#they are each of them a permanent finger in a permanent wound | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dadsbongos · 6 months ago

Text

dog and rabbit

9.5 k words / summary - When your party is locked into a stuck trap, you and Laios are the only ones who can bare each other. You both want to be consumed, one literally, and know that only the other can fulfill your desire.

warnings - reader with she/her pronouns, cannibalism as a metaphor for love/cannibalistic thoughts and imagery, fully romantic but no upfront confession, allusions to spoilers but everyone should be safe to read, reader has ego issues and parental issues, laios and reader are both FREAKS, starvation as a plot device

~~~

pt 1 - dog eat rabbit

Mama’s hands are crusted with drying mud, dirt flakes up her bare arms as she smooths a lumpy plot. She’s knelt down, across from her is Papa, and beside Papa is his dog -- tail wagging and mouth dangling open to pant, pant, pant. Between them all is the small rectangular grave Mama just finished pampering. A thin stick sits up straight from the head of the filled hole. You stand at the other end, staring at Papa’s dog with ambivalence.

You wanted to sanitize her vibrant scratches and swelling bite marks, and you wanted her scrapes to get infected. You hoped she would recover to her yippy self soon, and you prayed the mounting limp from her front right paw was permanent. You’d be devastated if she died of her injuries, and you’d find the death to be just.

She’s terrible.

You mock up a world where she was the one eaten instead.

She’s your sole best friend now.

You hope she’s full, no longer at risk of starving to illness.

“Sit, girl,” Papa beckons, a calloused, wrinkled finger directed towards the gaping spot by your mother’s side, “Be respectful. You wanted this memorial, now be part of it.”

“I didn’t want- !“

As if sensing your following words, Mama hisses a sharp shush, then pats the ground beside her. Papa raises a brow at you, testing. Sunlight burns your back, and you spontaneously decide the shaded spot by your mother is more appealing (entirely unrelated to your parents’ demands).

Now, you are face to face with your new best friend because she is your real best friend’s murderer. You hate her. You love her. You want her to feel every shred and tear and pierce she inflicted upon your bunny.

“Darling,” Mama coos, fingers dancing up your shoulder and through your hair, uncaring for how she ruins the strands, “be realistic. A simple marsh rabbit was never going to survive out here.”

“He followed the river out for a reason,” you murmur, now looking down from the big, remorseful, wet eyes of Papa’s dog, “We were meant to be best friends.”

“You’re not a baby anymore,” Papa snaps, rising onto his feet, he glares at you. He glares at you with deep lines retracing their places in his forehead, and his hands clench so hard they shake, until they suddenly go lax. He waves both hands out, shaking them free of all tension as he sighs and turns and prattles down towards the ocean.

His dog follows, slower than she used to with a pause and caution fresh to her gait, licking his hand as he pulls free his fishing pole from the sand. Mama pats down your back and mutters apologies.

You rise shortly after and whistle the dog back into your small shelter, knowing how her wounds will burn should she follow your father into the lapping sea water. She licks your face and you pet around the open scratches from this morning.

You dream that night of what would happen if you let her wander into the ocean.

You wake up with an incredible sense of guilt.

…

“I’m so tired,” Marcille dregs her weight onto your back, causing you to stumble under the sudden hefty addition, “We should stop soon!”

“Agreed,” Chilchuck huffs, stretching his arms out in front of him.

“How about you?” Laois coils at the waist to glance back at you, brows raised high, “Packs wearing you down?”

“No!” you howl defensively, hands wriggling deeper into the leather of Chilchuck’s waterskin when Marcille moans in protest to your denial, “But! If everyone is tired then we should settle down, probably. I think.”

“I think so, too,” Laios nods, deferring to Senshi -- the pair murmuring about which of the dark archways lining the dungeon hall leads to a safe rest stop.

Your party finally piles into an off-room, Marcille still slouched against your back to send you both careening towards the far left end of the cellar.

“Hmm,” Chilchuck points up towards a series of holes in the cobbled archway, “It looks like this room’s rigged to lock us inside. So be careful to not step on this tile, it’ll activate the- !”

Senshi grunts over the sudden sinking in his left side, foot slid over the edge of the stone Chilchuck’s index finger is aimed at, “Whoops.”

A scream escapes the half-foot, Chilchuck narrowly rolling out of the way of downcoming spears. Pointed ends stab towards the cobblestone floor, tips scraping rock, effectively trapping your lot into the cellar.

“Eek!” you scream, both hands pawing at Laios’ arm, “We’re gonna die in here!”

“Shut up, we’re not gonna die in here,” Chilchuck groaned, rising to his knee to inspect the lock attached to the middlemost bar, “I’ll get it open in the morning. If anything, it might help keep us secured overnight, so I can’t be mad.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” you ask, Marcille nodding in backup to your question.

“It’s a pretty simple lock, so it shouldn’t cause me too much grief in the morning.”

Laios nods, stepping back carefully to avoid jangling you off his arm as he sets out his sleeping bag. You stand over him now, hands splayed gently across his back as he flattens his mat, “If you’re gonna stay by me, could you help me get my armor off?”

If anyone except Laios were to ask, you’d probably take offense to the wording -- but it was Laios, and you know Laios well enough to know he’d never want to hurt your feelings.

So you nod, despite the fact he cannot see you, “Of course!”

Neither you or Laios is certain when physical contact became so normal between you, only that now it's strange for Laios to remove his heavy plating without you. So he tries to suck up every opportunity he can now, requesting your assistance whenever the party stocks into a room with a door to keep out ambushers.

“Hey,” Marcille beckons from across the room, already having set out both your mats, “I thought you’d be by me tonight.”

“I will be! Just… helping…” you return focus to Laios, giddily undoing the leather straps of your leader’s grieves before rushing off his pauldrons.

“Thanks again,” he works off the clasps on his arms, slinking free from each piece with a noisy series of clunks and thuds.

“I love helping,” you rationalize quickly, face alight with glee as you wait for Laios to set aside his gorget. Once given a go-ahead nod, you eagerly grasp the lip of his cuirass by the waist and tip upwards. While you’re not lying about your natural proclivity to be helpful, you’re also not terribly against feeling the broadness of Laios’ body up close.

You blame it on admiration.

You admire how he can move so smoothly in such heavy pieces. You admire how despite the both of you being tall-men, he’s managed to occupy the stature to a fuller extent than you. He’s not just big because of his race, but he’s got real discipline to continuously train and hone his combat skills. His muscles are as aesthetically pleasing as they are a sign of his dedication.

In a weird way, you think every monster to be eaten by him should be honored.

Ironically, that night you dream of the party’s first encounter with monsters you couldn’t eat: Orcs.

…

“First ones to die are the ones with the weapons!”

“Aah!” you shriek, immediately releasing your daggers so the blades crash by your knees with a faint tink, tink, tink, “I’m unarmed! Please don’t kill me!”

“Have a backbone!” Chilchuck shouts at you, though beads of sweat are pouring down his face as well.

“I don’t wanna die, Chilchuck!” you cry, sniffling.

“I don’t either, you know?” he hisses in your ear.

Your eyes are too clogged by waterworks to make out the following dispute between Senshi and the Orcs. Now hugging a pair of onions to your chest for support rather than your teensy needlepoint daggers.

“Them veggies be something you grew, I guess?” despite the lilt in his tone, you don’t take the Orc Chief’s tone as a question, “We’re on a supply run lookin’ for food. ‘Preciate if you’d share them with us.”

“Sure, be happy to. What you got to trade for them?” Senshi must be crazy to expect a trade with big, hungry Orcs with big, shiny weapons surrounding you all.

“No trade. Tribe’s desperate, we barely got up to this floor alive. You’ve been a good friend and I hate to do this, but… hand over everything you got. Right now.”

You fumble the onions between your arms, then shirking off the carrots tangled in your bag’s side pockets. Senshi glares at you through his peripherals, grumbling quietly for you to pick the crops back up before returning to his parley with the Orcs.

Unfortunately, your obvious compliance earns you no favor compared to your comrades.

“Coward,” Marcille thunks her head against the cabbage in her hands, “Coward!”

“I was scared!” you wish you had your forfeited onions back, even if only to provide something to cling to. The space between your arms feels so glaringly empty it makes your racing heart swerve to overdrive.

“Everyone was!” Chilchuck glares up at you, then toward Senshi, “Except that idiot.”

“Be nice,” you knot your fingers together, only to watch them unravel again as your group is herded towards the Orcs’ makeshift camp. Then, you look to Senshi for backup, “Besides, they were getting thrown out if we couldn’t trade, right? What’s the harm?”

Senshi shakes his head at you disapprovingly, and it oddly cuts deeper than when your father would do the same, “You need to stand your ground, that’s the difference.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Laios jumps in, voice level in spite of the agitated pinch in his brow, “You all know she hates pain.”

“Who doesn’t, dumbass?!” Chilchuck grits, quickly hushing himself, “None of us want to suffer.”

With admittedly no comeback, even with all your prayers that he’d clunk one together, Laios shrugs, and -- as if sensing your dilemma -- sticks out his bicep for you to hug to your chest.

…

You woke up feeling despondent, gloomily rolling up your area and preparing for the day’s adventure while Senshi made breakfast. And as much as you wish Laios’ curiosity could inspire any excitement within yourself to try the lumpy larvae porridge from cellar-dwelling insects, you’re really not craving any.

“Hey!” but there the blonde is, calling to you and restlessly patting the floor beside him, “Come on, it’s almost ready!”

With weak, frizzly resolve, you conceded in an instant. Just as instantly, you regret it.

Faint, tangy iron clings to the gum of your mouth. A sourness washing over your palette soon after. Your lips press tightly before your tongue lolls out and you’re scraping the harsh edge of your spoon down your flesh, “Blehhh…!”

“Seriously?” Chilchuck sighs, though not withholding his own scrunched face, “You’re acting like a kid.”

“It’s gross!” you whine, bowl clattering between your legs, “It hurts my mouth!”

“Really?” Laios leans in from your left, his chest, while still unguarded, crushes against your shoulder, pointing down into your bowl with his own spoon, “Mind if I have yours?”

“Be my guest,” you slide the bowl his way, then squishing the tip of your tongue into your top gums, “I think it burnt a dent in my mouth.”

Chilchuck groans this time, loud and abrasive, eyes narrowed at you, “It’s not even that bad.”

“You’ve been brainwashed! Monster guts are monster guts, and this time their stomach acid burned my mouth!” you look to your right, at the elf contently munching on Senshi’s cooking, “Right, Marcille?!”

(Senshi’s rebuttal of, “Ain’t no guts in this.” goes unnoticed)

“Hm?” she withers under your pointed stare, shoulders shriveling towards her chest, “I mean, yeah, it is weird…” then she lifts her bowl level to her face, dodging your gaze, “But I don’t think it's burned my mouth.”

“Maybe I’m allergic,” you drivel, focus flitting to Laios’s hands as he grabs your serving to dig in -- even licking the excess off your abandoned utensil, “If I’m allergic I might die…”

“Or you’re just crazy,” Chilchuck intervenes.

“Be nice to me!” you cry, raising a fist as if to strike the man over your fire. You’d never, you don’t have the courage.

Laios nods, “Be nice.”

“You’ll be hungry later,” Senshi chastises, “Eating is the privilege of the living. You’re squanderin’ it.”

“We’ll have lunch later,” you curl your knees to your chest, binding them with both arms tight around your thighs, “I can wait.”

“Who says we’ll find anything worth eating?” you doubt Chilchuck cares about either your stomach or Senshi’s cooking, you instead boldly assume he just wants to keep lecturing you.

“We will!” you lay your head against Laios’ shoulder, peeking up at the man through your lashes, “Right, Laios? We’ll find food again today.”

“I mean, yeah,” he blinks down at you cluelessly, “Deeper we go down, the more we’re bound to find!”

“See! We’ll find food!”

“It’s too early to be fighting…” Marcille frowns, eyes flicking from you to Chilchuck, and back to you.

Chilchuck retires his own bowl and grossly wipes his mouth off with his arm before scooching to the door, waving off whatever retort could follow.

Senshi takes both yours and Laios’ bowls once both are emptied before turning to you, “You may want to dig into the spare snacks in your bag anyway. Ain’t good to start the day on an empty stomach.”

His sudden warmth inspires a molten ooze in your own chest, you shyly nod before muttering, “Sorry for calling your cooking gross… it isn’t, actually. I liked- !”

“Larvae pods can’t be for everyone,” he cuts you off with a speedy recovery, “More for the people that do enjoy it.”

“Thanks for sharing!” Laios claps your back, trying to be friendly and only rattling your balance.

Senshi and Laios begin packing up as you spindle onto your hands and knees to crawl the couple of paces towards your bag. Creeping a hand under the flap to dig for treats, your whole body spiking with goosebumps and raised hairs when you distinctly miss any indentation of rations in your palm. You prattle forward another two knees-worth and unlatch the golden clasp to dig through your bag.

“Oh, no…” you mutter, movements growing more agitated the longer you go without finding food, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“You okay?”

You jump back, clenching both hands over your heart and nodding rapidly, “Yeah, fine! No worries here, Laios!”

“Sounds good!” he backs away to continue assisting Senshi.

“No!” suddenly, Chilchuck’s voice stabs through the room, “No, no, no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Marcille rushes over, clutching Ambrosia between unsteady palms.

Thankfully the party’s attention pivots to the screaming lockpick and you get the grace of pretending there’s absolutely more food left for your group. No problems here!

“It’s jammed!” Chilchuck wrangles the silver bars, then latching onto the boxy lock itself as if to choke all life from the metal, “How am I supposed to pick a lock if the lock isn’t sufficient quality?!”

Or, apparently, you cannot pretend. At least not for long because a problem arose on the opposite side of the cell.

“You can get us out though, right?” Marcille’s grip on Ambrosia loosens, even calm enough to lay the staff against a wall.

“Of course, I can. Who do I look like?” Chilchuck scoffs.

Silently, you beseech Chilchuck’s expertise surpasses this lock’s apparent lack thereof.

“So, how’s the door?”

“Still not open!”

“I thought you were a specialist on these things, Chilchuck.”

All fiddling and knocking ceases in an instant, Chilchuck now staring dead-eyed at Laios for his unwelcomed quip.

“So scary,” Laios whispers beneath his breath, then turning towards you with a subtle downturn of his lips, “What’d I do?”

Hugging yours and Chilchuck’s bags closer to your chest with a stilted shrug, you reply, “I guess he didn’t appreciate the input.”

“I thought- “

Chilchuck’s icy stare kills your leader’s words in his throat.

“Well, we still have leftovers, so we aren’t in trouble of starving for awhile,” you fabricate, digging a hand through your bag to aid your illusion of ease, “When we do run out, I have a plan! So don’t worry about going hungry.”

“Hm?” Laios quirks a brow at your uneven grin.

Before he can prod for more direction, Marcille’s popping back and relieved groan creak through the room. She arches up from her recline on the ground, gold tresses fluttering out around her head. With more huffing and moaning, she flips onto her stomach and stablizing onto her elbows to stare at Chilchuck’s twiddling. Poking and striking various chords and rods within the lock’s bottom hole, you can hear Chilchuck’s frustrated swears in both common and native tongue (though the longer he goes without success, the more obscure and foreign his curses sound).

You’d hate to see Chilchuck face more defeat than he’s already bore. Few hours have passed since waking to find yourselves locked in the dungeon cellar. Chilchuck will soon be considering blood sacrifices made from all four of you, you fear.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I could wash my hair… would be nice if we were out so I could take care of that,” Marcille grins, already knowing the response she’ll pull talking like that.

“Marci, be quiet…!” you whine anxiously, eyes narrowing on Chilchuck’s back.

The man slowly turns his head to narrow his eyes at Marcille, “Huh?” she shrugs coyly, curling a finger into framing strands of her long hair, Chilchuck laughs. Rage thinly veiled by (obviously forced) lightheartedness, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Guys!” you wail, “Please!”

Senshi sighs through his nose, murmuring about kids bickering as he polishes the knife you only see used for cooking.

Tense silence descends upon your group once again.

Turning to the blonde at your side, you murmur, “I’m more worried about how to keep from getting bored. I feel like boredom is when everyone starts hating each other…”

Laios straightens up at your concern, twisting noisily through his personal bag to drag out a leather bound journal, “I could show you my notes about monsters! They’re pretty long so it’ll take awhile, perfect way to kill time while Chil’ gets us out!”

Nodding, you lean into his side, watching intently as he recites each tidbit and offbeat scribble as if by heart. You notice that none of the writing is as softened by print or recognizable as what’s scrawled in his guide on edible monsters. You don’t think this book has been exposed to the party yet, and that thought is patently delightful. That you are so dependable to Laios he’s willing to show off something born from his raw passion.

“It was something I teased when I was by myself,” he confesses, cheeks glowing rosy at the vulnerability of it all, “When I started wondering about the integrity of the Gourmet Guide, it inspired me to make a real guide. So, even though I’m sad the author probably never ate the monsters they wrote about, I can still honor the passion it gave me.”

“Wow,” you turn onto your hip and cradle his arm against yours. Perhaps overly casually, you sling a leg over one of his and rest your head against his shoulder, his chill shirt icing the heat on your own cheek (his simmering skin beneath quickly reheats it), “You’re really cool, Laios.”

Marcille’s side-eye goes unacknowledged when you say that.

“Seriously?” you’re easily distracted from everyone else when Laios is grinning so brightly at you, “You think so?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re really cool, too,” he wishes he could say more, but your pretty face so close to his is strangling his bravery.

That night, you have the strangest dream.

…

A lion of gold fur and pearly wings looms over you, globs of His drool hanging and dribbling onto your forehead. Temptation to reach up and comb your fingers through His mane rushes through you -- but you cannot move. Limbs bogged by a weight unseen, and then there is a dog.

Big black eyes pour down on you, front paws plastered at each side of your waist to hold himself up. Pointed teeth peek through its panting snout -- bloodthirsty growls verberating low through its body. You blink and the dog is different. Yipping like a friend, tail wagging at the sight of you, it licks your cheek. You blink and the dog is gone, replaced with a fellow tall-man. Armor removed and shirt hanging low, you can make out his collarbones and the dip down towards his chest -- if you dare to stare straight down then you could make out the handles of his hips.

Blood stains the seams between his teeth, chin glistening with crimson gush. Faintly, you can make out the sensation of lips puckered around your fingers; sucking and nibbling at your nail beds. Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi. They all seem so at ease, faces completely lax similar to those of nursing kittens.

Laios’ lips press into your neck, hot and cold clashing when he introduces teeth. You can’t even feel the pain as he digs in -- instead, you feel just as calm as your friends look.

You feel serene.

Marcille snaps a finger bone like it's a carrot between her molars. Chilchuck and Senshi lave the spilling blood from her cheeks. They can’t get enough of you. Laios burrows his arms beneath your waist, pressing your body closer into his as he desperately tongues your flesh down his throat.

Hungrily and contently, they swallow you down. Every morsel.

You feel most loved.

…

You woke up feeling grateful.

Chilchuck has not yet gotten your party free. As the day progresses, you feel that gratitude leaking over the floor. It curdles in the open air and soaks into the bottom of Marcille and Laios’ shoes as they ask you to unlock your food pouch.

Cheerful, expectant faces haunt you from above. Marcille, of course, has nothing but patience for you, but the killer is Laios. Obviously. Laios, who so, so fervently and imperatively trusts you so, so wholeheartedly is your biggest problem in this fiasco. He always looks at you like you could never do anything wrong, and you’ve never hated it until now.

Wide, twinkly amber eyes drill into you, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had to dig into the rations, I don’t even remember what’s all in there.”

Marcille nods in agreement, excitement at the prospect of eating obvious in the drool pooling in the corners of her mouth, “Right? It’ll be nice to have something non-monster related, at least.”

“You think so?” Laios pouts, “I thought you were warming up to eating monsters.”

“It's still not my first choice!”

In the midst of their spat, your attention is split between trying to conjure a plausible reason to deny them; and manifesting a destiny where they forgot why they approached you.

By the time Marcille’s tummy croaks through the cramped room, neither has come to fruition. She cups the pouch of her stomach, embarrassed at its echoing rumble.

“Jeez, thought I was hungry…” Chilchuck teases from his post at the door.

“Hey! That was a totally reasonable sound for how long it's been since we ate. And who’s to say that was even me? It could’ve been Laios!”

“It wasn’t,” Senshi adds.

“Definitely wasn’t,” Chilchuck’s sly grin cracks upon the sound of his own gut joining the conversation.

“Ha!” Marcille’s joy is usually able to cleanse your dreary moods, but usually you’re not keeping such a destructive secret.

Usually, you don’t freeze yourself in place like it’ll prevent your party from noticing you’re still alive -- all to avoid them asking the same question from minutes ago,

“So, can you open up the food pack?”

You are not so lucky.

Laios has asked you again.

Rare is it for you to refuse him, because rarer it is for him to ask something outrageous or impossible (or impossibly outrageous) of you. This is the one in a billion chance that you must turn him down. But how can you when he’s looking at you so kindly?

A frazzled, puny No trapped in the back of your desiccate throat when suddenly Senshi says it for you.

“Best to save our rations so we can eat right before we leave.”

Senshi’s trust in you makes you somehow more nauseous. Marcille’s downtrodden agreement makes that stacked nausea triple. Laios curling up beside you to keep you company makes you so electrified you’re certain to be hiccuping bile soon.

(you don’t end up puking, thankfully)

That night, you dreamt of the time you and Laios met.

…

He’s really beautiful, it's the first thing you notice about him. Too beautiful to be a dungeon crawler, Laios’ face is more befitting of royalty. To be praised and swooned over and kissed.

“It’ll be less pay than, well, our swordsman or mage.”

You think his thoughtfulness makes him more beautiful.

Strangely, you feel the need to comfort him. Overcompensate the mediocrity of such a position simply so he doesn’t feel guilty hiring you (because in the back of your head is the fear that if he feels guilty, he simply won’t take you on).

“That’s fine! I don’t mind at all, as long as I get any money I couldn’t care less.”

You just want a house. You just don’t want to suffer.

“Alright, then, looks like we have a carrier,” Laios looked to Falin, the girl nodding with a cheery smile.

You just want to be as close to the beautiful, shining, gnashing sun as possible.

…

You woke up feeling thirsty.

You’d twisted over to dig out your watersack when you found that your entire pack was missing. Ice spilled across your entire body at the sight, a swelling, obnoxious anxiety aching through your nervous system. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you could hear the blood pumping through your ears.

Slowly, your head swivels around the room, until you find your pack in the arms of another -- who is now settled across the room rather than beside you.

Peculiarly close to Senshi’s pseudo-camp, Marcille is scratching your bag tightly to her chest.

“Marci,” you call, dredging the boys’ curiosity towards you. You don’t know if she’s taken the liberty of looking inside, “Give that back…”

She does not, merely hugging the leather tighter. Such desperation clues you that she’s most likely just as oblivious about the bag’s contents as everyone else is. Her stomach rumbles loudly, you swallow dryly and wet your lips to beg.

“Marci, please!”

The elf hisses back, not unlike a pestered kitty, and clutches your pack tighter to her chest. She glares through her lashes, kicking her legs out when Laios reaches to take your bag back.

Senshi shakes his head and rises from his own spot in the corner. Marcille’s gaze hones in on the dwarf instantly, and she whirls around to face the wall -- now caging your bag to her chest.

“Marci,” you retry weakly, “please, hoarding isn’t- !”

She silences you with another shortburst glare over her shoulder, “Who said I was hoarding?” she ‘hmph’s and shakes her head, “How do I know you won’t just eat it all as soon as I’m not looking?! Huh?! You’ve gone the longest without food after all!”

You gasp at the accusation, then sparing a glance up at Laios to see if he’s buying her tale, “How could you say that? I always share! It’s everyone’s food!”

“Marcille,” Senshi commands cooly, standing at your side, “you should know that isn’t like her. We all share our food so nobody goes hungry. To intentionally starve others is just cruel.”

“Exactly!” you plea, shakily reaching out only to yank your hands back to your chest when she snaps at your fingers with full teeth, “Just give it back, please?!”

Laios frowns, visibly uncertain how to bring you and Marcille back to the giddy lounging gals you were mere days ago, “Marcille, you two are friends -- if you know she’s never stolen before, why would she start now?”

Marcille sharply redirects her stare into the corner, shrugging and clutching the pouch tighter.

Chilchuck bangs his forehead into the door, “Children.”

“Marcille…” you whimper, hot in the face and barely believing you’re even telling the truth right now. You’re delirious with dehydration and hunger and skepticism that you’re being honest, making it hard to see straight. Elf and tall-man faces blur together, Senshi is blotted out by the black dots in the corners of your vision, and Chilchuck is a mere speck. Far, far away. You feel far, far away. Like you could die, like you’re dreaming, and oh as the words come out of your mouth you’re actually hoping that you are dreaming, “it’s empty.”

Every head snaps to you. All dizziness snaps into hyperawareness. At minimum it's two degrees colder than it used to be, you can hear the sound of your own breathing, and the smell of mold rots away every other scent in the room.

You shrink into yourself and barely scrounge the courage to keep from curling into a rocking ball of apologies. Your disbelief doubles when you realize you’re still looking Marcille in the face -- eye to devastated eye.

“It’s empty?”

“It’s empty…”

Senshi steps back from your side, you want to dig your nails into his ankles and drag him back. You don’t. Laios retreats as well and you selfishly wish he’d just pierce you with his sword, if only to end this humiliation and regret. Now that everyone’s staring at you, you realize you probably should’ve said something from the start.

“I thought maybe Chilchuck would’ve gotten us out by now… I didn’t think we’d still be here…” you try to reason.

The harsh clatter and clang of Chilchuck’s picks against the ground draws your attention, he’s got both hands knotted into fists. His face drawn in a slant, as if he’s silently asking you to repeat yourself. As if he didn’t quite catch that.

“Then it's my fault?” he swiftly dodges the arm Senshi puts out as a blockade, now in your face and far more threatening than usual, “You’re saying it’s my fault your pack is empty?”

“No! Just- !”

“So why even mention that?!” he huffs, “Why even say my name?”

“I just thought that once we were out we’d find more food and then it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“So you still wanted to lie to us?”

“I never said that! You’re putting words in my mouth! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Your plan was to intentionally hide the truth -- that’s lying!”

“No! It’s just hiding!”

Chilchuck screams, raw with frustration and unbridled by cumbersome words. He covers his face with both hands as if he’s in pain just to look upon you.

“I’m sorry!” you plea, now turning to Laios with weak sobs bubbling right beneath your skin. Your face feels as though it's been scorched with dragon’s fire, though your eyes are flooded wet, “I just didn’t want everyone to be scared. I would’ve told you once we were out! Promise!”

Laios always liked being close to you the best, including Falin. In the wake of her disappearance, his inclination towards your presence has only magnified. You engage his interest in monsters, you’re forward and blatant with your compassion, and your skin on his is always so soothing. Laios doesn’t guess if you’re genuine, he knows you are. He imagines that’s why when you touch him it’s so warm and calming whereas others’ makes him itch.

Your soul itself must be as sweet as the bottom innard of an ivy tentacle.

“I know,” Laios nods, smiling thinly, “I know you would’ve.”

If you say you thought it was for the best, then you really must have, and he can’t berate you for having a heart.

You return his grin threefold, overtly thrilled he’s believed in you, yet again.

“You’re kidding!” Chilchuck shouts, now tugging sharply at his hair in frustration, his face red, “Laios, how can you let her get away with this?!”

Marcille shoves your pack into your face, standing over your toppled form. She looks like she hates you.

Now you’re the one cradling a food-barren bag to your chest. Laios assists you to your feet, prying your bag from your arms with gentle fingers to settle it along the wall. It sags, giving way to its empty stomach and collapsing over itself, folding into halves.

Marcille inhales deeply, mouth popping open to speak, but it's your resident half-foot’s voice that cuts through the air.

“Why are you here?” Chilchuck grumbles, glaring up at you.

His sudden venom stuns you into silence. Chilchuck’s face round with a specifically unfamiliar malice. Through his wired irritation at mimics and tentacles, he has never looked so particularly irked. So vexed. He looks like he detests your very face.

“I need money…” you murmur, curling into yourself the longer his terrible stare goes, “Just like you…”

“No. You’re not just like me, we’re not alike,” he’s unnecessarily defensive at your claim, “I’m useful. I work. You don’t do anything. Why are you here?” he lowers his voice, but you can’t mistake the change for any sense of relief, “There’s lots of things you could do for money.”

“Chilchuck!” Marcille wails, eyes wide -- snapped from their previous disdain and now fraught with shock and dread, her hands hover at her chest as if she could physically slice, rearrange, and mend the tension, “Don’t say that!”

“Be nice,” you wring your hands, “Be nice to me,” you frown, “I didn’t want to work a hard job, and being a carrier pays well enough. Then, uh, then I thought maybe I could be useful if I died… I could be like a meat shield, and then when I die you could eat me. You know, if you ever got stuck down here… like now.”

Chilchuck guffaws, jaw dropping and brows furrowing in distraught, “Eat you?! You thought we would eat you?!”

“I wouldn’t be offended,” shrugging, you crane your head down before subtly ticking sideways towards Laios, “You’ve never eaten human, right? I’m sure it’d be interesting.”

“How could you say that?!” Marcille buds in, once again on the offense. Senshi lingers in the back of your party, beneath the shaded hood of his helmet his gaze is steely. Determinately opposed to your very ideals. He’s eerily quiet, as if complying with Chilchuck and Marcille’s side will mistakenly motivate your own. That, or he’s so horrified none of his nerve endings will respond to his brain.

Laios does not refute your claim.

He swallows roughly, eyes darting to the floor.

“Everyone,” still staring at the ground, Laios steps between your group’s semi-circle, “Enough fighting,” his voice is quiet, too, but not calm. Ragged and soft, exasperated, “Please, stop fighting.”

A sturdy markdown of your offer never escapes his lips, though.

You nod slowly, “I’m sorry for being so useless. I thought I was doing something good…”

“You do,” Laios takes you by the shoulder, spinning you the other way towards your lone mat. His voice grows quieter, by the echo you can tell he’s talking to the others now, “Don’t antagonize her.”

Your sleeping bag is cold, it ruffles stiffly everytime you move. The fluffed material beneath your head fares no better, frost biting your cheek and lapping your splayed, exposed eyeballs. Tears prick as both eyes crisp dry -- cooled droplets dripping across your cheeks. Sorrow mixes with the salt, you thought you were doing good.

Perhaps by volunteering yourself to be used to the very last shred of meat, you could be more treasured. Cowardice outweighed by willingly absorbing the worst of your party’s instincts. By this method, you are more desired.

So you thought, but you’ve been rejected.

Squealing with protest, your sleeping bag retches around shivery shoulders as you smush your quivering lips into the material of your mat.

“These past couple of days have been hard on you, huh?” Laios unrolls his own sleeping bag beside yours. You flinch at the unwelcomed rumble of his voice, unfortunately he continues, “I get it. Everyone’s on-edge,” his comforting words fail to reach you, he slips into his bag, staring at you, “I hope you’re not sleeping yet… That’d make this kind of pointless…”

“Laios.”

“There you are,” he sighs, relieved, and you cannot imagine why. You don’t think there’s anything to be relieved about as long as you’re around, sucking up space and precious resources.

“Laios,” you call, “We should just do it. Right here.”

“Huh?”

You twist your head to peek over your shoulder, chilled tears drying tracks into your cheeks, confirming each of your friends is tucked and slumbering on the other side of the room. Surely, none of them would hear so long as you didn’t fight back; and you’re certain you won’t. Laios isn’t the type to make you suffer. He knows you hate suffering. He isn’t sadistic, after all, the only pleasure he takes in killing is the follow-up: eating.

“You want to, right?” you usually wouldn’t be so daring as to make the suggestion on your own, but food supply has dwindled too drastically by now. Everyone else can maintain their delusion all they want, but you know Laios is not one to deny himself, “Laios, you want to?”

He inhales sharply, molten amber eyes blazing through your face -- faint candlelight shines against his irises and bounces back the lump of your silhouette. Stubbornly, he says nothing -- neither nodding or shaking his head. Instead, he lies still, as if bitten by a Cockatrice.

“We can do it right now. They’re all asleep.”

Laios sneaks a hand through the neckhole of his sleeping bag, arm slithering out to soothe the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Silently, he appreciates the roundness of your face, the slope of your neck.

He does want to sink his teeth in, but this feels stranger than consuming monsters. It stretches far past the walking mushrooms or slimes on the top level; the problematic nature of your proposal even surpasses Chilchuck’s humanoid debate. You’re not a mere humanoid -- you’re human. Another tall-man. Your muscle composition is just the same as his -- your skeletons indecipherable from one another.

It shouldn’t be difficult to decide, Laios knows that much. He shouldn’t have to think about it. He shouldn’t shut down every time you mention it.

Despite that, he does -- he considers how the flesh of another tall-man would roll between his molars. Would the meat be salty? Or savory? How much fat should he trim -- or should he boil it all down just to save?

But aside from that, the reason he wants to mark your neck is not those taboo urges. Completely unrelated, in fact.

Laios’ fingers trail from your pulse point, curving along your exposed shoulder and dipping beneath your bag to dig blunt nails into your arm.

“No,” he squeezes your shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, “Not you,” his hand retracts, coiling back to his chest, “I don’t want to eat you.”

“We’ll all die…” you frown, eyes of an iridescent sunshine sheen maintain their hold on you, “It’s better for one to go rather than the rest of the party, right? I can be useful like that…”

“I don’t want to eat you.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter shut, brows pinching towards the middle of his face. And he cares not for what that may say about him as a leader. He’d giddily offer up the entire party to be found by corpse retrievers before gobbling you down.

“But then why keep me around? I don’t do anything special like Chilchuck or Marcille. I can’t cook or fight like Senshi. And I’m nothing like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” he tucks his chin by his chest, still avoiding your stare, “I prefer you as you. I’m glad we know each other, I don’t care if you feel useless because you’re not. Just having you around makes me feel more alive. More excited to explore the dungeon, even before Falin got taken. I feel like I need you around more than before. Since Shuro said he hated me… I guess it’s been tougher to trust that I’m not annoying everyone. With you, though, I don’t even have to question it. Outside the dungeon, too, when we’re in town. It’s nice to be around you the most.”

His eyes are clenched tighter and tighter the longer his spiel goes on -- he cannot bear to look you in the eyes while guts and bile spew from his lips. His cheeks are red, raw from self-imposed exposure.

“Do you mean that?” you ask quietly, eyes so wide in shock he’s forced to meet them as he opens his own, “Am I useful to you, just because I’m me?”

He hums, nodding softly. Crude emotion overwhelms you at the admission; confusion and disbelief and desire tangle in your stomach, loose tendrils flapping up into your gullet and knotting around your uvula until you spit up a meek,

“Can I sleep with you?” as if he would refuse you, you tack on, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Wordlessly, Laios unzips his sleeping bag -- you crawl out from your own to invade his space. His body is soft yet firm against your back, and he makes a clear effort in keeping his breaths shallow. You can see the worsening red tint of his cheeks, even in the wavering candlelight.

Laios’ body goes limp once you’re settled beside him. Selfishly, you press into his lax form -- exhaustion and hunger making your head light. You’re not concretely sure you’re conscious right now. Maybe this is your final dream before you are culled by starvation.

Your stomach grumbles, and Laios pouts at the sound. Bringing one hand over his own abdomen, Laios edges his fingers around his ribcage. He can feel the bone’s impression. He hasn’t been able to feel the protrusion since splitting from the traveling caravan with Falin. He’s unaccustomed to starving himself, he’s unsure how much longer he can hold himself together. You, however, pay no mind to the sound.

You don’t so much as crimp into yourself.

“It’s kinda weird,” you muse suddenly, turning in Laios’ bag so your chest is pressed to his. Oddly, for all its intimate implications, the contact feels natural, “I hate suffering more than anything else, but I can’t bring myself to regret giving you my breakfast a couple days ago. Even though the suffering that nasty junk gave me was a lot better than how I feel right now.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Laios’ arms wrap around you, tucking you even closer to him and forcing your legs to mingle with his, “Eating is the best thing you could do for your body.”

“I’m happier you got to eat than I would’ve been after eating it. Besides,” you cant your head up, chin digging into the center of his thick chest -- looking up at Laios, “I prefer sleeping to nourish my body.”

“As soon as we’re out, you’ll have the most delicious meal we can make in the dungeon.”

He hugs you tighter.

You don’t dream that night. But Laios does.

pt 2 - rabbit eat dog

Laios’ cheeks sting in the frosty air, forearms and knees stubbornly tingling through the puffer of his red long-sleeve. Attempting to make out the space even five inches before his face is impossible through the thick, icy fog, but he knows the way. His feet pivot in perfect tune to each divot and roll of the plains.

He’s grown up here. Ran over these lands since he could lift one leg over the other, though now he is alone. Wandering with only the intent to find, and even then he is alone. Laios never feels more alone than when he is in a room full of people, at least in solitude he cannot be ridiculed or judged. Cowardly as it may seem to run from his problems, Laios chases relief -- where exactly that is, he’s unsure. His relief comes in forms that move, much more inconvenient than ale or tobacco but also much more divine. Moving sister, moving moon, moving monsters.

A cursory, confirming glance up gives sight to the real moon hanging above Laios -- a pale face beaming down to give light, only to be choked out by this unabating fog. Fond for night, Laios feels eased by the celestial. Nighttime, childishly, is something he’s always associated with terrible creatures in the bowls of dungeons. Besides that, is how quiet the house becomes past sundown, when the only conscious soul is his. Sometimes his sister stood up with him, too, and that was nice.

Nice, still, is the other moon’s presence. One less large and pale. One that walked at his side.

A soft glow scourges through the plumes of gray, encouraging Laios to quicken his pace. Warmth blooms across his frosted extremities, thawing stiff joints until suddenly he’s too hot beneath his puffer. Stripping the material, he’s left to sweat in a simple pullover shirt as he begins stumbling towards the glow.

Fog clears, drifting apart seamlessly.

Laios trips abruptly, seemingly over his own footing, before tumbling to his knees, hands scraping on hidden rocks and dirt clots. His eyes water from the intense sear of light painting the ground.

“Hey.”

Laios, against better intuition, feels a bizarre sense of calm wash over him at the voice’s intrusion. Perhaps specifically because of whose voice calls to him.

You loom over his huddled frame, just as bright and welcoming as the moon, and just as pretty too. Prettier, he corrects.

“Hi,” he returns your greeting lamely, rising slowly to a stand.

“You look hungry.”

Recently, Laios has discovered that even after a hearty meal his appetite is not quite satiated. During the brief moments where his mind can wander, he spends it contemplating what he could be eating in that moment. Well, that when he’s not thinking about you. While his stomach is not a bottomless pit ever unfilled, more often than not he’s adopting the attitude of well, i could eat. Not quite greed, not quite temperance. He’ll take what is offered and be gracious.

So, yes, in short, Laios supposes he is always hungry. Admitting that to you is particularly embarrassing, however, because you never seem hungry. Even when your stomach sings with starvation, your discomfort is completely invisible.

He used to assume it was your resilience -- a sign of your courage, to continue adventuring regardless of your terror.

(now, he’s starting to think differently, with your fresh disposition of raw nerves and desperation to be enjoyed)

“You’re hungrier, right?”

“Not really.”

“Oh…” he’s unsure how to respond. Trapped to stare at you while you stare back.

These parts of the fields are entirely unfamiliar to Laios.

“You should be hungry,” he tries to reason.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just a feeling, really.”

“What should I eat?” you frown, inching closer.

“Whatever you want,” he answers honestly. Laios believes in free will, but in some strange, completely unintelligible way, he thinks you deserve the most free will. He thinks you should do whatever you want, whenever you want, and he’s left confused how you don’t feel the same.

(feasibly in light of the night’s cannibal-themed fight) You suddenly suggest, “What about you?”

Laios freezes at that, all fire radiating from you icing over in an instant. Gaze sinking to his feet. Could he realistically agree to that? End his life to feed you? Does his devotion stretch so far?

Laios would hate to (permanently) die… but he would hate more for you to (permanently) die before him.

He dodges your question with one of his own, “Would you still like me if I was a monster?”

When he’s feeling distinctly indulgent, Laios flashes into long past fantasies of becoming a tri-headed beast.

And if he were to become one, would you gaze upon him just as kindly? Would Laios still be Laios to you?

His eyes follow each twinge in your face as you think, brows scrunching and bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Eventually you nod, slow and measured, “Yes. I would.”

Laios believes that, honestly. You would have to. You’re just that amazing. So, he should be amazing in equal measure -- or more, he should aim to impress you with his greatness.

So, yes. If you really wanted to. He could feed you with himself.

…

You wake up feeling unrefreshed.

Senshi, Marcille, and Chilchuck continue to bar themselves across the room from you. Laios freely travels from one end to the other despite your party’s annoyance with him. Grumbling stomachs echo from each person in the group now, and you wonder if maybe you should circumvent Laios’ rejection to feed your friends anyway. To make up for your various mistakes and blunders. It's only right.

You stare at Chilchuck’s back -- his arms no longer flailing with movement, hands instead paused around the box lock itself. He’s glaring at the mechanism, you think he’s hoping nobody notices his lack of effort. Marcille and Senshi are murmuring amongst themselves, casting wry glances your way every other sentence. Perhaps they’re discussing potential ways to make you suffer when they finally gut you.

You wouldn’t fight back, you know you wouldn’t. For the good of the pack’s survival, you’ll let them feast upon you.

(it does not once cross your mind that they could be talking about how to best convince you you’re wrong for writing your own consumption off so easily)

Laios sits at your back. Not moving. Not touching. Watching.

Your eyes drift from Chilchuck’s petrified frame to the floor, then to one cobbled block slightly lower than the others. About an inch below level, but not sunken in completely: the stone Senshi stepped on.

“Senshi?” you call.

No response.

“Hey, Senshi?”

He’s staring at you, but his eyes are hard to make out beneath his helmet. You shift upon your knees despite Laios’ soft bleat of disapproval. Marcille now stares as well, eyes much easier to spot when they’re wide with worry.

“I think this stone is…” you shove the step with your meager might and it budges a mere centimeter.

Laios’ hand overlaps yours, pushing down as well. The stone thuds loudly, and Chilchuck suddenly jumps back as the spears clink and shoot into the holed ground. He rockets back up to fuddle the lock, this time it clicks and pops open first try.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Chilchuck kicks up at the retreating bars in vain. He whirls around to see you and Laios hunched over the stone and sighs, silently passing you both to collect his bags and exit.

Senshi and Marcille follow example.

Laios unlatches from your back, and you miss his warmth more immediately than you thought you would.

“I think I should leave the party.”

“Why?” he frowns so genuinely, you’d be unable to buy his cluelessness if you hadn’t known him for so long.

“They don’t like me anymore,” you settle both hands in your lap, plucking at the skin around your nails, “They know I’m useless.”

“So?” his tone is soft, so opposite to his callous start, “I want you here more than anybody. I’m happy to have people I trust and who are good at their work, but I think if you didn’t come with us back into the dungeon, it’d be another thing I’m always thinking of instead of what’s in front of me. And nobody gets my fascination with monsters like you do.”

“Senshi does…”

“I like you more than I like Senshi.”

“Why?”

Laios opens his mouth, teeth white and glistening in the soft flicker glow of dancing orange candle flame. You await his bite. He closes his mouth. You wish you were so confident to pry it wide and press yourself into his cheeks. You wish he’d just eat you whole. Spare no mind to how the others thought of it. If they won’t accept you bones and all, then you’ll continue to long for Laios. You can do that easily. You’ve been an expert in the matter since you joined his group.

“Nobody else will take me, Laios,” you greedily grasp him by the shoulder, “I’m being so selfish, but I need you to- !”

He slaps your hand away, reaching over your offending hands to snag you by your own shoulders, “I don’t want to hear that, you shouldn’t talk like that! You deserve to live, and eat, just like everyone else! We’re friends as much as we are party members, right? They wouldn’t stick around if they weren’t. Your friends wouldn’t want you to be eaten either.”

You glance at the archway, none of the three others are visible, “Is that why they were mad?”

“I can’t speak for them, but you should be up front about how you feel. Talk to them before leaving,” he lowers his head, “If you’re planning to leave still, anyway. Though, I really hope you stay.”

Laios is too afraid to say he’ll beg, if it would enrich the offer. The mere idea of your face twisting angrily or an annoyed rejection slipping past your lips kills him. With both you and Falin gone, Laios would feel a sense of estrangement he hasn’t since his army days. Loneliness amplifying until it's unable to be ignored. The grief and confusion of your loss would muddy the remaining friendly faces in his party -- the taste of monsters would even be dulled. Humiliation would rattle his sense of self everytime he remembered that you’re not even dead, just drifted away.

He’d never survive without you, but he refuses to steal your entire life that mercilessly so he pretends he could.

“If we all just talk to each other, then nobody has to get hurt,” Laios’ hands lower to yours, he squeezes gently while avoiding your eyes, choosing to study the way you lean into his touch, “I don’t want you to go. And I don’t want them to be hurt.”

“Okay,” you rise onto unsteady feet.

Laios separates from you to begin stowing away both your belongings while you squirm into the hallway in front of your party. They shuffle awkwardly, with only Senshi capable of meeting your eyes. Yet he stands the furthest from you.

“I- “ the words dance over your tongue, you thought you were prepared to say them. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. But you can’t. The words trip and fall and tumble back into your throat before you surrender, “I don’t want to leave the party, but I am sorry for lying. I know I don’t do much, but I love adventuring with everyone. Really, I only- !”

“We were stressed,” Marcille steps forward, releasing one hand from Ambrosia to lay on your hand, “I don’t think it’d be easy on anyone to say the leftovers were actually gone. Especially when you knew that’s what we were relying on to not starve.”

Senshi nods slowly, “We weren’t expectin’ you to run off as apology. You’re young, you make mistakes.”

Marcille elbows your party’s half-foot.

Chilchuck sighs, shaking his hands out at his sides in the way your father used to, “I’m sorry. For calling you useless. I get why you lied, I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position to keep the party from freaking out. But, please,” his usually (deceptively) friendly and pleasant face has morphed into one of weary, a grown man concerned for a child, “Never say anything like that again. We don’t want you dead, let alone to eat your body. You have to plan to stay alive with everyone else, otherwise what’s the point of even joining the party?”

“Right. Sorry,” you blurt, increasingly ashamed of your suggestion earlier.

Their rejection stems not from disgust, then, but love.

They don’t want to eat you because to them you shouldn’t even die.

What a strange conclusion to now be forced to draw. You’re not sure how to swallow it, every time you try it rushes back up. Your friends’ concerned faces give you the determination to keep trying, though.

Laios barrels through the doorway -- redressed in his armor with the remaining bags slung over his shoulders, grinning broadly, “Looks like we can start walking again.”

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the trek towards the next floor begins on an empty stomach. When you reach up for the packs you usually carry, Laios jerks them from your grasp, you whine quietly, “Hey, that’s my job!”

“I know,” he shrugs the bags around his broad frame to fit them more comfortably, “but you haven’t eaten longer than me, and you didn’t sleep very well last night. So let me.”

His strides quicken until he’s by Senshi, you watch him point towards you and Senshi hums thoughtfully.

Your stomach rolls with hunger, and the sting makes you reach out for Laios. You slip your arms around one of his and cradle his elbow into your gut, reducing the ache with a different digging sensation. Laios leans towards you to make the work easier, all while continuing his conversation with Senshi about what the most delicious dungeon meal they could make you would be.

~~~

i like relationships where they dont understand each other but want to try anyway :3

i also love writing readers that are insane and fundamentally insufferable, but still loved

#laios touden x reader #laios x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader

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luvissues · 4 months ago

Text

hmm thinking about simon x reader, except he’s finally found someone who might be a little fucked up too, just not in the way he’s used to

cw: smoking, drugs/medication ?? sort of

He’s used to the problems that soldiers like himself face; the world-weary men hardened by their work. He’s used to the permanent shadows etched deep under his Captain’s eyes and the way the Sergeants will reach for a holster on their thigh that isn’t there. He’s used to the ringing in his ears that comes by when he isn’t surrounded by the cacophony of war and the erratic jump of his heart when he goes about without a mask on. He’s accustomed to it now.

That’s not to say he isn’t welcoming to other things- he can laugh at a bar after a long mission, he can find comfort in the familiarity of a team. He’s put in the effort not to turn so completely numb to the world, but he’s not entirely normal, either. Always at an arms length from embracing a life outside of his work, a firm line in the sand.

Sometimes, he wonders. Wonders what it might be like the remove the distance, to welcome that life. He knows it’s possible. He sees the thick metal band around Price’s finger and the wrinkled corners of photos tucked away in Johnny’s pocket. He sees how eager Gaz is to pack up for home after a mission- too excited to be going back to an ‘empty’ house. It’s possible, maybe, but it’s a far and foreign concept.

There’s nothing about him that would draw in the kind of softness he craves. Nothing about the puckered silver lines that highlight his face or the patches of mangled flesh on his body that would appeal to a partner. He tries to tell himself that it’s just his body; the wounds that never fully healed. Tells himself that any person would be scared of a man with such a build, all hulking height and weight.

He knows it’s not just the body, at the end of the day, but he can tell himself otherwise. He’ll pretend the vacancy of his eyes or the way he gets put on edge by even the quiet ticking of a clock isn’t a part of it. He’ll pretend the way he wakes up at night, sweating and delirious and maybe too eager to fight enemies that aren’t there, isn’t a part of it.

That’s his problem. No matter where he is, no matter how safe or secure, he will always be one of the world-weary men.

His teammates had learned how to reel it in. They learned not to flinch at every unexpected touch of their lovers’ hand, learned how to keep their night terrors at bay. They learned how to soothe, how to comfort. They taught themselves it all, had built that life aside from their work. That’s the concept Simon couldn’t ever seem to perfect.

Simon doesn’t expect a sweet little bird to fall right into his lap. People know better than to pry open the jaws of a hungry animal, to offer themselves up- to loosen the shackles of a needy dog and let it get close. But maybe he doesn’t need a sweet little bird. Maybe he needs you.

He needs someone who’s a little roughed up, who’s not so fragile that he has to worry about breaking them for simply getting too close.

I’d like to think this person would’ve had bad luck, too. Someone who was never quite enough, even if they weren’t marred by war. Someone like Simon, who people knew not to get too friendly with. Another hungry mutt.

You two aren’t exactly the same. He sees the way you try to fill up space when you’re out smoking on the porch. Sees the muscles of your shoulders flex when you straighten your back, fix your posture. He sees how little you feel, and how you compensate for it physically.

He’s the opposite. Broad shoulders hunched in and back arched down. One foot crossed over the other, his head low. He knows he takes up too much space, and tries to cave in to make up for it. In that way, you compliment each other. Opposites, yes, but the space you fill is now equal.

Simon watches the skinny cigarette that dangles off your fingers, observes the flex of your knuckles when you bring it up for a drag. The motion is slow, languid, unlike the way his thick digits clench the cig in his own hand. He curls the muscles tight, willing them to shrink. The way you let your fingers twiddle and stretch freely is nothing like the way he attempts to conceal his own hands, rough and scarred and dirty. Still, maybe in that way, you compliment each other.

In the same manner, Simon will always observe the way you fish your pill box from your bag when it’s time to take your meds. Nothing about it is hurried. The way you tilt the metal open, the dosage falling into your palm. He watches you flutter around in search of something to wash it down with, as if you have all the time in the world.

You, in turn, ignore Simon when he takes his. Ignore how the bottles are stuffed at the bottom of his bag, how he closes his eyes when they slide into his mouth. You turn an eye to the way he swallows them dry, like if he takes them fast enough, he might forget they were even there.

The way you act is not the same, no. But you follow the same motions, have put the same distance between yourselves and a normal life. Maybe you could help each other finally close that gap?

It’s hard. Part of Simon is still afraid that you’re fragile, even with the space you’re not scared to take up. He’s scared that he’s accidentally caught a fleeting little bird, and he’s scared that one day, he will grow too much. He will crush it.

The man who tries to hide away from himself is dreading the day his grip loosens, and he again fills too much space. It will suffocate you. It will choke you out. Either the blood caked under his nails or the soot weighing heavy in his lungs or the flashes of gunfire he still sees when he lets his eyes slip closed for too long- something. He will fail, and even if he is accustomed to it, you could never be. That’s what will suffocate you, he thinks. All the things that have deterred everyone so far will eventually turn you away, too.

Simon’s problem is mistaking your dainty grace for weakness; but the pills you take, the heavy clouds of smoke- it’s no different from himself.

So what if there’s a bow tied around the knife you keep under your pillow? A knife is a knife. It’s a weapon as good as any. And with the gun he keeps on the bedside table, your room is perfectly secure.

Your cigarettes go next to each other on the counter and your pills go side by side in the medicine cabinet. Your knife rests safely under his head and his gun is nestled perfectly within your reach.

Maybe you can’t ever fix each other. Maybe the distance towards a normal life will never be closed. But, Simon never did think he’d end up with a little bird. Maybe it’s better if he has someone like you, another lousy hound, to take his hand.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod modern warfare #the man is an animal and i am here for it #we can gnaw at the bars of our enclosure together

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janeyseymour · 5 months ago

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longing looks and stolen glances

summary: anon asked for this: Hi, idk if you're still taking requests but could you write something where Mel finds out R like her back and then they're all silly and sneaking around, stealing kisses, glances and a brush of fingers every chance they get, like absolute fluff? And then the other teachers start to notice how smug Mel looks, specifically around R? I love your fics!!

WC: ~2.15k

There was no way this way happening- and yet it was. The Melissa Schemmenti has you pressed up against your desk and is kissing you hungrily. It takes a second for your brain to jumpstart before your arms snake around her waist and pull her in closer to you. Her lingering perfume scent nearly has you in a trance. The way that she only pulls you even closer to her own body is… how is this where you are right now? This has to be some sort of dream.

But it isn’t. When you finally pull back in desperate need of air, red hair and green eyes are still right in front of you. Almost as if you’re expecting to be woken up from your dream, you pinch yourself. You squeak a bit, and that deep laugh that you’re always craving to hear echoes throughout the empty room.

“Think you’re dreaming or something?” your colleagues deep voice chuckles out.

You just nod, a blush creeping into your cheeks. “I didn’t think… is this real life?”

“It very much is,” Melissa rolls her eyes playfully. “I’ve had enough of that one camera man flirting with you.” She gives him a pointed look, as if to say, ‘Back off. She’s mine now.’

He nearly cowers.

You just laugh and pull her in again. “So… dinner?”

And that’s how the two of you started dating. After a brief meeting with the camera crew, they’re sworn to secrecy on your relationship. A threat that all of their equipment will somehow go missing and the documentary will no longer be a thing is enough for them to all promise the two of you that they won’t air any explicit evidence that the two of you are together.

“I don’t even want lingering looks,” Melissa states.

The camera man shakes his head at that. “Then maybe the two of you shouldn’t constantly be ogling each other. We’ve picked up on this for weeks, and Jeremiah flirting with Y/N was only a tactic to get the two of you to get your heads out of your asses. If this worked with the two of you… we’re wondering if it might do anything to finally get Gregory and Janine to face the truth of their relationship.”

“Jeremiah wasn’t really flirting with me?” you sound almost wounded. A light smack to your shoulder has you feigning hurt.

“Listen, Y/N,” the camera man laughs. “As beautiful as you are, you are not my type at all. And, I really don’t want the shit to get kicked out of me by your woman.”

As if to prove a point, your girlfriend wraps an arm around you and practically growls out a, “Mine,” before kissing your temple.

And so, your relationship stays a secret. Your girlfriend does everything she can to keep your relationship in this little bubble that the two of you have created. There isn’t any flirting (any flirting that could easily be detected by your friends and coworkers), you keep everything behind closed doors.

There are lingering kisses in the classroom when you’re positive that no cameras are around. You still sit with her and Barbara at lunch and at meetings so as not to throw off the groove that you’ve found yourself in. Sometimes, you’ll feel a feather light touch or a squeeze of the hand when Ava says something particularly ridiculous, but you’re able to keep your face straight, and no one is the wiser to these intimate moments that the two of you secretly share.

But as time goes on, it’s getting harder and harder to conceal the bond that the two of you have. At this point, you’re getting ready to move your things into her apartment permanently (as if you haven’t practically been living with her for months- you have a drawer of your things at her place), the two of you are often together after work and on weekends, and you’ve even been to a few of her family dinners.

“You bringing over a few more boxes tonight?” your girlfriend asks you as you enter the staff room. It alarms you that she would bring this up so casually, but then you realize that she is the only one at the school besides you.

You nod brightly and kiss her quickly, as if someone would walk in on you at any given moment.

“I was planning on it,” you chuckle. Then you pull away from her, although her fingers stay gently interlaced with yours. “Coffee?”

She nods enthusiastically and begins to pluck the mugs from their place. You let yourself watch her figure for a few seconds before you hear the door swing open and Jacob announce his entrance. Your eyes immediately flit down to the coffee grounds in your hand, and your body turns red at the thought that you might have just been caught staring at the second grade teacher’s ass. Thankfully though, you were not caught.

“Ooh!” Jacob grins at the sight of Melissa reaching for coffee cups. “Deal me in!”

You scoop a few more grinds out and dump them into the coffee machine before filling it with water and waiting for the warm drink to be ready. Meanwhile, Melissa fixes her cup so the cream and sugar are already in her cup, and she does the same for you.

You give her a sweet smile when she hands over your cup, and your heart can’t help but flutter when she squeezes your hip gently while Jacob is turned away.

She can’t help the smug grin off her face when the social studies teacher turns back around.

“Hey, why’d you do Y/N’s cup, but not mine?” Jacob whines, almost like a child.

“Because Y/N ain’t particular about hers the way that you are.” Green eyes are rolled. There is no truth in that statement whatsoever. You are extremely particular about how your coffee is prepared, but after many mornings of coffee shared between the two of you Melissa has learned.

Jacob continues to pout, but he does nod along. It’s funny the way that he’s so wrapped up in his pouting that he misses the way you kiss her cheek and thank her softly.

The rest of the crew starts to trickle in, so you and your girlfriend take up your seats to watch the news together. At home, she almost always has her arm draped around the back of the couch, and you lean into her figure as you practically inhale the liquid gold that you need in order to function. But here? She still has her arm draped over the edge of the couch, but you don’t lean into her. Sure, you sit next to her, but you don’t let yourself relax into her. Instead, she quietly draws circles and different patterns on your shoulder as you and your friends watch the news. It’s warm and familiar, and something that you aren’t entirely expecting her to do with your colleagues so close, but you let that smile wash over your face. Her smug grin only brightens when she truly realizes everybody is so wrapped up in the news that they fail to notice.

While things have begun to become more relaxed with the two of you out in public, you still haven’t outwardly said anything about the relationship between the two of you. It’s like if you speak it into existence, the bubble will pop. So, you continue to just do things a bit more subdued with the crew around.

The two of you know that whenever you’re at the school, there is pretty much a guarantee that you’re being filmed in one way or another- except for in the safe haven of the bathrooms. So often, you and Melissa sneak away to the staff bathrooms to steal a few kisses or discuss plans for after work.

But to everyone else, you’re just two peas in a pod- the way that you have been. You still sit together and lunch, in the morning, at staff meetings… have your classes do a few things together throughout the year.

Or at least… that’s what you think. The two of you think that you’re hiding this relationship wonderfully. Honestly, at this point, neither of you would care if they were to find out. It’s kind of become common knowledge outside of work that the two are you together, so you both forget to come out to your work friends entirely. You just know that even if you were out at work, the looks and touches would still be relatively rare- keep things as professional as possible.

The truth is, the others have begun to pick up on things. They’ve noticed that you’re almost always following Melissa around with the look of a puppy dog. They’ve taken into consideration that she always fixes your coffee mug- no one else’s, not even Barb’s. They see the way that instead of directing looks that would normally be shot to the camera are instead stolen glances between the two of you. They aren’t as dense as they’re playing to be- there is something going on between the two of you.

And Barbara Howard is going to get to the bottom of it.

There is one day specifically, during professional development, where the two of you are practically glued to each other- and unbeknownst to them, it’s been exactly six months since the two of you started dating.

The longing looks, the little squeezes here and there, it’s all so… domestic. Even just sitting in the library as Ava drones on about only God knows what, the two of you are like giggling school girls, making excuses to touch and look at each other.

And then when you’re all excused for the afternoon to work on whatever you have to do in your classrooms, Melissa is guiding you out with a tender hand on the small of your back. You instinctively reach behind you and give her hand a light squeeze of endearment.

Of course, the two of you cozy up in her classroom, fully ready to finish up on some grading that you’re behind on. Fingers are interlocked as you grade and she types on her computer with one hand while Barbara rounds up the rest of the group.

“You all have noticed that Y/N and Melissa are quite cozy together, yes?” the kindergarten teacher asks her friends as they take their lunch break.

“Someone jealous their work wife is taken with the newbie?” Mr. Johnson asks.

“Not jealous,” Barbara sighs. “Just… curious. I think the two of them are hiding something from us.”

The camera crew all glance around. They wouldn’t interfere- not unless they wanted their cameras to go missing. So instead, they just pull each of the staff members out to interview them separately.

And together, everyone is convinced that the redheaded teacher and you are up to something- that there’s something going on between the two of you.

Mr. Johnson flat out tells the camera crew that he knows you’re dating. That he watched you kiss Melissa as you were heading out of her classroom one day.

So, with that, the crew decides to push this storyline a bit- they still aren’t outwardly telling your colleagues of the relationship, but just… implying that maybe this is something they should investigate further.

And they do. Nothing comes out that day, but the rest of your friend group is on high alert when the two of you are around. They continue to play dumb, to not notice the little lingering looks, the touches, the way that Melissa couldn’t be more smug when she’s around you.

They pretend as if they couldn’t be clued in at all until one day, a few months later, Barbara has had enough. You and Melissa are sharing lunch, and her hand rests gently on your upper thigh as you converse about your mornings.

“For God’s sake, ladies,” Barbara finally explodes. “Can we stop ignoring the obvious?!”

“Barb, what?” you flinch slightly at her tone. You feel Melissa pull her hand away.

“The two of you!” the kindergarten teacher exclaims. “I can’t take any more pretending that we don’t all know that you’re together! So, out with it!”

Melissa’s face turns red as she looks to you. “Babe?”

“Babe?!” Jacob screeches. “You two are at the point of calling each other ‘babe’?!”

Realization dawns on your face. You never told your work friends. It had become so… normal that you just forgot to tell your coworkers that the two of you were together. “We- we never told you guys.”

“No, you most certainly did not!” Barbara states. “So, admit it! The two of you are seeing each other romantically!”

You look sheepishly at the redhead, as if asking for permission for your next move. At her nod, you hold up your left hand. “Not only are we together… we got engaged last night.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction

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littlest-w01f · 3 months ago

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Golden Beast

Helion x Alora (See Alora here)

For @acotar-omegaverse-week

Omegaverse week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Getting Knotty

Summary: Helion always wanted Alora to experience everything, including his beast form

Cw: Knotting, plugs, monsterfucking, Alpha!Helion, Omega!Alora, Helion's SCARY SCARY monster d, mentions of Alora's SA trauma, Smut 18+ MDNI

Helion carried Alora to their shared room from the library, her legs wrapped around his waist, hands training his muscled chest as he pressed gentle kisses to her lips.

Helion’s heart pounds heavily against his ribs, echoing the rapid thump of his pulse as he presses a trail of feverish kisses along Alora’s jawline and neck, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing down her spine. He inhaled her deeply, letting her scent drive the crazed beast within him. Helion licked and nipped at her neck, at the most sensitive parts of his precious omega, loving watching her squirm for him.

Helion gently took her hand, smiling at the dark henna on her hands, Alora's been fitting in with him and his culture and celebrations of Day wonderfully over the centuries they had been together, he brought the hand to his lips, kissing over his name hidden in the design, he smiled, remembering how hard she had blushed when he had told her that the darker the henna got, the more it meant she would be loved by her mate.

Alora's hands roam over his broad shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath her fingertips, reveling in the way his strong arms hold her securely, cradling her like she weighs nothing at all, squirming and learning into the male who's presence brought her nothing but calm.

He set her down on the bed, "Do you remember your safeword, sunshine?" He smiled softly, watching her in his bed.

Alora nodded, "Peach..." She said, the safeword they had chosen when they had gotten together, that day seemed like ages ago.

"And...?" Helion asked as he removed his clothes, watching her with a gentle smile.

"Tap you or anything three times," Alora finished as her eyes went over Helion's body, taking in every inch, every muscle like it was the first time she was seeing him

Helion's cock springs free, thick and hard, curving up slightly at attention as Alora's gaze rakes over his chiselled physique. Her breath catches in her throat as he steps closer, the heat emanating from his body washing over her like a warm blanket.

"And one last thing?" He lifted up her skirts, unlacing them, tapping at the hazel gem on the plug in her cunt, stretching her for his cock so she wouldn't hurt too much taking him, smiling when she twitched from it.

Alora sat up, letting him strip her off her clothes, "Keep the bond open." So that he would know if she got uncomfortable.

"Good girl," he purred, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down her spine. His fingers trace delicate patterns along her inner thigh, feeling up the permanent wounds that had marked her skin caused by her assault, making her squirm with anticipation, not ashamed of the scars that littered over her inner thighs and abdomen, all that her assault had taken from her, at least not anymore. "Now, let's get comfortable, shall we?" With a sly grin, he pushes her back onto the bed, crawling up her body until he hovers above her.

Alora held her breath as he began to turn, his thick dark arms growing sharp golden feathers, slowly turning into a fully golden beast, like the statues in the open gardens, she looked at him, his eyes remained the same russet shade and she wasn't too scared to have him over her like this, not then the beast had a more prominent scent of his pheremones, the same ones who made her feel beyond safe under him, he was her alpha, he would never intentionally hurt her.

Helion's transformation is mesmerizing, the shift from man to beast happening so seamlessly that Alora could almost imagine herself dreaming. But there's no mistaking the size and strength of his golden form, the muscular frame now covered in glistening scales, his wings stretching wide, casting shadows across the room.

He leaned down, his muzzle nuzzling her neck gently, breathing in her scent deeply, savouring the intoxicating mix of arousal and love that surrounded their bond, Alora was a little scared, nothing enough to warrant wanting to stop, Helion had taken a backseat to his beast, letting him control everything.

Alora's eyes trailed down his monstrous body as his cock made it past his sheath, she swallowed, he was huge, the ridges on it downright fighting, the thick head gleaming with precum, so heavy it couldn't stand even fully hard.

As Alora watched in awe, the monstrous cock began to throb, growing even harder and more imposing. The ridged texture became more pronounced, each bump and groove promising a level of pleasure, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The thick head glistened with his pre-cum, a tantalizing glimpse at what awaited beneath. At the base, a bulbous knot swelled outwards, ridged and bumpy, clearly designed for brutal stretching inside her.

The sight of Alora’s eyes trailing down his cock sends a surge of pride through Helion’s veins, his tail swishing behind him in delight, curling over itself. The tip of his cock throbs eagerly, the heavy shaft already glistening with pre-cum, promising the pleasures to come. He positioned his hind legs between her thighs, forcing her to spread her legs for him, his front paws caging in her head. Helion was massive to her, but his beast was thrice the size, every inch of him included.

Helion's cock throbs with need, pre-cum leaking steadily from the engorged tip. As he rubs himself against her slick folds, he lets out a low, rumbling growl, signalling his readiness for what's about to come next. Each ridge on his cock brushed teasingly against Alora's sensitive clit, causing her to arch her back in response.

His clawed hand reaches down between her thighs, parting her folds gently to reveal her slick, eager cunt. A low growl rumbles in his chest, seeing the plug snug inside her cunt, his cock was way bigger than the size of it, and he trailed the hazel gemstone of it as he inhales deeply, the scent of her arousal driving him wild.

His long tongue licked the side of her neck, making Alora gasp softly, feeling the thick canines at her neck. His talons gripped her hips, his clawed fingers digging into her, holding her still.

Helion's clawed hand wrapped around the plug buried deep within Alora's slick cunt, twisting and turning it with deliberate slowness. With a sudden jerk, he yanked the toy free, causing Alora to gasp sharply, back arching.

The plug glistened obscenely, coated in Alora's juices, before Helion plunged it back into her needy cunt with a brutal thrust. Alora cried out his name, her voice trembling with pleasure as the plug dragged along her sensitive walls, over and over again, stirring up waves of ecstasy within her. She writhed beneath him, her hips bucking wildly to meet each forceful push of the plug, her moans growing louder and more desperate with every passing moment.

With each powerful thrust of the plug, Alora felt her orgasm building, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around the invading object. A keening moan escaped her lips as she came undone, her entire being focused on the intense sensations rippling through her core.

Her juices coated the plug, dripping down its sides and pooling on the sheets below them. Her inner muscles spasmed uncontrollably around the toy while her climax washed over her in powerful waves.

Helion's growled at the sight, his mind filled with images of his massive cock splitting Alora open, but he didn't want to cause her too much pain. The primal urge coursing through Helion's veins demanded nothing less than complete control over his omega. He removed the plug once again, allowing it to fall from his grasp onto the floor with a clatter. His large hands roamed over Alora's scared thighs, fingers digging into her curves as he positioned himself above her quivering body.

The sudden emptiness left behind by the removal of the plug makes Alora whimper, her walls clenching instinctively. Helion watches intently, the sight of her cunt, now gaping and slick with her release, sending a jolt of primal lust surging through him.

He lowers his massive cockhead to her entrance, rubbing it teasingly against her swollen clit before pushing in slowly, stretching her tight walls deliciously.

Alora gasped, pushed forward onto the bed, just his head inside her, "He-Helion..." She managed his name, everything else leaving her at the pure stretch of his cock.

His thick, golden cock nudged against her entrance, pressing insistently against the stretched ring of her cunt, urging her to accept him fully. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he sinks into her welcoming heat, groaning loudly as he fills her inch by inch.

Helion's cockhead pressed against Alora's dripping entrance, the ridged surface dragging across her sensitive clit and making her shudder with need. With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push inside, his thick shaft parting her folds and stretching her tight walls to their limits.

Alora let out a strangled gasp as she felt herself being filled by him, her inner muscles clenching reflexively around the invading monstrosity. Her hands fisted in the sheets as she arched her back, pushing her hips forward to meet each gentle thrust. "Helion… oh gods, Helion!" she whimpered, her voice barely coherent as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming sensation of being penetrated by his enormous cock.

Helion growls lowly, a sound fully beast, his cock throbbing in response to Alora’s desperate plea. Inch by agonizing inch, he sinks deeper into her dripping heat, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, trying to accommodate his monstrous size.

As he bottoms out, filling her to the brim, a satisfied grunt escapes his maw as he leaned down to lick her throat and breasts to comfort her, his taloned hands gripping her hips tighter still.

Alora held her hips up, staying as still as she could, feeling each inch of him, even with her cunt stretched around the plug, it was nothing compared to the beast's cock. Alora groaned as she felt him in fully, nestled against where her cervix should've been, threatening to pass the magical gap that held her organs together, yet it seemed like there was more of him to go.

Helion rasped, his voice a deep rumble against Alora's chest as he nuzzled her breasts, his rough tongue lapping at her tender skin. His grip on her hips tightened, claws digging into her flesh as he held her steady, allowing her time to adjust to his immense size.

Alora's breath hitched as she felt Helion's cock pulse and twitch within her, the sensation of being completely filled beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She could feel every ridge, every vein pressing against her inner walls, setting her nerve endings ablaze with pleasure. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt the pressure building deep within her core, threatening to consume her whole.

Helion holds perfectly still, allowing Alora to adjust to his immense girth. Her cunt, already stretched by the plug, now feels impossibly full as it struggles to encompass his thickness. The sensation is exquisite, and he savours every moment of it, relishing in the knowledge that he owns this space, that he's the only one who can fill her so completely.

Slowly, deliberately, he begins to move, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside her before plunging back in fully, till his hips pressed against hers, setting a steady, relentless rhythm that has Alora moaning loudly, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts.

Alora whimpered in pleasure, she could feel his restraint, he was stopping himself from rutting into her like a crazed beast, letting her get used to the stretch of his cock

With each deliberate thrust, Helion's cock drives deeper into Alora, his monstrous size stretching her beyond what she thought possible. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, punctuated by Alora's whimpers and cries of pleasure. The sensation of being driven home sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through both their bodies.

The control he exhibits is impressive, but he knew his restraint won’t last much longer. His golden body shakes with barely contained urges, his cock throbbing inside her, signalling his impending release.

Helion's self-control wavered as Alora's whimpers and moans drive him wild with desire. He grit his teeth, determined to give her the gentleness he knew she needed, despite the primal urges raging within him.

But as he continues to thrust, his pace gradually quickens, the beast struggling to be gentle and not rip her apart from the inside out. His claws dig into the mattress, the wooden slats creaking under the force of his movements. With a low, guttural growl, he buries his maw in the crook of Alora's neck, his hot breath fanning over her skin, his fangs holding her throat as he loses himself in the sensations of their joining.

The thought that he could kill her with a snap of his jaw, of how his teeth would melt her neck, mass and bone like butter shouldn't have sent such a thrill down Alora's spine, but it did, and she couldn't help but lean into his open maw.

Helion senses Alora's impending orgasm with the familiar way her cunt flutters around him, her walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his cock for all it's worth. He increases his pace, pounding into her with renewed vigour, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the room.

With a final, powerful thrust, he hits her sweet spot, sending her hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. As Helion's relentless thrusts intensified, Alora could feel her second climax approaching with dizzying speed. Her cunt clenched and unclenched around his cock, drenching it in her copious arousal. The beast's feral growls vibrated against her neck, sending shivers down her spine as his teeth scraped lightly over her tender skin.

With a final, brutal plunge, Helion drove himself deep into Alora's convulsing channel. Her body arched off the bed, a scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her in a torrent of ecstasy. Clear fluid squirted from her overstretched cunt, splattering against Helion's scales and soaking the sheets beneath them, tears leaving her eyes at the intensity of him, her body shaking uncontrollably beneath him. Helion roars in triumph, his maw biting down a little at her throat, his own release crashing over him, his seed erupting from his cock in thick, pulsing jets, filling Alora's womb with his essence.

Tears streamed down Alora's cheeks as the intensity of Helion's possession overwhelmed her senses. Her body shook violently beneath him, each wave of pleasure threatening to tear her apart. Helion's roar echoed throughout the room, his teeth deep into her neck, marking her as his own release erupted from his throbbing cock.

Thick, hot spurts of cum filled Alora's womb, flooding it with his potent essence. The knot at the base of Helion's cock locks tightly into place, sealing them together as his hot cum floods her womb. His roar of satisfaction reverberates through the room, locking them firmly into place and sealing them together intimately. His massive frame trembled with the force of his orgasm, his claws retracting slightly as he gently stroked her clit with his free claw, coaxing her through the aftershocks of her own climax.

His cock throbs within her, each pulse sending another wave of his seed deep into her womb, marking her as his. Despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him, he maintains control, ensuring she receives every drop of his potent essence.

Alora covered her face with her hands, crying out, feeling herself bloat from his cum as his cock pulsed inside her, the knot definitely causing a tear inside her walls.

Helion's heart pounds in his chest, his ears perked attentively towards Alora's sounds of delight and pain. His grip on her hips tightens, his talons lightly scoring her tender flesh but not enough to draw blood.

Despite the intense pleasure they've both experienced, there's an undeniable sense of possessiveness coursing through him. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, his hot breath fanning over her face.

Helion turned back into himself partly, only enough so he could speak, "Mine," he growls softly, affirming his claim over her. "You're safe..." He cooed, kissing over her face, "You're with me Alora."

Alora nods weakly, her voice barely above a whisper as she responds, "Yes… I'm yours." A soft sigh escapes her lips as she melted into the bed, her body sated and heavy with Helion's seed.

Helion's embrace is comforting, his presence calming as he whispers assurances of safety and belonging into her ear. He cradles her close, their bodies still intimately entwined, still knotted together.

Helion turned them both so Alora lay on his chest, her body limped slightly, eyes glazed, he whipped away the remnants of her tears, "You did so well. You were so good." He let his praise wash over her, the beast in him purring in satisfaction.

Alora smiles softly, a frequent sight after such an intense encounter. She snuggles closer to Helion, her soft curves moulding against his muscular form. His praise sends warm tingles throughout her exhausted body, soothing the lingering discomfort from their mating.

The beast within him seems content, its purrs resonating deeply within his chest as after a while his knot loosened, his cock slipping free. Alora couldn't help but whine and lean into the vibrations, finding comfort in the low rumble. Her fingers trace idle patterns across his abdomen, lost in the blissful aftermath of their mating.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

#acotaromegaverse2024 #acotar a/b/o #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acomaf #acosf #my oc #acowar #helion smut #helion #helion spell cleaver #high lord helion #helion acotar

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sunarinscat · 5 months ago

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“Momentos” • E. Kirishima <3

synopsis • you and kirishima have matching bracelets and rings with stories behind each of them. Are you prepared for a new one?

a/n • midnight Drabble. Will be edited later!

When you begin dating Eijiro Kirishima he wears a ring from his mother on his right index finger. His hands, (though gorgeous), are otherwise bare.

But as time flies his hands are covered in little mementos. Guess what? They all lead back to you.

The first one on his wrist is a mix of pretty beads you both picked out together.

“Hey baby c’mere.”

“Yeah Eiji?”

Rough hands delicately hold a string of beads next to your face as a frown tugs at your handsome boyfriend’s lips. He puts the set back and fumbles through the rows of beads before holding up another. This time his pretty face is caught in a smile.

“Yeah, that’s a perfect match.”

He’s looking right into your eyes with that dazzling smile and it makes you giddy. He drops the beads into the basket along with a little charm that reminds him of you.

“Okay now your turn, let me take a picture of your eye color so I can zoom in and match it.”

“Working smarter huh? Why didn’t I think of that…”

You hold your hand out and he places his chin in your palm with a dopey grin. You zoom in to take a picture of his eye and then snap one of his face in your hand for your folder labeled “love”. You pick a pretty red that matches his eyes and a little sun charm that reminds you of him. Your sunshine.

The second bracelet on his wrist is a permanent chain he got with you.

“Hey look there’s a booth for permanent jewelry! I’ve always wanted to do that with Mina!”

Eijiro looks at you like a wounded puppy.

“You don’t wanna do it with me?”

“Oh, I just didn’t think that’s the kind of thing you’d be into. You know.. not super manly I guess?”

“What are you talking about bracelets are obviously the manliest.”

You giggle and accidentally snort which sends him reeling. He bends over heaving laughter which only sends you further and you’re both giggling messes.

“No actually though, I’d love to get one with you.”

“Let’s do it! Then you can always look at it and remember your manly boyfriend.”

He winks at you and you smile back.

The third, a ring on his other index finger, glows bright green. You assume that means happy. You still remember winning it for him at a carnival. Nothing as grand as a giant teddy bear but he treasures it nonetheless.

“Umm so you missed all of the bottles except for one. You get one of the single point prizes.”

You pout up at Eijiro and he offers an empathetic look.

“Sorry, I wanted to win you something as cool as you got me.. this is my third try and the park in literally closing.”

“Don’t stress it sweetheart.. here let me see.”

He bends over the cabinet, muscles rippling under his tank top. You can’t help the pink that tints your cheeks as you admire his back. He spins around with a mood ring in his hands but stops short when he sees your face.

“I’m pretty sure if I put this on you right now it would turn pink for down bad.” He says as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Caught, your face comes a little closer to red and your eyes shoot to the floor.

“Possibly.”

“Well! definitely don’t need this to read your mood but guess what…”

He slides the ring on and rubs it quickly to warm it up, causing it to turn pink.

“I’m down bad too.”

He plants a kiss on your lips and you reach your arms up to wrap around his neck. He breaks the kiss only to hold up the pink ring and wiggle it in front of you before he’s back for more. The second kiss is passionate and you have to pull yourself away because you know the teenagers working at the park are trying to do their job and close. The little card that came with the ring confirmed that pink symbolized ‘in love’. Mood rings aren’t usually accurate but this one was spot on.

Back in the present, you look at your own hands, you have almost the same amount of mementos he has. You look back up to him and sigh softly. There’s plenty more little thread bracelets and beaded rings you’ve made each other. It’s so sweet how he keeps each and every one.

You sit outside at a table. The food tonight has been divine, but right now you’re content to admire Eijiro as the sunset casts him in a golden haze. His hair is down tonight, and the wind tugs at it softly. His eyes are glowing as he stares right back at you, admiring your every detail.

“You are one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. You know that?”

“I could say the same about you.”

He laughs softly to himself.

“I’m not sure you understand. You are the best decision I have ever made, and I want you in my life forever.”

“Eijiro I-“

He slips out of his seat and before you can even comprehend it he is in front of you on one knee. He’s honestly majestic in the glow of the sunset. He pulls from his pocket a velvet case and your heart skips a beat. He cracks it open and inside you see the most stunning ring you have ever laid eyes on. It’s exactly what you had dreamed your ring would look like. You can’t help but choke on air as you prepare for what he’s about to ask you.

“Y/n… will you marry me?”

You drop to your knees beside him in an instant. Your arms are around him, ring entirely forgotten, as you hug him tightly and sob.

“Yes Eijiro yes, yes, yes! A hundred million times yes!”

He cradles you for a moment as you cry before humming

“That’s it sweetheart, can you stand up and let me put this ring on my fiancé? Then we can cry together.”

You laugh half heartedly as you try to slow your tears. You rise to your feet and hold out your hand gently. He takes your finger and slips the ring on, following it with a kiss. There’s one, then another. He’s kissing up your hand, your arm, and suddenly he’s up on his feet. He plants his hands on your hips and captures your lips in a deathly sweet kiss. You can feel him smile into your lips as his hands grip your frame and spin you around. He breaks away with a gasp.

“I hope you know you’ve made me the happiest man alive just now.”

you smile and plant your forehead against his, honestly at a loss for words.

“I can’t wait to grow old together.”

You glance down to your ring, a new momento that now joined the others. And soon, Eijiro would have a matching one. Call it sentimental, call it sappy. You would keep each one, from the simplest thread bracelet, to the most intricate ring.

“Me neither.”

[unedited]

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sevenop · 16 days ago

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may you feed the angst monster? it yearns the pain and ache of a childhood friends to lovers but they never actually get to be lovers? perhaps one's moves away or billie thinks she's too busy and won't be enough? (happy ending though cuz angst monster is a little sensitive baby)

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Parallel lines

A/n: Broken knees, unspoken words at one time, and a bunch of motley band-aids . As a child, you carefully tend to Billie's every bruise and wound, hiding them behind the surface of funny band-aids, while she herself hides from you like seven seals, covering herself with a half-hearted smile. A few years later, having suddenly cut off all ties with each other, you meet again - she is a world-famous star, still breaking her knees, you are a paramedic assigned to her in a hurry, who has a set of absurd band-aids in your pocket.

"Billie!" The child's voice trembles fearfully, picked up by the sultry wind of early morning, which is already spilling across the sky with the barely rolled orange disk of the sun, so seductively reminiscent of a juicy orange. The wind blasts you with a new wave of heat, and you shaking as if you'd been thrown out the door into a crackling, freeze-stinging winter in just a t-shirt - fear creeps to the very bottom of your soul, clinging to the strings of your nerves along the way. You clutch the half-full water bottle restlessly in your palms a few times, making the plastic crunch loudly. "Billie! Please get off!"

"There's more!" Eilish chuckles sonorously, gleefully, like a bird, and climbs up the tree farther and higher, as if he wants to touch the lush green leaves of the spreading crown with his fingers. "I'll prove to you that it's not the least bit scary, Y/n!"

You bite your lower lip in excitement, and it's as if it's the only thing that helps you hold back the hailstones of tears coming insistently to your eyes: such an interesting and bizarre contrast, with you on the ground almost sobbing and her laughing aloft.

"Please, Billie..." You sniffle your nose, wiping the very tip with the stretched sleeve of your red sweatshirt, making the fabric immediately get a little wet. Your voice is about to break in its pitifulness and break.

Billie turns around, looking over her shoulder at you from above, and for a few moments her confident, clear-blue river softens in her gaze, causing her eyebrows to arch and arch, and her small lips to stretch at the very corners in an awkward but understanding smile.

"Okay, I'll-" her phrase-agreement is immediately drowned out in her own shriek as Billie puts her foot lower on the tree trunk without looking, too hastily, and as a result: slips sharply on the sandpaper-like bark, clinging with palms in fear. She snaps off, and with indescribable frustration flopping backwards on the ground, right up to the roots of the young oak tree, onto the grass spread out around you like a green carpet.

"Eilish!" You immediately run up to her, snapping in an asynchronous ricochet like a frightened gopher gerbil. You plop down on the ground in front of her, palms on her shoulders, squeezing them a little, either for support or for your own reassurance.

Billie whimpers softly, dropping her gaze into the green of the park lawn as mournfully as if she'd lost the war: more, clear beads of tears rolling down her face, her cheeks starting to turn pink. Confusion mixed with the blush of weeping.

"Does it hurt much...?" You ask quietly, stroking her head soothingly with your small palm. She sniffs her nose loudly, shows you her bloodied palms and nods silently, stoically swallowing a loud, tearful howl. You release your gaze a little lower and stare at her bloody mottled knees, only now the mottling, unlike her hands, is covered with black smears of dirt and green grass sap. Actively appearing scarlet beads of blood on her skin make you cringe and fumble with trembling fingers in your shorts pocket for a crumpled pack of band-aids, a small permanent "amulet" handed to you every day. handed to you repeatedly by your mom. "I'll help..."

You hurriedly unscrew the bright yellow cap from the bottle, and a dozen images flash before your eyes: how did your mom do it? What did she say? It seems like you should always wash the wound first, right? You nod confidently to your thoughts, and then you tilt the bottle gently, lifting the neck to her skinned knees: a clean, cool trickle of water pulls all the dirt right down with it, dripping onto the ground as you help with your palm, barely touching the tortured skin, and Billie only hisses painfully, but doesn't move away from you, only her legs twitching faintly in pain. You rustle a few strips of Band-Aids out of the box, frowning seriously like a doctor, and pick up the paper protecting the soft pad of the Band-Aid and its sticky layer with your fingertips. When the bloody meshes and peeled skin fall under the undeniable protection of your pink Hello Kitty patches, glued on a little crookedly but firmly, Eilish holds out her palms to you, looking straight at you, trust, gratitude, and a silent plea for forgiveness in her weeping blue eyes. You silently rinse her hands, too, cover the wounds with rectangles of girl's band-aids, and hold her close in a comforting embrace. Billie sniffs, but clings to you in response, her hands buzzing and burning with pain tightly clasped behind your back. Unconditional mutual reassurance and trust.

"Aren't you going to tell mom...?" Her hot, low whisper tickles your ear pleasantly.

And you answer, snuggling only closer to her, "I won't."

And you two don't care that everything will be absurdly obvious to Maggie when you get back home.

×××

"Eilish, you're going to kill yourself someday!" You frown, grasping the weighty cotton roll with your fingers and pulling hard, sharply: the little fluffy lump is on your clinging fingertips in no time. You immediately deftly pick up the bottle with a sharp-smelling antiseptic, blotting the absorbent cotton and pre-treating your palms. The open wounds on your fingers (stupid habit of tearing cuticles) are instantly stung by the alcohol, but you don't even twitch: it's a matter of habit. "Do you want to be without knees at all by the time you're old?"

Eilish hums, shaking her head to brush ash-gray strands of hair out of her eyes. She bites her lip and staring childishly into the bedroom floor, never admitting that her bloody knees stung, never making a sound, proudly swallowing every it, even the ones that came up in the back of her throat.

"I had to put my best foot forward today." Her detached voice draws your tenacious, frowning gaze to the top of her head in an instant.

"That doesn't mean you have to paint the dance studio floors maroon!" You hissing at her in a parental manner, fumbling with your hands in your small makeshift med-bag for cooling ointment for bruises.

You mutter to yourself, and Eilish smiles dully, impenetrable and silent, no longer answering. She twitches slightly a couple times, the first from the sharp contrast of the cold ointment against her skin temperature as you gently rub the ointment into her knees, and the second from a mild fit of tics, her head jerking toward the ceiling. You can tell now that she's definitely nervous about something. You gently touch her face with your chiseled palms only when you finish gluing stupid plasters with painted spiders on her wounds, and wiping your hands with a damp cloth. The sterility habit attaches itself to you so imperceptibly that you don't even realize it.

"Hey," you whisper softly, and Billie immediately flatters her cheek against your palm. "I'm sorry if I grumbled like a grandmother again."

The blue oceans in her eyes murmur, foaming with something incomprehensible, but clearly not malicious. A soft smile crossed by a glance back to the pile of the carpet as her head jerks sharply again in a Tourette's tic. "It's nothing." Her quiet whisper.

You only put your arms around her, gently wrapping your long arms around her in the manner of a life preserver, the only thing that will keep Eilish from drowning in the murk of her own thoughts right now. Her shoulders and back are tense like a tight string, but her hands, sliding down somewhat lazily over your shoulder blades through the cotton of your voluminous black t-shirt, are gentle, careful.

"Will you tell me?" You whisper softly, trying not to sneeze as her ash-gray strands climb up your nose: soft, pear-scented. "And hey, how many times have I told you tics are normal."

And her shoulders relax in an instant, and she seems to become boneless almost entirely, spreading out in our arms, nestling close to you like a warm, California sea wave. Nestled, but also immediately "caught": you feel the warmth of her slightly trembling palms on your shoulder blades again, but now it is static, immovable.

And she tells you. Tells you about every thought languishing under her skull, every worry about the upcoming tryouts for the dance production. She tells you, exactly one week before the upcoming incident that will turn her life upside down a hundred and eighty degrees, while you whisper words of encouragement to her, and she gulps inquisitively into your eyes, saying nothing and at the same time saying everything in the world.

×××

Her sobs shake her body silently, and she clutches at you with trembling fingers, nearly pulling your t-shirt off your shoulders through a collar that has been stretched by time and many washings. No longer screaming, no longer howling loudly, bringing even her favorite old bulldog Pepper to her ears, but trembling like the flame of a nearly extinguished candle that reaches the hot, melted wax with a hiss. She's been crying for the beat three hours, the sun having long since rolled indifferently away over the horizon, straining the string of stars and the darkness of the sky with its hot, round side as if they were caught on it. And you keep stroking her just as gently, not even changing the diligent, soft amplitude, you crumble in a huge number of quiet words of support, modestly reaching almost the second million. She's trembling, and there's nothing you can do - such an injury can't be sealed with any of your even stupidest band-aids.

"I won't be able to dance anymore..." Her sob-weary voice is hoarse, and you're in so much pain it feels like someone is mercilessly tearing expensive velvet with their bare hands. "I'm nothing now..."

You can only choke mournfully on your unspoken words and thoughts as you continue to pet her-you'd rather die right now under her tired body than tell her that you have to move to another state this morning. She crumbles in thoughts of her own insignificance, you in the realization that there's nothing you can do to help now.

"Please leave me..." She also wheezes hotly. "I'm nothing now, I'm nobody, I can't do anything..."

And you cry for the first time in three hours, burying your wet nose against the top of her head. Hot tears flow down your cheeks, dripping onto her gray hair like mournful rain on ashes after a fire. Your two million words about her importance don't work.

"Are you sure...?" You ask her softly-quietly, and she only nods, lying lifelessly on top of you as she does.

You take a dozen promises from her that she won't do anything stupid, and then leave as she wishes. After five hours you roll the wheels of your yellow suitcase down the lane in the early morning, shuffling your feet languidly while the whole neighborhood of Highland Park is asleep (you'd be happier going to the scaffold of the French Revolution), and Billie lies sleepless in her bed, shrunken into a life-beaten lump. Her heart aches for the closed road of the future, but even more for the loss of you. She's well aware of your move, heard snippets of it from her mother's conversations. The thought that it will be better acts like a dulling but not curing painkiller - she's broken now anyway, she has no future with you. She is nothing, and she now nothing can give anything to the person for whom she was willing to sell the whole world to the devil.

"I take no offense." Said in a whisper in the emptiness of her own room, as if you'd hear it, it masks something else. "I love you so damn much." Screams her thoughts. As if you'll actually hear it.

"I love you." You think and slam the door of your mom's old sedan. Your thoughts scream parallel to each other, wanting to break all the laws of geometry and converge into one smooth, clear line. Screaming, but they can't hear.

×××

You meet exactly seven years later: she is not a broken girl, but a singer, with her voice and even a single gesture able to control almost the entire auditorium of millions of people on every continent; you are a paramedic, a little tired of life, but faithful to your chosen profession, who no longer holds a stupid homemade first aid kit, but a weighty, professional first aid bag behind your back. You meet, knowing perfectly well who's in front of you, and she even now recognizes you in seconds - no badges, no introductions. You sit down gently on your knees in front of her, spreading the ight worn medic bag out on the floor, and she can't tear her gaze away from you, raging oceans of irises in recognition. Your face is hidden behind the pale blue fabric of a medical mask, you haven't uttered a word since entering her dressing room after the show, and she doesn't care at all - she recognizes you by your grown-up, tired eyes, as if she's found a warm glow of caring in them, familiar from childhood. From your past lives.

"You..." Eilish's voice is a little husky from the concert, but it still feels pleasant, velvety. Expensive.

"Hello, Ms. O'Connell." You smile with the very corners of your lips, which is made vaguely clear by the slight squint. Billie squirms a little on the huge black couch, as if the detailed address from your lips scratches her heart like a rusty nail.

She looks at you throughout the whole process: hungrily, almost prayerfully, catching your movements, which have become a little sharper, more refined, more mechanical over the years. She tries to catch your gaze, but it's as if you are deliberately avoiding the murmuring, restless oceans. Your fingertips twitch so treacherously, though almost imperceptibly. As when you were a child, you carefully treat her wounds on your knees with antiseptic and ointment (Billie shudders at the touch of the cool, thin latex of your gloves and the even colder ointment), and then lean over to the medicine cabinet to find band-aids. Billie has words stuck deep in her song-weary windpipe, you have stuck thoughts in your head that resemble bubblegum. You lean over her lap, pulling a piece of paper off a couple of Band-Aids at once, and suddenly you're hovering.

"Y/n, I..." Billie's voice is drowned out by rustling and light thudding. You tuck the pack of Band-Aids back into the medicine cabinet and reach into the pockets of your medically bright red jacket with your hand.

"You... Do you need a 'fuck,' 'crap' or 'shit' patch?" Your voice quivers in laughter as you unfurl strips of band-aids fan-like in front of her and see the dazed, confused look in her eyes. You remember.

"There's with "I love you?" She whispers softly, and looks into your eyes ever so gently and a little fearfully, as if wanting to wrap herself in your gaze like a warm plaid.

"No, but..." You stumble quietly over the words, unzipping three ridiculous patches and gluing them from gently onto her right knee. "I can say it out loud, if that's possible." Your hands shake more visibly as you also cover her now left knee behind the strips of silly words.

Barely do the sticky strips lock onto her skin as she suddenly jumps up like a wound up spring, plopping onto the newly healed lap bravely and eagerly clinging to your lips with hers, shifting the mask so deftly that you don't even realize it before you do, only lips obediently opening for her. It feels right. You involuntarily exhale hotly into the kiss, as if you'd forgotten how to breathe at all.

"I love you." You say it almost simultaneously as she pulls away and presses gently against your forehead with hers.

Two parallel lines of thought come together against all odds. And it's the right thing to do. With her, it's definitely right.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader

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diejager · 1 year ago

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Gosh I read your 141 monster shots and I can't get enough! (I just keep rereading them 🥲) so I was hopeful that you'll make more base off "only human"? Maybe a little NSFW perhaps😋. Please I'll lov3 this so much! 🙇‍♀️🩷

Featherlight from Only Human cw: teasing, creampie, unprotected sex, silly sex, tell me if I missed any.

For someone on the leaner side of muscular, he was as strong as Soap was, his muscle pulled tighter and figure smoothed out with soft ridged and round edges, every curve and dip of his body felt smooth under your touch. His chocolate skin tasted sweet on your tongue with a slight tang of salt, his skin thick but malleable between your teeth, his wide shoulders naked and his mind voicing his need to have you sink your teeth in him, to add to his scars. You groan at the taste of him, something ecstatic, something sultry, something addictive, you loved him whole just as he voiced his obsession with you.

You tightened your hold on him, legs wrapped around his narrow waist, rolling your hips against him with every thrust, the way he drove his cock in you slowly and deeply. He whispered filthy things in your ear, the words rolling off his silver tongue with a sinful grin, praising you for taking him so well.

“You’re doing so well, love,” he groaned, pressing you closer to his chest. “My sweet bird.”

You laughed at his pet name, eyes creased in amusement as you watched his wings flutter, big feathers rooted in wide wings, strong and protective around you. Even in the privacy of his room, Gaz made it a habit to shield you with his wings, a wall of flesh, bones and feathers standing between you and the world. They stood forever unmoving despite the jostling slaps and the rocking thrusts, the wet squelch and the wandering hands.

You gripped the back of his head, fingers sinking into the back of his fade, where hair thinned out, you pulled, coaxing him to bare his throat at you. You nosed the softness under his jaw, lips trailing over his ear and the sensitive part of his neck, planting kisses and nipping with your teeth. He sighed gently, eyes rolling back and panting out his pleasure, he called out your name in reverence, a featherlight on his tongue. You loved how he sounded, his endearing moans, his low groans and his pleased grunts, it drove your senses wild with everything he did and it made you as loving as you were bratty with them.

“I thought you were the bird, Gaz,” you smiled sweetly, arms trailing down to pull him closer to you, fingers grazing the sensitive muscle between his wings, from his neck down to his upper back.

He jerked, cock throbbing inside of you, leaky tip coating your warm walls with pre when he bottomed out, slick dripping down his balls from over-excitement and all the teasing foreplay. His back rippled, wings moving accordingly to his flinching movement, they tensed and spasmed before settling back into motionless, a state of permanent shielding of your naked body.

“Oh? Playing cheeky now, aren’t you?” He grinned, revenge stirring in his pretty, brown eyes. “You brat.”

He snapped his hips, ramming in roughly, throwing you back against the wall he held you against, depending on his strength to support you up. You threw your head back, eyes closing as your mouth widened in ecstasy, letting out a flurry of mewls and moans. You dug your blunt nails into his back, hips bucking forwards with each hard push to meet him halfway, the uncut head berating your spongy wall, sensitive and overwhelmed by him. Your cries and pleas drove him further into carnality, tightening his grasp on your ass, being careful as to not harm you with his sharp talons, the claws he used to rip into his enemies.

Gaz felt out of control, his heart and body singing another tune than his clear mind, reacting in an animalistic way, wound up tight with this carnal need. He knew you were just as lost as him from your incoherent words and babbling tongue, lips searching for this to kiss and bite, to love and to care. Even in your shared haze of pleasure, he could see the unending fountain of adoration in your eyes, the soft cress in your brows and the smile on your face.

If he could’ve come undone, he would, his mind running wild. He pressed himself closer, mouth wrapped around your lips, tongue and teeth nipping at you wildly, rough and hasty as he chased his end. He cursed loudly at your walls clamping around him in beats, the rapid pulse of your heart guiding the pace. His knees buckled, moaning out praises and encouragements, coaxing you in a spot of comfort and sensuality, to love yourself and let yourself go, to return what you gave him.

He watched you unravel, body pulled taunt as you came, mouth opened in a silent scream, head falling backwards and eyes rolling back. He shuddered when you gripped him, giving a few more thrusts before he crashed, back slumped forward in exhaustion and pleasure. His cock jerked, spurting ropes of white, hot cum, painting your walls with his thick load.

Despite being tired, he hoisted you up and stumbled to bed, letting you fall first as his wings caged you in while he peppered you in kisses. He never let go, resting with you in his arms, your face pulled to sleep on his chest with a wing moving to cover you as a makeshift blanket until he decided to pull the actual blanket over you.

“I love you,” he muttered those words softly, but they echoed loudly in your heart, the powerful beat that repeated his words.

“Love you, Gaz.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #gaz modern warfare #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #gaz smut #cod mw2 smut #mw2 smut #kyle x reader #gaz x reader #mw2 gaz #monster cod au #monster 141 au #monster fucker

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eat-limes-bitches · 9 months ago

Text

Not Allowed To Die

PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: We never know how much time we have left and fate is a cruel mistress. We can only make the best of the time we have left.

WARNINGS: ANGST! Like omg so much angst not really a happy ending but it's not super sad either. Sad! Bucky, mentions of death, dying, tears

Word Count: 755

A/N: Would you like to be sad and or have your heart ripped out? Good. I was thinking about this the other day and it just felt like something so raw and real to talk about, especially since this is one of my greatest fears.

Enjoy! <3

It was around three am when Bucky woke up with a start. He heaved deep breaths into his lungs, physically willing his heart to slow down. He looked to his side and saw her still asleep, the moonlight drifting in through the window casting a halo on her hair as steady, strong, breaths fanned across her pillow. It was the sight of her next to him in their bed that allowed Bucky to finally catch his breath. He reached over with his flesh hand and traced her features with his finger, mapping every dip and curve, freckle and crease on her face, permanently ingraining her face into his mind.

His feather touches eventually woke her up. Her brows furrowed together as a sleepy “James?” left her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on the man staring at her with worry and fear etched deep into his features.

“James? What’s wrong?” She mumbled as she started to sit herself up. Bucky stared at her for a moment before blurting out “You are not allowed to die before me.”

This surprised her. She sat up a little quicker and looked at him, “What?”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky repeated himself, “You are not allowed to die before me. You, just can’t.”

She let out a deep sigh as she leaned back against the headboard keeping her gaze trained on the man she loved.

“Now James,” She started, reaching for his hand, “What on Earth brought this up, my love?”

Bucky takes a shuddery breath, his throat suddenly becoming tight as he tries to speak.

“I- I just realized how fragile all of this is. I realized that I m-might lose you and that scares me. I’ve already lost so much, I don’t think I’d be able to handle losing you too.” He chokes out, tears starting to sting his eyes, threatening to spill.

“I can’t lose you. I- I have to go before you.”

Now her throat constricted, the thought of him leaving before she did was not a foreign thought to her, with his line of work, there is always a possibility that he won’t come back, but something about him making that statement when the world was silent weighed a little more on her.

“Well that’s n-not exactly fair is it?” She choked out as tears started rolling down her cheeks. Bucky reached over and cupped her face in his hand.

“I s’pose no darlin’” He murmured as his breath caught in his chest.

“B-but I just can’t lose you. I- I wouldn’t survive it” He choked on a sob as his admission hung in the air. Y/n sighs and gathers Bucky up in her arms, tears still streaming down her face.

“Baby, we can’t avoid it. It’s inevitable but I need you to promise me something ok?” She says softly, pulling away slightly so she can look Bucky in the eye.

“If I do die before you, don’t let that grief bury you alive, my love, ok?” Bucky opens his mouth to speak before she silences him.

“Take each day as it comes. And promise me, when the pain eases, you'll let yourself feel joy again.”

“But, you’re my everything darlin’,” Bucky sobbed, pulling her into his arms. She wound her arms around him, further deepening the embrace.

“And you are mine. But you know what my ma told me? Love doesn't end with death. It transforms into memories, moments that live on, even when the people in them are long gone.”

The pair sat in silence, content to just sit in one another's embrace before Y/n pulled away taking a deep breath.

“Now, as things sit, right here, right now, at this moment, I’m not going anywhere any time soon ok? We still have a lot of living to do, together, alright?” Bucky nodded.

“But I’m still afraid.” He whispered.

“And that’s ok, my love,” She whispered as a ghost of a smile danced across her features, “As long as we don’t let that fear cloud the beauty that surrounds us right now.”

Y/n laid back down, pulling Bucky down with her so that his head was resting on her chest where he could hear her heartbeat.

“We’re going to grow old together, and make lots of memories, so when the time comes, and one of us has to go, we have a lifetime of love behind us. And who knows,” She whispered, “Maybe, just maybe we will go hand in hand, and I’ll follow you into the dark.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #bucky x you angst #bucky barnes x you angst

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n1ght0f-nyx · 29 days ago

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woven bonds

pert'ah (orc oc x gn reader) pt 7

tags/warnings- over the time you two have been together his english has gotten better, arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, you're finally with him, tattoos, nonsexual marking

When you finally confessed your feelings, Pert'ah reveals a sacred orc tradition: a bond tattoo, symbolising the intertwining of two lives and the strength of their love. As you both journey to the clan’s mark artist, Pert'ah shares the stories behind his own markings, revealing his past and the future he hopes to share with you.

i am begging for someone to give me requests for anything

The warm, flickering firelight cast soft shadows on the walls of the small home you and Pert'ah now shared. You were curled up in a corner, lost in thought, while he sat across from you, his massive form bent slightly as he worked on a weaving project. It had been months since the day your father had sold you into an arranged marriage with the orc weaver, exchanging your life for a political bargain. You had been furious and devastated at first, feeling trapped in a strange world, and you fought hard against your feelings for Pert'ah.

But something had shifted over time. Pert'ah had never been the terrifying brute you expected him to be. Despite his size, his hands were deft, and his voice was soft, even in its broken English. He was patient, showing you kindness you hadn't anticipated. Each day he would bring you food, trying to coax you into eating when you refused, and he spoke softly, attempting to ease your fears and frustrations. Over time, your resentment began to thaw.

It started small—accepting the food he offered, exchanging a few words, and eventually, joining him at his work table. You'd sit there, quietly watching as he wove intricate patterns into cloth, his fingers moving with surprising delicacy for someone so large and imposing. Slowly, you realized that your anger had faded, replaced by something else, something that felt warm and safe,

Now, weeks later, your relationship had settled into a peaceful routine. Tonight, Pert'ah's hands were steady as he worked the loom, but every so often, you caught him glancing up at you, as if he had something on his mind. Eventually, he set down his work and cleared his throat.

"Y'know," he began, his accent still thick but more familiar to your ears now, "in my clan… there is something we do when… we love someone. after we bond." He paused, searching for the right words.

You looked up, curious. "What do you mean?"

His large hand gestured vaguely toward his chest, where his skin was marked with swirling, intricate markings. The patterns wound around his biceps, across his chest, and down his back, each one seemingly part of a larger story. You had noticed them before, of course, but you had never asked about their significance.

"markings," he said, tapping his chest. "They mean much. Each one has… story. Spirit."

You sat up straighter, intrigued. "Like what?"

Pert'ah's eyes flickered with something—perhaps pride, or reverence. "In my culture, we mark our skin to show our life. Our bond to family, to clan, to… love." He paused, letting his words sink in. "When we choose someone… we get marking. One that shows the bond between us."

Your heart skipped a beat. The idea of a marking symbolizing your bond with Pert'ah was unexpected, but the thought of it thrilled you. The permanence of such a mark felt like a declaration of your feelings, something you were no longer afraid to express.

"You mean… you'd get a marking for me?"

Pert'ah nodded slowly. "Yes. And… you, too. If you want."

The weight of his offer settled over you. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, but the thought of carrying a symbol of your love for Pert'ah, of your place in this new world, filled you with a quiet excitement.

"What do they mean?" you asked, your eyes tracing the markings on his skin. "Your markings. What are their stories?"

A small, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, gesturing for you to come closer. You moved toward him, sitting beside him as he began to speak.

"This one," he pointed to a swirling, knot-like pattern on his forearm, "is for my family. My mother and father, my brothers. It shows where I come from. My roots."

You nodded, your fingers lightly brushing over the design. The lines were bold, yet elegant, winding together in an unbreakable bond.

"And this?" you asked, tracing the edge of a jagged, lightning-like marking that stretched across his chest.

"This one is for battle," he said, his voice taking on a somber tone. "A long time ago, I fought for my clan. This mark is for the fights I survived, the people I lost."

His gaze darkened for a moment, and you squeezed his hand gently, understanding that those memories were difficult for him to revisit.

"But here," he continued, pointing to the pattern that wound around his bicep, "this is for my future. It is not finished yet." He glanced at you, his eyes full of meaning. "When I choose someone to be with for life, the mark will be complete. It will show our bond, our future together."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the significance of what he was saying. This marking, this incomplete symbol, was waiting for you. And now, he was offering to finish it, to mark himself with a permanent symbol of your love.

"I want it," you whispered, your heart racing with the weight of your decision. "I want to share that bond with you."

Pert'ah's face lit up, his golden eyes shimmering with warmth. "Then I will take you to the marking artist tomorrow," he said softly. "It will be an honor."

---

The next day, Pert'ah guided you to the heart of the orc village, where the marking artist's home was located. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke as you entered the small, dimly lit hut. The artist, an older orc woman with intricate markings covering nearly every inch of her skin, greeted you with a nod, her sharp eyes studying you and Pert'ah carefully.

"You come for bond marking," she said, her voice raspy but kind.

Pert'ah nodded. "Yes. We wish to be marked together."

The artist smiled knowingly and gestured for you to sit on a low bench. She turned to Pert'ah first, inspecting the incomplete design on his arm.

"It is time to finish this one, then," she said, motioning for him to sit as well. She began to mix inks, her hands steady and practiced.

As she prepared, Pert'ah turned to you, his voice low and soft. "Our marking will be special. It will show our bond, but also our strength. Our journey together."

You felt a wave of emotion rise within you as the artist began her work on Pert'ah's skin, her needle carefully tracing the lines of the existing design. He barely flinched, his face serene as he watched the artist work.

"This marking," Pert'ah said quietly, "will show the two paths we took. Yours and mine. They will twist together, become one. Stronger together."

You smiled at his words, touched by the symbolism. "And what about the part for the future?" you asked softly.

His eyes met yours, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way possible. "That part… will be blank. It is for what we will make together. Our life."

---

When it was your turn, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The artist guided you gently, explaining the meaning behind each stroke as she inked the bond marking onto your skin. It was a mirror of Pert'ah's, yet unique to you, representing your own journey.

As the needle pressed into your skin, Pert'ah held your hand, his presence grounding you. The process was both painful and exhilarating, each stroke of the needle reminding you of the permanence of your decision—of the love you had chosen to embrace.

When it was done, the artist stepped back, admiring her work. The bond marking twisted around your arm, the two paths intertwining beautifully, just as Pert'ah had described. At the center, there was a blank space, a place for your future together, waiting to be filled with the stories you would create as a couple.

Pert'ah lifted your arm gently, his fingers tracing the fresh ink with reverence. "It is beautiful," he murmured. "You are beautiful."

You smiled at him, tears pricking your eyes. "So are you," you whispered.

In that moment, you felt a deep sense of belonging, not just to Pert'ah, but to this new life you had built together. The marking was more than just a mark on your shoulder—it was a symbol of your love, your bond, and the future you would share. And you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.

As you and Pert'ah walked back to your home, your hands entwined, the weight of your shared marking felt both grounding and freeing. You were no longer bound by the past, no longer trapped by the decisions of others. This bond was yours, forged in love, and it would guide you both into whatever the future held.

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crackheadenergy101 · 1 month ago

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|Change|

Summary: After what felt like years you find yourself back in forks for a short visit catching up with a family friend, but after a series of strange events your mom is forced to leave you under mysterious circumstances putting you under the care of your former baby sitter Billy black. Although you feel excited to be spending your entire summer in La push—something about the conditions this falls under doesn’t feel right.

Pairing: Seth Clearwater X reader

Word count: 1,226

Request are open!

…

The suv creaked it’s tires scratching against the gravel as it stopped at a red light, they were old having plenty of plugs littered across its wheel. It paired with the car an old model that’s seen better days the window’s having little anime characters on the side and some permanent drawings on the doors.

A woman’s arm hung on the window, her other hand nitpicking her daughter’s face. She sat relaxed one knee being up against her chest as she leaned back on the seat “ Where did all these bumps come from? What did you do—have you been using my soap to wash your face? “ She was throughly unamused. Y/n let a snicker softly swatting her mothers hand away “I didn’t do anything! It’s just the dry air breaking me out” she loudly yelled swiftly turing her head to the distance. She could hardly hide her embarrassment—she may have been, possibly—using her mother’s soap against her wishes, but was to prideful to admit her mother was right.

Ms. L/n withdrew her hand eyeing her young daughter “Just like your father” Y/n only stuck her tongue out towards the remark.

The trees swayed in the wind as they drove by, La push having the smell of salt in the air. The sight was beautiful grey skies and tall trees, stores lined up against each other la push felt like summer. Y/n swayed her head to the radio it was playing a somber tune, She smiled as a wave of nostalgia hit her, childhood memories coming back remembering the times of following around billy, he took you everywhere.

The duo smiled as they parked into a green yard, a long haired man rolled out greeting them as they stepped out. “ Billy!” Both girls shouted as they ran towards the man billy let out a boisterous laugh as he felt the arms of both the girls wrap around him “ You girl’s are to big for this” Y/n and her mother pull away pouting at their reminder of their age. “ You’re almost seventeen–“ She frowns and begins playing dejectedly her hair “—And you, thirty-three! “

The color from Ms. L/n face drops her face turing red with embarrassment she clears her throat before standing straight fixing her wounded expression “ that was uncalled for”. Billy chuckled shaking his head seeing how the girls haven’t change a bit he gestured towards the girls to follow him inside, Y/n gave a smile looking around as she stepped into the house, everything stayed the same, pictures of Mrs. Black being hung up on the wall as you entered, the smell of lavender warming up against your nose—candles being left out from the night before just like Mrs.black used to. “You know where everything is already, Don’t be afraid to get comfortable—” before he could even finish his sentence the girls dispersed from behind him Y/n making her way to the pantry while her mother got to putting luggage away.

Billy smiled, before helping Ms. L/n with unpacking.

Y/n watched them from her peripheral vision, seeing the loud laughter turn into tense smiles and uneasy chuckles.

The house was bustling with energy as the Tv sung loudly with sports chants and cheers billy and Ms. L/N sat yelling cheering for their respective teams, stupid merch on both of them. This could only bring a smile on Y/n’s face—the kitchen was fogged up with steam, delicious scents taking over the home, seasonings were lined up next to each other as different pots were filled with something Y/n stood tapping her finger on the counter waiting for everything to finish cooking, her beads of sweat dripping off of her forehead onto the hot kitchen floor.

She began taking out servings, filling Billy’s plate with the biggest piece of salmon before setting his bowl at the table. She set her mothers plate next giving her vegetables all over her rice and salmon, lastly platting herself which was nothing more than a plate of rice with chicken “ Ma, Billy! I’m done”

They sat down billy gave a giant smile looking down at his dinner“ you’ve gotten better! I remember you used to leave the scales on and burn it “ She laughed remembering her younger years of cooking “all you would have to eat was the charred remains! “ Billy turned towards Y/n’s mother giving her a warm look “better than this one! she didn’t even know how to thaw the meat just throw it straight into the pan” he softly ruffled her hair.

Ms. L/n laughed, “ You say it like your any better—“ her mouth filled with rice “ I know the truth you did it that way until Mrs. Black showed you how and that wasn’t until college!”

Billy looked away ignoring her words

“ Do you feel a draft in here Y/n? I must’ve left a window open”

Ms. L/n simply mocked him snickering as he gave a fake shiver.

Dinner wrapped up as everyone was getting the house ready for bed, Y/n leaned on the counter wiping the dishes her mother passed to her when she finished washing, a howl rang out faintly being heard deep in the forest Ms. L/n gave a hum. “ How’s Jacob these days? “ Y/n eyes squinted as she secretly watched Billy’s expression—her tone seemed more strenuous than before, what’s with the sudden interest in Jacob?

Billy gave a weak smile towards her mother, before making eye contact with y/n, her eyes drifting away staring at the oven clock —10pm. “ Y/n, you can take a shower first I’ll clean everything up” she didn’t argue only nodding her head this happened often with every visit since she could remember—the mentioning of Jacob always changed the air in the house making everyone feel uneasy. As Y/n reached the bathroom door she heard hushed whispers tones of confusion and worry

“ He’s with a what!? “

“ Keep your voice down—I don’t want Y/n involved any more than she already is”

“ She isn’t—I know she isn’t”

Y/n eyebrows furred, this wasn’t new for her when it came to those two growing up she fondly remembered the nights where the living room light creaked into her room. Her mother and billy staying up for hours at a time sipping on wine and retelling stories from their younger years even sometimes having mentions of her father—

“ I thought the same for Jacob but now look at him”

—But as the years went by the joyous laughter turned serious, and the nights went from inebriated bliss to scared low murmurs. A name becoming more and more frequent as the years came and went.

Bloodsuckers.

Howls sung into the night drowning out the whispers taking her chance she crept into the bathroom glancing at the picture of a young boy shoved into the corner of the mirror it was Jacob black.

A boy she hadn’t seen for years.

“ Jacob black, what happened to you?”

…

The night was silent trees swaying as the wind blew heavily against them, the moon was full having a yellowish tint to it things lurked in the trees surrounding the red quaint home.

Y/n laid in her bed tossing and turning as the room felt extremely warm, she couldn’t get ounce of sleep feeling to uncomfortable to properly rest.

“ This is bigger than I thought billy”

Mrs. L/n mumbled her hands trembling, she fidgeted with her jackets zipper her blood running cold. “ Their coming billy and I can’t take her with me” billy nervously looked into the deep forest behind his home hearing sounds of rustling all around them “ But what about Y/n?”

“ you can’t just leave her Melanie”

She softly looked at the purple door behind her giving a saddened expression “ It’s for the best billy, what more can I do? it’s either her or me.” Though billy didn’t show it his heart snapped, only giving her a saddened expression, “ what will you tell her? She’s not five anymore Mel’ she nervously paced her hands rubbing against her neck “ She’s an understanding girl bill’ she won’t look deep into it” Melanie sat at the edge of a couch handle her eyes heavy with bags “ keep her safe billy”

She glanced into his eyes before asking him one final favor.

“Please, don’t let her find out.”

Billy didn’t say a word only holding her shivering hand giving it a tight squeeze, she knew he’d keep his word.

Ms. L/n grabbed everything she could and hastily ran out the door recording a voicemail for her daughter.

Billy wheeled out of his house watching the woman walk into the darkness of the night, his heart aching with each step. Only now letting out a baited breath he didn’t even know he was holding , whispering something into the air he hoped she’d hear

“ Stay safe Melanie“

“Sorry this is so sudden Y/n but the office called and they really need me something about a slip up in the spreadsheets I know I know this week was our get-away week but it was really urgent I need to fly back soon as tomorrow. But I promise I’ll make this up to you okay? I will, your gonna have to stay with bill for a bit okay? Like the old times, tell billy if you need anything don’t have to much fun without me, mommy loves you, stay safe.”

The sunshine creaked through the windows rays hitting Y/n’s eyes, her door creaked open and she groaned before sitting up being met with a smiling billy with breakfast in hand.

“Hope you like pancakes”

Y/n only snickered.

“do you even need to ask?”

The car was still outside.

AN: This is meant to be a multiple part series! Its a slow-burn depending on if school doesn’t work me too hard I’ll be able to update this story often!

#twilight #twilight x reader #seth clearwater x reader #twilight imagine #seth clearwater #billy black #Spotify #twilight wolves #twilight wolfpack

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lordprettyflackotara · 24 days ago

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sharp fangs / the finale / sam and colby

‘my blood runs cold like ice, sharp fangs, might bite.’

sum: your vampire boyfriends sam and colby have been determined to keep you human. colby has gone behind sam’s back, biting you and transforming you into one of them. how will you handle being a chaotic new born with hormones driving you up the wall?

tw: smut minors dni 18+, vampire!sam, vampire!colby, newborn vampire!reader, rough sex bc yk… vamp strength, humiliation, degradation, choking, passing out at the end but there’s plot reasons

an: can’t believe this shit has been in my head rent free for months and i just like… never wrote it? idk happy kinktober fuckers!

Cold.

The feeling surrounded you, engulfed you even.

This is what you imagined being submerged in ice cold water felt like. Or those athletes who bathed in ice baths for fun. Your lungs felt stuck, your body completely frozen in time. Your eyes opened in a flash, unsteady as you sat up.

A concerned Sam and Colby arose from their chairs, instantly standing by each of your sides.

“I am so sorry I never should’ve left you unattended with Colby-”

“You’re doing so well just try to focus on our voices-”

Their rambles were cut short by your eyebrow raising. Their voices sounded much clearer, as if before you had heard them speak underwater. You reached out and touched Sam’s cheek, his skin much softer than you had remembered. Your sights then fell on Colby, your fingertips brushing over his lips. The pads of your fingers seemed to be able to recognize more, every weave that woven through out his lips easily noticeable to you now. You blinked unsurely, the mere act of blinking feeling unnatural. You tilted your head to the side, opening your mouth to speak but abruptly stopping.

Your hand flew to your throat, clutching it like a man dying of thirst. “What… What is this feeling?” You choked out. Your throat felt dry, as if you had never consumed liquid any time during your lifetime. “It’s thirst. Here we got you a remedy,” Sam said. He handed you a blood bag, which they modestly decorated by placing it in a black pouch. You broke it open, ignoring the generous straw they had also placed for you. You gulped the metallic liquid, the crimson paint dripping down the sides of your chin.

You finished it in mere seconds, swallowing before grinning at the boys.

“Got anymore?”

Sam continued to hand you all of the blood bags they had, watching in amazement as you gulped it down. The boys had anticipated an uncontrolled thirst, but they hadn’t stocked up nearly enough to compensate your craving. “This is very hot and very concerning,” Colby grumbled, handing you the last blood bag. Sam elbowed him, shooting him a dirty look. “You’re the one who did this, remember that,” He snapped. Colby rolled his eyes, their attention resuming on you.

Shamelessly you were licking the inside of the plastic, your tongue flattening as you soaked in the flavor. “This shit… is so fucking good,” You purred. You moved your hair out of the way, lapping up some blood that had dripped on your shoulder. Your fingertips traced your puncture wounds from Colby’s fangs, the wound permanently stapled into your skin. “Interesting,” You hummed to yourself. As you opened your mouth the intense unsatisfied thirst consumed you, causing you to panic.

The sound of heartbeats from all of your neighbors began to become the only sounds audible. You jumped to your feet, attempting to zoom past the boys who immediately grabbed you. “She’s hearing the neighbors,” Sam grunted, both of them fighting to hold you back. Your eyes were glued to the door, your jaw clenching as you thrashed against their hold. “Cmon princess relax,” Colby encouraged. His encouragement only made you thrash more, your movements suddenly halting. You went limp against their hold, wondering if your nose had deceived you. Breathing wasn’t a necessity for you anymore, but your lungs became full as you inhaled deeply through your nose.

Not only could you hear your neighbors, you could smell them.

“Oh shit,” Colby muttered, watching as Sam reacted faster than he did. The blonde grabbed you, slamming you into the floor. Your wooden floor cracked underneath you, unfazing you as you hissed at him. “You know she’s kinda hot when she’s all feisty like this,” Colby chuckled, amused with the situation. Sam shot him a dirty look as he held you down. “Is this really the time to be thinking with your dick?” He barked. Colby rolled his eyes, lowering himself to your level. His hand reached over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Look at me princess. Focus on me,” He purred. His command made you temporarily pause, your freshly crimson eyes a darker shade of red than the boys. His touch was assertive and demanding, his familiar voice bringing you back to reality. “There we go. Now keep focusing on us,” Colby ordered. His eyes flickered to Sam, ensuring he was taking the not so subtle hint. Sam and Colby knew more information about newborns than they cared to. Colby turned first, all of those years ago. He refused to live without his best friend, who was dying from the same plague he was. So he did everything he could to try to obtain information on newborns, trying his hardest to take care of Sam.

But that was years ago and despite all of the decades passing, Colby remembered one crucial detail that would now come in handy. Newborns still had hormones, despite the science disclaiming that. As a newborn you were in a constant of feralness, the only two things on your mind feeding and finding a mate. So now as the two boys hovered over you, Colby had a daring realization. If they fucked you hard enough, you’d be knocked out for at least a few hours. It was what he considered to be an hormone overload. Actually obtaining what you wanted so desperately would only overstimulate your fresh set of senses. The result would end the same if you participated in gluttony. Those few hours would give them time to get you away from society, as well as figure out what to do with a ravenous newborn.

Sam carried you over to your couch, kneeling down in front of you. He was careless with your clothes, ripping your sweatpants into shreds. “We don’t need to be gentle with you anymore, do we Colbs?” Sam purred. Colby was behind you in a flash, cupping your throat from behind. You tilted your head back to meet his intense gaze, Sam’s strong hands prying your legs apart. “I don’t think we do. But you can take it, right princess?” Colby hummed, smirking in satisfaction as you meekly verbalized agreement. Sam’s fangs were sharp as they sank into the fabric of your panties, ripping them off of you carelessly. Teasingly he kissed around your folds, purposefully making his breath hot against your now frozen skin.

His teasing was working, causing you to squirm as you tried to buck your hips upwards. Sam hooked your legs over his shoulders, indulging in the sweet heaven that was your cunt. You groaned as Colby’s fingers tightened, painfully grabbing the skin. “That feels good doesn’t it? Feels good when Sam plays with that pretty pussy of yours?” He asked mockingly. He couldn’t conceal his fangs as you moaned in response, unable to control his urges as he admired you. Sam lapped at your cunt, teasingly grazing his teeth against your clit as you grinded shamelessly against his face.

Your thighs were captivating as you squeezed his head, your strength far more comparable to theirs since your transition. Colby lowered down behind you, his breath hot against your ear. “You like that? You like watching Sam please you?” He asked. You could feel yourself melting under their touch, your fingers palming at Sam’s hair. Sam remained unfazed by his surroundings, engulfing himself in your folds. He sucked at your clit, your back arching off of the couch as you felt yourself on the edge of your first orgasm.

“Fuck- feels so good, fuck!”

Your sinful noises were louder than you intended them to be, your body shivering with pleasure as you came on Sam’s face. Your thirst for blood temporarily resumed, causing Sam and Colby to rearrange you quickly to keep you occupied. Your back fully hit the couch, Colby making himself comfortable in between your legs. He leaned over and grabbed your throat, causing you to meet his stern gaze. “You’ve been a bad girl. Disobeying Sammy. Now be a good whore and take your punishment,” He chuckled darkly. He guided you to tilt your head back, Sam’s hard cock hovering over your face. You flattened your tongue out across your bottom lip, inviting him to slide into your throat.

Sam was more eager than you had anticipated, quickly shoving his shaft down your throat. He groaned as you whimpered around him, the vibrations making him even harder. You gasped in surprise as Colby took no time to slide right in to your cunt, your walls eagerly accepting him. “Holy fuck, I can just slide right in. Filthy slut,” Colby grunted. He grabbed your legs, shoving them over his shoulders. You whined as they both bottomed out, your gagging ignored as Sam grabbed your throat with both of his hands. Instinctively your eyes fluttered shut, your jaw going slack as a warm feeling took over your body.

Colby pounded into you relentlessly, focused on fucking you as aggressively and animalistic as possible. Sam’s pace was the same, abusing your cunt. “I think she likes this. Being used like a whore,” Sam sneered. He leaned over and ripped apart your shirt, the fabric falling apart under his touch. Your bare breast bounced as Colby rammed into you, Sam seizing the opportunity to slap your breast harshly. It was then the couch gave out, the wooden supports shattering. It didn’t halt the boys at all, your couch now broken. You audibly whined, your head spinning as you took both of them. “Don’t start whining now little girl, you asked for this,” Colby snarled. He began to fuck into you deeper, abusing your cunt as he pleased. Your walls clung onto him, milking his cock as he fucked you like a wild animal.

Sam bit his bottom lip as he abused your throat, saliva messily trailing down your cheeks. You couldn’t control your moans, that were being mercilessly muffled by his shaft. The three of you were feral, becoming one unit as your final orgasm approached. You couldn’t warn them, not that you’d need to. They knew your body better than they knew each other. Colby grinned as he felt your walls squeeze him tighter. “Aweee is someone gonna cum already?” Colby asked mockingly. Sam licked his lips, feeling his own hips stutter. “Cum as you swallow my cum slut,” He barked, his warm seed flooding down your throat. You gagged as you struggled to swallow him whole, his cock remaining lodged. You attempted to swallow it all, Sam abruptly pulling out of you.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look up at Colby. “Dont swallow it all, let it trail down your tongue slut,” Sam growled. You tried to listen, spitting up his cum and sticking out your tongue. You managed to look up at Colby as he fucked you, his thrust no where near stopping as he stared down at you. “Good girl, such a good slut for us,” Colby purred. Sam’s fingers roughly gathered his cum mixed with your saliva, spreading it across your chest. “A filthy fuckin whore is what she is. I bet she’d cum if I told her to,” Sam said. You struggled to contain your noises, Sam’s fangs grazing your earlobe. “Let’s put that theory to the test, cum. Now,” Colby ordered, his voice full of venom. It was then darkness consumed you, your thighs trembling as you came on his cock.

Transitioning from a newborn to normal vampire was chaotic. At first you were feral, Sam and Colby never having had so much sex in their lives. For the first decade the three of you hid in the woods, the boys having more than enough time to craft the perfect getaway cabin. It kept you concealed from society, which worked out perfectly as you were deemed missing under mysterious circumstances.

Truthfully as time passed you didn’t miss anything about your human life at all. Every second you spent awake with them was more than you could’ve ever asked for. Your reality was better than any dreams you could’ve possibly missed. You laid in between the boys as you usually did, the hammock swaying side to side. A nice summer breeze blew past you, your eyes fluttered shut in contentment as you laid on Colby’s chest. Sam’s fingers played carelessly with your hair, creating a deep sense of comfort. You may now have ridiculously sharp fangs, but your life was peaceful. And spending entirety with Sam and Colby? That’s all you could really ask for.

#sam and colby x you #sam golbach x you #sam goldbach smut #sam golbach x colby brock #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach x reader #sam golbach smut #sam and colby smut #sam golbach #sam and colby #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby brock

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hogans-heroes · 2 months ago

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Maybe a new series of drabbles based on ideas that will never become fic?

#1: Gale’s escape turned out differently and he arrived at Thorpe Abbots with a lot of bruising and wounds, especially around his neck, and he’s not able to talk. Bucky arrives weeks later in a much weaker state as well.

***

Gale had almost believed he was done with pain now that the war was nearly over. He made it out, made it back to base, made it through each day with the throbbing in his neck and spikes of agony when he moved too much. His legs didn’t hold him so well either, but he hadn’t needed them to after Bucky showed up and Gale planted himself at his bedside.

Bucky had been carried from the prisoner transport to the medical ward on base, and for days had been too weak to even hold up his head. Gale never left his side, stroking his sweat-damp hair and the sharp edges under his skin where he had gotten even thinner after Gale left him.

Gale had left him. He threw himself into the guilt now, letting it drown him, choke him as he stared into Bucky’s worn eyes looking at Gale with devastated worry.

“What happened, Rosie?” Bucky rasped, alternating looks between Gale’s neck and the now-experienced major sitting on Bucky’s other side, his usual spot of late.

Rosie crossed his arms, more holding himself than anything, and his sad gaze never moved from John.

“We don’t know,” he said. “We don’t know anything. He hitched a ride on some cargo flight, just showed up one day.”

“Like this?”

Rosie’s lips pursed and and the benevolent mask cracked just a little. “Worse,” he said quietly.

It had been weeks since Gale arrived, since the shock on Rosie’s face had morphed into horror and grief as he recognized Gale and realized the state he was in. Rosie was usually good about keeping emotions off his face, but not then, couldn’t keep the stutter out of his breathing as he cradled Gale’s head to his chest after he had collapsed in a bundle of too-big overcoat, dizzy with exertion and bones rattling with coughing. Rosie’s steady hands and voice were all he remembered after that, Croz and Blakely’s presence added and never leaving as the doctors prodded and examined, finally pronouncing a we don’t know on his recovery.

Gale wondered if Rosie remembered what his vocie sounded like from before he was shot down. All he’d heard since was the cracked rattling when Gale was trying to scream in his sleep.

“What did they do?” Bucky growled. “Can he physically not speak or is it something else? He faltered, swallowing. “It’s not permanent right?

Rosie didn’t answer as Bucky slid fingers into Gale’s hair and coaxed him closer, brushing his neck and his chin with gentle touches as Bucky inspected the harsh marks. A warm finger trailed over his pulse point and Bucky looked like the breath had been stolen right from his chest.

“Can you make a sound, darling?” He begged. “Anything? Please?”

Gale swallowed, trying to conceal the wince as he did so, and watched Bucky’s soul break apart, devastation bleeding into Gale where his hands cradled battered flesh and Gale shuddered at the ghost of memories fighting to surface.

“God what have I done?” Bucky choked out. His hands trembled in Gale’s hair but he wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes aching and distant in a way that had Gale’s brain screaming to soothe. “Rosie, it’s my fault, I made him escape, I goaded him. He wouldn’t have tried if I wasn’t— What did they do?”

I’m sorry! Gale wanted to sob, to grab Bucky’s arms and lungs and heart and force his words into them, to make him understand and take the hurt away. I’m sorry!

When Bucky pulled him closer Gale slumped immediately, burying his face in Bucky’s sweet-smelling skin. He longed to soothe him, to make promises he could only hope to keep, but all he could force out were tears to wet the hollow of Bucky’s throat.

#masters of the air #mota #buck x bucky #clegan #mota not-fic series

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asterdisaster06 · 3 months ago

Text

Rottweiler

Summary > the aftermath of the previous mission rottweiler went on

Word count > 1.9k

a/n > i’m back with some more inspiration and maybe a more reliable posting schedule. this time, rottweiler is fighting themselves rather than a faceless enemy

“Are you sure you’re okay to spar?”

“Yes, now will you shut up?” You snarled out to the man in front of you.

“For the record, the doctor recommended you to rest a few more days. Refrain from tearing any stitching out,” Ghost stated, staring deep into your soul - or what was left of it.

You match his gaze, hardened to far worse than the disappointed deadpan he was giving you just now. You knew he was right to some extent. The medical staff did give you a major side eye as they saw you leaving, but they let you check yourself out. It’s unlikely you would have taken no for an answer, following in the footsteps of your fellow teammates. They can’t particularly say shit to you after what they’ve pulled in the past and they know it

Soap, who’s had an entire rusted pole sticking out of him, more shrapnel coating his frame than you thought the human body could ever escape from alive. Blood coagulating on the dusty sand below him, a sick abstract art. An elegy to his role as a demolitions expert - the very thing that might have killed him. Except it didn’t.

He took a fist to the reaper and threw him the middle finger for good measure.

Simon, God, Simon. There was barely anything that boy hadn’t been through. His past was a humourless tale crafted by something far beyond anything comprehensible. There isn’t even a specific instance to describe as death was determined to make his body match his name. A symbol of death, remnanted - left to wander. A sick dance, each touch driving a wedge further and further between Simon and the world of the living. It should have left him wounded, but it only made him a good soldier.

He spat in the face of God and refused an apology from the devil. She shed tears for him, and he turned them to vapour with the heat of his fury.

Gaz, a walking liability to himself - though unintentional. He’s like a ragdoll at the whims of whatever life throws at him. Or, more accurately, where life throws him. It’s a miracle he’s existed this long without a permanent injury given what he’s experiences almost daily. From the small, tripping over himself or running into tables, to the big, falling out of helicopters or over the railings of bridges.

He was made to die, but all he had to say to that was ‘but I’m here to stay.’ He insists, it seems, on living.

Price, he’s experienced a lot. Life hasn’t treated him well, not that it treated any of the other’s with soft hands, but especially him. He’s seen enough to be scarred for ten lifetimes over. The choices he’s had to make might weigh heavier on his heart than the scars littering his body. If Simon is a walking ghost, Price is a shambling corpse.

His life is brimming with sorrow, and it appears as if he has killed his own guardian angel to survive as ours. An ode to those he loves.

“Hesitating like that can cost you your life, y’know,” Simon grumbles, bringing you back to the present.

“So I’ve been told,” You spit, a phantom taste of blood following it.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

He takes calculated steps, circling you like a dog. The dust beneath your feet shifts - seeming to breathe alongside you. You’re stiff, more so than you would’ve liked to be in these sorts of scenarios; it doesn’t stop you though. Bloodshot eyes stare back at you and you aren’t sure if it’s Simon’s or a reflection of your own. A pause. A moment taken out of respect - a silence. An opening.

You jump.

You claw.

You grasp.

A pitiful attempt against someone you couldn’t even beat on your best day, not in a way that mattered. Given a weapon, and an element of surprise, you might have had a chance. Hand-to-hand combat paired with a lack of fluid movement renders you careless and therefore battered into defeat. Simon is like a bear, or a ram, maybe a mountain lion. These are the thoughts that fully occupy you for the moment you’re rushed to your back, thrown to the ground with as much care as he could manage.

“I told you, you aren’t ready.”

“I never was, Simon,” You huff out, ragged breaths choked by the dirt flying in the air.

“You hesitate,” He points out. “You didn’t used to.”

“I didn’t,” You insist. A lie, and you know it.

“Doesn’t matter, you won’t be getting back on the field for another month regardless. Not my decision so save your yapping,” He lets the knee off your chest and offers a hand. You don’t take it.

“There’s nothing interesting for another month, I’ll live,” You shake off his attempt to rattle you.

“Don’t be so sure,” Simon says, bringing down his neck gaiter. You can’t help but stare at the scar across his lip.

“Looking good LT,” Soap’s voice carries across the field.

“I know the last mission diminished my looks, but am I really that bad?” You deadpan.

“Of course not, Rottie. Do I not tell you enough how stunning you are?” Soap adjusts the fabric around your neck, a touch far more gentle than you deserve.

A wry smile creeps across your face. Your boys always let you know how appreciated you are, both for your abilities and appearance. They’re like your little cheer squad sometimes. Gaz and Soap are more vocal about it, but small touches and comments from Price and Ghost always cause a ripple of butterflies in your stomach.

You roll your eyes and reply, “Far too much, Johnny.” You didn’t mean it.

“Get used to it,” He says, giving you a little mock salute.

It brings your attention to the bandage still on his hand, freshly changed. It reminds you that yours likely need to be cleaned and switched at this point, but you feel undeserving of that kindness. A deep sense of guilt washes over you.

“Don’t sweat it, Bonnie.” He always knows what you’re thinking, a skill you wish would’ve lost its accuracy long ago.

“I need a walk,” You sigh, finishing it off with: “Alone.”

Your feet carry you away, far from the discomfort that was growing inside of your chest. An overwhelming, overachiever, though, you weren’t sure whether you were talking about yourself or the resentment felt towards your mangled body and mind. The memories linger beyond the physical flesh wounds, and somehow hurt more. They sink their teeth into your mangy fur, sticking like fleas to a street mongrel. Your thoughts scrape down your flank. Piercing to the bone; brittle and sad excuses of the framework that is your cage.

You weren’t sure how you felt, but you knew it wasn’t a good feeling. It settled underneath your skin like a parasite. It laid on top of it like a tick. You were terrified. That’s what it was. It was familiar, like your mirror years ago. A sick reflection of an even sicker dog. Self pity wells up like tears, pooling like blood, streaming like sweat. You tread further and further, each footfall sounding like bullets to you. Maybe you’re just stressed.

A whole entire month. It gnaws at you, that information. It shouldn’t, but it does. You know your team better than anyone; they’re reliable, resilient, and know how to function without you. They did it long before, and can continue to do so long after. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t hurt. If it didn’t sting like nettle brushing against your fur. It is unlikely that any extreme mission would be put forth while a team member was out of commission, but you never know with the higher ups. It pains you, an ache blooms across your body at the thought of missing out on the danger. Flowering into a debilitating burn inside of you. Afflicting your mind, thoughts run wild with what ifs.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be up and walking, soldier.”

You had walked yourself right into the lion’s den.

“Price,” You greet, nervousness bubbling up in your throat.

“Rottie.”

“They didn’t stop me,” You say as an excuse.

“Unless they wanted to tranquillise you, I don’t think they could,” Price rolls his eyes.

“They’re free to try,” You quip, shrugging.

“That’s the point, nobody wants to.”

“I’m here, I can walk, I’m not tearing any stitches out, I can shower on my own. What else do you want?” You glare half-heartedly at the rugged man in front of you.

“I want you on bed rest and away from any missions, soldier,” Price says, a forlorn tone almost coating his words like honey. It almost makes you want to roll over and submit, licking the taste from his hands. Key word, almost. Your pride won’t allow you to.

“Like hell that’s happening. I really can’t be arsed to follow any of what I just heard,” You snap. You were cold, tired, and going stir crazy. This wasn’t what you needed-

“This is exactly what you need. A step away from this life. Away from us,” Price says, paralysing you. He isn’t wrong, but he isn’t right either.

“Where do you want me to go?” You ask, slipping into the professional nature. Like a hunting dog sent on a mission, following the scent of those above and below itself.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Don’t do that. Don’t treat it like just another mission from your past life,” Price’s tone hardens alongside his face - all traces of softness gone to someone who hasn’t known him. Not like you have. You know it’s like correcting a dog; you still love them, but they need guidance sometimes. You fight against it.

“Where, Price, where?” You ask again.

“Laswell suggested spending some time in the states. Away from all of this. Someplace you’ll be. . . content.” His hollow words echo the word “safe” as if you actively seek trouble these days. Actively sniff out traps yet always seem to get your paw clamped in the snares meant for rabbits.

“Fine,” You say, about to turn on your heel and leave.

“Hound,” Price starts, using your official callsign. “Don’t take this the wrong way, don’t distance yourself again. You’ve worked hard to get here and have earned a safe place-”

“Except for when I actually need it,” You let slip out.

“It isn’t safe here.”

“It’s a hell of a lot safer than where I was before, don’t you think?” You snarl, teeth bared and lips pulled back. Rabid, foaming at the mouth, not a house pet anymore.

“We aren’t kicking you out.” Price says this, but you can’t help but doubt it.

“Okay.”

“I mean it, we aren’t.”

“Okay.”

You find yourself staring at the scars Price lets fly free in the old tee he decided to don today. You helped pick it out. Tearing your eyes away from his chest, you can’t find yourself to meet his gaze, opting instead to stare at the paraphernalia around his office. You linger on the photos of your team a little too long. Logically you know he’s right, this is a temporary precaution. If only it didn’t feel like the quarantine before they lop your head off to test for rabies.

“I’m going to go now,” You speak, knowing it’s not what Price was waiting for you to say.

“Okay,” He responds, his turn now for the small talk.

Turning on your feet, you prepare yourself for the god awful goodbyes that will inevitably have to occur and the temporary gift of life being bestowed upon you. If only it felt that way. If only you could view it as that. If only it didn’t have to happen. If only.

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