but you end up warming up when you figure out he’s been making you breakfast.

Warnings: Exile, mild malnutrition, corruption

————————— Enjoy :3 —————————

“Ooh! I get to go visit you now! Like a vacation!” Charlie cheered.

“No, Charlie,” You sighed, continuing to follow him out of the city, “I’m getting exiled. I don’t think Quackity will let you visit me,”

He frowned, confused. He wasn’t the best at understanding broad concepts like exile and all the drama that brought it about. He just thinks you’re one of his best friends, and that Quackity is also his best friend. Now, Quackity was in no way your friend as you once were. He banished you for the dumbest thing, just because you challenged his integrity. Unbeknownst to Charlie, Quackity was giving away trade secrets, rigging elections and his casinos. You didn’t join him to scam people, you just wanted a new start after L’Manburg.

You walked with him in silence past the bright neon lights and street lamps of Los Nevadas. You were never going to be allowed back here, even though you built half of the damn place.

“So if Quackity doesn’t let me visit, can you visit me?” Charlie asked solemnly.

“Again, probably not,” You stuffed your hands in your pockets and half-smiled at him, “I don’t think he wants to see me back here. Ever,”

Where were you even going to go? No one would take you. Quackity had made many enemies, who were, in turn, yours, and now no one you were allied with alongside Quackity will be friendly except for Charlie. But Charlie was his lapdog, nothing could touch him and you weren’t going to be allowed around him anymore.

Your enemies list was vast, all the way up at the top, finally overtaking Technoblade, was Quackity. Congrats, Big Q, you piece of shit.

Charlie stopped at the end of the road, finally realizing this might be the last time you see each other. He wanted to cry, but he held it back. There’d always be hope, he could sneak out, you could sneak in. But you’d have to do it all in secret, and it just didn’t feel right to him.

“I’m gonna miss you, Charlie,” You said.

He smiled weakly at you and pulled you in for a slimy hug.

“We’ll see each other again someday,” He stated.

You wanted to believe that, but the pit in your stomach just sank further as the embrace came to an end. You’d have to get going, this would be the last time you see him, or Los Nevadas for that matter, in a long time at least.

-

You spent days wandering. Just as you suspected, no one would take you in. Not even Niki because of your governmental associations. You found the occasional scrap of meat or stale bread in some chests along the prime path, but you felt so sick to your stomach that it became hard to eat anything you found.

From the desert to the ocean to the plains to the tundra you roamed. You hunted with what little supplies you had.

There had been no food for days now, the snow was the only source of water within sight. There were no signs of life, no people, no animals, only the occasional dying tree to sleep under in the blistering cold. As if things couldn’t get any worse, the blizzard came.

Blinding white all around. The only sound audible was the whistling of the wind in the frozen, rotting branches above you. At this point, you’d gone numb, the only thing you could feel was your heart beating heavily in your chest as you lost consciousness.

-

“We couldn’t just leave them out in the snow, Techno! That’s just cruel!”

“They’re with Quackity, Phil. Don’t make me explain this again,”

“I’m not going to let you throw them back out,” Phil explained, “No one would willingly come here, Technoblade. They have a reason, I know it,”

You opened your eyes cautiously. It was warm, you were covered in a thick red cape and a few blankets, the fire next to you was roaring. Whatever argument was taking place had moved further into the distance, out of earshot.

Everything ached, but at least you were warm. You let yourself come to your senses. Maybe the exile was all a nightmare. Maybe Quackity wasn’t a dumb bitch after all. But where were you? Whose bed was this? Whose-

It’s Technoblade’s cape.

Your eyes widened as you shot up out of bed. The pain in your legs was sickening, but so was being in this man’s house. You ran to the fireplace and grabbed some sharp steel tongs, meant for poking at the logs, for protection. His footsteps moved closer, the conversation was over.

You brandished your weapon and prayed for dear life.

The door creaked open and he stepped through, shutting it behind him. He stared at you, looking down at the weapon and then back at the tossed bed. He looked unfazed by your threatening pose. You were more scared than he was.

“I lend you my cape,” Technoblade points at the bed, “And you decide the best move for you is to stab me?”

Guilt crept into your throat.

“What am I doing here?” You hissed at him.

“Phil found you under a tree,” He chuckled, “And decided he wanted to adopt someone else,”

“Aren’t you supposed to kill me or something?”

“Why? Should I?” He threatened, taking a step towards you.

You stepped back, bumping into the table behind you, “That- That’s what you do,”

“If it were up to me, you’d probably be buried in the snow by now.”

You scowled at him, rediscovering past hatred towards him and using that to fuel your rage.

“I’d rather be left out there,” You spat, “Not stuck in here with you-“

“Again, I agree, but Phil is the one you should be angry with if you don’t want to be here,” He rolled his eyes and held his hand out.

“I’m not giving this back to you,” You growled.

He stepped forward and snatched the spear out of your hand, tossing it behind him, out of reach. He leaned forward and hissed in your face, “Don’t try anything, kid,”

You swallowed your pride, weak and unarmed. Whether you liked it or not, you’d have to stay with him for a while. No one would take you in, so it was either deal with Technoblade or die. You might as well use this to your advantage.

-

Days went by where you never even saw Techno. Phil took care of you most of the time, but he didn’t have any room in his house with Wilbur being there and all, so you were forced to sleep in Techno’s cabin. It became easier and more manageable as time went on. The only time you ever really saw him were the latest hours of the night when he’d come home and, if you were lucky, at dawn when he left.

Breakfast usually materialized at your doorstep every morning around the same time. Sometimes it was yoghurt, sometimes fresh fruit, sometimes cold meat and oatmeal, but it was always delicious. You suspected Phil was behind the mysterious meals, that was until you asked him about it.

“I don’t think I ever said, but thanks for breakfast,” You smiled at Phil as you helped him load firewood into the horse’s saddlebags.

He looked at you, perplexed, to say the least.

“What breakfast? Don’t you just eat whatever Techno has?” Phil replied.

Your stomach turned, letting the past couple of weeks turn over in your head. You shouldn’t have assumed Phil was the one making your food. You should’ve asked before you just started gorging yourself every morning.

Phil watched as you turned pale and hopped on the horse. He thought that you just ate whatever Techno had in his pantries, and never questioned it. Now, all was revealed. Techno had been making you breakfast.

For most people living as a guest in someone else's house, having breakfast brought to their door would just be seen as a sweet thing, but it was dangerously blown out of proportions when it was your ex greatest enemy doing it without you even knowing. You silently reasoned with yourself that if he was going to poison you, you’d be dead already. That comforting fact backfired as you realised he could have killed you so easily. Your emotions were on a rollercoaster, and your stomach sank deeper and deeper as the more intrusive thoughts crept in.

You needed to catch him in the act. Something about The Blood God making you breakfast created sentiments of self-worth out of thin air. Part of you wanted to prove it to yourself, and part of you wanted to embarrass him for it.

-

The familiar shine of daybreak made the room glow orange. The fire had gone out that night, as it usually did, but the cold felt like nothing now that you had a mission to accomplish.

You slipped out of bed, clad in leggings and a simple green shirt. The floor was icy on your bare feet but you trodded out the door and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen.

The dining room was salmon-pink, highlighted by the bright orange flickering coming from the fireplace. It was already warmer down here than it was upstairs, the fire must’ve already been on for a while by now. The kitchen was out of view, but you could already smell fish frying from the base of the stairs.

Making your way through the archway, you spotted Techno’s red cape on its hook by the door next to the thick winter coat you loaned from Phil. Below them, both were black boots, sprinkled with half-melted snow. The floorboard below you creaked when you stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

Techno spun around, startled by the noise. His face flushed with guilt temporarily but was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and confused eyes.

“What are you doing awake? It’s five,” He implored.

“I could smell the salmon,” You shrugged and moved towards him innocently.

He turned back to the fish and turned the stove off, sliding it onto a plate.

“What’re we eating today?”

“You just said,”

You scoffed and conceded. It was a dumb thing to ask, but he wasn’t supposed to answer. It was only meant to highlight the reality that you knew what he’d been doing. Nothing in his expression, now unreadable, made you think he didn’t know that you knew he’d been making you breakfast.

He gently pushed by you, letting his arm brush against yours. It made your heart skip a beat, probably out of fear, you told yourself. Your skin went cold, but you followed him into the next room where he put the dish on the table and gestured for you to sit.

“You don’t seem to hate me anymore,” You mumbled.

“I never said I hated you, just that I don’t like you,”

“Well, you don’t seem to not like me either,”

He blinked at you and sat across the table from you.

“Where are you going today?” You said with a mouthful of food, “To do mysterious things, I imagine,”

“I was going to stay here today, actually.”

You stopped eating.

“I finished my mysterious duties,” He mocked.

Well, he wasn’t going to budge on where he’d been going the past few nights, but that wasn’t particularly important right now. What caught your attention was that he was staying here for the day. Again, meaningless to most people, but with him, it was surprising.

He began snickering, just at your face.

“I was never the one that hated you,” He laughed, “You were the one who brandished that poker at me,”

Your face flushed red with embarrassment, “I can be resourceful, at least,”

He continued to laugh at you, the absurdity of the situation hitting him with full force. Right now you wished you could hit him with full force.

“Alright, alright,” He took a deep breath, “I do have some questions for you,”

You looked up at him, annoyance plastered on your face.

“Shoot,”

“Why are you here instead of Las Nevadas?”

“Because Quackity kicked me out, and-“

“How did you know I made you breakfast?” He cut you off.

“I asked Phil, but-“

“Why did Quackity kick you out?”

“I asked him too many questions, just-“

“Do you still hold any loyalty to him?”

“No, but-“

“Questionnaire over, thank you for participating,” He stood up and excused himself from the table, heading back to the kitchen.

-

Techno never left again after that. He stuck around and made an effort to make you annoyed and uncomfortable every chance he could get. It was becoming a sort of game with him, and you were more than happy to play along. It made it easier to get along with him in general. There’d be no more dreading seeing him, no more awkwardness surrounding your avoidance.

Now, you had other things to be awkward about. If you passed each other a bit too close in a doorway, when you tripped over a rug in the living room, the fact that you were sleeping in his bed, the abrupt flirtatious nature of the man you were now sharing a room with.

You never really thought about it, but before he moved back into his room onto a makeshift bed, he’d been sleeping on the couch. He’d wake you early in the morning when he’d get up to make breakfast, and whenever he did leave to run errands, he’d wake you late at night when he came home.

One morning, around eight, he woke you purposefully.

“Get dressed, I want to show you something,” he whispered, gently shaking you.

You groggily complied and eventually found your way to the front door where he was waiting for you.

“No breakfast?” You asked.

“Breakfast after,” He said, opening the door.

He was dressed in his usual clothes, but he carried a large satchel with him. Inside were different scraps of leftover meat and some bones. He didn’t tell you what for, but you were too tired to ask anyway.

You followed him through the fresh snow, crunching under your feet. It was drowned out by mindless conversation that you both kept up to stay awake. He brought you to a distant hill in a clearing, where a cliffside was awaiting. The conversation stopped as he told you to wait, and he went over to the wall and pressed a rock into the stone.

You could faintly hear the sound of pistons firing before the rock slid down slotted into the floor.

The sound of dogs barking filled the forest as hundreds of dogs and puppies spilt out of the entrance. Most of them went running to Techno, who was now holding the bag aloft, out of reach from the dogs. Some of them ran to you, their tails wagging happily at their new potential playmate.

“Pretty cool, huh?” He shouted.

“Holy-“ You stopped and pet the large, black dog that jumped on you, “Where’d you get so many dogs?”

“Long story,” He began to throw chunks of meat into the writhing pile of hounds, who were now obsessively sniffing you.

“I do this three times a week,” he said as he made his way over to you, “It’d get done a lot faster if you could help now that you’re living here full-time,”

“Wait,” You looked at him blankly, “Full-time?”

“That’s the idea,”

You thought for a moment, “Where am I going to sleep?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said, handing you some chunks of meat to throw.

By the time Techno’s bag was empty, it was almost noon. He shephered them back into the cavern and shut the door behind them. They were very well trained, when he commanded them all to sit once they got inside, there was no hesitation. The puppies were confused at first, but they followed along with the pack flawlessly.

Leaving the clearing, you talked with him freely about your plans for the future at the cabin. It didn’t mean you’d live there forever, knowing Techno, he might end up being hunted out of the tundra eventually. But for now, you were sticking with him.

It was strsnge to think that you were once mortal enemies, staring each other down on the battlefield with nothing but rage coursing through your veins. Now, you were cheerily chatting about what it would be like to settle down together. Between the two of you, mutual feelings of respect and redemption. The distrust was long since buried.

[clouds-rambles]

can you write something where the reader has Childe babysit their little sister Diona? Except she hates him because he's a "fatui bad guy."

Strayed a little off the request but I hope you don't mind lmao

Lol casually 1.2k words look at me go

Pairings; (Sibling) Diona x reader, (Romantic) Childe x reader

Warning(s); Mention of reader going out on a hunt

Keep reading under the cut!

You hum as you see Diona turn up at your door

“Morning Diona, I’ve got to run some errands, do you mind just sitting with Ajax?” you ask getting down onto her level. Diona sighs

“But I came here to see you” she huffs and pouts, you chuckle at her

“Don’t worry about it Diona, I’ll be back before supper and tomorrow we’ll spend the day together” you comfort bringing her into a hug “Don’t worry, Ajax has a ton of siblings so I’m sure he’ll entertain you just fine, okay?” you ask. Despite the fact you desperately needed to run these errands you could probably bribe Childe to do them for you if Diona desperately didn’t want to be without you

“Fine” she huffs hugging you back, you grin at her

“Great! You’re the best” you tell her planting a kiss on her forehead “Come on in, let me introduce the two of you before I leave” Diona nods at your words and lets you pull her up onto your shoulders and enter the house.

“So, what does your bozo boyfriend do anyways?” Diona asks attempting to not sound even a little bit interested

“Why don’t you ask him while I’m gone?” you ask “And he can tell you himself”

“Ah so this must be the sister you were telling me all about” Childe turns, his coffee cup in a hand, he uses his other hand to wave at Diona

“It’s Diona” she tells him with a pout

“Attitude and all” you jest causing Diona to attempt to kick you. You place Diona onto the counter so she stands about as tall as Childe. She leans forwards with a cock of her brow

“I feel like I recognise you…” she trails off, but you interrupt her thoughts by giving her another forehead kiss then giving Childe a kiss too

“Thank you for this Ajax” you thank kissing him again, Childe shakes his head

“It’s no problem love” he smile “Have a good day” he adds waving you out the door.

Just as you leave Diona punches the palm of her hand.

“I’ve got it!” she exclaims “That loser wine tycoon told me all about you guys!” she adds pointing to Childe “You’re one of those harbingers” she accuses, Childe raises his hands in defence

“What do you mean, I’m a toy manufacturer” he tries to argue

“But Ajax isn’t your name…” Diona trails off “It’s Tar-Tartaglia or something” she adds stumbling over the pronunciation of his alias. Childe chuckles awkwardly

“I guess I’m caught huh” he says with a close eyed smile

“Does my sibling know?” Diona asks feeling the coldness of her cyro vision beg to be let out on the harbingers face. Childe smiles and nods

“Of course they do” he replies “That was one of the first things they knew about me” he reassures remembering the memory of their first meeting, your dagger held at his neck. Diona raises a brow

“They better” she threatens and Childe finds himself chuckling again

“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” Childe asks changing the conversation, Diona shakes her head a few times. She’s not really sure what she’d want to do anyway, she barely ever gets time off work and when she does it’s usually just to hunt. “I think my brother, Teucer, left some things from the last time he was here” he offers “Maybe a colouring book or two” Diona nods

“Colouring sounds fun” she says, her guard isn’t fully down around Childe, which he finds a little amusing, but Diona finds herself settling in the more she sees your things littered about the house

“Here do you want some help down?” Childe offers, but Diona shakes her head and jumps down off the counter and bounds into the living room.

Childe looks in the spare room and finds a couple unused colouring books and some pencils. When he renters the living room he finds Diona looking at a picture of a younger you, a baby Diona, and both of her parents. Diona smiles lightly and wipes her eyes of any tears that dare leak from her eyes. She then looks at the next picture depicting a large family unit, she picks out Childe from amidst the people, she smiles lightly. She probably feels a little better knowing that he has a family too.

Childe smiles and announces his presence by placing down the books onto the table. Diona jumps a little bit and scowls at Childe, who only laughs in response.

“Here knock yourself out” he says patting the books, Diona rolls her eyes and sits at the coffee table.

It’s easily dark by the time you get home, you look a little dishevelled. You move to the kitchen and start unpacking the various meats in your bag, you see Childe walk into the room his brows raised at your appearance.

“I thought you told your lackeys to lay off me” you complain looking to your partner “I had to wipe out three fatui camps while I was hunting” you huff

“I did…” he trails off his brows raised “I should send out another notice” he adds sighing, he may be a harbinger but some of these fatui love to do as they please

“How’s Diona?” you ask changing the subject, Childe chuckles lightly

“She’s apprehensive of me” he starts “But she seems sweet, she told me about your dad over lunch” he adds looking to you, you shift on your feet looking away

“I’m glad she felt comfortable enough telling you” you reply taking off your jacket

“Speaking of, we went out for lunch,” he begins “Nothing exiting, she just had some fish and that was about it” he adds following you into the lounge, you see Diona trying to make paper aeroplanes fly with her vision

“How was your day?” you ask your sister, who smiles upon seeing you then puts on an angry face

“And why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is a fatui?” Diona asks standing up just to stomp her foot

“Sorry” you apologise opening your arms for her to come hug you, she does “I forgot” you add with a laugh

“Why are you so dirty?” Diona asks poking at the layer of dirt on your cheek, you smile at her

“What didn’t Dad tell you about the super secret hunting trick?” you ask with another laugh “You’ve got to roll about in aaaall the mud so the boars cant see you” you add

“That’s not right” she pouts “You shouldn’t listen to Dad less when he’s drunk” she adds with another huff, you chuckle at her

“Anyway, why don’t you help Ajax with the meat? He’s horrific at filleting steaks” you ask changing the subject “And clean myself up” you add with a smile,

“Hey I heard that you know” Childe huffs from the lounge door, Diona nods a few time

“Can I stab him if he cuts the meat wrong?” she asks, you laugh and shake your head

“Maybe just freeze him a little bit, I wouldn’t want blood all over my nice wooden floor” you tell her putting her down. She sighs and goes into the kitchen

“Okay harbinger, lets cut this meat!” you hear Diona exclaim as you go to clean yourself up