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toxicanonymity · 1 month

Text

The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step. The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask covered his chin too, but not his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

Thank you for reading and engaging! Love you guys 🖤 please consider commenting even if this is old. It helps to know what you liked.

If you want more, good news - I have more thots! Feel free to send yours, too.

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flowersandbigteeth · 3 months

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Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.

I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵

Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader

Word Count: 5K

Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference

More monster fluff here

“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust.

“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”

You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand.

“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?”

“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.”

“By assaulting me?” you snapped.

There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces.

Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying.

It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless.

“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.”

One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop.

“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.

He waved to his accomplices.

“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping.

You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice.

“The enemy approaches! Your swords!”

The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you.

Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight.

Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you.

The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical.

When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm.

“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.”

You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them.

You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming.

The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop.

He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building.

“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran.

Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet.

You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language. There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold.

A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in.

“What’s in there?” you asked.

He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside.

“Hello?”

Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond.

“Enter, little one.”

Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw.

You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand.

“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger.

“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.”

“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.”

He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you.

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up.

“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.”

You blinked up at him.

“Oh…Am I your prisoner?”

He chuckled.

“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.”

You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it.

“I can’t stay here with you!”

He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly.

“Why is that, little one?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.”

A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground.

“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him.

“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”

The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks.

“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore.

He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile.

“You’ll fit right in here.”

You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced.

“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.”

“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.”

“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?”

He flicked a fingertip at your poker.

“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.”

Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it.

“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.”

He snorted at you but nodded his head.

“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.”

“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…”

He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny.

“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.”

Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms.

“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down.

He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand.

“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.”

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky.

“Do you feel like submitting?”

You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down.

“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.”

He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs.

“This is your bed.”

He gave you another smile.

“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.”

Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets.

He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed.

—

You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored.

Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.

“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked.

“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?”

“This is a war camp, not a nursery.”

“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.”

“I outrank you. I can take your command.”

Cedar snorted.

“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.”

Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through.

“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!”

Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow.

There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG.

“Woah!” the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal.

A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.

Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.

“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods.

Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer.

“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”

When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head.

“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it.

“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.”

He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book.

He smiled.

“Reading.”

You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth.

“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.”

You looked him up and down.

“I can’t imagine you as a child.”

You thought for a second, tapping your chin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.”

He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable.

“You will,” he said as he flipped a page.

Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work.

By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle.

“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air.

Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement.

“Here.”

You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question.

“What are you going to do with all of us?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.”

He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash.

“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”

Your eyebrows jumped.

“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?”

He shrugged.

“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.”

“What? The soldiers said you attacked!”

He chuckled.

“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.”

“You mean…you wish to mate with us?”

His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod.

“Is that so surprising?”

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?”

His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch.

“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.”

He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders.

“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again.

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed.

His smile widened.

“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.”

Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot.

“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.

Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass.

Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come.

It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure.

A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside.

A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all.

“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.”

The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary.

“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!”

You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table.

“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed.

“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another.

“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?”

Another woman scoffed.

“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.”

Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered.

“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!”

You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands.

“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.”

Linda squeaked in horror.

“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!”

“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!”

“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!”

“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.”

You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.”

You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets.

Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh.

“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap.

“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!”

You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife.

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!”

Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles.

“What is she thinking?!”

“Linda, come back!”

“Let her go, she’s nuts.”

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker.

“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!”

Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda.

You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier.

“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!”

“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!”

Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black.

—

“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away.

Isla scoffed.

“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!”

“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!”

“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”

You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared.

“What…what happened?” you murmured.

“She’s awake!” Isla gasped.

You felt her cool hands against your cheek.

“Take it slow, here; have some water.”

She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned.

“Is everyone okay?” you asked.

Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit.

“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.”

Another woman poked her head out of the tent.

“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!”

“Untie who? Is the battle over?”

Isla nodded.

“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”

She smirked at you.

“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!”

You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?”

“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.”

Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you.

“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go.

“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.”

Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look.

“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered.

He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in.

“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head.

You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep.

“Our home?”

He grinned at you, counting on his fingers.

“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!”

He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.

“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.

Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend #orc #orc romance

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

The One where Soap finds Himself in an ✨ Awkward ✨Situation. [ Ghost x Reader ]

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Soap Being Confused, Occasional Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except for ‘You’.

Summary: Hiding out at your house, the 141 are settling in for the evening. Soap ends up hearing something he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have on his way to the bathroom. But why can’t he seem to stop listening ?

“Gah! Fuck–”

The voice splintering through the door made Soap jump – near caused him to soil his favourite pair of jeans as it rumbled through the wood, practically taking it off its hinges with how the nails shuddered in their slots. The voice was baritone, deep. Grizzled. A carnality slumbered in its tone, rearing its waking head.

Ghost.

“Shh, Simon ! You’re going to get us caught !”

Yours followed soon after, a reprimand Johnny would never dream of dishing to the most lethal man he’s ever known. And yet here you were, doing God-knows-what, speaking to him as if you were in control.

When all went quiet again, just for a moment, Soap stopped and wondered if it had all been a hallucination. One second, then two. A low moan slipped beneath the door. Johnny jumped.

He was just going to walk away. Truly, he was ! He – and the rest of the 141 – saw how much chemistry – history – you and Ghost shared. Although, he’d just never imagined you’d be sharing it with the rest of the house, too.

Well, if Simon’s volume was anything to go by.

Johnny’s eyes drifted from the end of the hallway – where the beloved bathroom was – to the door beside him. He bit his lip, heart beating, still recovering from the fright. His curiosity was far from piqued – it shot through the bloody roof and left an impromptu skylight in its wake. And as imaginary sunlight filtered in through the hole, Johnny begged that divine intervention would tear him away from the scene unfolding beside him so he wouldn’t have to.

“God, don’t stop,” came Simon’s pleading tone, any harshness that was custom to it having melted away. Soap, against all better judgement and higher power, inched closer to the door. He cast a glance over his shoulder, once, twice. Nobody lurked behind. His ear was almost pressed to the wood. He could hear Simon panting, hear you humming as you did…something.

“I won’t – not until you’re finished.” There was little to be heard in the way of shame in your voice, especially in your gentle whisper: “I promise.” Soap swallowed thickly, then, blinking, began rubbing his ears. He couldn’t be hearing this right. He just couldn’t !

Only, when he had thoroughly cleared the imaginary poison from his ears, the issue remained.

“Shit–! That’s it, right there–”

“God, you’re so stiff, Simon. What have you been doing while you were away ?” There was almost a purr to your voice. Ghost only let out a moan as his response, muffled by what Johnny could only guess were pillows.

Why am I still here?! he all but screamed, remembering that he was no Pinocchio, trapped on this stage, bound by strings. He could have been a free man if he so wished. And trust, he did. So why was it that, when he went to walk away, to scour his ears with bleach, to finally embark upon his uninterrupted journey to the bathroom, that he found himself glued in place ?

Perhaps it was the primal instinct to know all that there is to know, to discern danger wherever it lay. Or, perhaps, he was so eneamoured with the idea of whatever could be happening on the other side of this door – Ghost being human for a change – that he couldn’t bring himself to pass up the opportunity to see him so…vulnerable.

That sounded about right.

“(Y/N),” Ghost’s voice husked, no longer dampened, restricted, by an unknown force. He groaned, long and unfiltered. The way he spoke your name was almost in the tone of love, its softest and most carnal form, as if tasting the gradient of your syllables, vowels and consonants upon his tongue. He all but growled. You gasped.

“(Y/N), you’re so close–”

“You want it there, Simon ?” You didn’t miss a beat. Soap’s breath caught in his throat. He looked over his shoulder to the imaginary camera filming his ordeal.

“Yes, yes, God – yes–”

“Doing so well for me, Si,” you said, soft and encouraging. Ghost’s breathing was at its heaviest now, heaving breaths as if they were bricks, building a tower from which he may never come down. A high he will never beat.

“We’re almost there,” you told him, to which he only let out a thick, strangled noise, bulging beneath invisible chains as he tried to conceal it. His moans only grew longer and more frequent, his jaw presumably dropping open to let them pass when he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Soap began to wring his hands, thankful for the lack of a keyhole in the door so to spare him the intrusive desire to spy on the situation visually, too. Trapped in his own daze, his hurried, sweating, anxious contemplation was torn open by a sound so sharp and brilliant he never wanted to hear it again.

Ghost moaned.

Straight-up howled, roared, as he came to an end.

Soap’s soul clung to his body as the sheer calamity Ghost’s booming voice brought with it shook the very ground he stood on. Johnny’s hands flew to his racing heart, trying to catch it as it jumped up his throat.

Simon’s voice tapered, muffled after most likely burying his face into a pillow. With every exhale, a sliver of euphoria would follow, eventually baying out like the tide, his breathing returning to a shallow rhythm. And all the while, you paid him words of comfort.

“Well done,” you said, the smile in your voice evident. “Took it so well, Simon,” Your voice was feather-light, belied the illicit nature of all Soap had heard you do.

Though, even in this dazed, mortified state, he couldn’t fathom how you sounded so…normal. As if you’d exerted no energy.

Perhaps (Y/N)’s just…strong…? Johnny’s reasoning left much to be desired, that much he knew. Even Ghost was winded, and he was by far the fittest of the 141.

In amongst his rampant thoughts, the idea to flee the scene came too late as, upon hearing you dismount Ghost, your footsteps fast approaching the door, Johnny’s eyes widened, the state he’d be in if either you or Ghost found him unintentionally spying flashing before his eyes as his life no doubt would later.

He couldn’t scramble away in time. He ran on the spot, a cartoon, his impending doom facing him head-on as you swung the door open. His eyes all but watered as he caught sight of you wiping your hands on a towel. You smiled.

“Oh, hey, Jo-Jo !” You said, his nickname rolling off your tongue as if Simon’s hadn’t been just minutes ago. You gave him a brief nod before walking past him, a spectre. A harbinger of death. Johnny stood, body reeling, mind freezing, as nothing became clearer to him except your blase manner. He released a short, puffed breath.

He saw the inside of your bedroom, your bed just out of sight, hidden by the door.

Breath quivering, Body shaking, Soap knew this was his chance.

His last chance.

He turned. Didn’t even make the floorboards creak as he did so.

“Fuck’re you lookin’ at, Johnny ?”

Ghost’s voice rolled across Soap’s mind like thunder clouds, despite the laxity of it, the slowness. He froze, ice rain slipping down the back of his shirt and making him stand up straight. Rigid.

“Uh…I–” He winced, his voice cracking, showing the uncertainty that lay below his usually obsidian tone.

“N-Nothing, Sir !”

Sir ? We’re not at base now, you daft fool–

“Somethin’s obviously botherin’ you,” came Ghost again. He let out a breath. “So come on.” His voice was free from the cotton-mouth effect of the pillows.

“Say it.”

Johnny swallowed, his voice prickling either with dehydration, tears, or an unsolvable mixture of both. When he said nothing – did nothing – Ghost sighed.

“Come on, Johnny,” he said, stark as ever. “Haven’t got all day.”

“W…Well–”

“And come out from ‘round that door. S’impolite not to face the person you’re talking to.”

Johnny’s heart stopped.

No, he couldn’t have heard him properly.

“Are…you…sure…?”

Better safe than sorry.

“What’d’you– course I’m bloody sure. Now stop messin’ about and get in ‘ere.”

Taking a deep breath, and a leap of faith, Johnny rounded the door, the corner. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and praying.

He heard Simon sigh.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – at least open you eyes, you daft prick.”

Begrudgingly, hesitantly, Soap cracked one eye open, then the other.

His brain almost couldn’t fathom the dissonance between all that was there, all that wasn’t, and all that he’d expected there to be.

Simon was chest-down on your bed, arms surrounding a bundle of pillows, holding them as if they were collected sticks, his head resting atop one. He watched Johnny from the corner of his half-lidded eye. He was dressed from the waist down, and his back, wet with what Soap had initially come to the horrifying conclusion was sweat, was actually bronzed with what permeated the air: a soothing oil.

Lavender.

Soap’s gaze jumped from point to point, trying to find something – anything – of the reality that had played out behind the door.

“Well ?” Ghost said. “I’m listening.”

Johnny, for the last time, swallowed, rubbed the back of his neck. His frying nerves cooled, though electricity still ran through them.

“I thought–” he gave the room another once-over.

“I thought you and… (Y/N)... were…”

Simon huffed.

“Were…?”

Johnny let out a breath, an almost-laugh. He gave a feeble smile.

“Nothin’ Sir–”

“No, go on,” Ghost prodded, getting up onto his elbows and turning over, now facing Johnny. “I’m curious now.”

John bit his lip, trying to quell the incessant itch there. He could taste the sweat collecting on his top lip.

“I just thought that…” He couldn’t look SImon in the eyes, his gaze bouncing around the room. He could feel Simon’s eyes narrowing, his patience waning.

He sighed. The jig was up.

“I…thought– that you and (Y/N) were…” He looked to Ghost, who gave no indication of understanding what Johnny was getting at, his disposition monotone as ever. Even without the mask, he was no less imposing.

Johnny made a gesture with his fists, bumping them together.

Simon’s eyes widened by a fraction of a fraction.

He said nothing. Soap’s fight-or-flight instinct re-activated. He glanced at the door. The hallway. His narrow chance of escape.

“How–” Ghost’s voice drew Johnny back to the land of the living.

“How loud were we ?”

Johnny grimaced.

“Not really (Y/N), Sir,” he said. “Just…” his hand grew into the shape of what he was trying to say. “You.”

Upon seeing Simon’s eyes widen even more, Johnny’s gaze dropped. And found another, damning detail.

Quick, use your natural humour and charm !

“Though,” he smiled, crooked, sided and small. A start. “I can see something’s made you somewhat excited,”

Simon’s eyebrow raised, and following Soap’s gaze, his shoulders went rigid.

Oh no.

A tent had been pitched in his sweatpants, plain as day for all who looked to see. Johnny’s top set of teeth grappled with his bottom lip, trying to purse his lips shut.

A snort sneaked past, and he slapped a hand over his mouth immediately, as if trying to scoop it back in.

Ghost’s gaze hardened. His eyes concrete.

“Tell (Y/N), you die tonight.”

Soap, smiling widely, simply turned in the beginnings of his departure.

“Course, Lieutenant,” he said. “Aaanything you say.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 ghost #soap mactavish #soap mctavish #soap mw2

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borzoilover69 · 4 months

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Fuck it, I’ll say it.

Cannibalism used as a love metaphor is characterised as the consumption and offering of flesh as an act of devotion to your lover. Being consumed is the closest one being can be to another. You literally become a part of them. It speaks to the carnal human desire to be touched and remain impossibly close to another person.

Dirks splinters SERVE that purpose to Jake. We see it first with Brobot, who rips out his heart and offers it to Jake to use and further Jakes goals. Then we see it in BGD who is LITERALLY a part of Jake. Not to mention the one version of Dirk we see Jake talk to face to face in the comic. Later this becomes even more prominent in the comic when Jake gets jacked up on hope and uses it to make BGD real in game over, and its the strongest we SEE Dirk in comic, able to rip out araneas soul and land actual damage on her. This “consumed” splinter draws power from Jake. (Considering in the final fight Dirk got shot, beheaded, and was barely able to land hits on the jacks in person.)

And of course, the iconic Dirkjake kiss. An offering of Dirks head, to Jake. The most dramatic, over the top kiss in the comic like. Ever. The necessity for Jake to kiss Dirks severed head for the sake of everyone, and he does, blood still dripping from Dirks lips.

Theres just something about dirks splinters giving them to jake whether it be his heart or his head or a part of Dirks soul and how it ties back to the sanctity of the flesh and cannibalism

#jake english #dirk strider #homestuck #hom3stuck #dirkjake #borzoi talks #borzoi meta #homestuck meta #yeah ok ill say it

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kathaynesart · 5 months

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Now that we're starting to hop around the timeline a bit, I figured it would be wise to post an official timeline of events to avoid confusion (note: always subject to change). I had also considered doing a similar Happy>Angst Scale Timeline like what Cass and Tapa have done in the past but... even I'm not 100% sure I want to see what that is going to look like haha.

NOTES OF INTEREST LISTED BELOW:

Pre 2022 is literally just the show ROTTMNT. These boys are supposed to be as close to canon as possible so it's a good reminder that everything that happened in the show happened to them as well (no they were not human kids that got mutated at a zoo, that was a big fat lie they told the EPF, I keep getting questions about that haha).

2022 - The Invasion catches them all by surprise and the Krang begin their conquest of the planet Earth. The Mad Dogs do what they can, but are as much in the dark as the rest of the world as to what these things are and where they came from.

2026 - This is the point where THIS INTERVIEW happens. Their Lair is destroyed by the Krang, as is the Hidden City. Splinter is killed and with nowhere left to go the boys turn to the last remaining human colony in the US. It is here they finally discover the true origins of the Krang and Leo realizes his hand in it.

2028 - The Holiday Special when Casey Junior is born! Look forward to it!

2030 - "The Day the Sky Bled Red" The fall of the Central Park Colony, the EPF, and the last remnants of the US Government. The survivors create the Liberty Colony located beneath the Statue of Liberty and form the Resistance, where humans, yokai, and mutants are treated equally.

2036-44 - Where the vast majority of Replica's story will be told.

Leaving some details sparse because they'll probably be addressed at some point in the story, but hopefully this information might help give better context.

#rottmnt replica #replica #rottmnt #kathaynesart #save rottmnt #unpause rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #q&a #timeline

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milswrites · 15 days

Text

The world belongs to dreamers

~ Rhysand X Reader

Summary: Whilst struggling to cope with the loss of his mother and sister, you show Rhysand what it means to dream once more.

Warnings: Serious angst (loss of family) but a fluffy/hopeful ending?

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

You spoke the words softly, afraid to startle the young High Lord as you slowly approached him from behind. Rhysand providing you with no sign of acknowledgement as you came to sit beside him on the roof of the Town House.

Rather, the males expression remained as cold as stone. His empty violet eyes free from the shackles of human emotion as Rhysand icily stared off into the vast oblivion of the night sky.

You were sat beside a broken man.

One who had lost everything; everyone. He was a male who had nothing left to live for and yet that was exactly what was expected of him - to continue living. The sweet kiss of death being a mercy that Rhysand would not be allowed to receive, not whilst he had his duty to the court.

It was impossible to know what to say in the face of grief and you were certain that whatever meagre words of comfort you could provide Rhysand would fall deaf upon his ears. Besides, what was there to say that hadn’t already been spoken?

And so you offered him the only thing you could think of; your company. A silent companion in Rhysand's time of need. You wouldn't allow yourself to be the one to lure him into a false state of happiness with empty hope and useless reassurances. You would be a grounding presence, an open ear. Silently shouldering your friend’s burden to help carry the weight of his sorrows alongside him.

It took an hour for Rhysand to notice you, a seconds glance in your direction accompanied by grunt of acknowledgement before he cast his chilling gaze back to the stars. Then another hour of silence was needed before he could find the words to speak to you and when he finally did, it was difficult to ignore the way your heart shattered at the rawness of his vulnerability.

"They're really gone, aren't they?"

It was a question with only one answer, yet it was one you couldn't speak. Rhysand needn't hear the truth because he had already seen it. Your friend having witnessed the unthinkable, having seen things that no son - no brother - should ever have to see.

Rhysand's brows knitted together at your failure to answer him, turning his violet eyes back to the stars in defeat. A low growl rumbling in his chest as he finally allowed his festering anger to consume him, the darkness which plagued his splintered soul breaking free from its constraints.

"It should have been me" he hissed, a bitter mask of fury marring his handsome features. Rhysand's usually bright eyes now dark and unforgiving. Despite the fact his wings were hidden, you didn’t fail to notice the daunting presence of shadows which commanded your attention in their absence.

All you could do was helplessly shake your head in disagreement, tears beginning to sting your eyes as you pathetically replied, "You don't mean that Rhys, not really."

An empty laugh escaped from his lips, the rolling of his eyes a stab to your heart as he retorted, "My mother is dead. My sister is dead. My Father. . . Are you going to stand there idly and foolishly believe that everything is ok? There's nothing left for me now but ruins. I have no one.”

“You have me” you answer, pained eyes meeting Rhysand’s own lost ones, a hurt whimper leaving your mouth before you continued, “And Cassian, Azriel, Mor. Rhys you’re never alone, not as long as you have us.”

His shaky sigh and wavering shadows gave you the confidence to continue, “This isn’t what she’d want Rhys. What they’d want. Feel, allow yourself that. But don’t allow your emotions to destroy you.”

The violet glow began to return to his eyes, the anger now seeping away as a heart wrenching wave of devastation took its place.

Rhysand’s hollow voice replied, “But we’ll never know what she wanted because of him. We’ll never know what she could have become or what she might have offered the world. Every night I look to the stars and all I can think is that it’s a sight she will never be able to see again, all because it was stolen from her, and it’s not fair.”

“It never is” you comfort, coming to rest a soothing hand on the males shoulder causing his rising tide of shadows to finally dissipate, “Rhys she needn’t look to the stars anymore because she is one. They’re up there, your family, watching over you, all you have to do is look up.”

“And what if they don’t like what they see. What if they look down and only see the broken High Lord and his broken court” Rhysand consciously asked, spitting the cursed words out as he cast his eyes to the glowing city before him.

“Is that what you see?” You questioned, wondering how Rhysand could look down upon the illuminated streets and see anything but hope, “a broken court?”

“All that’s left after the war are crumbling foundations and hollow people” he bitterly scoffed, failing to see the embers which still remained.

“Foundations can be rebuilt. . . Rhys I look at you and I fail to see how our future could be anything other than bright. Build a court of dreamers Rhys, build it from hope.” You encouraged, fighting the desire to drop to your knees and beg for the future you knew only the male had the power to deliver.

“I don’t think I know how to dream anymore” he quietly spoke, words releasing as a whisper, Rhysand afraid that his lack of dreaming made him unworthy of being your High Lord.

“You really see no future for your court?” You ask, probing eyes searching his thoughtful expression for answers.

“I used to. . . Before all this. But I’ve never had to dream of a future without my sister” he gulped, pearlescent tears beginning to run down his gaunt cheeks.

You lifted a comforting hand, gentle thumbs working to brush away each tear as they came, a sad smile taking its place on your lips as you spoke, “You really think she won’t be there Rhys? Your family will never leave you, they’ll always be right here,” your hand moves to rest against his chest, delicate fingers pressing right above the steady beating of his heart, “carry them with you and they’ll never be far away.”

“And the dreams?” He presses, seeking more reassurance from you, “when will they return?”

“You never stop dreaming Rhys, not whilst there’s still hope. . . Take a breath” you order, entwining both your hands with his own as Rhysand did as you asked and drew in a deep breath, “Then just close your eyes and dream.”

“Dream? Just like that?” He nervously queries, not quite believing in your unusual methods, yet fearing he’d break the spell by opening his eyes.

“Think of everything you’ve ever wanted to change about this court, about your life. Every stupid rule you’ve never liked, every choice of your fathers you’ve disagreed with. The world is yours to mould now, every wish, every dream, they’re yours to chase after. Dreams are the foundations for our future Rhys, you just have to have the courage to make them a reality. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

“And do you?” Rhysand asked, opening his calm violet eyes to look deeply into your own, “. . . Believe in me.”

“The world is full of dreamers Rhys, but there's only one I’d choose to follow" you answer honestly, your reply bringing a small smile to the new High Lord's lips.

"And if I tell you I dream of building this future together, what then?" he asks hopefully, his steady gaze overflowing with anticipation of your response.

"Then who am I to deny you of your wishes? You just let me know when you're ready to start."

You grin at the familiar face smiling back at you, the face of your High Lord, of your friend. Failing to quell the fluttering which grew in your stomach as Rhysand answered you, "I think we've already started Darling, my first dream just came true."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Every time I write Rhysand I always say it’s going to be smut next and it’s always angst… anyways, smut next time?

Big thank you to @illyrianbitch and @sarawritestories for their help with this one, they saved me from describing Rhysand’s eyes like aubergines 😬

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand acotar #rhysand

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tizeline · 24 days

Note

If you answered this already sorry I can't find it. Did Donnie know he had missing brothers before he found out about them? Did Mikey, Raph, and Leo know they had a missing brother?

Oh Donnie had no idea lol. Splinter had no hope of ever rescuing the other turtles from Draxum, so letting Donnie know about his lost siblings in Splinter's opinion would've only caused his son grief. It could've potentially put him at risk as well if Donnie decidied he wanted to go out and look for the other turtles when he got older, point is Splinter thought it would be better if Donnie remained ignorant of his secret family.

Raph, Leo and Mikey DID know about Donnie. Draxum has told them all about how Lou Jitsu kidnapped their poor softshelled brother, Draxum wanted them to know about the evils of humanity and the story about how a human is the reason why their forth brother is no longer with them is a perfect example to enforce that mentality. He's also made it pretty clear that there is a real possibility that their softshelled brother is no longer alive, he could've been killed in the lab explosion when Lou Jitsu escaped, or he could've died sometime afterwards. Point is, he doesn't want to get their hopes up too much about the possibility that their long lost brother is still alive only for that hope to be crushed in the event that Donnie is dead.

The Drax Trio, however, are still convinced that Donnie is alive somewhere out there, and they're dead-set on finding and reuniting with him one day.

#Tiz Sep AU #tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #rottmnt au

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chosos-mascara · 1 year

Text

red, blood

𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙤 𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - bitten by a stranger, you notice an extreme aversion to food - instead craving one substance above all. moments from taking a life, choso brings you back to normalcy; with only one issue. it's choso's blood that you crave.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - vampire!choso, (new)vampire!reader, blood drinking, mentions of death, smut, biting, blood, blood again because there's so much blood described in this fic, scratching, strangers to ?, cowgirl, sex in a forest, creampies, cunnilingus, attacking ppl for food lol, instruction.

10.8k words

You'd heard rumors of the old house on the hill. Some had stated the lot had been vacant for years, others that it had been haunted - though one questionable rumor in particular had sparked interest more than others. When Nobara would voice her theories of vampires hiding within the four tall walls, interesting and ancient beings derived from demons, your blood would run cold and skin prickle with exhilaration. She'd bring her stories forward as if truth; tales of cursed creatures surviving on the blood of humans, told with enough vivid detail to convince you Nobara had experienced said adventures herself. Though, the excitement had fizzled out when bringing the question to your mother, her excuse for the house on the hill much less interesting. Apartments.

As adulthood had taken over, a mundane life following your mother's footsteps, you'd rarely questioned what had been so intriguing to you as a child. Maybe when driving back into town and passing by the outskirts, the house on the hill would catch your eye, but you'd never lingered upon it for more than a few moments. Caught in thought or attention diverted to the road, what had once been a mystery filled with child-like wonder had now died out. Your imagination had simply matured, like the rest of your dreams.

As the chief of police's daughter, it had felt natural for you to move into the same profession. Your mother raising you as a single parent, tired days turned longer after she'd been called in only minutes after returning home, promises of vacations that had instead consisted of watching her work at the station, a career within the place you'd spent half of your life within had always been how you'd pictured your life progressing.

Of course, it had been that your first solo dispatch as a qualified officer had been to the woodland outside of town, connecting to the same dingy road the old house had bordered. A concerned resident had made several calls regarding screams within the woods, and you were to take a statement.

Back slouching against the drivers seat, you took a breath. There had been a racing in your chest, nervousness for your first case to begin; your first public interaction. Perhaps somewhere within the anxiousness had been excitement, though looking through the windshield to the fog ridden forest around you, you weren't so sure. Trees stood tall, dirt path winding until reaching the base of the grassy hill. When peering upward, you could make out a faint outline of the house, a reminder to childhood conversations between yourself and friends. If only life could've remained so full of thrill.

Once stepping from the ranger, you brushed creases from your uniform and, with a sigh, slammed the door closed. The residence you'd been called to hadn't looked well-kept, ivy taking over decaying brickwork, windows dirty. When approaching, you'd almost tripped over an exposed root from thick bush, standing as yet another reminder this home hadn't been in good shape. Before raising fist to knock, you straightened the badge on your belt, fingers grazing over the new metallic front. As your fist hit the door it had rattled, and you'd been left to notice rot within the bowed wood, oak splintering and stained. The longer you'd stood, the less driven you'd been to stay, an uneasy feeling settling in your gut.

Though, you hadn't time to bail as the door creaked open, revealing an older gentleman hunched forward, his weight distributed between both handle and cane. His narrow eyes met yours as he questioned your presence, an apprehensive smile spreading over your lips for good measure. "Are you Fujita-san? We received a call from you regarding noise in the neighborhood." The term 'neighborhood' had been used loosely as you stood at the only house within a half-mile radius. "Come in." The cane caused a harsh bang on the hardwood floor as he shuffled backward, stopping sooner than you'd anticipated to leave a gap you'd been barely sure you would fit through. Such a confident smile had faltered when slipping between door and frame as your arm brushed over the cotton sleeve of his bath-robe.

When navigating past him, looking for a clear route to lounge or seating area, regret had pooled in your body. The house was suspiciously sparse with no light sources and evidently had not been lived within. It still begged the question of why you'd been called here, and why such an old and practically immobile man had been here to answer the door.

You couldn't turn to question him, words taken before formulated as cold fingers wrapped harshly over your hand, arm brought upward and a sharpness in your wrist. Yelling out in pain, you attempted to pull your limb back to safety, head snapping to lock with red eyes. Between his lips and your flesh crimson blood had flowed, staining blue uniformed shirt. No matter the resistance from yourself, the strength of his grasp wouldn't falter. Eventually, after abrasive kicks and punches, you'd knocked into his knees with a harsh stamp, frail bones cracking as he stumbled from your being. With a tug of your forearm, you broke free, quick footsteps through the door to sprint toward your car. As if graced by God, you started the engine and pulled away.

The drive home had felt dreamlike. Sweat poured from every inch of skin, hands trembling and breaths heavy. The steering wheel had felt slippery, yet you wouldn't look down, overtaken by fear. When navigating through the surrounding country roads and eventually coming back into the city, you'd reassured yourself the liquid coating your hands had been only sweat caused by adrenaline, nothing more. Though when pulling into your drive, mind hazy as the world around you had lagged behind, you dropped your gaze, a panicked gasp when met with the crimson thickness of blood, a thick and bubbling coating of both the car's interior and your uniform.

You woke in bed, bolting upright. Light shone through white curtains, thin cotton barely acting as a barrier from the rays of sun beyond the windows. A sheen of sweat had coated the gap between your skin and the uniform you'd still worn, the start of a fever prickling over your body only moments after waking. Your head ached, a pounding against skull that had at first felt reminiscent of a hangover, though as seconds passed, it had intensified beyond that.

A mere text to explain your absence at work had been all you'd mustered as you crouched over the toilet bowl, intense flurry of vomiting as you feigned the gap between conscious and unconsciousness. The memory of your evening before had felt hazy, only flashes of the attack within the house, with more questions raised than answered. How had you gotten home? A sudden flash of the sickening sight when parking up had flickered into mind, another retch into porcelain.

Looking to the wrist that had bled so freely before, a bandage had been wrapped around damp skin. You peeled back the woven white to analyse the wound below - only to find undamaged flesh. A distant buzz in your head, visions of red, crimson, thick liquid originating from multiple branches, pooling into one abundant ocean. The inside of the cloth had been tainted by two distinct dots of red, yet no marks had remained over your wrist.

Though, your internal interrogation to past self had ceased as another wave of nausea hit, this time the sickness dispelled from your body closely resembling the consistency and colour of the blood coursing through your veins. Weakness had overcome you next, collapsing to rest upon cold bathroom tile. Through a shroud of darkness you'd attempted to call for help, yet all energy had left you.

The headache had lifted. A lack of fatigue, no sweat, no unbearable fever. Had this been a dream? Pushing yourself from the floor, you stood hunch over sink, peering to the mirror hanging at head height. Hair a bird's nest, bags set deep beneath eyes, you'd felt an instinct to shower. A low growling from your stomach while rubbing soap over unclean skin had signaled the second action on your itinerary.

Cereal poured into the bowl, drowning in milk. Something usually enjoyed before work had excited you, eagerly lifting metal spoon to lips and shoveling the first sugary mouthful between your teeth. Only, crunching down on a breakfast favourite had felt agonizing, the usual sweet taste mingling with tones of chocolate now tasting foul, nausea rushing over your body in a cold sweat as you rushed to the kitchen sink.

Eggs had been the next trial. Fried with salt and pepper dotted across white and yolk, a slice of bread to house a usually adequate food. It had taken only one bite to reach the same effect, heaving into the metal sink.

Toast, a staple for those suffering from a stomach bug. Only a swipe of butter to prevent the dry grain sticking to the roof of mouth, but not too much as to upset a stomach. Though, perhaps there had been a little too much dairy as you'd vomited once more. An attempt to cleanse your throat with a cool glass of water had resulted in the vacation of your stomach yet again, abs aching as you retched.

Tears had welled within your eyes as they glossed over bowls of food before you, none of which you'd been able to digest. Another shower, another set of clothes, an hour spent pacing around the kitchen in thought. There had been one simple comfort food you'd yet to try: soup. When ill, that's what most people have, right?

Emptiness had resided within your stomach as you turned the ignition, hands placed over the wheel - with another confusing installment as you peered down to the interior. Instead of dried blood coating leather, there had been nothing to serve as evidence for the imagery belonging to the evening before.

Pulling away, foot on the gas, you instead tried to focus on what you'd be purchasing at the store. A logical place to start would be canned soup, painkillers, and electrolytes. The fever you'd slowly overcame had taken much from you, so when parking in the lot beside local grocery store you'd reminded yourself to take it easy, to be quick.

Weak legs carried you to the automatic door, absentmindedly taking a basket to carry on your journey. Though as you'd began to shop, shuffling forward you'd been distracted by a bad scent hanging in the air, a metallic iron piercing through nostrils. Squinting your eyes, you'd attempted to simply concentrate on purchasing the essentials you'd needed, glancing to the first isle. Cracked and aged tile had sat beneath your shoes, bright lights illuminating shelves filled with stock, yet you'd found yourself unable to concentrate on any of the mundane surroundings.

Basket between weak fingers, you felt uneasy, overwhelming smells, sounds and sensations over skin suddenly heightening, ambient chatter merging into a loud and blaring ringing. With the overstimulating environment your lungs felt squeezed of air, an inability to regulate breaths. Hyperventilating, the metal handle left your grasp, a shift in your insides as the scent that had felt so disgusting only moments prior had now intoxicated you, an all encompassing and primal need to taste - but what exactly, you hadn't been sure. Only when your vision had raised from newly empty hands had you found the source of need.

A younger woman, earbuds within her ears and a furrowed brow as she glanced among the various vegetables shelved before her. As if hunting prey, your line of tight had felt tunneled, heightened senses latched onto her movements. The music blaring into her ears had been tinny and distorted, yet you felt able to make out lyrics even if stood meters away.

Mouth running dry, a step forward. You ran tongue across teeth, a starling difference within your gums; an ache, canines feeling unfamiliar between lips. Sharp. Within you had been an urge to bite, chew and rip apart thick mounds of flesh, to watch blood pour into the fresh wound, to drink the sweet ambrosia pooling over raw skin. An animal carnage set behind your eyes, the ringing had intensified, throat closing up with shallow breaths, head floating in a haze.

A slow step forward, consumed by untamed yearning for blood, you'd attempted to fight the fearful feeling clouding your mind, a last attempt at humanity as you'd dreaded the action you weren't sure you could take. Surroundings fading away, you'd committed, another step toward her.

You bumped into a solid mound - a figure standing larger than you; broader. With the lock on your target removed, the predatory hypnosis had lifted, tears blinked back upon registering the measures you'd been about to take, the intention you'd had. If you hadn't been pulled from the fog, the unaware innocent would've fell victim to your teeth sinking into her skin, throat ripping from body.

"Focus on me." A deep reverberance had echoed through your core, a sudden coolness brushing over heated cheeks as he'd laid open palms to burning skin. Through blurred vision, you met eyes to the source of reprieve, deep purple orbs staring back under a furrowed brow, concentration written over his expression as he'd centered himself only on you. There had been a frown set across his lips, beneath a thick black like etched into the middle of his face, curving to the bridge of his nose. Black hair had fallen from his head and framed his profile the upper section partitioned into two loose buns.

"Good girl, that's it. Calm down." The softly spoken voice had ricocheted through your bones once more, a comfort only God himself could have given you, with a desire to obey. Staring into your soul had been a person you hadn't recognized, yet you'd felt your heart had known. Staggered breaths had turned consistent as you'd done as he'd asked, focusing purely on him, gaze locked onto the thick line across his skin.

"We're going to leave." He instructed you, sights dropping to the lips that had formed the words, a small nod as you put your trust into the stranger. "When we start walking, keep your eyes to the floor, and your mouth closed." His hands dropped from your cheeks, leaving skin bare. Only with his touch turning absent had you realized he'd been supporting your head, unexpectedly feeling much heavier without the large embrace. "Look down, remember?" His reminder had caused you to obey, dropping your head to face the tile, bright overhead lights reflected on the sheen.

Only when stepping foot outside had you felt yourself relax, fresh air alleviating the hyper stimulation, aiding the unbearable hunger. The sound of birdsong as day turned into evening had soothed overwhelmed ears, muscles relaxing. Once beside an unknown car, the male had halted, gesturing you to climb within the passenger seat. You'd shot him a look of confusion, yet he'd only repeated the action. Uneasiness set in as he opened the door, harsher gaze causing a churning in your stomach.

You slipped in and he closed the door beside you, walking to the driver's side and slumping into leather. Before questioning you, he let out a sigh, eyes closing and head hitting the headrest behind him. Had you been within a different situation, you'd have admired his profile more, a sharp jawline and pretty hair, tired eyes in need of comfort.

"Who are you?" He finally broke the silence by asking the first question he'd had when walking by your demonic form, eyes blood red and teeth poking from lip. It had been more than lucky he'd been there to stop you from your urges, and he didn't appreciate the odds. If he hadn't have been in the same store, a massacre would've occurred, an unstoppable force of cursed-being quenching an insatiable thirst. He'd known the loss of control too well, and reaped the consequences.

Within the car you'd felt at ease from the outside world, from what had felt too fast and jaded to bare. Your lips formed your name, line of sight finally lifting from the dash to console his gaze. Concern had been etched across his features, merging with stress and sympathy.

"What just happened?" You'd asked, and he'd turned head to glance through the windshield. He scanned over the parking lot, half empty, trees bordering concrete. How couldn't you know about what you were? Had you played dumb to manipulate his support?

"What do you already know?" His counter-question had confused you, and he'd watched through the corner of his eye as your face contorted to that of uncertainty. "I'll ask this, then - were you bitten?" The words spoken had your eyes widening, lips parting in surprise. You hadn't connected the bite you'd endured to the sudden sickness, but it hadn't been possible he'd passed a disease to you, surely?

Events from those days before had raced through your mind; red eyes, a stinging over your wrist. With a reluctant nod from yourself, fingers ghosting over where the bite had been, you'd added your rejection of this theory. "There's no marks- I don't think he bit me hard enough to pass anything to me."

He chose to ignore your thought process, a sense of hopelessness to your condition. "When were you bitten?" A squirrel had ran across the cement, stopping over a vacant parking space to pick a fallen pine-cone. You watched as your mind raced, a realization that today had felt much further than that evening than you'd thought, how long were you out? What day had it been, now? "I don't know-" Stuttered words, you searched for the date within your mind, an image of the paperwork, the anxiety of the first solo call-out. "The first. The first of March."

His expression dropped, jaw opening as he glanced to the digital clock on the dash, red letters stating date, and time. "At what time?" His tone was quieter as panic set in, fear and sorrow harboring concern. "I had a call-" Closing your eyes, you pictured the ranger's radio, time on the clock as you'd stepped from the car to forest floor. "I think around three."

"And you haven't fed?" Disbelief had decorated him; or had it been horror? "I tried to eat earlier, but I couldn't stomach it." The explanation had him shaking his head, lips pursing and eyes rolling. His hand balled into a fist over his thigh, fabric scrunching to the center as he'd had enough of your logical excuses. "I'm not talking about that -" He let out a breath, choosing to spit out the fact he'd tried to keep from you. From now, your life would change forever. "Blood. You need blood." The statement had made little sense to you, though. A disapproving scowl shot his way had been ignored through closed lids, rapid thoughts as he'd searched for a fix to the situation.

"A transfusion? I'm okay, I just had a fever." The brushing off of his concerns had angered him, how had humans been so straight-thinking? A species that he'd lived among, yet fought to understand. "I probably need a vaccination, though. Maybe he did pass something on..." Your voice trailed off in worry. The rational explanations from you had caused uneasiness, another deep exhale as he placed to fingers to temple.

"Listen," He'd began, pulling your attention to painted nails at the end of pale fingers. "You need to drink, or your body will reject the transformation." Opening his eyes, his hand turned the key, engine humming. "Where do you live?" "Oh, I can drive, my car's-" Beginning to point toward your own vehicle your words had died off, the dead-pan stare he'd given you instead pushing you to whisper the address with agitated tone.

Alarm bells you were sure should have rung had remained silent as he drove you home, a short journey filled with stillness. One hand over the gearshift, other on the wheel, you'd watched in admiration. The presence from the stranger had been comforting, and when walking to your door, you'd realized how little you wanted him to leave.

Only when inviting him inside had you asked for his name, a startled drop of expression as a memory had been sparked from childhood.

"I heard the Kamo family lives there." Nobara leaned forward, marshmallow browning in the fire as she smiled widely, a gap in the top row of teeth. Megumi rolled his eyes, a sigh from parted lips. He'd had one arm crossed over the other, wearing a frown. "It's just folklore." His attempts to quieten his friend had been redundant as the small girl had a story to tell. When Nobara had her mind set on something, no one could stop her.

"The Kamos are vampires, my sister told me herself!" The smile turned to scowl as she brought the marshmallow to her face, black charring coating the outside. She'd burned another one. "What does your sister know about vampires? She's a botanist, not a monster hunter." His pessimism had been ignored as she'd instead turned to you, heartache from the burned sweet forgotten as she grinned to your curious expression.

"My sister said they've lived in the house on the hill for decades, and they feed off the people in the neighboring houses. That old guy died, didn't you hear? What was his name..." She trailed off in thought, a disapproving sigh from Megumi as he'd added to the story he hadn't wished to be a part of. "Fujita-san?" The correction had excited Nobara, an enthusiastic nod as she'd taken the queue to continue. "Yeah, they found him with puncture wounds, but they couldn't do the autopsy because he disappeared from the morgue! My sister said she saw Kamo Choso by the funeral home that night - I think the Kamos took him!"

She'd watched your guise closely, in need of validation for her story-telling skills, and maturity. You'd glanced to Megumi, his placid countenance revealing little about how he'd felt. "I'm sure she was just visiting someone, Nobara."

Now, Choso had stood before you, speaking of drinking, of blood and bites, of information attributed to the folklore an old friend had spoken of. Vampires were beings written into fairy-tales and horror films - things that surely couldn't apply to reality. Had he been insane? You'd watched in silence as he brought his wrist to lips, a crunch and pop of skin pierced, pulling back the wounded appendage to reveal bloodied lips. Crimson coated skin, bubbling at the incision marks.

"What the fuck-" You'd began to chastise his actions, yet when transferring gaze to gloss over face, you'd been left speechless. His eyes no longer purple, orbs covered in a pitch black, small veins of purple and blue branching from lid to brow and bags beneath. Between his lips, teeth that had resembled more of animal than human.

The metallic smell had returned. The pulsing within chest and body as your eyes had been drawn away from his and toward the bleeding limb before you, now inches from face. Hand skimming his skin, gaze locked to the dark red, you'd felt transfixed. Hunger and desire had brought you to the point of leaning toward his offering, lips finally locking over the wound, tongue sliding over crimson.

The thick drink hit your throat, coating you as if honey, soothing a burn you hadn't recognized before now. A hum of pleasure muted to his skin as you took more, a warmth in your stomach, a supple pleasantry you could only imagine had mirrored that of child drinking from mother. Warm, soft, nurturing.

Time had stilled, but a gentle push of your shoulder had indicated you'd taken enough, breaking you from the trance. Fingers reaching upward, you ghosted the liquid painted over lips and chin, grazing across teeth that hadn't felt much like your own. Choso let out a breath, watching your bewilderment with tired eyes and sincere expression. He'd felt guilt from the twisting in his stomach as you'd breathed heavy sighs of relief, ashamed of the change in his perception of you now you'd taken from him. With his blood over your lips, you'd looked pretty.

"From now, you'll need blood to survive." He began, looking from you to instead inspect your home, glossing over framed photos in the hall, landing over a small succulent on a shelf. Through one doorway had been a lounge that he'd found himself following you into, taking a seat on the couch. Slumping back, he continued. "I'm not here to tell you what to do, but for the survival of our kind, I recommend drinking from animals. There's plenty of deer in the woodland to pick from, but it should be fresh."

"Is that what you do?" He'd shifted on the cushions, eyes darting around the new surroundings to avoid your own questioning gaze. "No. My father sources blood from the local hospital. Animal blood will hinder some ability - though in your case it's a better option."

Although his flesh had healed, there had been a tightness within your chest when scanning over remnants of dried blood decorating his wrist - bringing back the intimate moment you'd shared. "Can I... have more?" A sultry request leaving lips before you'd assessed your own questioning, though he'd chalked it down to hunger rather than the chance you had also felt a throb between legs when enjoying his blood. It had been down to the curse that you'd felt this way, after-all.

Choso's eyes felt unreadable, small movements from the tightening of his jaw as he'd hesitated. It hadn't been a good idea to encourage this behavior, yet he'd found his fingers hooking the neck of his shirt, exposing the base of neck curving to shoulder. An invitation for you to drink, a hypnotic pull toward the source of desire. He waited, pale skin exposed, for your teeth to graze him. When your eyes had landed upon the paths of veins beneath epidermis, blue lines both thick and thin, you'd leaned forward.

Mouth watering, canines elongated and vision tunneling, there had been a magnetism toward the thick flesh and muscle that you'd felt yourself succumb to. He shuddered under the feeling of your teeth piercing sensitive skin, internalizing a moan of pleasure when he felt his blood flow from his vein to your lips. You gulped back the nectar that flowed through him and only him.

Choso scaled a hand upward, fingers wrapping around the nape your neck and pressing you further into the crevice you'd resided within. Initially, he'd intended to pull you away, yet when a quiet hum of satisfaction had left your lips to vibrate against his skin, there had been a twang within his core; an ache that he couldn't ignore. So, instead of pushing you away, he'd forced you closer, allowing eyes to flutter shut. The near inaudible sounds of suckling had been music to his ears, tightness within his jeans when he'd allowed himself to feel a sensation he'd long since forgotten. Pleasure.

Blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth when you'd pulled back, watching his expression intently to gauge his emotional state. Should you thank him?

Your lips parted, his gaze locked over the small dips and creases that had been filled with his blood, coating thickly and cascading over the curve to meet chin. Choso ghosted a thumb over the mess, but chose not to swipe it away. Though, it had been too late to stop the pull you'd felt, a spark of lust ignited to the man you hadn't known but now craved.

Following your heart you'd straddled him, eyes locked when thigh caged thigh. His hands laid to rest over your hips, and as you'd set yourself still, your attention had been brought to the hardness of his crotch. Sighing at the contact, you'd been aware of the arousal pooling between legs, teeth grazing lip. Choso pulled your face to his, a moment taken to stall before you'd finally closed the gap.

When tasting his own blood so poignantly over your lips, mingling with tongue, his hips had bucked upward. He groaned at the sweet metallic nectar he'd known well, a cup over cheek, nails dragging over subtle flesh. Would he taste you, too?

"Kamo..." Whispered between brisker kisses, you felt his lips move to linger over your cheek, trailing to your neck. The flat of his tongue rolled over skin, a shiver prickling down your spine before his mouth hovered to lobe. "Can I?" His voice sounded deeper, a resonance of lust and husk of desire woven into the softness. A nod from you is all he'd needed to proceed, eyes overshadowed by darkness, glossy through arousal.

A sharpness met your flesh, dragging slowly as if to tease, lips grazing the area as his mouth widened. Finally, he punctured skin, tasting your essence for the first time. Groaning, you rolled hips against his, head tilting to land over his shoulder as you shared yourself with him. Warm, lightheaded, you circled against him, a regular friction over the brick in his trousers. "Feels good." Praises whispered to his ear had Choso yearning for more.

Only for a moment he'd pulled back, pushing a hand to unbutton jeans and offer relief to the ache, finally free from cloth cage. Your fingers had looped through your own hem, pulling trousers to sit at mid-thigh before rolling them over knee. When exposed, Choso's eyes dropped, hands grasping the fat of your hips to guide you down onto his cock.

The stretch had been euphoric, jaw widening to allow mews to echo against his shoulder. Sinking down, you squeezed your eyes closed, arching of back only pushing you closer. "More..." His voice was strained as he fought to ground himself, fearing the chance of losing his mind when he'd felt your intoxicating cunt take him in. It had been a long while since he'd allowed a woman to take him, since he'd felt the tightness of fleshy walls embrace him, milking his cock with each jut of hips. Once you'd found a rhythm with shallow breaths complimented by whines, Choso had reattached his lips to your neck, a vibration of chest emitting to yours to appreciate the skin he'd felt drunk against.

Lapping, swallowing and humming had been the only noses dancing within your ears, an inability to remove your focus from the body beneath you and the flow of your soul intertwining with his. Choso's hand and the back of your head had met once again, guiding you toward the base of his neck. There had no longer been the bloody wound to signify your last bite, but he enticed you to make another, tongue grazing flesh.

Each mouth occupied by the other's neck, a transfusion of blood through one another's vein. Choso felt himself twitch within your walls, abdomen sucking inward and a grunt as the coil had snapped, nails cutting into you with force as he drove your movements with white ropes shooting inside of you. Ecstasy had washed over the pair of you as he milked himself with your cunt, the taste of your iron oozing into his mouth.

Once past the haze of his high, he pulled from your neck, sinking back into the sofa cushions behind. Blood stained his shirt, drips from lips to chin as the primal darkness from his eyes faded. "Your eyes..." Voice raw, rasp tickling throat, you'd attempted to voice your confusion at the changes in appearance when feeding. The blackness had shrouded the entirety of the eye, unlike Fujita's that had been a vibrant shade of red.

"When you feed, your face reflects the parasite inside. Eyes will change, teeth grow." His explanation had been voiced as he traced circles over the scratches he'd caused. "I don't understand what's happening to me -" Only beginning to push further, you were stopped by drowsiness. The purple orbs had watched as you slumped forward to his shoulder, arms holding you in place. "The transition is ending." Choso's words had been the last thing heard as darkness consumed your soul.

The haze lifted, slowly.

Sitting upright, your confused gaze straightened out when taking in your surroundings. You'd laid on the couch, blanket over body as you'd looked around the room. There had been little sign of Choso now, but your hoarse voice called for him nonetheless, unsurprised to hear no response. When pushing yourself from firm cushion, you'd questioned the likelihood that last night had been another fever dream - though a blue piece of paper ripped from notebook and black ball-pen beside it had indicated that the evening prior had in fact been reality. Two words scribbled over the blank page had made your stomach flip.

good luck.

Wandering through your home, you'd debated what to do. Choso had left no point of contact, and had offered little advice in terms of the newly acquired blood-lust. Only one other person had sprung to mind, one childhood friend who had shared a passion for supernatural stories of vampires hiding within the shadows; Nobara. Though, the chances of her holding valuable information had been slim, and even then, the likelihood of her laughing off your questions had been more than likely, she had been your only lead.

Thumb hovering over call, you'd contemplated if this had in fact been a good idea. But, the more you questioned it, the less you'd felt you'd had to lose - the chance of her knowing something had outweighed the possibility of being made fun of, with much more to gain from the former.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed through receiver, tone lightly sprinkled in annoyance. "Nobara." Her name fell from your lips as you brought a nail to lips, biting over it before continuing. "I wanted to ask something, about when we were kids."

She laughed in irritation. "You disappear off the face of the earth for a week and call me to ask about our childhood?"

"I'm sorry, I've been sick with a fever," You thought, closing eyes to focus, to think of a better excuse than I got turned into a vampire. "and I spent the time in bed, remembering something." "I was worried about you, asshole." Her tone was lighter now, though you could picture the scowl you were sure had been etched across her face. "What did you wanna ask?" "The house, on the hill. When we were kids, you mentioned the Kamos living there." Trying to remain ambiguous, you steered clear of word vampire, weary not to plant a seed of concern within her mind. As a person within your late twenties, supernatural creatures hadn't felt appropriate to bring up without reason.

"What are you saying, you didn't run into one, did you?" The bitchiness she'd previously displayed had suddenly switched to alertness, a red flag sprung within her mind. "Listen, stay away from Kamos. They're..." She let out a wry breath. "They're not good people." "Oh, I just- I was just wondering about them, I've never seen one before." You'd hoped she would believe the lie, though her response had only raised more questions.

"Okay. Was that all?" There was movement on the other side of the line, followed by another woman's voice. "Yeah." It felt no use to keep pushing. "But, why aren't they good people?" "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me, okay? Just- stay away from them." She'd hushed the other person, trying to listen for your response. "Okay. Send my regards to Maki."

With no luck from the phone call, you left isolated within your own thoughts. Two days had passed with concerned calls from your mother and colleagues, flowers sent to your door that had been thrown out due to an unbearable scent. There would be a time in which you'd have to return to work, yet you couldn't trust yourself not to attack other beings. Would this be life from now on?

It had all started with that bite, with the house bordering the forest. Something had happened to you within that moment, that you'd been left unable to understand. Had the teeth that pierced your skin been laced with poison?

A pounding over door had caused you to grown in annoyance, pushing yourself from the self-loathing thoughts and the safety of bed to shuffle toward the hall. The knocking had continued until you'd opened it, eyes squinting as sun had cast light into what had been the dark home you'd hidden within. Megumi had stood within the day, and without a greeting had shoved past you to enter, hand already in contact with the door above your head to slam it closed behind him.

"Well, that was rude." Sarcastic comment from your lips, a roll of eyes, you looked to your friend in worry. Though, this fear hadn't been due to his abrupt arrival, but to the blood-lust imbued with your soul.

"Don't tell Kugisaki." His statement had caught you off guard, opening your mouth to question him, only to be cut off. "They're hunters. The second she finds out, you're dead."

Perplexed expression, questions swirled through your mind. "How?" Searching for an answer within his eyes, you were offered little in return. Megumi had always done well to mask his true emotion, though even with his efforts, you'd been able to read waves of genuine distress.

"Yuji." A name you'd known well, the pink haired ball of energy the three of you would hang around with often as children, though when reaching high-school, tragedy had struck and his life had been taken. His funeral had been the first you'd attended, his death the first wave grief you'd endured.

"What does Yuji have to do with this, Megumi?"

He looked to the floor, exhaling slowly.

"Megumi." Tone harsher, you pushed him further.

"He's Kamo's half brother. They live together."

He prepared himself for the barrage of hate, understanding your anger stemming from a place of hurt, the trauma of losing a close friend while still so young. You hadn't just mourned over the past, but the future he'd lost. Hours spent wondering if you'd have just paid more attention, or offered to walk him home that evening, he wouldn't have been killed.

"Yuji's- He's dead, Megumi." His face was placid, eyes on the floor. "Tell me, he's dead, isn't he?" Instead of reassurance, your friend had offered an alternative. "He was never alive." His hands grasped one another, nail picking at skin. "Why are you being to cryptic?" Tears welled in your eyes as you pictured Yuji growing without you, without his friends. He'd been around all these years? "He was cursed by his family, same as Choso. They're different to us, though." "Us?"

Megumi sighed, eyes closing. "You're not the first Fujita has bitten." Although surprised, you'd felt some relief in the fact you'd be able to control yourself around Megumi, the realization that the insatiable blood-lust had not been triggered within his presence. It had been obvious he wasn't human.

"How does this tie into you knowing I'm a vampire?" The final piece of the puzzle. He sighed at your label, flinching at the childish nature, yet understanding the lack of pragmatic options within this reality. "It's called a cursed-being." Corrected, your cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Kamo came home smelling like you. Did he hurt you?" You felt his gaze scanning over you, though quickly shook your head to dismiss the accusation.

"But, Choso hasn't fed from the source in decades, why now?" You hadn't seen Megumi so sporadic before, usually mellowed and calm, now on edge. Panicked, and scarred.

"Choso didn't hurt me. He let me feed from him." You danced around the terminology. Had this been the correct phrasing for something so foreign to you? "No, he smelled of your blood, he must've taken some." Megumi pushed, leaving you burning up with the memories of his skin on yours, his blood trailing over your lips, the euphoria of sharing yourself with him. "Oh, don't tell me-" He pulled a face, scoffing. "That's disgusting."

Walking through woodland, twigs broke beneath your feet. It hadn't taken long for you to find the house once more, the residence haunting your mind, to forever be ingrained within your memory, your dreams. If what Megumi had spoken had been true, Fujita would still be lurking around the surrounding wood, a being to fear. The dangers had scared you, but the need for answers had conquered fear, reasoning with yourself that you'd be dead if not able to find the truth before long.

Bashing shoulder to door, the bowing wood splintered, giving way after a second hit. You'd placed a foot over the barrier with reluctance, unwanted memories flooding brain when passing through the doorway. You scanned the interior, glancing over chipped flooring and decaying walls. It had been clear the lot had been vacant, something that should have been a bigger cause for alarm when you'd first approached the house. If it had been possible to turn back time and undo the need to please your mother, you'd prevent yourself from taking the case, from coming here alone. Things could've turned out differently had you valued your safety over appraisal.

An uncomfortable emptiness had reminded you of the fact you hadn't fed since Choso had offered himself to you, and unless you'd eaten soon, you would likely die. Though, you hadn't been so sure you weren't dead already. A wooden bookshelf had been coming away from peeling walls, scent of decay ripe on your nose when growing closer. Frowning, you examined the books, finger trailing over thick coatings of dust before stopping over one decorated in a thick red cover, golden swirls ornately decorating both edges and spine. Blowing dirt away, you opened the thin, discolored pages, stopping when glossing over a drawing. Black eyes, surrounded by veins. Beneath, the text: pure-blooded eyes.

Ornately drawn with high attention to detail, the image had closely resembled the eyes of Choso, initiating a tingle across skin upon remembering the deepness searching within your own. Chin dripping in blood, gaze lustful, an evil aura that had enticed you. They'd been vastly different to the irises you'd met in your encounter with Fujita, and held more of a predatory semblance. You scanned the writing further, searching for an explanation to the differing characteristic.

'Descendants of the original cursed-being are named pure-bloods. A scarce species treated as royalty among most of the cursed, as pure-bloods hold the power of birth among curses.

If bitten by a feral curse, the victim will fall to a fever, reverting to a feral state unless pure-blood is consumed by the sixth day of infection.

Pure-blood is a great rarity among cursed-beings; worshiped. Those carrying the pure-blood will as such refrain from blood sharing, a topic deemed taboo among cursed-beings. Cursed blood is to be exchanged during mating ceremonies, an intimacy between betrothed. If un-mated, a cursed-being shall not allow another to drink from them.

As a result of this, 99.4% of infection cases end in feral curses.'

The book closed by shaking hand. A breath you hadn't realized you'd held had finally been dispelled, the aching fullness of your chest withering. If the writing had held truth, Choso's action of blood sharing had been a large gesture, or display of desire. The phrase 'pure-blood' had stuck in the fore-front of mind, a reminder of the aura Choso had radiated, and the control he'd had. When he'd asked you to focus on him, to calm yourself, it had felt so natural to follow the flow of his voice and find solace within his presence - was this the presence of a pure-blood?

A car engine approaching had pulled you from the stupor you'd allowed yourself to hang within, head snapping upward and turning toward the doorway. You pressed yourself against the wall, eyes closed and focused on listening to the footsteps that had followed the slam of a car door. The sound of radio static had caused concern, a realization that whomever had been approaching the house had likely been law-enforcement, and by that respect, would know your face. When peeking to the hall, you'd watched a beam from flashlight scan the floorboards, booted feet stepping through.

"Anyone in here?" Low toned voice echoing through the house had your head had darting back, holding breath with back pressed to wall. Looking over your surroundings, you contemplated a better hiding place. Though, you'd became distracted when taking a steady inhale through your nose, an attempt to oxygenate your lungs after holding breath a little too long, your stomach dropped. Blood.

The stench had been intoxicating, unbearable. Just like the woman in the grocery store, the potent scent had been something you'd felt yourself incapable of ignoring, once dry mouth now salivating, sharpness of teeth and fangs apparent against skin. Thinking back to the store, imagining Choso's face, you tried your best to ignore the pull toward vein as she edged closer, drool falling from mouth as you'd squeezed eyes closed. Through darkness, images of blood had played throughout your mind, an inescapable urge as you pushed yourself from the wall, eyes meeting victim.

"Stop right there!" The officer had shouted, yet with your enhanced speed she'd been helpless. A wail ricocheted the empty walls of the entry-way as her arm had been twisted by your hand, weapon dropping to clatter to floor. Pushing her toward the wall, you'd lunged toward her neck, but she'd fought back with a knee to stomach and shove of hands. The actions she'd taken had mirrored your own from only a week prior, a painful reminder to the low you now found yourself within. She stumbled backward, helplessly flailing arms as she fought against your increased strength, but falling through the door to forest floor below. Lurching forward, your teeth had finally pierced the thick of her neck, face set against shoulder as she let out a weak cry.

Hunger. Within your core, echoing through your mind and body. Nothing but the desire to eat, and unwillingness to stop now the feast had begun. As you swallowed back blood, a snarl between swallows, you felt hands on your collar to follow with a sharp pull backwards. Your thirst had yet to be quenched before you'd been laying on your back, only feet away from the unconscious body. Heavy breaths, racing thoughts, you felt close to losing yourself. Her blood hadn't satisfied you yet, the curse within you begging to lunge back and drain every remnant.

But, there was still an aching hole her blood could not fill. Something about her hadn't been fulfilling enough, incomparable to the juices Choso had offered from neck. Such a sweet taste, thick and coating your throat - there had been a clear superiority. Was this the effect of pure-blood? Within you, a switch flickered, a need for more. Would you have to kill a hundred men to search for this taste one more time?

Through flurry of emotion, your name had been called, red eyes finally lifting from the unknown's bloodied neck to face the figure that had pulled you from her body.

Choso.

Mouth dropping open, overtaken with need, you pushed yourself from the ground to dart toward him. Hands had hit against hard chest, and through taking him by surprise, you'd succeeded in tackling him. Just as you pressed your palms to his bicep, teeth grazing neck in preparation to taste his lineage once more, his arms had broken free from your vice and flipped to thrash you against leaf covered mud. Choso had found dominance, holding your limbs roughly against the dirt to leave you paralyzed.

"Stop." He'd uttered the words through annoyed countenance, but you continued to try beneath him, baring teeth. "Stop!" Louder now, a hypnotizing pulse pulled you from frenzied state, eyes softening and body halting. You relaxed, chest heaving with consequence to unhinged breaths. Choso's grip loosened as he sat up, ungracefully stumbling from you to instead hurry his attention to the woman you'd left injured.

Dread coursed through your chest, a wave of nausea filling your stomach as you jolted upward. The meal previously scavenged from an innocent was regurgitated onto the floor, thick crimson falling from your mouth with deep heaves. Tears welled in your eyes as what had been tunnel-vision had lifted, the gravity of an intense situation setting in. It had been difficult to lift your gaze from the bloodied grass below, but you forced yourself to, watching as Choso had a hand placed over the innocent's head, eyes closed.

Surrounding him shone a white aura, chills cascading over your body in waves as you watched the pureness surround him. It felt as if you'd looked into his soul, an angelic song murmured into ears spoken by divine energy. Sound waves tickled your brain, eyes glossing over in awe. His eyes opened, blackness within them a contrast to what had felt to be heavenly divination blessing the unconscious body before him.

No words had left his lips as he pushed himself upward, no longer kneeling but instead coming toward you. As he moved, the aura lifted, reality set over the world. Colours that had been bleached by transfixed mind had faded back to the normal greens and browns of woodland. He came toward you in anger, balled fists only uncurling to reach at your collar, heavy footsteps dragging you to the other side of mangled brick. Only when behind the house had he spoken, but not before a harsh shove to the brick exterior. Upon impact, a cloud of dust gushed from weak foundation.

"What the fuck was that?" His tone hadn't been the same soft comfort you'd remembered, instead a deep hatred echoing through eardrum. You looked toward him wide eyed, the overpowering demonic presence within the colorless eyes feeding dread to core. "I lost control, I don't-" Stuttered words as you'd attempted to formulate a sentence, a panic setting over you. It felt hard to speak to a deity that had felt so strong.

"You're lucky I was here, or you'd have exposed us all." He loosened his grip on your shirt, taking a step rearwards. The stinging from your back had eased as you'd no longer been plush to hard brick, stumbling on feet. You were weak, the blood consumed from intense hunger now vacated from your body. Back to square one.

"I'm sorry." Your head was bowed, shoulders tense, but Choso could see your expression clearly. Regret, fear. He hadn't needed to use the powers imbued in him to read your thoughts because you displayed them clearer than day. "Is she okay?" The words uttered had caused Choso to sigh, a clear indication your intentions hadn't been from selfishness, but rather lack of control. His anger subsided as he watched you cry over the woman harmed, and felt a pull to aid you in self control. Though he hadn't trained a cursed-being before, he'd understood your confusion - he'd wanted to help.

"I changed her memories. She's fine." Flashes of the white aura came to mind as you thought back to his palm resting over her head. Had this been the power he'd used?

"Are you-" Looking to his eyes, you were met with the purple orbs you'd remembered when first meeting, the same eyes you brought to watch when attempting to ease hunger. There was solace in those eyes. Tired, yet soft, relief from the outer world radiating from him as if luring you in. "Are you a pure-blood?"

An exhale of amusement as his gaze dropped down, gliding over your feet. He folded an arm over the other. "You could say that. I'm a descendant of Lilith, the first curse." "That's why your eyes are black?" Choso nodded, painted nail grazing over the loose fitted sweater hanging from shoulders. "The Kamo carry Lilith's blood." He paused, finally lifting his sight from the autumn leaves to your apologetic gaze. "How did you know?"

A finger raised, you pointed to the brick behind you, a glance to broken windows before explaining. "A book, in there. There were drawings, ones of eyes that looked like yours, but-" Sighing, you pushed past anxiousness as you continued. "It said cursed-being don't share blood." Once finished, you refused to look toward him. Instead, you watched the trees surrounding you, tall and looming. Although ivy had covered the walls of the building beside you, it hadn't kissed the earth beneath or wildlife surrounding, as if protected by mother nature.

"We don't." Choso spoke with an authoritative tone. "But, you would've died if I hadn't, so just be thankful." Defensiveness hadn't been something Choso was used to, nor had scolding others. To be truthful, he hadn't strayed from the few friends he'd had, in a life he'd rather not live. Had saving you truly been a mercy? After-all, he'd not wanted the life gifted to him.

"Thank you." The words from your lips had caused his brooding expression to contort to curiosity. The hairs on his arms prickled as he surveyed your face.

"I can end it now, if that would be easier for you." Purple orbs watched you through a sympathetic gaze. "Your life left you when you drank from me. The moments that lie ahead are filled with pain, and suffering. This curse is unbreakable, the hunger insatiable." Choso wanted to show mercy, to undo actions he wished he hadn't chosen to take. You could stop now, if you so wished.

"I'll learn."

Head bobbing in acceptance, his cold chest tightened. Choso had led the same routine for decades, surrounded by the same faces, continuing the facade of humanity while allowing creatures below his status to feed. A new cursed-being drinking from the blood of Lilith had been a rarity in this world - you were the first to pierce his skin. The act of sharing hadn't been something he'd considered before he looked into your helpless expression, the inner fight between hunger and humanity. Though, on remembering the flow of that night, feeling another's fangs within his neck, venom coursing through his own stream and the hypnotizing suckling as you'd fed from him... he felt he couldn't lead the same lift again.

Your stomach growled with emptiness; a noise you'd began to hear more often. A sound that had been an ignition for Choso, twinge in his stomach and anxiety bubbling through a butterfly feeling he hadn't experienced since childhood. "You're hungry." His words had been more statement than question, and you'd shifted uncomfortably on your feet. Feeling exposed, you shied away, yet he had only stepped toward you with hand outstretched.

"You can drink from me, but this will be the last time." Choso felt a semblance of sorrow from those words, a desire to have you drain his entire being.

Although you'd wanted to decline the offer, to demonstrate a pretense of self-control, your feet moved forward without the consent of your mind. The curse within you ached in it's own right when hungry, mouth watering, lungs empty. Looking to his wrist, you'd approached him through desperation, yet the lust within his being had reminded him that the neck had felt so much better, especially when you'd been wrapped around his pretty cock.

Fallen leaves padded his legs, the tall bark of tree supporting his back and open arms as he gestured you to straddle him. You'd obliged, sitting upon his lap with thighs caging his, much like the night you hadn't wished to forget. A hiss had escaped parted lips when your teeth offered relief to the meat of his shoulder, a groan to compliment the honey oozing from jugular. Lapping over the skin, you sucked the thick, pouring gore, the high returning to kiss your being. Choso's blood made your body warm, head dizzy. If he wouldn't stop you, you'd drink for eternity.

His fingers brushed your neck, moving hair to the side. Pausing meal, you withdrew from his skin to tilt head to the side and welcome his bite. Sharp fangs had grazed flesh before puncturing, hum from lips when you felt your essence flow from you. His tongue dragged the length of your neck, open mouthed kisses running from your jaw. When his teeth dragged across skin, a strained moan had escaped lips, Choso grazing the spot beneath lobe, tongue swiping to cheek. Turning face to his, Choso adamantly pressed his lips to yous. Sloppy, animal-like kisses had been shared between you, teeth clashing and tongues sliding for a taste of the other. Hints of your blood had been coating his lips, and his on yours, arousal pooling.

Choso took your lips between his teeth, a harsh bite to draw blood. You mirrored this action to his own lips, deep and passionate kisses now decorated in iron twang, a mesmerizing flow between two beings. With one hand holding head in place, the other groped your body, sliding over the small of your back to squeeze over ass, humming as his forceful grab had left him wanting more.

Your back met with the dried mud and forest's debris, Choso's fingers hooking through the waistband of your trousers to pull them aggressively to ankle. His eyes were black, teeth sharp with an intense wraith radiating from his presence. This must have been the aura of Lilith's descendants, that of power, control. Looking to him had felt as if you were looking to a God, though with the curse demonizing him, it had been evident these creatures would be nothing more than false-Gods. Demons.

Choso ducked to seat his face between your legs, tongue gliding over folds to coax a whine from parted lips. The sudden movement had you to stirring beneath him, legs threatening to close. This had provoked Choso's hands to meet thigh, pressing legs to open wide. He lapped a stripe once more, before circling over the bud he'd craved, whines falling to appraise him. Breaths heavy, you bucked upward, finding a pace that transfixed both you and him. Your moans were captivating and spurred him on to continue, though the ache imprisoned by his trousers wouldn't be ignored much longer.

His hums vibrated over your core, back arching from forest floor as the throbbing in your abdomen had built itself much deeper, desperate grinds against the mouth that pleased you. "C-choso..." His name from your lips had been enchanting, an ethereal goddess charming his very being. Your fingers found their way to lace within black locks, tugging to the base of his skull, pulling him closer. He'd felt unable to breathe as you held him in place, yet continued on in bliss. His short pants had fanned against you, sharp breaths inward forcing him to inhale more of your scent.

The coil snapped, a wail and cry from lips as he continued to massage your folds with his tongue. Choso lapped at the slippery juices, groaning and swallowing back as much as he'd been able. When your whimpers grew quiet and your high fizzled out, Choso's teeth sunk into the fat of your inner thigh, large hands holding the limb in place as he tasted more of you.

His cheek pressed to your leg as he peered up at your disheveled state, chest rising and falling at rapid pace. When shifting, the tightness in his pants had grazed the forest floor, hips rolling as a shaking breath left his lips. Choso needed you, now.

Lining up to the dripping hole he pushed himself in, moaning at the sensation of your walls finally hugging him again, a warmth on cold skin. Since that first encounter, he'd tugged fist over himself, tightening hand in attempts to mimic how your insides had felt, yet he had always been left disappointed. To have you again, now, was as if he'd been blessed. He withdrew his appendage only to push it back in once more, red lip leaking and sensitive as he'd felt overwhelmed in pleasure.

With arms caging you beneath him, wrists grazing cheek, you tilted head to the side and bit into cartilage, a guttural groan spilling from his chest in excitement. Curses spewed from his lips as he felt his essence transferred to your being, cock twitching. His gaze dropped to watch himself disappear into you, thick base larger than he'd seen before - though he'd been sure this was due to pure arousal and lust. He considered the chance of you being his soulmate with how his body had felt against yours, two flames as one. A white ring around the base had demonstrated your pleasure and reminded him of the mules created with the movement of his mouth to your cunt, and Choso found himself pulling backward to kneel, pummeling cock and using the pad of thumb to massage just above.

Your back arched from the floor, eyes rolling to display only whites. You'd still been sensitive from the encounter before, reacting immediately to the contact his digit gave to you. "F-fuck, Choso, I can't-" The sensitivity had you gasping, each roll of hips to yours more intense than the last, a folding within the muscles of your stomach. "Take it, one more." Uttered quietly the instruction rang in your ears, hands grabbing at the soil yet finding solace in nothing. The moans from your lips had been much louder now, but within the bubble you'd felt yourself within, you felt confident Choso would be the only creature to hear desperate screams.

Once more, you lost control, blood stained mouth opening wide and muscles tightening, a flood of fluids coating Choso as he coaxed you through your climax. Several 'good girl's muttered inaudibly between thrusts, a squeeze over his cock. He leaned forward, face buried in your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply, unable to hold back as he bit into skin for a final time before his own end.

Your nails dug into the skin of his back beneath the shirt he'd still worn, thick and toned muscle beneath your palms. Dragging fingers down, you'd created eight burning lines from shoulder to hip as your body had been pummeled to the dirt below, though as Choso grunted and groaned, it had clearly encouraged him more.

His body his the amber leaves, laying with eyes closed, chest heaving. A comfortable silence had remained among nature, only ambiance of breaths and bird song. As one creature had called out, another had mirrored the mellow music from it's own beak, allowing the melody reprise.

"I think," You spoke quietly into the air. "Your brother knows about us." You watched the sky above the canopy, deep blue peeking through twisted branches. "Yuji? Hm." Choso's mind had been elsewhere, yet your voice had brought him to think of family, and the repercussions of the actions the pair of you'd seemed unable to falter. "Megumi said Yuji had been able to smell my blood when you came home - can you differentiate smells?" A leaf twiddled between fingers.

"Yeah, sometimes. Your scent is stronger than most - it's sweeter. Tastes good, too." The compliment had your cheeks burning, a flutter within your chest. "Yours is intoxicating." With your praise, it had been Choso's turn to heat up. "Lilith's descendants taste different. We have the purest form of the curse; we pull others to us like magnets. But, it's all a facade. It's a hunting mechanism, to draw innocents to our clutches, and to manipulate those turned by our kind." The consistent hum of his voice had lulled you.

"Do you dislike your species?" Choso thought for a few moments as he watched the same patch of sky. "Partially - but it's not our fault. It's Kenjaku's." A fledgling flew from one branch to another. " He experimented on Lilith, he cursed her and her children. We were born of wombs tortured by him, yet we have to live with the consequences from God."

His childhood had been unpleasant. Memories of torture, pain and suffering had come to fruition, but he'd learned to push them back. Kenjaku had been a name he'd not wanted to speak, but with you, he'd felt inclined to pass on the truth.

"Could you teach me more?" Your request was hushed through fear of rejection. He pondered. "Hm? About what?" "How to live like this, the history... everything." "Why?" He hadn't considered himself an airhead, though he couldn't find himself understanding the request. So much horror had surrounded that of cursed-beings, betrayal, sorrow. He hadn't been able to fathom why you wouldn't accept the naivete and ignorance as a gift. "This is my life now." Turning to your side, you glanced over the expressionless face beside you. Purple eyes glowed in the dying light of day, pale skin decorated in shadows cast by the trees above. He considered your request, beginning where it had all started.

"We could start with home, I guess." Choso spoke, and you'd pictured the house from your childhood, full of questions and wonder. It felt as if fate had called to you all those years ago, the draw to know what had been awaiting beyond brick and mortar. Though, perhaps the pull had been towards something else; someone. The being beside you had felt like home, after-all.

a/n: thank you so much if you read this far ! this fic took me 5 days to write, so i really hope it came out okay :,)

let me know if you guys want a part 2, there's a few ideas in my head honestly but i'm not sure how popular choso is and if people would even like that

but honestly i really put a lot into this so im nervous for what people are gonna say :')

also fun fact, just before writing this i finished evangelion and the Lilith idea is totally based off Lilith in evangelion lol

rbs and comments are really appreciated <3

tags: @suget @woozzz @goblinbabyy @iwassuna @iisuzuus @osamusriceballz @p-3-4-c-h @hakkaisgf @athyinherblues @maxi8898 @d0riannn @sanriocandies @akalisuguru @tiredjuniper @sugar-locket @nycvalntyne @anubisisthebomb

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gildedkrone · 6 months

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KINKTOBER 2023 🔞

Gold is the colour of royalty. In filigrees embossed into vermillion cloaks, in the frames of paintings in royal courts with ceilings of skies adorned with angels and cherubs. Gold is the dust blowing through a cracked façade and a bleeding heart.

He doesn’t bleed red. He never does.

Shake off the dust gathered on the tarp over his heart and rein in his faith—he is a man facing a crisis of faith shaken and broken as with marks deep and scarring in the soft flesh of human emotion.

He has emotions, contrary to typical belief and what his coworkers think.

Erudition is a curse—the knowledge contained within only serves to break him further into pieces of unfulfilled longing and desire shimmering and shining under the rays of heaven.

He bleeds gold and he bleeds it all over your hands in streams of gold particles blowing off the charred remains of his supposed heart. A lie; it is one he tells himself all the time.

You can’t hurt what you don’t know.

Faith in crisis—man down in a pool of gold lust lapping at his ears and his nose as waves crest in periods synced with the surging of his heart strings tangled between your fingers in splinters of his shield.

He’s a compromised soldier of god when he first laid eyes on you. His oaths are nothing against what you bring with you when he experiences your touch initially. It blinds him with fervour and shakes the foundation of his understanding of the world.

He finds gold to be his new favourite colour as it’s associated with the lustre of your wings, the crown on your head and the tips of your fingers brushing over his when he’s injured on the battlefield. His comrades have abandoned him, warrior left to rot in ruin as they retreated from their unsuccessful assault.

Gold is his eyes with the reflection of your smile in a sardonic pose.

“Oh Ghost—have you fallen?”

He grits something in ashes of pride and shivers at your touch against a wound in his thigh. Gold filters through your fingers in something viscous and lazy and you swipe it on his garments to get rid of them. He feels small under your touch and he whispers a prayer.

A prayer to a god no longer willing to listen and on deaf ears are his final pleas. What fools to take him for nothing.

Defiance is salacious in eyes burning with hatred—but it’s so pretty set against his blonde lashes. The wind blows from the east and you lean into his space. A caress of his hands tenses his body before you tell him of your intentions.

“I think I will keep you, Ghost.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gold is the colour of his pleasure when he gives in to his carnal desires. No man can truly hold out against temptation and with his mask removed, his pretty face is framed by skin resplendent and healthy.

A man in a crisis of faith always seeks redemption; to seek another higher purpose so you will have to step in and be his religion. It has taken months, gently nursing him back to health and breaking down the barriers of meaningless restraint inculcated by weak men with fragile egos.

“Need your consent before we do anything, Ghost.”

He nods even if his faith is tested. He can’t love another man; it’s against the beliefs his father and the military have knocked into him over and over again.

“But you no longer believe in that, do you?”

He moans.

“Take me to be your faith, Ghost.”

“Let your belief be moulded by me and let yourself be rewarded.”

He chokes and it’s a sound echoing around the chambers. He lays on duvets and a hand is busy between his thighs rippling up and down a shaft neglected by his duties as a soldier. Your fingertips leave trails of gold weaving down his body in intricate markings and patterns to help him find his new purpose.

“Look into my eyes and tell me to stop. I will.”

Crisis and ruin gag his tongue and he comes noisily and weakly into his hands with his second orgasm clawing it way out of his throat. The mighty Ghost, once feared by all laid naked before you in the throes of pleasure with an eager hand lost in earthly desires.

You seek to show him heavenly desires.

The cloth around you falls to the floor in a heap and he zeroes in on your pelvis. A gilded cock ring affixed at the base and rings pierced in your nipples. The mattress dips below your weight as you kneel between his thighs and encroach into his space.

A hand touches his thighs and the question hangs in the air. He debates and gives his consent. To be bathed in your fervour and magnificence and your ego is stroked by the simple gesture itself. Fingers gently swiped through a bowl of liquid before they prod gently at his entrance and they push through between a gasp and growl of pure surprise and instinct.

He is beautiful, laying there with a hand clasping onto your arm pressing into the bed for support. The mask never did suit him—it’s ugly and hides a face sculpted in the truest image of man. Chest heaving with the thrumming anticipation of his first time with you and the light around you is blinding in it’s intensity. With three fingers in him, you taste him on plush lips pushing into yours with eager and a moan slipping from his slipper grasp on his awakened desires.

Gold is the colour of his nails when his hand wraps around your shaft and you smile encouragingly as he felt up what is going to enter him. He tugs your length and you clamber forward and rests a hand against the back of his head.

Sacred, in every sense with your body shadowing his and cradling him in pleasure as the length gently pushes into him. The hand on his head allows you to see into his eyes dilating with pleasure and supposed sin he once believed in.

A man’s pleasure is another’s too.

He gives a gasp when it’s halfway in and you stop; any further will hurt him. He is tight and eyes shut in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over his body and desires as you tug and pull on them to keep him off balance. Eventually, you give a shallow pull and thrust as he keens. The sound is melodious—pure and unfiltered without the meaningless shackles once denying him of pleasure this euphoric.

“Tell me how you feel, Ghost.”

His words are disjointed and broken, like lines of gold spiralling into loose ends as you rock into him again with the burning fervour to show him what he has denied himself for so long. Rebuild his faith and bring him to ecstasy over and over again.

In the bedroom, he loses himself to the chants of your name with frantic pawing at your chest when he feels the burn blaze in his loins. The body with gold paint flexes and shakes with thrust and symbolically, it represents a man seeking truth and knowledge with trust and vulnerability.

Tears streak down his face and they aren’t gold. You don’t expect them to be—they are pure as his heart is light in the moment. They fall in beads of expungement of false teachings of fake prophets.

Shake his faith and be his keeper—chant the name. Chant the name until all is nothing but drudgery behind a brilliance of gold that is his climax when he topples over the crests of vermillion into your hands ready to catch him and make him whole. He runs a hand through your flank as you whisper his name.

Simon.

“mmfph! C-come … come in me, p-please!” His voice beckons and his dick leaves evidence of his desire in strings on his pelvis. The tip leaks with clear fluid and you swipe a taste of tangy and salty and the quivering of a virgin hole around your aching dick. With each thrust, his whines are words of a siren in an altar defiled by your presence if they were to be believed. His eyes beseech you to be merciful as he slings an arm over.

“Cl-close! P-please, just … let—let me cum!” His body, aflame with desire getting higher and higher swallows you greedily as you thrust harder into him to make his wish a reality. His cheeks are smattered with pink and desperate men make convincing pleas.

Gold is the future waiting for him with you in seas of calm waters and a sun warm as your body pressed against his and seeding him in spurts as he spews messily over his stomach. His tears are rivers of release; cathartic is what he experiences when he lets out everything he has suppressed for so long to allow himself to feel.

“Stay with me, Simon.”

He nods and looses himself in your lips and grunts when you pull out of him before rearranging his rogue limbs into an embrace of suns and stars—a man sated and fulfilled with his desires snoozed, for now. His tears wipe off with a hand.

Gold, truly, is a colour best reserved for him. For his splendour and brilliance of a man having found his faith with you descending upon him in radiance and glory. In a house without god, he finds what he has been looking for. Upturned tables and roots of culture in a space no longer empty with your presence as you cup his face gently to soothe.

After all, what would you be if you didn’t safeguard a being as divine as him?

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist || kinktober masterlist

#fanfic #cod mw2 #male reader #cod x male reader #x male reader #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x male reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #ghost fanfiction #call of duty

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chiscribbs · 3 months

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Some miscellaneous doodles for ACT I of my Grown Apart AU!

If you squint, you can get a little context for the plot. ... If you don't feel like squinting, however, here are some convenient notes I've included about what's going on in each image:

(top left -> bottom middle)

Donnie hides his spidertech underneath a specially designed tailcoat that he made himself. The back has two openings on either side, hidden by an overlapping layer of fabric, from where the mechanical legs extend. Naturally, each spider leg hides a multitude of secret functions, most of which no one else but him knows about (not even Big Mama.)

Raph thinks Draxum's new prisoner/test subject, who he's been instructed to keep an eye on (no trouble there!), is just the cutest thing ever.

Leo and Mikey experience the joys of a two-child-household. When the little sibling is bored, no one else is allowed to know peace.

When Draxum joins sides with the Foot Clan, Raph is forced to work alongside humans for the first time. Draxum's always taught him that humans are the enemy of the yokai and that they need to be destroyed, so he's a bit...conflicted about this new development.

In an attempt to prove his usefulness to Big Mama - Donnie enters the Hamato residence as a spy, under the pretense of being an escapee of Big Mama's prisons (is it really all pretense, though?) He manages to win the ever-optimistic Mikey over with little trouble, but Leo is not as easily convinced and remains suspicious of the purple-clad "yokai's" intentions.

Big Mama can't risk losing her best engineer and mechanic to the above world as she did her champion all those years ago. So, she takes every necessary precaution to ensure Dontavius (Donnie) remains under her thumb, exactly where she needs him to be. After all, Mama knows best ❤

Splinter searches for his two lost sons, ninja style - Leo and Mikey are still too young to be left at the lair by themselves, so he's had to improvise.

A little clue as to how April first meets the boys - Leo and Mikey, that is - in this AU.

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Note

I just binged a bunch of your fics and I have a tiny request for you! Could you do headcanons for Zoro and/or Sanji with a selkie reader (together or separately)? Please and thank you!!

Masterlist here.

Word Count: Background Drabble, 700+. Per gentleman, 600+.

Hello dear anon! Thank you for challenging me with a mythical fic! I enjoyed my time crafting it for you. I hope you don't mind, I wrote them as more mini-fics/drabbles rather than HCs. I also snuck in an extra character because apparently the heart wants what it wants today, and I can't deny the words from wording.

Selkies are an aquatic race of fey native to the cold, wet northern coastlines. They live in villages on the shore, and occasionally mingle with outsiders. They have a particular wariness of humans, due to their tendency to steal their seal skins, but Selkie are otherwise very sociable creatures that love exploring the shores and the oceans beyond (Fact link, 5e Race)

@writingmysanity @gingernut1314

There was a battle above the surface, that was one thing you were certain of. Cannonfire, ricocheting iron balls and splintering of the wooden masts above the waves. You had never seen such violence, such hatred between two peoples. Recognising the marine lettering was no difficulty for you; their kind gracing your shores with regularity.

It was the other vessel that drew you in. You heard laughter ringing down below the ocean surface, halting you in your retreat as you sought out its source with your blackened eyes. Your sisters had long since fled from the display of violence, opting to hide away and wait for the fighting to stop. But you remained behind, desperately seeking out the conclusion to the battle above.

Suddenly, the marine ship began to flee from the engagement, but not before a figure was cast into the water and began rapidly sinking to the oceanic floor. Your eyes widened, your tail-flipper carrying you with haste to bring yourself over to the figure without a second thought.

His hair was dark, his eyes were tightly shut, and his limbs refused to move in a way to propel him away from his approaching death within the salt water. A devil-fruit user, you thought, bringing your curious eyes over to his and seeking them out beneath his closed eyelids. The small scar below his left eye had your head cocking to the side in curiosity.

“Luffy!” you heard several voices cry from above the surface of the water, the man’s eyes immediately opening to meet your own. His shock was written all over his face, his breath releasing in a bubbled huff that had his arms attempting to raise upwards to collect his breath to no avail.

“Luffy,” you called in your oceanic language, smiling your feral face into his; revealing rows of sharpened teeth in a wide smile. His panic continued to rise, his lungs screaming for air as you took your time studying him. You drew your face impossibly close to his, unblinking eyes studying him as he struggles against the water. “Luffy,” you again called to him, your eyes and face beginning to relay a humanoid likeness, “Let me help you.”

You ushered your body beneath his, chaperoning him to the surface of the water and drawing his body up to the surface of the water. He immediately sucked in a large ballooned breath of air, his neck snapping towards his ship to seek out the concerned and panicked faces of the members of his crew. After he made eye contact and flashed them a winning grin, he turned back to face your animalistic and beastly face, and upturned his eyes in gratitude.

“You think you could take me to the ship?” He asked, a mischievous twinkle now reflected in his eyes as he checked over you. You nodded, beginning to ride the propelling waves over to the vessel. The figurehead of a ram was carved intricately against the ship’s stern, a beauty to behold as you danced your flipper and easily propelled you both to the splintered and fractured wood.

He wrapped his arms around your upper flippers, nuzzling into the back of your neck and uttering his gratitude against your skin. Your voice harshly barked a cracked laugh at the gesture, enjoying his playfulness and kindness as he continued to tell you what a good seal you were.

“Luffy, what are you doing?!” A woman with orange hair called out to him, eyes wide and panicked.

“This seal saved me from drowning!” he called in return, with his broad smile pleasantly cracking his face, “Gotta rub its belly and thank it with a big scratch and a cuddle!” As Luffy drew himself over to the ship, he jumped from your back and took hold of the rigging above and began his slow climb to the top of the water.

Your instincts screamed at you to return to your sisters, to withdraw away from these sailors; but as soon as your eyes sprung over to meet your eyes with theirs. Why, you were completely hypnotized.

Hoisting your body upwards, your beastly form shedding from your human form and shrouding yourself in a cloak of blubber and fur. You climbed in your nudity to the decks above, hoisting your legs over the side of the ship and revealing yourself to the entirety of the crew in front of you.

“Luffy,” the woman whispered, her shock written all over her face, “That is no mere seal.” Luffy cocked his head over, shock now written on his face at noticing your beauty in your human form.

“That is a selkie.”

Zoro

The swordsman had never seen such beauty in his life. Although immediately drawn in by your otherworldly radiance, as the loyal first mate aboard the Going Merry: he stepped in and ushered the captain behind him and took a protective stance. A darkness was within your eyes, rotating your shoulders as you squared up to face this mysterious man.

You knew from your place within the water below that when your eyes met his, he was a marvel to behold. But now with your close proximity to him, his valiance and loyalty to his captain had you immediately smitten. Widening your lips in a broad grin, you elevated your hands in front of yourself defensively and bowed your head low to him.

“I mean neither you nor your crew harm, Protector,” your honeyed voice sweetly called to him. He was taken aback with your voice, stumbling in his step forward as he continued to shield his captain away from you.

“I’ll be the judge o’ that, Ningyo,” he uttered with a smirk;his eyes displaying a similar ferocity to yours in your bestial form.

And that is when you decided you were going to court him. Your soul cried out to join with his; immediately smitten with the swordsman. You stayed with the crew for months, subtle touches over his shoulders, leaving a fresh kill at his feet first, before Sanji took it to the kitchen to properly prepare it. Everything you did, you did to please the swordsman. Every fiber of your being called to him and courted him.

You began leaving your furred skin around in places for him to find, only for him to return it to you with a deep scowl and a verbal reprimand of: “Can ya stop leaving this around the place? It’s really annoying.”

It was only when Usopp and Nami physically sat him down and spelt out the courting practices of Selkie folk that had his face burning with a bright vibrance and his eyes widened. His lips downturned in a deep frown as his blush rose, his shock at your shameless audacity of courting him so publicly without any context of his lacking comprehension.

He decided a full frontal confrontation was what was needed to tackle this, no room for any other mistaken intentions and misdirection for his lack of direction sense.

“You been leaving your blubber ‘round for me to find, Ningyo?” he yelled at you, heads snapping up from the crew around as they witnessed this verbal spat.

“Yes,” you confirmed, laying back and basking in the sun atop the wooden deck.

“Why?” His pointed hazelnut gaze held the intensity of a man staring down his enemy. You refused to shy away; instead rising to your feet and squaring up to him.

“Because I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine,” your lip curled at the corner, your sharpened canines baring out in your brilliant smile. He reached down, claiming your biceps within his wide fingers and palm.

“Why me?” He growled, his tone low enough for only you to hear. You reached up your hand, softening your smile and cradling his angry face beneath your palm.

“Because I love you, Zoro,” you cooed up at his face, eyes half-lidded and full of nothing short of full adoration. His breath hitched in his throat, his mind not keeping up with the words you were relaying to him.

“This why you kept bringin’ me fish?” He asked you, his nose crinkling up as his smile broke through onto his lips. You nodded, leaning into his face. You gently brushed your nose with his, closing your eyes as you breathed him in.

Breaking from the gentle touch, you withdrew your nose from its contact and quickly bore your teeth at him, biting his chin in a gentle nip. He flinched at the contact, eyes widening at your expression.

“Next time I leave it out for you,” you growled at him, “Don’t bring it back to me, Protector.”

“I won’t, Ningyo.”

Sanji

Sanji’s breath was sucked from his lungs, his eyes wide and wild at seeing a creature of myth and legend aboard the deck of the ship. He watched as your eyes slowly assessed the crew, your gaze lingering on Luffy before your gaze snapped and met with his. Your lips parted, your heart rose into your throat as your eyes began to widen at him.

From your position below the waves, shepherding the member of the pirate crew back above deck, you drew your attention to the blond member of the crew and were immediately intrigued. As your eyes met with his rounded, gray orbs; you knew for certain:

This man was the most beautiful sight you had ever laid your eyes on. And looking at him, you knew he was immediately taken with you too.

But you refused to give into your emotions that easily.

For the next few months, you found yourself constantly nearby the ship known as the Going Merry. You constantly checked up on their non-swimming captain to ensure his safety traveling the seas, but your eyes always fell over the form of the chef amongst them. Each time you would leave, you always looked over your shoulder to notice the way his eyes would linger on you - always holding hope that you would turn back around and remain with him.

Before you really knew what you were doing, you began ushering grandiose feasts of fish and crustaceans towards the Merry, always ensuring your blond was well supplied with a variety of ingredients from within the depths of the ocean.

Kelp, seaweed and shells of vast variety began to find themselves on the windowsill of the kitchen; just as flowers, beads and brightly coloured stones were left out for you to find as you placed the gifts there. Each present had your heart swelling, but continuing to remain strong in not giving into your human emotions. He was human, and you were not.

As the ship pulled into a far off dock, Sanji’s eyes met yours as you attempted to remain coy to his attention. You were bathing in the ocean; your lengthy hair covering the linen against your chest and over your hips, pelvis and glutes. Your eyes were shut, raking a sharpened, toothed stone through your hair to detangle it of its strands - your fur and blubber skin cast aside atop a rock behind you.

Sanji was no fool. As soon as he began harboring affection for you, he asked Nami and Usopp for a variety of literature pertaining to aquatic mythos. He knew that if he were to claim your fur for himself, you would have no choice but to be with him.

He bid a hasty farewell to his crew for the evening, gesturing with his chin over to your position to alert Nami to his intentions. She pursed her lips, attempting to hold back her smile as Sanji drew himself closer to you.

As he drew his shaky hands over the skin laying so innocently against the moss-covered gray rocks, he stilled his descent and retracted his hand. Sensing his hesitation, you looked over your shoulder at him but chose not to address him. Your body and mind screamed at him to take it, to claim it for himself and, in turn, claim you. But as the seconds drew into minutes, minutes turning into several cold and unbroken moments - you finally turned to make eye contact with the chef behind you.

He was sat directly beside your fur, a cigarette beginning to relinquish its flames down to the filter as he took in the nicotine-laced smoke. His expression was unreadable, stoic and still: something you had not seen reflected on his eyes in all the months you had known him.

“Sanji?” you asked, your brows furrowing in question. He shook his head, inhaling a final breath of his cigarette before stifling the tip and stuffing the butt into his pouch for later disposal. “Sanji, why won’t you claim me?” He again shook his head, closing his eyes and turning himself away from you.

“I wanted to, mon cœur, believe me,” he confessed, nodding his head but holding his eyes closed.

“Then why didn’t you?” you rose to your human feet and began stalking over to him. As you drew yourself over to his seated form, you knelt low before him, falling to your knees in front of him.

“I would never force you to be with me, mon trésor. No matter how much I want you, I would never want you to be mine without knowing it’s truly what you want,” he confessed, opening his eyes to meet his eyes with yours once more. His eyes were pools of true adoration and love, swimming amongst the sunset reflected off the horizon.

You sighed, reaching down and collecting your fur from its place beside Sanji and bundling it within your arms. Holding it tightly and firmly within your arms, you firmly squeezed it against your chest to hold it one last time before gently bowing your head and presenting it out to him.

“This belongs to you, Sanji,” you whispered, stretching out your arms further in front of you, “Like my heart: it will always belong to you.” You heard his breath hitch in his throat, immediately falling to his knees in front of you and drawing you in for an embrace. He was quick to cradle you against his torso, smoothing his hands over your slightly damp hair and placing a sweet amount of quick kisses against your temple and hairline.

You pulled away from his embrace, looking steadily into his eyes at first before propelling your face into his to claim his lips beneath your own. Your movements were slow, dancing with skill and passion as you took his bottom lip between your sharpened teeth. He groaned against your lips, whimpering as you dropped your fur and entangled your arms around him in a strong embrace. You clawed at his back in an attempt to hold him closer to you, your nails tearing small holes into the back of his jacket and finding residence in his muscular flesh beneath the material.

“I will return it to you when you desire to go home to your sisters, mon cherie,” Sanji whispered, his heart swelling at your confession, “I know you will always belong to the wilds, and I refuse to selfishly keep you with me when humanity becomes all too much for you.”

Hearing a small winced whimper, you broke away from his lips and gazed into his eyes. He looked at you with nothing but true adoration and love, his eyes softening as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, Sanji,” you confessed, your voice low and as sweet as honey-wine. Sanji’s smile continued to shine against his cheeks, his eyes dancing lights behind the irises at such an impossible notion. To harbor the adoration of a mythical creature of great renown and legend, that was no easy feat.

“I love you too,” he confessed, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, “And I hope to continue to be worthy of such affection from someone as amazing as you.”

Luffy

“A selkie, hey?” He exclaimed with glee, immediately bringing himself before you, “Does that mean I can’t give you belly rubs, a scratch and a cuddle?” At that small question, your heart immediately swelled with the fierce desire to travel with this devil-fruit user.

“I do not think a belly rub or a scratch would be appropriate in this form, no,” your melodious and sweetened giggle sprung gleefully into the air. Luffy huffed out his own laughter, immediately wrapping his arms around your shoulders and drawing you close to him.

“Thank you for saving me, seal,” he cooed in your ear, squeezing you impossibly tight within his arms. After breaking his face away from your shoulder, he continued to hold you within his circular grip as he gazed into your eyes. You danced your gaze between his two caramel orbs, staring up at him through your eyelashes as his warm smile became contagious.

“I am not a seal, Luffy,” you purred, baring your sharpened canine teeth at him as your smile broadened.

Luffy couldn’t explain this emotion he felt, but he knew he wanted you to travel with him. Always with him. Never far from sight, not even when in your seal form and dancing in the waves below. He would patiently wait for you to crawl up the hull of the ship and meet your eyes with his; relishing in the ways your smile crept atop your lips as you savoured the mirrored reflection he met you with.

He wanted to keep you. He needed to keep you.

And you felt exactly the same. This sailor, this captain among the straw-hat pirates with the dream of becoming king of them. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. And so, you made it apparent.

Swimming below the depths and finding the most beautiful pearl within the heart of several clams; you presented him with your treasures. You brought him the flesh of your fresh kills, presenting him with the raw, sweeter, meats and watched him enthusiastically dine on the creatures - before becoming violently ill most times.

Sanji managed to sit you down in the kitchen, reprimanding you firstly before directing you to bring them to him for him to make the meat safe for human consumption. You did not take well to this notion, wanting him to see how hard you worked to provide for your beloved captain.

It was one night where you physically bore yourself before him, your body only clad in sheer linen as you presented your furred flesh to him with a warm flush littering your cheeks. Unaware of its significance, he immediately placed it over his body, removing his straw hat and placing your otherworldly head atop his own. It swelled your heart to witness him take to your gift with such enthusiasm, truly allowing yourself to humble before this pirate and allow him to claim you as his own.

“Thank you, seal,” he smiled at you, wrapping the skin around himself as one would a plush duvet to shield themselves from the cold, “why are you giving me your skin? I don’t understand.”

You sighed out an exasperated breath, your shoulders slouching and brows upturning in sorrow. He immediately snapped upright and rigid, removing his hands from beneath the flesh and collecting your shoulders beneath his palms.

“What does this mean, seal?” he asked you, his eyes displaying concern as he held you firm, “You’re not gonna leave, are you? I don’t want you to go. I want you always with me-.”

“-This means I am yours,” you confessed, your eyes refusing to meet his, “And by you accepting it; it means you are mine.” He sucked in a hasty and large breath through his nose, his eyes widening as his lungs swelled. He closed his eyes as he moved his hands over your shoulders.

“You won’t leave? You won’t go back to your family?” He sought out your eyes with his own, angling his head down to collect your gaze, “You’ll stay with me?”

“You’re my dream, Luffy,” you smiled, your eyes finally meeting his caramel orbs, “And I want to always be with you.”

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