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dutiful-wildcraft · 8 months ago

Text

Strange Candy

After a strange encounter. A chubby witch must now figure out how to escape the interest of 3 very dangerous demons.

Fat! Original Female Character/Roland "Swagger" Kaminski/Nikto/Sebastian Krueger

Tags: enemies to lovers, monster au, blood, gore, masturbation, liberal use of italics, soul mates elements, chubby oc, stalking, multi-parts

(This is a self indulgent project that got a little out of hand, and the first semi-serious piece I've posted, so polite critique is welcome!)

Banner by @/cafekitsune

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski hardly read over the document before whipping his signature down and sliding it back haphazardly to his superior. The man had simply rolled his eyes before urging him to actually read over the document before departure. Swagger couldn’t have cared less.

The contract was for the United States. Some bullshit intel regarding the smuggling of volatile chemicals. Orders were simple: seek, and destroy if appropriate. Half of their money up front, the other half when the job was finished. Not that Swagger cared about the money, none of the team did, they all had more of it than they knew what to do with. No, most of them had joined the private military group for their own…peculiarities.

Being an untethered demon came with its own challenges, but Swagger was tenacious if nothing else. Had always known exactly where he needed to be, and when he needed to be there. Confident that all these twists and turns would lead him to his Chosen. To sate him when the time was right.

Whether he would keep them or crush their bones between his jaws was still yet to be determined. Either way his troubles would be over.

He’d had the same dreams since he was a wee beast. Loud music and blinding strobe lights. Smoke rolling languidly from ornate silver sensors. A witch of his own, hiding somewhere in the world.

As he strutted across the tarmac he couldn't keep the shit eating grin off his face, there was a humming beneath his flesh, a simmering excitement beginning to bubble its way up his throat. And as they drew closer, Swagger knew in his little black heart that his time had finally come.

It had taken a few days of ground work before they'd gotten a reliable mark. As they would come to find out, one of the city's most popular nightclubs also posed as a front for illegal smuggling.

Very creative, Swagger huffed amusedly from his position. Feet kicking in the rafters as he watched the bodies writhe to the beat below him. He had been quick to slink inside and let his compatriots handle the intricacies, having hardly paid attention to the briefing before sauntering off in the opposite direction. The other two would do perfectly fine on their own with the petty human mission. He had other business to attend to.

He scanned the crowd through the round lenses of his gas mask. The head piece having become an unfortunate necessity over the last few years. The longer he'd gone without his Chosen, the more controlling himself had become…troublesome. Demons were insatiable creatures to begin with, requiring hardy meals of flesh and bone and blood that swirled through the living like the sweetest nectar. The longer he’d continued untethered, the more voracious his appetite became. Frequent contracts kept him placated enough, but holding in his strength and shape, especially when hunger clawed at his belly, made him unsuitable for more delicate operations.

He wrinkled his nose against the onslaught of sheer stink in the room. Sweat and weed, and far too many humans drenched in cheap cologne. Making it nearly impossible to sift through the cocktail of what could be human or Other.

Almost.

A scent wafts through the round vents of his mask, rich and sugary. Chocolate over cherries that was nearly lost among the rest. He stands, immediately alert, desperately searching for the source. Blinding lights dance across the glass of his lenses, music pounds, and Swagger finds himself dizzy with deja vu of it.

Here, here, here. They were here.

His body begins to tremble, sickly acid pooling in his mouth like some eager slobbering mutt. He slinks through the rafters, scanning body after body. His black little heart seizing in his chest when his eyes zero in on her.

His Chosen.

She gyrates gracefully to the music. All long ginger waves and cherry painted lips. Multicolored lights dancing over the black velvet minidress that hugged gorgeous full breasts and a soft belly, the exertion of the night painting her cheeks and neck with a hot flush.

She was perfect. Looking so warm and soft and fucking luxurious.

He could feel the tether rip through his chest, slamming his heart against the cage of his ribs as he drank her in. The once thin thread he had felt before now twisting and growing into a heavy rope, curling around his heart, suffocating him with the weight of its abundance.

A feral grin splits across his face as he watches it slam into her too. She stumbles, brows knitted with a palm against her sweaty chest. She whirls in confusion, trying to find the source in the undulating crowd.

I’ve got you now -

An explosion shakes the building, followed by the shrill bleating of alarms and pouring emergency sprinklers. The dance floor scattering in a flurry of frantic screams and flailing limbs. And in the split second his eyes tore away from her, she was gone. Lost in the sea of falling ceiling and fleeing bodies.

No, no, no.

He’d just found her! He couldn’t lose her now! Red hot anger rolls through him like a tidal wave. Roiling smoke spilling out from underneath his mask with the heat of it.

His comms crackle to life.

“They destroyed it themselves. Evac immediately.” comes a familiar german accent, Krueger, his unofficial lead for the operation. Always so fucking calm.

He snarls, dropping from the high rafters with a thud, moving lightening fast to snag a straggler in the panic. Lifting them clean off the ground, and slamming them bodily onto the floor. He pins them there, using his weight to hold down their frenzied thrashing. Stupid, clumsy, humans.

Roland yanks up the edge of his mask, lips twisted into a snarl, noxious fumes rolling out in waves from between his teeth. He opens his mouth, tongue lolling as he lets the acid there spill messily onto the flesh below him, relishing in the sizzle and burn as it melts through skin and muscle. The writhing stops soon after, and with little fanfare he plunges his fingers into now hollow sockets, snapping off pieces of blood soaked skull to devour like a gruesome party tray.

“Kaminski, now” comes another voice, very russian and very annoyed.

He sits up finally, scrubbing blood off the scruff of his chin. The familiar weight of his tether tugging at his chest. His witch was fine, still firmly connected to him, he could find her again soon enough. He stares, just a bit dazed at the flames roaring around him, the headless corpse beneath him still spilling blood lazily over beer soaked laminate. Perhaps he had overreacted.

He clears his throat, yanks his mask back down and dusts himself off. Pocketing the loose teeth he’d saved into his tac vest for a little snack later. With a tired sigh he trots outside as his teammates' annoyed tone buzzes in his ear once more.

What the fuck?

Ruby stands annoyed amongst the crowd of onlookers. Watching with healthy suspicion as the nightclub she favored most roared with flames.

Tonight was supposed to be her little bi-weekly ritual. Self care and all that. Get dolled up and take herself out for something fun. Dance her heart out, and maybe a little more if something pretty came sniffing. Dousing herself in magic was never a smart thing to do given her heritage, and she rarely bothered with any magic that changed her appearance, but she had really put in effort this evening. Full hair and skin routine, silky sweet lotions rubbed into her skin. All on top of the little black dress and blood red color painted onto her lips.

All of which had been sorely ruined when falling strobe lights nearly crushed her, emergency sprinklers soaking her to the bone. Now she stood like a soaked rat in the crowd of onlookers, hair frizzy and wet heels sliding uncomfortably, thankful for waterproof mascara at the least.

Something strange was afoot, and she wasn't about to chance a little charm to wick the water away, less even that draw something more unsavory to her.

Something had struck her on the dance floor. She could still feel it now, not painful, but tight, like a thread around her heart. The strange weight still clinging to her ribs was proof enough that something was certainly wrong. She had hardly had time to look at the faces around her before the alarms blared. Was this something cosmic? A curse?

She pondered her dreams. The same visions had been repeating for weeks now, neon lights, flames. Clairvoyance was not her specialty. Visions had never plagued her, nor did she seek them out. She had been taught early that the future was not finite, lines shift and flutter. She had deemed the art useless long ago, too unpredictable, and certainly not because the art had always been like sand through her fingers. What was the fun in always knowing anyway?

In hindsight it should have been obvious. That maybe the dreams hadn't just been dreams after all, but warnings… like she was supposed to just know that! Instead she had stubbornly fixed herself a sleepy time tea and ignored them without a second thought. A girl’s gotta get her beauty rest after all.

She had been in adamant danger. Maybe the weird feeling in her chest was another side effect? A more physical warning to urge her away? A little too late, she groused inwardly.

Another small explosion rocked the concrete below her, snapping her from her thoughts.

She scanned her surroundings again, her eyes falling to a trio of men in the distance. All clothed in masks and oddly tactical gear for just firefighters. She had caught a few murmurings around her. Something about a chemical fire and judging by the masks, that at least checked out? She slipped through the crowd, eyes pinned to the men. Determined to at least get a practical explanation for her paranoia.

She approaches with purpose. Heels in hand as she marches up to one of the men. Barefoot and lacking a fuck to give she asks whats going on, having learned a long time ago that if you say anything with enough confidence most people would just yield. She stares at the nearest one, his face nothing more than a black void behind a thinly netted veil. She no more than gets the words out before he is cutting her off.

“Keep back” he replies in a low german accent, holding a hand up to her in mild warning.

She huffs, feeling another set of eyes on her she spares a glance to one of the others, a bulkier man, with icy blue eyes surrounded in black fabric. There is something off about how they glow in darkness, and Ruby quickly averts her gaze, rolling her shoulders before she tries again, “What happ-”

“Confidential” he barks this time, the timber of it hitting her just so over the roar of flames. It sounded distinctly different from the calm warning he’d given her moments prior, like he'd pushed it right into her head.

She should leave. Instead, she pivots her legs, taking on a power stance as she crosses her arms. Lips pressed into a fine line, fully prepared to be annoying until she spots the third man coming toward them.

He approaches with purpose, flames dancing in the dark lenses of his gas mask. She cant see his eyes, but an unease washes over her, blood turning to ice. Adrenaline preparing her to fight or flee.

Her chest tightens, and in a split decision she does just that, tucking tail with as much dignity as possible and turning on a heel. He was certainly coming as backup, and the last thing she needed was to be the asshat on the news who started beef with the emergency crew.

Maybe she was just shaken up, it isn't everyday that you get nearly blown up. She'd survived, despite ignoring her dream’s incessant warnings. And maybe the tightness in her chest and belly was just gas. A serious case of the bubble guts after a truly dangerous encounter. She sighs, settling on taking the long way home and having a peppermint tea for safe measure.

–

Judge greets her as Ruby swings open the door to her dusty loft apartment. The big shaggy hound stepping carefully out of his nest on the couch, old bones creaking with a drawn out stretch. He trots over to her, big shaggy tail thwapping hard enough against her side table to make her keys jingle. She smiles at the old wolfhound, scrubbing her nails through the wirey fur of his chin. He schmoozes in closer, resting his big head against her belly as he leans on her bodily. She'd only been gone a few hours but the old man always acts as if it'd been days.

Exhausted from the night,she slides down her door and onto the floor. Wincing at the squelch of her soaked dress as her ass hit the hardwood.

She meets Judge's big brown eyes and sighs. “I think we got a problem buddy” she tells the gentle giant, who on cue begins giving her a once over, snuffling seriously at her ears and clothes.

Would he even be able to tell if something was off? Could familiars even smell curses? He continues his inspection, a steady rhythm of careful sniffing as he noses down her legs.

“What's the verdict buddy? Am I going to turn into a toad? Have perpetually burnt toast?”

He finishes with a final snuffle to her face, huffing out a stinky breath, forceful enough to blow her hair from her face. With a tired yawn he lays down over legs, his large body hanging off of her at an obviously uncomfortable angle.

If Judge wasn't bothered, It can't be that bad, right?

And yet….

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths to center herself. She tries to see it. This pesky thing attached to her, and it appears. Nebulous in the ether of her mind, a wispy red thread stretching out from her and into the infinite darkness. She concentrates on it, reaches out to grasp it with both hands and yanks, like ripping off a band-aid.

It doesn't budge, only briefly pulling taught like a fishing line before falling slack again, floating easily in a nonexistent breeze.

She tries again, twisting her fingers through it, tugging it this way and that. Tries to pull the string apart between her fingers. It stretches and pulls, but gives no indication of damage.

Well shit.

Roland perches on a building ledge across the street, watching her through the large windows of her run down apartment. It's homely, with large bookshelves lining one wall, filled to the brim with old worn out tomes who couldn't quite make out the titles of. A myriad of plants hang from her high ceilings and fire escape. She’d even hung soft linen curtains and warm strings of tea lights throughout her space. Giving it a soft orangey glow.

He wasn't going to follow her quite so soon. But when the silly witch toyed with their tether like that, she was begging him to come find her.

Nosey thing wasn't she? He'd lit up like a christmas tree when he heard her speak, stubborn confidence in a soft southern drawl as she'd sassed Krueger. He restrained himself as best as he could before approaching, giddy to get a better look at her. Only for the little witch to flee. Which was fair enough.

His attention is pulled again when she comes shuffling back in, faced washed and now clad in an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. Grabbing a leash from the side table she swings her way back out the door, oversized hound in tow.

Leaving again so soon? He'd been fully prepared to wait until she slept. Slink into her apartment and simply snag her there. She was either very brave or very stupid. Either way she would be under his wing soon, warm and protected.

He tails her from the rooftops, ogling the sway of her hips as she trails behind her mutt. Waiting patiently as the dog stopped every few feet to sniff a trash can or street corner.

Swagger waits, anticipating her route and slinking down into the alley near her complex. Eager to see her close up. As anticipated she passes through, eyes scanning the darkness where he lays shrouded in shadows.

However, the mutt pauses, sniffing at the air before standing stone still, a fine line of hair splitting up his back as his hackles raise, growling into the shadows. He would have preferred not to scare her first but no matter.

He saunters out of the darkness, hands in his pockets as if this were a serendipitous reunion. She freezes, grasping the little bejeweled can of pepper spray tighter in her free hand. She stares at him wide eyed as he makes a careful approach, her eyes flickering briefly to lead attached to her first line of security.

“Easy, ma petite. I'm not going to hurt you” he coos softly. Pausing a safe distance away from the slobbering beast standing between him and his witch. She'd be smart to let it go, however if the dog bit him, he would most certainly be biting back. Dog isn't the worst thing he's eaten over the years.

“Look, I'm sorry about earlier, if this is some kind of interrogation tactic, I can't help you. I don't know anything about that club thing” she says slowly, taking a careful step away from him, one he follows immediately with his own.

He likes hearing her talk. Her voice is low and soft with a drawl he's only really heard in movies. It's endearing in a way.

“Not here about that.” he says simply, taking another step closer.

Something unreadable flickers behind her eyes and he watches as her pretty plush lip wobble, eyes going misty.

“No need for tears, witchling” he reminds her softly. Even though she looked so pretty with tears in her eyes. His cock gives an interested twitch at the thought of licking those tears from her cheeks, tasting the salt of her on his tongue.

“Witchling?” she croaks, brows furrowed in confusion. Her soft body trembling as she tugs her pet closer to her side.

Swagger cocks his head. Did she not know? He thought it was odd to see her on her own like this, had the great covens truly left their kindred to the wolves?

His poor thing, she was lucky she was his chosen, she'd be nothing but blood on the pavement if any other demon had happened upon her first.

“Yes princesse, it's in your blood. I can show you” he offers lightly “Just need to come with me.” he takes another step forward, raising his arms in mock surrender.

She continues to sniffle, eyes flickering back and forth in thought before she looks at him again.

And it happens all at once, her fear stricken face shifting to one of pure malice.

“I'm not going anywhere” she hisses.

He barely notices the flick of her wrist before the concrete rattles below him. No time to dodge away as jagged cement teeth emerge from the earth below him. A bastardized carnivorous plant made of stone and rebar.

He howls as misshapen teeth split though muscles and bone. A sickening squelch echoing through the alley as his arm is ripped messily from the shoulder. The concrete monstrosity crunching audibly before sinking back into the sidewalk with its bloody prize. He clutches the bleeding stump. Stumbling and whirling to get his eyes back on his witch.

Gone, not even the sound of her footsteps. The sly shit hadn't wasted a second. He should be angry, furious at the witches' deception.

Yet he stands there panting. Listening to the residual aura of her power fizzle and crack in the air around him like lightning. He feels elated. The static of old magic buzzing beneath his skin, raising his hair on end as what blood he has left flows between his thighs.

He curses, clumsily propping himself up against the alley wall, using his good arm to fish his cock out from his tac gear. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was clever, powerful.

He pumps himself lazily with blood soaked fingers. Groaning as he gives himself a squeeze. Swiping a thumb through the copious precum weeping from his tip and dragging his slick over the quickly drying tack of blood on his length.

He's dizzy with it, whole body pulsing with pain and pleasure and the electric buzz of her still left the air.

He pumps in earnest now, lewd slick sounds fill the alley as he pants like a dog. Fucking his fist to the thought of his pretty thing running from him. Tits bouncing and sweat slick as he chases her through back alley streets.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He spills into his hand with a choked sound. Pulling spend down his blood soaked cock in lazy strokes until it turns a pretty pink.

He remains there for a moment, catching his breath as he grows soft and the adrenaline fades. Leaving nothing but the radiating pain in his shoulder and the reality that he is literally standing around with his dick in his hand.

He tucks himself back in, giving himself a good natured pat over the groin, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He can't even find it in himself to be mad. Only amused at his witch's clever little show. Oh yes. She would do perfectly, they just had a few wrinkles to iron out.

He winces a bit, the uncomfortable stretching of bones and flesh growing and stitching itself back together, reminding him of his new issue.

A quick meal would speed up the recovery, but it wouldn't go unnoticed by Krueger and Nikto. He pushes himself off of the wall, thinking up his next plan of action.

He already knew where she lived, and even if she ran the tether would bring them back together regardless.

He'd let her rest. Think on her actions.

For now. Dinner was in order.

#wildcraft writing #roland swagger kaminski #nikto cod #sebastian krueger #call of duty #chubby oc #swagger x oc #nikto x oc #krueger x oc #oc: ruby martin #this is completely self indulgent #I hope you guys like it

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