#Gore with a Goatee

[saints-who-never-existed]

On a lighter and completely unrelated note, I would still love love love to know more of the thought/creative process behind deciding who got to have what kind of outlandish facial hair?

Did they just ask everyone at casting "Hey, are you capable of growing a big bitchin' beard? Yes? Okay, go do that now and we'll sculpt it into something improbable and gravity-defying!"?

In times of trouble, I like to imagine a world where we get to see Hodgson with a handlebar moustache, Le Vesconte with a Van Dyke, Fitzjames with a Fu Manchu, or Solomon with a soul patch...

[amnxp]

Hold me, please

Pairing: Joaquin x semi!avenger!reader (not really an avenger but reader does fight and is in a fight scene here)

Warnings: a looooooot of angst, brief fight scenes, some fluff, at the begining, open ending (bc i might make a part 2 if someone is interested), brutal injuries, gore, and also reader is not doing well mentally with Joaquins last mission

Word count: 2k

Summary: You get hurt on a mission that was supposed to be Joaquin‘s. Arguments start, words are said that cannot be taken back. What ever to do now?

A/N: I think my next few posts will be joaquin based but i will def throw in some jason todd fics! Also thank you so much for all the love Forget me Not got! All likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated and i have seen all!:)) As a thank you have a waaaaayyy longer Joaquin Fanfic. I hope you enjoy it<3

Pt.2

You feel him long before you see him.

A small smile grows onto your face as his goatee scratches and tickles your neck while he places kisses along your jaw. You had forced Joaquin a few weeks ago to let his beard grow in because you found him more attractive with it, and although he was reluctant at first—because he didn’t want Sam making fun of him—he very quickly learned that it indeed made you way more attracted to him. You open your eyes and turn around in his arms so that your face is pressed against his chest, one of your hands cradling the back of his neck.

"You smell really good, Joaquin," you murmur, placing a kiss on his Adam’s apple. You feel him shudder around you. “I was wearing that new cologne you got me yesterday,” he replies, his voice still thick with sleep. “Seems like it stuck.“

A low hum leaves you as you feel yourself slipping back into sleep.

"No, baby. We need to get up. It's late, and I gotta go meet Sam and Bucky." "Do you have a new mission? You just got out of the hospital, Joaquin. I don’t want you out there for at least two more weeks.". You sit up in bed, your back meeting the headboard. Joaquin leans on his side, propping himself up with one hand as he looks up at you with a goofy, shit-eating grin, chuckling.

"No, not a mission. Just a quick debrief of their last mission, and they wanted me to surveil an attack. I won’t engage at all, and I will be far, far, far away from any danger. I promise.". Every "far" is followed by a soft kiss on your chest, just above your heart.

You let out a sharp sigh and look away. Ever since his brush with death, you’ve been anxious, doting on him, taking care of him—you don’t want him out there anymore. You knew who he was, and you knew all the dangers that came with his job. You yourself would help them out here and there on their missions, but you would never call yourself an Avenger, a hero, or anything of the sort. And you certainly had never experienced such grave injuries before.

They had to restart his heart. He was gone. His heart—the one that holds so much love and so much joy—had stopped, and—

"Stop that." "I'm not doing anything." "You’re thinking too much about this. I won’t be near any danger, and after this, I won’t be asked to do anything for a month." He pulls himself from under the covers and makes his way to the bathroom, leaving you no room to start an argument.

As you stand up to get yourself something to eat, your phone begins to ring. It’s Sam. You pick up on the third ring.

"Hey, Sam." "Where are you? Is Joaquin with you?" You furrow your brows in worry at his tone. "No, he's in the bathroom. It's just me. What happened, Sam?" "We need you for a mission, but Joaquin can’t know." "Is it the mission that he’s surveilling? How exactly do you want him not to know, Sam?" "It’s a ruse." "A ruse? Am I your jack-in-the-box? Sam, just because Joaquin is on a break doesn’t mean you can go searching for others to just throw themselves headfirst into—" "I’m not asking."

"…Excuse me?"

"It is either you or Joaquin. And I wouldn’t have asked if this wasn’t absolutely necessary. Figure it out." Before you can even formulate a sentence in your head, he has already hung up.

A minute later, you receive a text from Sam—coordinates, most likely where the mission is supposed to take place.

You exhale deeply through your nose before moving to the kitchen. Breakfast is bland, unsatisfying. A little while later, Joaquin steps out of the shower, fresh and clean, already dressed. He grabs some fruit, kisses the top of your head, and bids you goodbye.

For a few minutes after Joaquin‘s departure, you stare at the kitchen wall. No sound, no movement, just the weight of your own heavy breathing. The more you think about Sam and his mission, the more you feel yourself stress. Your left ear starts ringing heavily as your head starta to sway. The harsh ringing of your phone yanks you out, and you quickly pick it up.

"I’ll be there in ten, Sam."

"Does Joaquin know? He just arrived and seems a bit skittish."

"No, I didn’t tell him anything, Sam. Can you keep an eye on him? At least until I’m in?"

"You got it. And thank you, for doing this."

———

It was supposed to be quick.

In and out. Grab the damn papers, throw anybody down who tried to get them, and get out before you get caught. And don’t kill anybody. That was what Sam and Bucky had told you.

Sam had even given you a headset to stay connected to Bucky as he stayed behind with Joaquin to surveil you and keep him off the radar. About five minutes in, your headset was crushed when one of the workers in the facility tried to bash your head into the wall. Small shards and sharp pieces of the headset pierced the side of your head, leaving behind a deep cut just beneath your eye. Your ear was ringing again, and you could practically feel Sam start to panic.

It took you two elongated hours before you finally saw the front door cleared. You had been stabbed in your abdomen, and your hand—although pierced to bits as well—pressed onto your wound as best as you could. The other hand grasped the papers tightly in case anybody tried to rip them out again.

But as you made your way to the door, your legs gave out from just beneath you and— Damn it.

Everything went black.

Damn Sam and this stupid superhero bullshit.

…

You hear frantic voices, someone yelling for help. Two warm hands cradle your face, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your cheeks. "Mi cielo my sky, don’t do this here. Please, please, please. I’m sorry. I know it hurts. Baby, don’t you love me? You can’t leave me alone, please, baby."

That was all you had gotten before your body blacked out again.

---

The next time your body wakes again, your eyes open first. A bright, strong white light almost blinds you with its intensity, and it does nothing to help the blaring headache pounding away at your skull. As you move your head to the side, you spot Joaquin. He looks tired—eyebags under his eyes more prominent, his beard unkempt and grown thicker than the last time you saw him. His hand holds tightly onto yours. You try to speak, to move, to give him any sign that you’re awake, but you’re far too exhausted. Instead, you just hope he realizes it on his own.

The door swings open, and Sam and Bucky enter. Sam holds a large bouquet of flowers in his hands, while Bucky—who doesn’t look much better than you imagine you do—just stands idly by.

"How ya doin’, kid?" Sam places the flowers on the nightstand next to your bed. You let out a sigh and open your mouth to try and speak, but before you get the chance, Joaquin already startled awake.

"How long has she been awake? Why didn’t you wake me? Do you need the doctor? Hold on, let me—". He moves to press the call button, but Sam is quicker.

No one says anything after that. Joaquin simply sits to the side as the doctor checks on you, glaring between you and Sam. You already know—once the doctor, Sam, and Bucky leave—you’re in for a long argument. And it's ironic, considering you had just been in his position less than a week ago. It takes an excruciating hour before Sam and Bucky finally decide to leave.

All the while, Joaquin hasn’t muttered a single word. Sam apologizes, and Bucky tries to start a conversation, but he doesn’t get far once he realizes that nobody is responding to him.

In all honesty, you don’t want them to leave. You don’t want to start an argument with Joaquin when your body is still half-alive, still clawing its way out of the grasp of death. However, much to your surprise, five minutes after Sam and Bucky leave, Joaquin stands up as well.

"Where are you going?" Your voice comes out dull and scratchy from disuse.

"I’m going home. I’ll come back tomorrow."

"Joaquin—". He leaves.

You exhale a deep sigh, turning your head to stare at the wall beside you.

——

It takes you two weeks to be cleared to return home. And in those fourteen days, Joaquin comes to visit you only four times—each visit shorter than the last. You try to talk to him, try to get him to explain why he’s this upset when he himself does this nearly every day, but the only responses you get are a sigh, a roll of his eyes, or a very short, "I have to go." You quickly learn to leave it be. When the time comes, he does come to pick you up, driving you both home in complete silence.

The second you step through your front door, his entire demeanor shifts.

"Was this what you wanted from the start?" His voice is sharp and rough as he whips around to face you. His narrowed eyes glare at you with a pointed stare, his breath coming out heavy.

"What? Joaquin, what are you—"

"Did you want this to happen? Go on a mission, get yourself hurt, just to teach me a lesson? I just got out of the fucking hospital, and not even a week later, you’re in there. Are you out of your mind? Taking on a mission like that all on your own? No backup, nothing, and I wasn’t even informed that you were there! You all lied to me. You can’t even fucking fight. You’re not even a fucking Avenger. What the fuck is wrong with you?", his voice grows significantly louder with every word that tumbles out of his mouth, but all you can focus on is the last sentence.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Is.

Wrong.

With.

You?

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Joaquin? I took care of you for four fucking weeks—day in and day out! I got you food, I got you everything you wanted, and this is what I fucking get? I took the fucking mission so you wouldn’t have gotten hurt again, and you can’t even look at me. Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, you don’t get to—".

You don’t let him finish.

You turn around, storming toward the door, and slam it shut behind you.

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[ckret2]

If your Bill could have facial hair, what style would it be? What I mean is, what style of facial hair Bill thinks look best?

My guese is mustache like Salvador Dalí's (must be at least in his top 10).

now that's a question that could get three answers so I'm giving you all three.

What facial hair would my Bill specifically choose? None. Because I headcanon that a Euclidean body that's rotting/gored/grievous injured looks like an unraveling brick of ramen noodles, typically spilling out through their mouth; so Bill reacts to hair on his head like "oh god i'm dying and my organs are spilling out." He's just barely learned to cope with scalp hair. Having hair all around his mouth at all times would be a constant trigger, he'd feel constantly ill, it'd be like smelling the breath of an invisible zombie making out with you all day.

What facial hair does he think looks best, on other people? Human hair amuses him greatly, they've got tiny tufts on their scalps and pits and groin and about half get tufts on their chin (which fascinatingly correlates with higher odds of losing their scalp tufts) and then sparse useless fuzz on their limbs and sometimes some more patchy areas, BUT NOWHERE ELSE, why is human hair like that, it's so adorably useless. He thinks humans should honor the bizarreness of their patchy hair by taking it to the extreme.

And by "extreme" hair I mean Soos cutting a duck playing paddle ball into his hair is more extreme than Pacifica's knee-length hair; Trembley's whatever-he's-got-going-on is a more "extreme" beard than McGucket's, which is long but consistent in length. If you shave a labyrinth into your beard, or grow it out and then only shave off the left half of your face, or hairspray & sculpt it into a staircase, or tie it into eight braids with teeth used like beads at the bottom of the braids, he'll be delighted. Get weird with it! No, weirder!! Weirder!!!

What facial hair would he think looks best on himself if he didn't have a visceral disgust reaction to hair around his mouth and also was motivated to actually maintain it? Something simple, sleek, and triangular. Probably a soul patch or goatee. I scribbled some on top of the art I'm working on for this Friday's chapter, here

probably #3 or #1.

The first version of this human Bill I designed (in The Sims 4) actually had a small soul patch + goatee combo, although I was limited by the options available in the game so I couldn't get something properly triangular like I wanted. (His body shape's about the same now—inasmuch as I could make that body shape in TS4—but his face changed a lot.)

[cultkinkcoven]

Dream

From my nap this evening.

This one was really weird.

At first I wasn’t in the scene at all. It was some kind of living room area, a couch and a fuzzy white rug and a fireplace. Drinks and cigars and red lighting. Those lamps with the eccentric shades, drapes and beads. There were 5 or 6 people- or entities, deities, milling about the room, they all wore masks- some looked like animal masks, others looked like theatre masks. And Lord Lucifer was there too, wearing a mask that looked like a little red devil with the horns and a moustache and goatee.

And they (the others) were sat on the couch and floor chatting, laughing. And then there’s some kind of other spirit, a servant, that enters the room with a platter. And the deities all cheer, clear room on the coffee table. And the platter is set down. I can’t see what’s on it, it’s censored in a strange way, but I can see that it’s gore, some kind of meat.

The deities continue chatting and now grazing off of this platter. And Lord Lucifer is sat away from the group, by himself in a dark corner at a little table. He has a drink, and seems to be absentmindedly writing something, maybe working.

One of the Gods, a woman, she wore a vulture mask, rose from the couch and set aside a plate for Lucifer, served him some meat. And he watched her set it down on his table.

“This is really quality stuff, Phosphorus,” she said. And Lucifer paused writing.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He replied.

And one of the other gods, a male God wearing the mask of a bull chimed in, “don’t waste your time, Lucifer won’t partake in this ritual.”

And another one of the gods, another female with the mask of a ram or maybe a deer chortled, murmured that she found him (Lucifer) ridiculous.

And Lucifer placed down his pen and said “I see no reason why it should bother you, it means more for you all to enjoy.”

“But it is extremely rude,” the vulture said, “why come here, to my dwelling if you will not even accept my hospitality?”

And another one, one who wore a mask that looked like a vintage theatre sun laughed. “He just wants to watch us. Our little voyeur.”

And Lucifer took a sip from his drink, “no, I really like listening to you all yap too.”

And the vulture became a bit more insistent, “just try it.”

And Lucifer: “not interested.”

“It’s not a morally pure enough offering for our devil,” the bull chimed in again.

And the one wearing the sun laughed again, “oh, that I do find hard to believe.”

“He eats flesh and spirit, I’ve seen it. He lies with humans,” another deity, this one wore a blue mask that had a bunch of gold jewels all over it. And the deer agreed with another comment, “oh yes he does, don’t let him lie.”

“I too, do not believe this is a matter or morality.” The vulture continued, “I’m offended. This is not some cruel taking, Morning Star, this is the result of a multi-generational promise. A sacred chosen heir was immortalized in their sacrifice and the result is this most decadent offering. To partake is to honour them.”

And Lucifer, “I don’t doubt that.”

“Lucifer doesn’t do legacy.” Another had said, they wore a mask that looked like an African mask, some kind of demon or monster.

And Lucifer softly shrugged, sipped his drink.

“Ridiculous,” the bull went.

“Birth rites and destined descendants are too much commitment for the bachelor,” the sun added.

Lucifer leaned back in his seat like he was amused, but his hands in his lap.

“I simply doubt this devotee planned to be consumed by any other,” he said. And the vulture decided to eat the piece she offered Lucifer.

“This heir was planned and destined to become anything that her goddess transformed her into,” she said.

And the sun laughed again, “I think you all have him wrong, he’s not prudish, he’s just sentimental. Lucifer likes to get real close and personally intimate with those whom he consumes.”

“Yes, he needs to get inside them before they can get inside him.” The bull added with a deep and hefty laugh. And the others laughed along.

In this moment that same servant from before reentered the room. He said something like “There is a visitor for Lucifer.”

And then I altogether saw myself being hauled into the room by other spirits, and as soon as I entered the room Lucifer stood from his seat and removed his mask like he needed to get a clear look at me, looked like he was absolutely surprised and somewhat enraged- horrified.

And I only then realized how huge everyone was, I was smaller than child sized compared to them.

And Lucifer dove for me, grabbed me away from the spirits and held me away from the group, said something extremely harsh, “I will slaughter every single one of you.”

“Is this your boy?” The blue mask asked. And the deer confirmed “it is!”

“I don’t care what point you’re trying to prove, summoning him here is too far and you know that.” Lucifer cursed. “What the fuck is wrong with you”

“None of us summoned him,” the sun said, now in a calmer tone than they had before.

“How did you get in here?” Lucifer asked now asked me in a commanding tone. I shrunk, I was more confused than he was. I was just dreaming. I didn’t have an answer. I shivered.

“He was looking for his master, how else?” The sun continued.

“How about it, Phosphorus, you gonna have a drink now?” The bull teased and laughed, looking down on me with powerful eyes. The vulture chimed in, “oh yeah, I’d love to get to see what Lucifer looks like when he indulges, go ahead.”

And Lucifer put himself in front of me, hid me.

“Thats a pretty face, Lucifer, do you wear that just for him?” The blue face went.

“How many of us have never seen Lucifer get hard?” The bull went on, and they were all laughing. “We’ll look away, Lucifer. Take your time. We want everyone to enjoy themselves here.”- from the vulture.

And Lucifer scoops me up, not entertained. Finally takes a long drag from the cigar he hadn’t touched the whole time. Almost smoked the whole thing in one breath. “We’re leaving.”

And the sun leans in near me, says something like “no wait, I want to see him. I want to talk to him. Hello, little one.”

And Lucifer gives him a look more intense than anything I’ve ever seen from him. And we leave.

We appear back in his office, and when we enter the room he orders me to sit on the couch sternly. I’m in trouble, I don’t know what I did wrong.

“Explain yourself. Now.”

And I sort of just teared up. I really was confused. “I… I don’t know. I just was taking a nap, I was thinking of you. And then I just saw you guys. I don’t know. Im sorry I didn’t know.”

“This is the second time you have placed yourself in a situation I did not intend for you.”

I broke down harder. I was really scared for some reason. He looked really mad, he’s never looked so mad at me before.

And he sort of paced the room for a minute, and then returned to me, sat next to me on the couch. Embraced me, kissed me. Let out a very deep sigh.

“Im not upset at you, Shi. I thought you were deliberately doing magic to work around the limitations I put on you, to get to me when you want, when I am unavailable. I’m seeing now that whatever is happening seems to be accidental, or perhaps it’s a glitch.”

And he told me to calm down. “I’m not mad at you, I’m sorry, it’s okay.”

And after a few minutes of that he said he would be leaving but would be right back. He told me to keep the door locked.

When he returned he has a black box in his hand. He gave it to me and sat back down beside me.

When I opened it there was a new collar inside, somewhat similar to the one I already have, but this one had a bell on it. And he ordered me to remove my old one and put the new one on. Give the old one to him.

“It’ll just help me keep better track of you.”

Okay.

“So you really didn’t know I was there? That wasn’t intended?” I asked. And that furious look returns to his face.

“I thought they were fucking with me. I may have inadvertently summoned you myself on accident. I’m honestly not entirely sure, but no, it was not my intention at all.”

Oh.

Okay.

And he sits for a while, just staring blankly into the distance. It disturbed me.

And then he snapped out of it, looked at me, pet me. Jangled my bell. It made a very pretty tone. “You look cute with a bell.”

Strange.

[serialkilluh1996]

Pull Through

Randy Meeks x gender-neutral-Reader

Warnings ➛: Angst/Mentions of gore/ that's all, really. It's angst. Cry about it(wink wink).

(⑅⎚=⎚)Author's note: This is old as hell and I pasted it from my Wattpad.

Don't you regret being so stubborn? Don't you wish you hadn't been saved?

You sat in the beige leather chair of the cold hospital room, the eerie sound or heart monitor beeping at a slow but subtle pace as Randy laid there, an IV sticking through his arm and oxygen tubes in his nose.

You reached out with slight hesitation, grabbing his hand. It was cold, and somewhat grainy. Like he hadn't moisturized recently. You rubbed your thumb across his palm repeatedly.

He'd been stabbed over ten times, and the doctor stated that he more than likely wouldn't pull through. You prayed he would make it, begging silently that Randy wouldn't be taken away from you.

You looked at his face. His eyes were closed, lips slightly ajar. God, you could just kiss him. Why... why'd he have to be a hero? Why did he sacrifice himself ro save you?

"Why didn't I listen?" You thought to yourself. Randy warned you countless times. He warned you not to drink, not to party, not to answer the phone.

But it was your way or the highway. Now Randy's got a good chance of being on the highway to heaven.

"It's not fair that he had to pay for my mistakes." Your grip on his hand tightened. A single tear fell down your face. It felt soooo warm. That tear felt like a blanket to you after being that damned hospital room for so long with no jacket.

It reminded you of a subtle, but meaningful memory of you and Randy.

As you sat on the couch together, Randy put a piece of popcorn in his mouth, a scratching his goatee. "That guy is toootally the killer. I mean, look at those shoes." He rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong with them? I think they're cute." You defended the man kn the screen. "Pfft. You think Harry Warden is cute." Randy scoffed. Randy noticed the goosebumps on your skin, pulling you in close to him,  your sides touching with warmth. "What are you doing?" You asked, looking up at him.

"You looked cold. I'm trying to warm you up." He answered, sticking a warm, buttery piece of popcorn in your mouth. You couldn't deny how good it felt.

"Why didn't you just turn on the heat?" You questioned. "Because," He stuffs half a handful in your mouth "It gives me a reason to cuddle with you." He said quite forwardly. It caught you off guard to say the least, but your mouth was full of popcorn, and by time you'd swallowed all of it, it seemed to late to respond.

The memory simmers in your head, replaying like a VHS. It made you feel bad in a way. The fact that Randy felt the need to have an excuse cuddle you. You knew how much he liked you, but you always teased him about it and friendzoned him whenever the chance was given, in which he would never complain.

Now, here he is. Dying in order to save your life. The waves of guilt rushed through your body, and more of those thick, warm tears of guilt ran down your face.

You never believed him when he set all these rules. You always thought something like this could never happen to you, and yet, it did. Like some sort of reality check to inform you that bad things could happen to anybody.

And it made you think. If such a terrible attack could take place, then there's nothing to say that Randy would pull through. That he would survive this. You didn't like the thought, but you couldn't shake it.

You lay your head gently on Randy's chest, his natural scent coursing through your nose. He smelled so...Randy. a smell you can't describe, but you loved it.

"I'm so sorry, Randy..." the words slowly turning from a whisper to whimper, followed by pitched sobs. "I'm so sorry. Please, don't go." You sniffled, wrapping your arms around him as his slow, hollow breathing continued.

"Please, don't leave me." You begged him as the tears flowed down your face, no longer warm and comforting, but wet and cold.

"I promise I'll listen. I'll be good." You sounded like a child begging for some sort of treat.

"It's okay,.....you gotta lose a game every once and a while to get good at it." His voice was weak, but soothing. Like a hug. Randy couldn't hug you in this state, so you were willing to settle for the hug.

You sat up quickly, planting kiss on the corner of Randy's lips, letting a tear transfer from your face to his mouth. You wiped it off with your thumb, hugging him gently as to not agitate his wounds.

"This gives me an excuse to cuddle you..." you chuckled, sniffling a little.

"You... don't need an excuse.... I'd give you every hug I have left and... you don't even have to ask for it." He tries to speak through the pain.

"Don't talk Randy. Just rest. I promise, when you get out of here, I'll hug you every hour, every minute, every second I see you. I love you, Randy." You sniffled, holding on to him as his body progressively got warmer.

"I love you too, ☆☆☆." You could swear Randy was about to cry if he had the strength.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated.

[munsonkitten]

Steve gets Eddie out of the Upside Down. He doesn’t know how he does it, but he does. He holds his organs in with his own body, carrying him pressed front to front, one arm cradled under his thighs and the other wrapped around his back, Eddie’s head lolling on his shoulder. He has Eddie’s face on his bad side. If Eddie were to say anything to him, it would be lost to the constant ringing in that ear, but he hopes it’s nothing too important — Steve understands the situation. Either Eddie’s going to survive, or he isn’t and nothing he tells Steve now will be any help without a hospital.

All he cares about is keeping Eddie awake and keeping him alive. 

Each heavy footstep as Steve runs jostles Eddie back into wakefulness, thank god. Steve doesn’t know what he would do to keep Eddie awake otherwise, seeing as his own voice is gone, unable to make its way through his throat because how the fuck could anyone talk after seeing the shit he’s seen? 

They can’t get through the gate in the ceiling of Eddie’s trailer like this, that much was obvious from the moment Steve found Dustin cradling Eddie’s limp body to his chest.

Steve gets him out. He doesn’t really remember how. He doesn’t really remember what gate they went through. He just remembers running. He just remembers Eddie in his arms, weak and dying. 

He doesn’t really know how he managed to carry him that long or that far with injuries of his own. 

They get him into a car, Nancy behind the wheel because Steve won’t let go of Eddie in the backseat, cradling him to his chest. They get him to a hospital, they see an ambulance unloading a mangled, broken body with a shock of fiery red hair. 

Max. It’s Max. Max is hurt — bad. 

They take Eddie away from him. They take Max away. 

Steve fights off nurses that try to help him, too. He’s fine. He needs to get to his kids. He needs to get to Lucas who is fighting his way over into the hectic emergency room, to Erica who keeps a hand gripping the back of her brother’s shirt so she doesn’t lose him. 

He wraps the kids up in his arms, pulling them close, not caring that he’s getting blood all over their clothes. Nancy and Robin help a limping Dustin over to a seat. He gets taken back to get looked at. Steve can’t go with him despite his protests. That’s my kid! he thinks he screams. His ears are ringing so bad at this point, and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with the constant buzz he usually hears. His head feels like it’s full of static as he watches Dustin get taken away. That’s my fucking kid! he screams again, and now his voice is hoarse and he has no idea how long he’s been yelling, but he gets pulled into a chair and his head is pulled into Robin’s lap as he lays down, shaking and sobbing into her stomach. 

Steve is woken up by a firm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he fell asleep, really. Not this time. He’s been so in and out for what feels like days (but was more like hours), that it’s hard to tell when he’s awake or not. 

He looks up to see an older man standing in front of him. He’s balding, and has a gray goatee. He looks like he has permanent worry etched into his features, like something has been going wrong for every day of his entire life. His eyes are soft, though, in such a familiar way. 

“Mr. Munson?” Steve croaks. His throat is dry, his neck hurts from sleeping sitting up, and he’s still covered in blood and gore. 

“You must be the Harrington boy,” the man says without answering. His voice is gruff, and he has a Southern accent, but Steve wouldn’t be able to place where. He still looks at Steve with those kind eyes, though, despite the shortness of his words. 

“Yeah. Yes, sir,” Steve nods, standing up. He immediately regrets that, feeling a wave of lightheadedness was from the blood loss he’s experienced in the last several days— several years, really. He holds out his hand to shake, but draws it back when he sees the red stain covering the entirety of it. “Steve Harrington.”

“You saved my boy,” Mr Munson says. He pulls Steve into a bone-crushing hug and releases a sob. “You saved my Eddie. Thank you. And call me Wayne.” 

“H-have you heard anything?” Steve asks him. “They won’t tell me.”

“He’s stable,” Wayne says, pulling away. “He’s… he’s in a lot of trouble. They think he did it; they have him strapped down and cuffed to the bed, but there's a good chance he’s going to make it.”

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief. He has no idea how they’re going to get Eddie out of this mess, but fuck, it’s better than him being gone. Steve was really scared there for a while. 

“I don’t know what the state of your home is, but considering you’ve been here instead of going home and washing all that shit off you, I figure… I have a motel room outside of town,” Wayne says after a minute. “Unaffected by the earthquake. I can take you there if you want to get cleaned up and get some rest. Ed will still be here when you get back.”

Steve finds himself agreeing. 

The water pressure in the motel sucks, and Steve finds himself washing blood away for what feels like hours. The water just won’t run clean no matter how much he scrubs and scrubs. He thinks his wounds might have reopened, but he won’t remove the bandages on his own. He doesn’t think he can stomach it. Plus, he didn’t want to rip open the wounds when peeling them off, so he figured soaking them would be the best option. 

So much for not reopening the wounds, he thinks as blood continues to pour down the drain, and he feels less and less like he’s going to stay standing. 

Feeling defeated and not at all clean, he steps out and grabs a towel from the rack. The white towel turns pink in an instant, then saturates deeper and deeper as more blood soaks into it. 

A soft knock at the door nearly makes Steve slip in his haste to cover himself up. He opens the door to see Wayne standing on the other side with a pile of clothes in his hands. 

“These are Ed’s. I grabbed them when I left home just in case he found me, but… Well, anyway, they should fit you,” Wayne says. He pushes them into Steve’s hands and stands there awkwardly. It seems like both of them have been feeling a bit awkward. They don’t know each other. Steve barely knows Eddie. But they’re in this together now, it seems, so they’re both trying. 

Steve nods, looking down at the soft shirt and sweatpants in his hands. There’s a small hole in the neckline of the shirt, clearly worn and well-loved by Eddie. 

“I don’t mean to overstep,” Wayne says. “But those bandages need to be changed.”

“Y-yeah,” Steve stutters. “Yeah, but I don’t have extras and I can’t r-really do it myself.”

“Alright,” Wayne says. He walks back into the main room, leaving Steve in the bathroom doorway. He picks up his car keys and his wallet from a table, shoving his wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Steve ends up sitting on the bed in nothing but the underwear Wayne had given him. He doesn’t think too hard about it being Eddie’s. There’s a towel beneath him, catching the blood that runs down his torso and his back. There are a few chunks taken out of his thighs that he didn’t notice before, too caught up in, well, everything to really care. 

Wayne comes back not too much later, a bag full of gauze and bandages and antiseptic and Tylenol. He begins laying everything out on the bed beside Steve. 

He works in silence, disinfecting Steve’s wounds and bandaging them up. Steve, on the other hand, makes a myriad of embarrassing noises, laced with pain. 

“Eddie’s come home beaten up more than once,” Wayne says as he finishes up bandaging Steve’s thighs. “I’ve had to fix that boy up plenty of times.”

Steve can tell, too. Wayne is gentle and practiced in the way he does this, like it’s definitely happened way too many times to count. He doesn’t even think between each step, just does them carefully without speaking a word or hesitating. 

“I don’t… I don’t know if Eddie’s ever told you about me,” Steve says, swallowing down the guilt rising in his throat. “But if he has… Thank you for helping me, anyway.”

“Oh, sure,” Wayne shrugs. “Not that Eddie didn’t come home crying, saying Steve Harrington called him a queer and tripped him so he fell into a locker and busted his nose, or anything.” 

“No, yeah, I — I know,” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry, and… I’m going to make it up to him, I promise.”

“You saved him, Steve,” Wayne says. He starts packing up the supplies and shoves the bottle of Tylenol into Steve’s hands. “And last year, I asked if you were still giving him any trouble, and he said you weren’t friends with that Hagan boy anymore and you were leaving him alone, even if the other boys weren’t. He said you’d changed and I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, but I see it now.”

“He said that?” Steve asks. 

“Uh huh,” Wayne nods. “And that Henderson boy would come around to talking with Ed about that game they play. He always had good things to say about you… Never quite understood why. It’s like he was trying to set you two up on a date, or something.” 

“What?” Steve asks. 

Wayne just chuckles in response, and says, “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

Steve ends up falling asleep on one side of the bed, warm in one of Eddie’s sweatshirts and a pair of pajama pants. He wakes up at some point, sweating and feverish. He rips the sweatshirt off, kicks off his blankets. Wayne is there a minute later with a cold washcloth that he places on Steve’s forehead. 

He falls back asleep, but it’s fitful. He knows he should probably see a doctor about his injuries, he knows he’s fighting off an infection as he sleeps. He’s just so tired. He just wants to keep sleeping. 

Wayne leaves a few times, comes back, forces water and pills down Steve’s throat, replaces the washcloth, checks his bandages. He doesn’t think his own parents ever cared this much for him when he was sick. He has no idea why a man he barely knows is showing him so much kindness. 

Steve wakes up to the shrill sound of the hotel room phone ringing. It’s just a few short rings, a swear from Wayne, and then the ringing stops. Steve thinks about falling back to sleep when he sees tears fill Wayne’s eyes, and hears a very quiet, ‘Thank you.’

He assumes the worst with the way Wayne gets emotional, but then he hangs up and breaks out into a huge smile. 

“We can visit him, kid,” Wayne tells him. He goes over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room — Steve knows it’s the one full of Eddie’s clothes. He digs through it until he finds something, and tosses it over to Steve, who, in his fevered state, can’t even think about doing anything besides letting them hit him in the face.

In the end, Wayne has to help Steve get dressed, and it’s awkward, and the pants don’t quite fit right and the outfit is nothing Steve would wear in a million years — Black jeans with holes in the knees, a black shirt with the sleeves cut off and ‘Iron Maiden’ emblazoned on it in red. Wayne picks up Eddie’s vest from the chair Steve carefully laid it down on. He had been wearing it under his jacket that he wore into the Upside Down. Eddie hadn’t asked for it back. 

“You know something?” Wayne says, holding the vest in his hands. 

Steve just shakes his head. 

“He wears this every single day. Won’t leave the damn house without it,” Wayne smiles. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over a fraying edge of the back patch. “This patch on the back here was a t-shirt at one point. I took him to St Louis to see Dio in ‘84… It was supposed to be a graduation present, but I couldn’t take it back when he didn’t graduate, not when I saw how excited he was. Anyway, I bought him a shirt because I had saved up as much as I could to go all out for this. It was his favorite shirt, wore it every day until the neckline was falling apart and the sleeves were just about coming off. He asked me one day if it would be okay to turn it into a patch, you know. He knows it cost money, so he thought he’d ask. I just laughed and told him he better before it’s completely ruined.”

Steve finds himself smiling as Wayne tells him. 

“Anyway,” Wayne says, passing the vest over to Steve. “For him to give this to you — I don’t know if you know what that means. He’s put hours into sewing these patches on, he made some of these pins by himself, you know. Made the design, pressed it with one of those button presses the school has, or whatever, he spent his own money on others. It’s all the things he likes most… What I’m saying is that this vest is Eddie. It’s everything he is. You better keep that safe and understand how much trust he has in you. That’s why I’ve been helping you, even knowing you were a dick to him in school.”

Steve feels like he’s going to burst into tears. He hugs the vest to his chest, and then quickly slips it on to wrap himself up in it. It’s covered in blood, it smells, but it’s Eddie’s. 

Eddie isn’t strapped down to the bed when they walk into his room. He isn’t cuffed. There are no police officers sitting guard outside his room, stopping everyone but hospital personnel from going in. Steve is just about to ask how when the answer walks into the room. 

“Hey, kid.”

Steve turns around and can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jim Hopper is standing there, his head shaved, his clothes hanging loosely off his body, deep bags under his eyes. But alive. He’s alive and standing right in front of Steve, and he’s the reason Eddie isn’t being carted away to prison while he’s still in a coma. Eleven steps into the room behind him, and her head is shaved again, too. She’s taller now, her face is so much older. Like she’s aged five years in the eight months since Starcourt. Steve imagines she’s seeing the same thing when she looks back at him. 

She walks right in and wraps Steve up in her arms, her head pressed into his chest. She lifts her head and presses in close to his good ear before speaking again, and Steve — well, Steve figures of course El would know. She has always been far too observant. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

“For what?” Steve asks, returning the embrace. 

“You have kept my friends alive,” El whispers. “You have taken care of everyone. Dustin says they would have had no chance if you did not drive them around.”

Steve laughs. That’s true, but he doesn’t feel like he’s all that important in the grand scheme of things. 

Hopper pulls him into a hug next, and it’s weird because Hopper and Steve were never all that close, but it’s nice, too because Steve still mourned Hopper, and now he’s here. He’s here and he’s likely the reason Eddie isn’t cuffed to his bed rails, and he’s going to make all of the Upside Down bullshit better because he isn’t afraid to go in headfirst to anything. 

“What are you wearing?” Hopper asks, taking a step back to look at him. 

Steve feels even more heat rush into his face, even when he’s already feverish. “They’re not mine.”

Hopper barks out a laugh, then grabs Steve’s arm to pull him into the hallway. 

“You need to get fixed up, kid,” Hopper says with no room for argument. “I got Eddie’s charges dropped, and now you’re going to do this for me, alright?”

“Or what?” Steve asks. “You’re going to re-arrest him?”

“I just might,” Hopper says, amused. 

There’s a doctor at the end of the hallway that Hopper passes Steve off to, and he spends the next few hours being sewn up and pumped full of antibiotics. He spends that time worrying and wondering if Eddie is going to wake up anytime soon. He’s worried that he won’t be there when he does. 

Steve doesn’t really know why that matters so much to him.

Read more on AO3

[mysticqueer]

mirrored souls

(dexter morgan x serial killer! reader) Ch. 1/? masterlist

Not many people can say that they've escaped from the Bay Harbor Butcher. But you can.

(fem reader implied but not explicit. mentions of sexual abuse and child abuse. descriptions of gore)

Rufus Beyer.

The name, while unsaid, tasted bitter in your mouth. Rufus was a caucasian man, five foot eleven, with dark hair and possibly the worst goatee you had ever had the misfortune of witnessing. He was laughing at something you’d said, his obnoxiously loud voice still barely registering over the pounding music surrounding you. The intense scent of alcohol, sweat, and weed permeated the air. The blinking lights and vibration of the hip hop-blasting stereo only made your surroundings all the more disorienting. Luckily, you were used to it.

You laugh back, purposefully pitching your voice higher than usual. Smile, you think to yourself, and you do. Not just with your mouth, but with your eyes, your body. Rufus is in no condition to detect the fakeness of your disposition, but you don’t like to take chances. Best make it believable. You sway slightly, just barely tripping over your own feet. You hadn’t had a drop of alcohol tonight, but Rufus didn’t know that.

You’d followed the man from North Carolina all the way to Miami, stalking him for days before making your move. Three months ago you’d read a headline that had made your blood boil.

Local Man Released After Faulty Trial–Child Abuser Let Loose

You’d read into the details of that case. They were appalling, something you didn’t like to think too much about. They’d been enough to lead you back to your hometown–Miami, your original hunting grounds. You normally made a point never to double back over your own tracks, but Rufus was worth it. Every time he met your eyes, you saw red. Every time he laughed, you wondered if he had laughed the same way while he committed the unthinkable. You had to do this. 

“Be right back, baby” Rufus says, winking at you before heading in the general direction of the bar, slinking through the inebriated crowd with the practiced ease of a snake. You take the opportunity to take stock of your surroundings. 

You’re surrounded by couples, all making out and grinding on one another. Nobody’s attention is on you, not even in your general direction. You quickly make your way to the restroom–a single room, no stalls–locking the door behind you.

You look into the mirror and find somebody both familiar and unrecognizable. Makeup piled on to hide your original features. Your outfit, colors you don’t particularly like ripped in the most promiscuous areas possible. Of course, you weren’t playing as yourself tonight. You check your stash: lipstick, check; pocket knife, check; gloves, check. There wasn’t enough space in your party clothes to carry much else, but this would do. You reapply your lipstick quickly before heading out, when something unexpected happens.

You’re a fighter: you always have been. Somebody prepared for anything–God knows you’d made sure of that a thousand times. And you’d prepared for this night. You’d learned Rufus’ MO, his habits and patterns. The plan had been oh-so-perfectly laid out in your head. You’d lure Rufus into his car, get all the way to his home before striking. You’d leave no evidence behind and be out-of-state by the time police caught so much of a whiff of anything wrong. You’d done it so many times before. It was a routine you were comfortable with. Maybe that’s why you’re caught by surprise at what happens next. A man shoves his way through the door. It’s not Rufus, and that’s all you’re able to ascertain before the man raises a hand. You feel a sharp prick in your neck, and everything goes black.

-

You wake up strapped to a table.

You instinctively try to shoot up, but don’t make it so much as an inch. You’re carefully restrained by somebody who clearly knows what they’re doing. You’re stuck to the table by your legs, chest, even your head is held tight by whatever restraints you can’t see. Duct tape, you’d assume.

Your stomach goes cold at the same time your head goes empty. Fuck. There’s no room in this situation for panic, so you carefully usher the emotion out of your mind and try to think. Your head is groggy, from whatever you were drugged with, presumably. You focus all your brainpower on remembering what happened.

The club–bright lights, loud music, and an evil man with a sharp smile. Rufus, right. You’d followed him there, flirted with him. All had been going well until your trip to the bathroom. You recall opening the door, an unfamiliar man shoving himself inside, and then nothing.

Not much to be gained from those memories, especially since your internal image of the man who’d taken you was fuzzy and incomplete. Instead you focus on the present.

The rest of the room looks oddly blurry and monochrome. It takes you a few moments more to realize that it’s not the room: the entire area surrounding you is covered top-to-bottom in plastic wrap. There’s only one other thing to look at besides the odd coverings.

There are four photos taped to the top of the wall: chillingly familiar faces that you’d hoped to never see again. A well-dressed dark skinned man, Jose Martinez. A short, plump woman with a tired face, Georgia Hubert. A young man with a bright grin, Kade Mathews. An older, retired man with a receding hairline, Randolph Hollin. Only a fraction of your victims, but enough to stir complicated thoughts inside of you. Slowly but surely different memories piece together inside your head, like puzzle pieces you aren’t sure are meant to fit together.

Plastic wrap. A desperate woman’s meaningless apologies. A Miami newspaper. A sobbing teenage girl, afraid of the world. Victims of a serial killer–what was the name? Graying hair died a violent red. A picture of a dark-skinned man on television. Blood stained satin sheets. What was the name? 

A man steps into the room, and although you’ve never seen him before, the name–an old memory–finally surfaces in your thoughts.

The Bay Harbor Butcher.

-

The man before you looks…well, ordinary. 

He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and black leather gloves. A rubber apron, a protective face-shield that you’d seen surgeons on television wear. He’s in his mid-to-late thirties, maybe, with reddish hair and a well-built body. He stares down at you, his face blank and his eyes unreadable.

Calm, you think. There’s a certain depth to his eyes that makes you almost feel like squirming. Instead you meet his eyes with your own, silently challenging him to some game you don’t even know the rules to. The corner of his mouth quirks up, just barely, before he turns away, stalking to the other side of the room.

“You gonna tell me who you are?” You ask, voice unshaking. You’ve been through too many life-or-death situations to show fear so openly. But you wish you could see what he’s doing–you can’t turn your head even a little bit.

“Who I am–” the man starts, before getting momentarily distracted. You can see in your peripheral vision him looking down at a table before picking something off of it. “Doesn’t matter much, does it?” He finishes, and you finally see what he’s picked up–a scalpel. He looks at it, not you, as if it holds the secrets to the universe. He sounds so casual–like an office worker juggling a phone call with his work. Like talking to you only holds a fraction of his attention. That is, until he returns to the head of the table. He says nothing as he expertly slices a cut into your right cheek, taking a drop of your blood and placing it carefully onto a glass slide. The puzzle pieces multiply, flying in circles around your head.

Blood Slides. Dismembered Bodies. Criminal Records. An idea floats into your consciousness.

“Why me?” You ask, softly, like you’re unbothered by the answer. In truth, the answer to the question is the most important thing in your world right now.

“Why don’t you ask them?” The man uses a large butcher’s knife to gesture towards the four photographs. “Did they ask the same thing, before you murdered them?” His eyes look into yours once again. Cold, calculating. Bingo.

The manic laughter that bubbles out of your chest isn’t faked. The absurdity of the situation, the adrenaline, it starts to get to you. The man’s expression doesn’t change much.

“Murder? Is that what you’d call it?” You ask the man. Your last bid at survival, you hold nothing back as you continue speaking. You nod your head as much as you can toward the picture of Jose Martinez.

“Jose Martinez– three counts of sexual battery and two of manslaughter. He was let out on bail in Cleveland before running to Miami. He didn’t change, either, just ask his ex” The man’s eyes flicker between you and the photo. You don’t stop talking.

“Georgia Hubert. Three counts of child abuse resulting in death. She locked her kids in a cabinet and let them starve to death, did you know that? Kade Mathews killed two pledges in his frat and got his daddy to cover it up. And Randolph Hollin?” Your laughter intensifies, and you don’t think you could make it stop if you tried. “Poisoned three of his ex-wives. Not that anybody could prove it. So tell me, would you call it murder?”

It takes a calculating eye to catch the subtlety of human emotions when they’re being masked. And this man, you can tell, is good at masking. But there’s conflict behind his eyes. A mix of emotions as his mind runs a mile a minute. He isn’t staring at you, now. Just looking into the empty corner of the room, as if there’s somebody there talking to him. His hands have stilled in the air–the freeze part of fight, flight, or freeze. He’s panicking, you realize with some satisfaction. You only hope for your sake that he is who you think he is.

The man seems to come to some sort of resolution, bringing his eyes back to your own. The butcher’s knife silently presses against your throat, a threat, a promise. His expression is so intense you almost look away. Almost.

“So you aren’t a murderer, is that it? Just, what? A garbage disposer, a debt collector?” His words hold the most emotion you’ve heard from him so far. You get the feeling that your next words are important. Maybe the most important of your life. You think for only a moment before answering.

“No, I am.” You say, quietly, with no doubt the man can hear you in this surreal room of dead-air and metal. The man's eyes don’t move from yours. “I just have standards. And something tells me you do, too” Your eyes flick around the room for a moment before landing back on the man.

His eyes study yours intently, searching for something. If it’s deception, he won’t find any. You didn’t say a word that wasn’t true. It’s almost a relief. Now? He’ll either kill you, or he won’t. You aren’t entirely sure which you deserve, not that it matters. You aren’t the judge, jury, and executioner today. He is.

The man raises his knife. You hold your breath. Not even a hint of regret washes over you.

You hear a sharp rrriiippp of plastic as the binds holding you down are cut open, sliced through easily with a weapon that’s taken who-knows-how-many lives. Only a moment later, before you even have a chance to sit up, the man disappears.

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt 10

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Some gore and violence.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-9 here

Chapter Ten

A/N: I Googled the recipe for authentic Hungarian Chicken Paprikash in order to see how difficult it might actually be to make, and as someone who can’t cook but three things, I have to say it looks hella complicated. I’m giving Reader far more credit than I would ever give myself with regards to kitchen skills.. That said it sounds delicious and now I want it :’(  Someone pls feed me. Also I felt super bad that I went so long without posting when I had this just… sitting in my Google Docs, so uh… have another chapter. I only have 12 written so far though so I guess I better get to steppin’. sweats nervously

The pair of you had elected on a movie marathon today, watching the Hobbit series together on the couch when Wanda felt it. That telltale tingle in the back of her mind, signaling that her wards had been tripped. This wasn’t the alarm for a breach, but rather letting her know that someone was at the perimeter attempting to get in. Pearly teeth grit in rage - how dare someone ruin her perfectly good afternoon with you? Everything was coming together, and now someone had the audacity to try and intrude, possibly to try and take you away from her? Wanda couldn’t have that.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, the redhead informed you she needed to check on one of her projects and it might be a while. Your pout was quickly kissed away, Wanda directing you to play the new video game she had gotten you last month. Unintentionally, you had been putting it off - between spending time with Wanda and trying to play all the other video games you had, there hadn’t been much time for it. Excitedly, you agreed, getting the disc ready before putting it in the console, as Wanda stepped away. Sure it would be better with the woman by your side, but you could be patient while she worked on her projects. 

Or at least, you would try to be. Healthy relationships and all, you had to be able to spend time apart, and you certainly spent enough time together even if secretly your selfish heart thought not enough.

Out of your view and satisfied you were preoccupied for the foreseeable future, the witch conjured her battle regalia, and stepped through a portal to the ground's perimeter. From the moment she stepped through, the cause of the alarm became readily apparent - Stephen Strange stood just beyond the barrier looking smarmy as ever.

Wanda was getting really sick of that stupid goatee.

“Stephen,” Wanda said, calmly, “How did you find me?” She asked, but she didn’t truly care, the how didn’t really matter.

”America didn’t sell you out, if that’s what you’re asking. The trail of death and destruction you’d left pointed me in the right direction. It took a while but eventually I found where you've been hiding, as you had to know I would.”

The witch hummed noncommittally. “I’m just trying to get my family back, Stephen. You of all people should understand that. I’ve seen what you have done to try and reunite with Christine. Can you blame me for wanting to be happy? Why do you get to choose the reality we all must live in, but when I try to make a life for myself, I’m labeled a villain?”

Strange knew there was some truth to her words, but he was never one to back down. “The family you had wasn’t real, Wanda. They never wer-”

“They were real to me!” The witch seethed, cutting him off.

“In almost every other universe, we are together and happy. If I have to go through you to make that happen, I will. To you they aren’t real, but to me they are my family, and I would burn every universe for them.” Red eyes blazed in rage, and Stephen had no doubt the Scarlet Witch meant her words.

Nevertheless, the sorcerer had no patience for empathizing with his former colleague. There was an innocent person in her grasp and it was his duty to save them. “You have to let her go, Wanda. You can’t hold her against her will like this.”

A sinister chuckle. “Against her will? Does she look like she’s being held against her will?”

With a flick of her stained fingers, and a hazy one-way portal appeared off to the side of them, showing where you were currently engrossed in playing your new video game: Baldur’s Gate 3. From there the scene changed to the recent dates you both had been going on, and how happy you were spending time together, focusing on just how enamored you looked gazing up at Wanda. Another twitch of ink-tinged digits, and the images were gone.

The sorcerer had to admit you didn’t look unhappy, but that didn’t mean all was as it seemed. He knew there was no way she had come clean to you about everything she had done to get you here. If she had, surely you would have run for the hills by now, or at least attempted to. Things wouldn’t be so rosy for you if he left you in her care, Stephen was certain.

“Be that as it may, this Y/N doesn’t belong with you. You decimated entire universes in your search for her, leaving countless innocents dead in your wake. Does she know that? Does she know that you murdered her parents in this universe?” He asked, knowing full well the answer.

His words stung, Wanda knowing that some part of him was right in this instance. No, she hadn’t told you, and initially she had never intended to. As she had gotten closer to you though, Wanda realized she wanted you to know. Not to hurt you, but to solidify that she would always keep you safe from any harm, no matter who it was. She loved you, truly, and wanted you to know everything about her. However, she couldn’t risk that until she was sure your heart wouldn’t turn away from her with the knowledge she revealed.

“They were abusing her, Stephen! In your infinite wisdom, did you know that? Do you know the life she led before me? I’m not her captor, Strange, I saved her! Here she is happy, and I provide her with everything she could ever want or need. Taking that away from her for the sake of your pitiful morality and duty, that would be the real crime. Y/N deserves to be loved, to be happy, and so do I. Don’t take that from us.”

Strange knew he couldn’t win on logic alone. This would undoubtedly end in another showdown, but he was hoping he could reason with the witch. “It’s not just about rescuing her from your clutches, Wanda. You have caused real harm to the multiverse. Untold suffering, trillions annihilated for your selfish obsession. You have to be stopped, Wanda. What’s to prevent you from killing Y/N when she doesn’t fall in line like you want? What will you do then, toss her body aside like so many other innocent people, tearing through countless more universes to find another copy? When will it stop?”

“I would never hurt her!” the redhead snaps, her magic flaring out in warning. She was blatantly ignoring the fact that not long ago she was chasing you through a forest in the fear and anger that you were leaving her. Even then though, she had never planned to hurt you, certainly not kill you. Only to teach you a lesson. Wanda deeply resented that Stephen thought she would ever purposely hurt you. Not to any lasting degree at any rate. She loved you. You were her everything, the key to her happiness.

The witch took a steadying breath, calming herself. She had to think of you first, and she didn’t want to risk a battle so close to her home with you in it. “I have no intention of leaving this universe ever again, Stephen. I can’t say that I am sorry for what I did - it has brought me here with Y/N. But we are happy here, and unless someone comes along to threaten my family, I otherwise have no need to ever harm anyone ever again.”

She paused to look Strange in the eyes, trying to convey her sincerity. “Please Stephen, just go. Leave us in peace. This doesn’t have to be a fight. I’m so… tired… of fighting, Strange, but I want to be clear: I will never give up what is mine. I will neutralize any threat to her, or her happiness, and that includes you.”

The sorcerer couldn’t deny that Wanda looked every bit as exhausted as she suggested at this moment. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t allow the greatest threat to the multiverse that’s ever existed to continue free. Stephen believed that Wanda believed she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but that didn’t mean that he trusted her temper. Having already proven volatile at best, and if he left her alone with you, there was nothing stopping Wanda from going on the rampage he expected her to, should you step one toe out of line.

With a deep sigh, he looked at the ground, pondering his options, wishing there was another way. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I can’t take that risk. Not with someone as powerful as you. I’ll ask you one last time, let Y/N go, and surrender. This doesn’t have to end in blood.”

The witch tilted her head, studying him. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Stephen.”

Purposefully she strode through the barrier to her home, no longer protected by it, able to engage if necessary. “I won’t let you take her from me. I won’t allow anyone to take her from me, ever again. I have grown so much stronger since we last fought. If you insist on your foolish crusade, this will end with your blood.

By now Wanda was mere feet in front of the sorcerer, refusing to back down. “Like you said, Strange. Last chance.” She tilted her head again, and a chill ran down Stephen’s spine at her determined, if slightly unhinged visage.

Strange sighed, moving to take a defensive stance, when suddenly the witch’s arm was protruding from his chest. He let out a surprised grunt. He hadn’t even seen her move, but he could feel the agony radiating throughout his body, proof enough that she had.

With a disgusting squelch, Wanda withdrew her hand, his heart clutched firmly within, still beating. Horror darkened the man’s face as he stared in shock. He hadn’t even seen her move, much less been able to react. How had she gotten so fast? Pain and shock prevented him from even speaking.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Stephen, but I told you. If you continued to come for me, it would be the Scarlet Witch you would be dealing with.” With an almost regretful look at his flabbergasted expression, Wanda crushed his heart in her hand before dropping it. What was left of the ruined organ thudded onto the ground at almost the same time his body did.

Wanda turned and began walking back towards the cottage, not looking back as she waved her hand. Red phosphenes surrounded Stephen Strange’s body as it disintegrated into ash. She neglected to take a portal this time, electing instead to take the long way to the house in the hopes the night air would steady her. It didn’t.

Eventually setting foot in your shared home, Wanda cast a glance towards the living room and was relieved to see you were clearly still enthralled with your new game. So engrossed were you, that you failed to notice Wanda, hand and arm covered in blood, as she headed towards the bathroom for a shower. Though she could have cleaned herself instantly with magic, she knew she was in no state of mind to return to you just yet. Despite how unaffected Wanda had made an effort to appear to Strange, her sins were weighing heavily on her heart. Killing someone she had once fought beside was not something she relished. Another death she was going to have to explain to you one day. Since the walk hadn’t done anything to ease her troubled heart and mind, the witch set about taking a shower. It stood to reason you would hear it and not question her continued delay, buying her time to not only clean up but hopefully also clear her head. 

Her shower was longer than usual, with less time spent cleaning than simply existing. Rivulets of water ran down her face as the redhead stood beneath the showerhead, staring sight unseeing at the shower wall. A necessary evil, she told herself. That didn’t make the weight of his death any less burdensome. What was she supposed to have done? Even if she had let him go, eventually he would have come back, the insufferable pest that he was. Likely then with numbers that even the Scarlet Witch might struggle with. She couldn’t have risked that. Risked you. Never again.

Why couldn’t he have just left her well enough alone? Wanda had meant what she said: she had no intention of universe hopping anymore. All she had ever wanted was her family. Now that she had you, she could begin rebuilding that, and you were making such good progress for her. Why would she want to start over with another variant of you, when you were just… so perfect for her? She still missed your Avenger variant, but every day that hole in her heart hurt just a little less. Besides, something about you specifically had a hold on her heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Maybe in the beginning Wanda might.. have gone searching for another if you had not panned out as she expected. Terrible as that was to admit. Instead, from the moment she laid eyes on you before even entering into this universe, she was gripped by you. It was Fate, she was sure of it. And now? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Of ever even trying to find another. Out of the vast multiverse, there was only this version of you. She wanted you as you were, and she refused to let you go or allow any harm to come to you. Even if it meant protecting you from herself.

A shuddering breath was exhaled, and Wanda began slowly rinsing the blood off of her face and out of her hair. She may have left you with a video game to keep yourself entertained, but Wanda knew from experience if she wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be too long before you would come looking. Wanda had become your rock, your favorite person. You could be playing your favorite game of all time, but if Wanda was not present, you wouldn’t have nearly as much fun. It was sort of cute how you would look for her at every opportunity, unable to stand being without her for too long. She felt similarly, and hoped you knew that now.

Finally clean, and deeming herself capable of functioning again, the witch changed into her most comfortable pajamas before mindlessly making her way back to the living room where you were. Absorbed in your game as you were, you only vaguely registered Wanda’s presence returning. You scooted slightly on the couch to make room for her, without ever taking your eyes away from the screen.

“Hey, Wands!” you said, enthusiastically. “How is your project coming along?”

The former hero was not ready to speak just yet, so she simply hummed instead, and leaned against you. She took comfort in your familiar warmth, even if your arms weren’t around her just now, your presence was enough to be soothing.

The lack of a proper response caught your attention. You almost didn’t turn to look at her, being in the midst of a pivotal battle, but you were glad you did. Hazel eyes puffy and tinted pink from crying met yours. Alarmed, you immediately stopped playing, controller forgotten in your lap, the game not even paused. Turning to the older woman, you placed one hand on her arm, the other to her cheek which she leaned in to.

“Wanda? What’s wrong? Has something happened?” 

Oh her precious detka, thought the witch. Always such a big heart, eager to provide comfort and aid. Perhaps if she were to tell you, maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive her. As she took in your concerned gaze though, she knew she wasn’t ready to risk it. Not right now. Instead, she shook her head to your question, unwilling to answer it.

“Can we not talk about it right now?” Her Sokovian accent was slightly more pronounced.

Though you were dying of curiosity as to what could bring someone so mighty to tears, you didn’t press. It’s not as if there would be something someone as powerless as you could do anything about whatever it was anyway. All you could do was ask and offer comfort. Wanda would tell you when she was ready. Until then, this was your opportunity to return some of the love and support she had provided you with, and you positively ached to bring that to her. Wordlessly, you pulled her into your arms, leaning back on the couch until she was laying atop your body. Murmuring gentle words of reassurance, you held her close, occasionally running your fingers through her auburn locks.

After a while, you grabbed the remote nearby and turned the tv from your video game to the DVD player. The Dick Van Dyke show began playing softly in the background, and Wanda’s chest bloomed with love for you at your thoughtfulness. She nuzzled further into your embrace, staying that way for the better part of the rest of the day as you both dozed intermittently.

Hours later Wanda slipped into a proper sleep, and once evening had rolled around, you took it upon yourself to cook dinner. Though you hadn’t wanted to part from the witch, she clearly needed the rest, and you wanted to surprise her by making dinner for her. Carefully you rolled her away from your chest and onto the couch instead, placing one of the pillows beneath her head. The only indication she registered any change was the slight, adorable scrunching of her nose. Why was this woman so damn cute?!

The kitchen had never been your chosen domain. Before Wanda, you were more likely to burn a pot of water than actually cook something successfully. Now you were hoping some of her lessons had rubbed off on you as you rummaged through the pantry and fridge trying to locate ingredients. With any luck you would be able to throw together and create something vaguely resembling an edible meal.

It was a pleasant surprise for you to discover that you currently had all the ingredients available to make Chicken Paprikash - Wanda’s favorite meal from her home in Sokovia. Going through her recipe note cards, it didn’t take you long to find it, and soon you were throwing seasonings in a pot along with some onions, tomatoes, peppers, and the chicken. While that was cooking, you prepared the noodles. A little under an hour later, and everything was coming together. You just hoped it wasn’t trash.

The aromatic and savory fragrance must have awoken the redhead because she sleepily padded her way into the kitchen to find her sweet surprise. You couldn’t see her yet, your back to her as you stirred the food while it simmered. Though unable to carry a tune to save your life, you were humming quietly to yourself with your earbuds firmly in place as you focused on making the delicious meal. Precious.

“Are you cooking, detka?” Wanda asked just loud enough to be heard over your music, and you jumped, startled. Blushing you turned to face the witch and grinned sheepishly.

“Uhh.. if you could call it that?” you chuckled, pulling out an earbud. “I just thought since you’re always taking such good care of me, maybe I could return the favor?” Voice lilting upwards almost in a question, hoping you hadn’t overstepped.

Moving to stand next to you and see what you had made, Wanda’s eyes widened as she took in the familiar dish. “Is this chicken paprikash?”

“Haha, yeah uhh.. my attempt at it at least?” You absentmindedly rubbed the back of your neck  - a nervous tick you’re pretty sure you didn’t have as a child until you started watching anime to learn the nuances of facial expressions better. It wasn’t until well into adulthood you learned most people don’t actually do that. Embarrassed, you fought not to slap your own arm, and instead simply lower it like a normal person.

“I hope I didn’t butcher it too badly. I tried to follow the recipe you had on the card since we had all the ingredients, but I can’t speak to the integrity of the dish as I haven’t tasted it yet. Besides, you're the true connoisseur here, so even if it seems okay to me, your superior palate might be able to tell the difference.” The joke rolls easily off your tongue, followed by a quick wink.

To you this was no big deal, you were just trying to be kind. But to Wanda? This was the sweetest thing anybody had ever done for her, and it reminded her almost of when she taught your Avenger variant how to make the dish. The other you had never tried to make it for her in return however, opting simply to learn about the meal while Wanda cooked. Now, looking at the beautiful dinner you had created for her, simply because it was her favorite and might cheer her up, Wanda felt her heart about to burst with affection for you.

Unable to hold back, deft fingers gripped your neck softly, quickly pulling you in for a searing kiss. Pouring all her love, affection, and appreciation into the kiss. You were surprised, but not unhappy with this turn of events. It hadn’t been your goal, per se, a kiss from the woman you were coming to love. However, if she wasn’t melancholic anymore, then you considered your goal accomplished. Your arms came to wrap around her neck, though you were careful to keep the spoon from making contact with her clothing or hair, you had heard her take a shower earlier and didn’t want to ruin that for her.

The kiss simmered into something soft and sweet. Meanwhile your food, unfortunately, was starting to bubble over. Hearing it, the pair of you sprung apart, with you frantically pulling the pot off the eye of the stove, stirring it to return to the intended consistency. Embarrassed and amused, you both burst into giggles at the almost mishap.

“Thank you, Y/N. This is incredibly sweet of you, I-” The redhead pauses, unable to eloquently convey everything she felt in that moment. “Just, thank you.”

The wattage of your smile could have been seen from space; you were so happy. “Of course, Wands! Any time.”

While you turned off the stove, Wanda set the table so you could begin plating your dinner. Jokes and laughter flowed easily between you as you both enjoyed your meal. Wanda, who never doubted your cooking skills, though you are pleasantly surprised, enjoyed that the paprikash is not only edible but rather delicious.

As you and Wanda settled into the domesticity of it all, the witch found her heart becoming light once again. So incredibly kind and thoughtful, you brought her joy, and filled her with hope. She resolved then and there to tell you everything one day. Deserving of that much at the very least, Wanda prayed, hoping, with all her being, that you would forgive her when the truth was finally revealed. For now though she sank into the warmth and comfort you provided, falling for you just a little more with each grin you flashed her way.

A/N 2: I’m not proud of what I had Wanda do in this, but I still have some left-over rage for how Stephen treated Wanda. All she needed was a little empathy, especially from the man who made the call to allow the events with Thanos and the Mind stone to play out as they did, basically letting Vision die. For no good reason. No you can’t convince me he was right. Its lazy plot writing that out of thousands and thousands of possibilities, none of them could have involved sparing Vision, or at least making his death mean something. I’m a Wanda apologist first and foremost, and I will die on this hill. Wanda deserved better, especially from those she called “friends”. Also, I stan women’s wrongs 😛

Taglist: I remembered this time!! @dorabledewdroop

[leilani-lily]

~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 9)

A thousand apologies my dearest does and bucks ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

This took much longer than anticipated; I hit a bit of a wall, and time escaped from me. But we're here! We trekkin' on! The story continues \( ᐖ)/

.... And we're actually splitting this into 3 rather than 2 because over 6k later and we're still not done yet so ahaha! Whoopsies~ (´∀｀);

｡°⚠︎°｡ Final note. This is a WARNING that this chapter includes mention of VIOLENCE, GORE, and SEXUAL ASSAULT so please read with caution if this is a trigger for you!! ｡°⚠︎°｡

Thank you all for your love and support, honestly ꨄ I've been feeling down lately and re-reading comments has really helped to boost my spirits and push me to keep going! I love y'all dearly ( •̯́ v •̯̀)♡

OK! Without further ado~ SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. You venture off on your own to grab Alastor's gift, unaware of the dangers to follow... Word Count: 6.2k Chapter under the cut! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Your feet pounded on the pavement below you and you jogged towards the coffee stall. Your eyes were sharp and alert and your grip on Alastor’s microphone tight. You knew you had to be quick and extra careful now being on your own. But surprisingly enough, you weren’t afraid. Your blood was pumping with adrenaline, and with Alastor’s staff, you felt more powerful than you ever had in your entire life. It was exhilarating, to say the least.

Dodging in between sinners and recognizing landmarks, you were able to find the vendor in question without any problems. You breathed a sigh of relief, coming to a stop in front of the display table and taking a moment to catch your breath. A large, older imp with a white goatee raised an eyebrow at you questioningly from behind the counter. Finally, you stand up straight and give him a quick smile before your eyes flickered over everything he had to offer. 

As much as you enjoyed some of the quirky mugs on display, you knew in your heart what you really wanted. The problem is, you only knew the bare basics about coffee; you had no idea what made a good machine or not. You glanced around at all of the modern tech and felt your shoulders sag. Alastor would hate all of these; you needed something from his time; something more classical. 

“Somethin’ ya looking fer in pa’ticular dollface?”

You lifted your head to the imp across from you. He was leaning against the table with his other hand on his hip, his eyes tired and dull. You gave him a sheepish grin, clearing your throat quickly. 

“Ah, yes please…” you start, “This might sound weird. I’m looking for something from the 30’s that helps to brew coffee.” a thought crossed your mind, and you could feel yourself beginning to sweat, “I… uh. Actually. I don’t even know what they used back then… A kettle? Or some sort of special press…?” Your eyes drifted down awkwardly. Satan’s Ass, you have no idea what the Hell you’re looking for. This guy’s gonna think you’re an idiot. 

To your relief the imp said nothing, but you could tell he was judging you hard. He looked you up and down before simply shrugging off the table and turning on the spot. He began to shuffle through the shelving unit behind him, tea kettles and mugs clattering as he searched. The imp spoke to you over his shoulder.

“Ehhh, I don’ know girlie. I know I had somethin’ a while ago, but might’ve been snatched already.” he shuffled some more, “Antiques like dat are hard ta find, n’ when ya do, dey sell pretty quickly. Humans n’ nostalgia n’ all ‘at.” 

You could feel your fingers fidgeting nervously; you really hoped you didn’t just risk your safety for nothing. The excitement from earlier was beginning to fizzle out with the thought of not being successful. Maybe you could get him a nice mug instead? Or maybe one of those cute, little stirring spoons…

“Well I’ll be blessed th’n damned again…”

You looked up to the seller to see him turn around, a crooked smile on his face as he held what looked like two glass pots connected like an hour-glass. Your eyes widened in amazement at the strange looking contraption. 

“Called a ‘Silex Vacuum Siphon’. D’know what year it’s from, but ya ain't gonna find something more vintage den dis, I can guarantee.”

You tucked Alastor’s mike under your arm as you carefully took the glass contraption in your hands. It was definitely used, and could use a good cleaning. But there were no cracks or chips to be seen, no major damage that could affect its ability to brew. Given it was nearly a century old, it was in fairly good condition.

“It’s perfect.” you breathed, thumb grazing over the glass tenderly as your heart pittered excitedly. Alastor would absolutely love this, you just knew it. You had to get it for him, it was like it was destiny. Your head whipped up to the seller.

“How much?”

Said imp looked you up and down for a moment before his eyes landed near your arm. A sly smile crept up his mouth as his pupils flicked back up to your face.

“How ‘bout that fancy lookin’ cane o’ yours?”

Immediately you placed the siphon back down and clutched the microphone close to your chest, shooting daggers at the creature in front of you. “Absolutely not.”

To your relief, the imp just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, “Eh. Was woith a shot.” he chuckled, helping your tense shoulders to slowly relax. His eyes darted between you and the siphon, clearly deep in thought before crossing his arms.

“400”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. For fuck sakes, you figured it would be expensive, but this was highway robbery. And you knew very well that he knew that too; he was totally upping the price knowing how desperate you are. And as much as you needed it, you didn’t have enough on you. A thought crossed your mind, something you had observed when you explored the market. With as much confidence as you could muster, you laid your hands flat on the table and leaned in, giving him a very serious look.

“200”

The imp’s smile creaked up to his ears. “375”

You had to stop yourself from smiling and breaking the facade. It was working. Thank God, he seemed like the type who enjoyed a little haggling. If you could just get him down a little more, maybe you could actually pull this off.

“250”

“350”

“300” You finally declare, before quickly adding, “And! you wrap it up nicely for me.” you stare him down, leaning back up and crossing your arms in front of you. “That’s my final offer.”

The background noise of the market droned on as you both glared at each other across the booth. Eventually, the imp’s lips curled up devilishly before giving a sigh and shaking his head.

“Ya drive a hard bargain toots. Deal.” He cocked an eyebrow and reached a clawed hand out. You shook his hand coolly, but it was so hard to contain the excitement bouncing around in your chest. There was something exhilarating about negotiating prices; you could see why some demons got such a high off of coming to markets like these. Of course, this purchase was still going to drain you of all your cash, but it was well worth it. 

While he got to work bubble wrapping the siphon, you basically dumped your purse out and gave him every cent you had. He made sure to cushion the glass carefully and even found an empty box to place it in for double security. You honestly didn’t know how this interaction would've gone; you were initially worried he would’ve robbed you blind or threatened you. But as he handed you the bag with the goods and gave a final nod, you were beyond relieved to find that he actually seemed to be a decent guy. Maybe this market wasn’t completely full of thieves and swindlers like you had thought. 

You were practically skipping down the alley, one hand tight around Alastor’s microphone and the other holding your precious gift (but careful not to swing it around too much). You couldn’t wait to give this to him. You could feel your whole body tingling with anticipation. You really hoped that it did make a good cup of coffee; it would be a shame if it didn’t. Even so, it was such a funky looking thing, at the very least it could make for a cool decoration and hopefully bring back fond memories… You wondered how much of a difference there was between drinking coffee from a coffee machine or a siphon. You’d have to brew a pot with him tomorrow morning and-!

Your daydreaming was instantly snatched away as you were quickly dragged into the darkness of the ally beside you.

You went to scream but a large paw had clamped around your mouth before you could utter a sound. The bag slipped from your grasp and fell to the ground with a clatter, but thankfully you kept your grip on the staff tight. You immediately went to swing your arms, but both your wrists were grabbed, looking like mere toothpicks in the claws of the Hell Hounds that pulled you in. You kicked your feet up in protest as your yells were muffled, but you were no match for the sheer strength these creatures had as they dragged you further into the darkness and away from the crowds. They hauled you backwards until you felt your heels no longer dragged, indicating you had stopped, but you were barely aware of your surroundings. You continue to thrash your shoulders around and kick your feet up, desperately trying to escape like a caged wild animal. 

“Now now, there’s no reason to cause such a ruckus.”

Your eyes flash open and whip to the deep voice ahead of you. Your eyes fall onto a large silhouette leaning against the wall to your right, the brightness of the market ahead of you shading your captor’s full appearance. But as he pushed off and stepped closer, your eyes adjusted and were finally able to take in the finer details. Dripped in a rugged leather jacket and ripped jeans, the wolf looking Hell Hound sauntered towards you. His grin was fierce, and neon-yellow eyes practically glowed in the darkness. You could feel your mouth go dry and your legs turn to jelly. 

Your initial frenzied shock subsiding, you took a moment to look up at your two captors holding you back, One seemed to be a tall, muscular Mastiff with a slobbery snarl, his paws holding your right wrist and shoulder. The other was a Doberman type with cropped ears and sharp eyes, gripping tightly to your mouth and other wrist. You mumble out a pathetic plea and shimmy your shoulders again, trying to get their attention and hope that they take pity, but they pay you no mind, focusing instead on their alpha. 

“Don’t even bother chickie,” the silver dog snarked, making you turn your attention back to him, “We Hounds are very loyal to our pack; they’ll only listen to me.” Your eyes narrowed into angry slits, shooting daggers at the alpha. He merely snickered in reply. 

“You’re probably wondering who we are,” he mused, putting his hands behind his back and calmly pacing in front of you.  “Wondering what we want, why you’re here, ‘yadda yadda ya…” the dog babbled, making a yapping motion with his claws. He turned to you and gave you a cocky grin. “You should know that we don’t usually do this kind of thing… we’re actually nice guys once you get to know us!”

The two dogs behind you chuckle darkly, not at all making you feel reassured. 

“We’re nothing but humble thieves,” the wolf continued, sauntering back over to you, “Steal enough to make a humble living. Only take what we need. Provide for the pack. Today was supposed to be like any other…” 

The alpha’s yellow eyes suddenly grew dull, his smug smile slowly falling to a sneer as he stopped in front of you. The look on his face made a nervous shudder crawl down your spine. 

“... Until that ugly ass, bob-cut bastard stepped in.”

Bob-cut…? What in the Hell is he-

“Tyrion was so sneaky about it too, I was sure the wallet was as good as ours.” the wolf continued, his voice a mix of sorrow and venom. “But then that red-clad fucker saw him and…” you noticed his paws clench into tight fists, his eyes narrowing angrily. 

Red-clad… Oh god… could he mean?

“I saw it with my own eyes. That mad-man butchered him like a pig. Didn’t even give him a chance to apologize or make amends.” His nose was scrunched up in rage before it softened, his eyes holding the tiniest bit of horror, “But I think what was the most haunting was the way that creep smiled the entire time. Almost as if he was enjoying it.”

… God fucking damnit Alastor. 

“You seemed like such an easy target too.” the alpha’s neon eyes flicked up to you. “We didn’t realize what kind of monster you had on a leash.”

You felt your heart sink into your stomach as you recalled that wild look in Alastor's eyes earlier, the way his smile seemed sharper... Damnit, you felt so stupid now. How did you not notice? Dear God, how many others had died today by Alastor’s hands? It was clear that this ‘Tyrian’ was trying to steal from you, but did that really warrant death? You felt a twinge of guilt settling in your stomach. 

“So when my boy’s noticed you gallivanting on your own, I couldn’t believe our luck.” the wolf chuckled, leaning in closer until you were face to face, “You seriously made our job so much easier.”

Your cast-down gaze immediately scrunched into one of distrust, feeling your body become on-edge as you focused back on your captor. The wolf smirked at your helplessness, eyeing you up and down before his gaze fell to your left hand. His eyebrows shot up in interest.

“And look at this!” He taunted, leaning back up and reaching for Alastor’s staff, “You even brought us an apology gift! What a nice little girl~”

Your eyes widened in horror, trying to jerk your hand away from the wolf’s grasp. But the Doberman held your wrist tight, making it near impossible for you to do anything as the alpha grabbed hold of the microphone and ripped it from your grasp. You let out a whimper of despair as it left your hand, to which the silver dog’s ears perked, and turned to give you a hungry look.

“Hmmm, what a pretty sound. Almost makes me want to hear it again~”

You could feel your blood boiling at his words, and in a fit of rage, you kick your feet up aggressively. To your dismay, the leader jumped out of the way in time, a joyous laugh escaping his muzzle as he hopped to the side. The two dogs holding you immediately tightened their grip on you, pulling you back and holding you more securely. You huffed through your nose like an angry bull, shooting the wolf a venomous glare as he howled and dusted off his jacket. 

“Wooh! And feisty too. Gotta admit, that just turns me on more~” he grinned, showcasing his sharp fangs and blackened gums. His pupils flicked between his friends, “Do me a favor boys, secure those legs of hers so she doesn’t do that again.” 

Almost immediately, the two henchmen each step on your feet with their large paws, pinning your feet underneath theirs. You try to lift your legs up and away to test your mobility, but sure enough, your feet were locked in place. Panic started to settle now realizing just how much trouble you were in, and instinctively, you jut your shoulders out aggressively to try and once again escape. The wolf snickered at your struggles, slowly moving closer to you. 

“Now originally, we were just going to kill you and leave it at that.” the alpha hummed, eyes slowly grazing your body, “But hey, why stop there? Why waste a perfectly good meal without getting the chance to have a bite~”

Faster than lightning, his free paw came up and slashed at your chest, making you cry out in pure agony underneath the Doberman's paw. White specs blotted your sight as your mind froze in shock. You didn’t have to look to know; you could feel what he had done. Your body felt both cold and hot, from where your dress was torn and your body exposed to the air, and from where you could feel your blood begin to soak into what remained of your dress. You tried so hard to not make too many noises after the wolf's disgusting words, but the way your skin was burning, it was hard not to. Your eyes were beginning to water as you focused your attention back on the leader. Guilt be damned, you didn’t feel a thing for these bastards anymore. You wanted to make them hurt the way they hurt you. 

Outrage helped you find the strength to thrash around again, desperately trying to free your limbs so you could land a punch, a kick, anything. The Hell Hound took a step back to avoid your violent thrashing, chuckling at your display and licking his lips.

“Calm down now Sheila, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. It will be over before you know it…” He began his advance again, and you could feel your skin begin to prickle with panic. You continue your thrashing, lifting your legs and pulling at your arms, hoping that something would give way before it was too late.

And by the grace of God above, you felt your left shoe loosen under the paw of the Doberman.

An opportunity.

You spring into action, giving your left knee one final thrust upwards, making your foot pop out of your shoe and free from its confinement. Without even thinking, you slam it down hard into the Doberman’s bottom foot, making sure to dig your heel in deep. The skinny dog howled in agony, his grip on your arm and mouth loosened, giving you the chance you needed to act. As he bends over to grab at his tender paw, you bring your left arm across your chest and swiftly ram your elbow right into his muzzle. The force, along with his now injured foot, is enough to send him toppling over and slamming onto the ground, clutching his now bloodied nose.

Not wasting a precious second, you take the momentum from your left elbow and swing it over to your right, turning your body and socking the Mastif right in the face. He too yelps in pain, letting go of your right arm and freeing your other foot. As he steps back, distracted by the punch you landed, you grab him by the shoulders and lunge your left knee square into his groin. The Hell Hound let out a pathetic squeak as he immediately crumpled to the ground, curling into fetal position as he cradled his tenders.

Two down. One to go.

“Oh you BITCH!”

Right as you turn to face the wolf, his arm was already raised and ready to strike, swiftly bringing it down and backhanding your cheek. You cry out in pain, the sheer strength knocking you off your feet and making you fall harshly on your backside, cracking your head on the pavement. Your bun had come undone, your hair curtaining your glassy gaze as you watched the alpha throw the microphone to the side and stomp towards you. Too dazed by the blow, you felt him come down on you and straddle your hips, bringing his paws down over your throat.

“You think you’re tough shit girlie?” he snarled, his grip on your neck tightening, “Let’s see how tough you are once you beg for mercy.” 

You gasped for air desperately, your hands clawing at his paws and legs kicking out behind him. Your heart was racing anxiously, eyes darting all around you to see if there was anything around that could help you. A shimmer of light catches your eye, and you're just able to turn your head ever so slightly to your right. Your silver hair pin glistened in the light beside you, like a gift from God himself. 

You turn your attention back to the wolf, not wanting to reveal your plan to him. You could feel your vision begin to spot from lack of oxygen, but you stretch out your right arm, desperately trying to reach the pin without making it obvious. You felt the cool metal suddenly come in contact with your fingertips, rolling it closer to you into it finally was tight in your fist. With as much strength as you could muster, you swing your arm up and over, stabbing your assaulter right where his shoulders met his neck.

The wolf immediately howled in pain, rolling to his side and off you to grasp at the makeshift weapon lodged in his neck. You gasped for breath, feeling your blurry vision slowly speckle back as you choked in air. Exhaustion was taking over at this point; your head felt heavy from all the blows, and you could feel your body becoming numb from the blood-loss. Your eyes lazily scanned the area until they locked on Alastor’s mike, and you knew this would be your last chance if you wanted to survive this. 

You force your weak body to move, crawling on the ground as quick as you could towards the staff, scratching your arms and stomach as you went. You whimpered in agony, wishing to just give up and let sleep take over. But Alastor was waiting for you. Your friends back at the hotel were waiting. You couldn’t give up, not after coming this far.

Finally, you manage to stretch out and grab the mike, pulling it close to your mouth and taking a big breath.

“ALAS-!”

A fuzzy hand gripped your ankle and yanked you whole body away, making you cry out in fear as your plea was cut off. Your body scrapped painfully on the ground, dirt and tiny rocks grating against your open wounds. You whip your body around, cane still tight in hand and flinging it over to strike your opponent. But the wolf caught it skillfully in his paw, his pupils constricted and baring his fangs, the fur on his neck now sticky and tainted red. 

“Enough of this shit.”

The hound threw the staff out of your grasp and to the side, straddling you once again, but this time pinning both your arms over your head with one arm and leaning over you dangerously. You sobbed out in agony, your mind desperately telling your body to fight, but too exhausted to react. The alpha sneered down at you, panting and eyes wild with fury.

“Believe me when I say I find no pleasure in killing.” he growled, his hot breath hitting your face and making you whine out in dread. “But now…” The dog began to raise his free arm high in the air, his claws extracting with a sharp sound. 

“I’m gonna enjoy watching you bleed out.” 

A sob escaped your throat, tears streaming down your face in thick streams. This was it. This was going to be how you died. You had never actually died in Hell yet, and a part of you was scared. How long until you came back to life? Would you remember any of this… Fuck, would you remember anything at all? You couldn’t imagine a life outside of the hotel, not now. Not without the friends you've made. Certainly not without Alastor. The thought was unbearable. 

His arm came down swiftly, and you cried out in terror, shutting your eyes tight and turning your head, trying to block out the nightmare in front of you. You heard a slash of skin being torn and felt your whole body tense at the sound. You waited for the searing pain, for the blood to gush out from you until you became numb. 

But oddly enough, you didn’t feel anything.

You dared to peek up at the wolf on top of you, a peculiar look on his face as he was frozen in mid swing. His eyelid twitched, mouth partially open before his top half suddenly began to … slide?

“Funny you should say that, I was thinking ₮ⱧɆ ɆӾ₳₵₮ ₴₳₥Ɇ ₮Ⱨł₦₲.” 

Before you could comprehend where the voice came from, the wolf's upper body slid clean off his waist, toppling to the side and beside you on the ground. You slowly sat up, unable to speak as blood began to pool around you, both from his severed chest and his hips and legs. A large black tentacle came up from behind you and grabbed onto one of the wolf's ankles, picking up the severed lower section and flinging it off of your body. You blink in recognition, feeling your  initial shock subside and your chest tighten with hope. You turned around towards your saviour, but had to hold in your gasp at the creature behind you.

Microphone once again tight in his grasp, this demon was as tall as the buildings surrounding you; body barely able to fit between the narrow alleyway as he bent over you. Horns tripled in size and much more resembled deer antlers, black tentacles splayed from his back and writhing around, huge hands and talons sharp, eyes black as night and scarlet pupils in the shape of  dials, and a red ‘x’ on his forehead burning brightly. 

You had never seen Alastor in this state; in his true demonic form. You almost didn’t believe it was him. But his characteristic smile was ever present, your skin feeling that familiar buzz of electricity from his sound waves. You knew just how powerful he was, but to witness him at his full potential, it truly was a sight to behold. 

The giant form was watching you this whole time, dials flickering over your tiny body below him. From your face, to your torn chest and dress, to your bloodied legs, and back up to you. You felt a chill crawl down your spine as you locked eyes, your breath catching in your throat. Any other person would have been terrified looking up at such a creature, but oddly enough, you felt the safest you had ever been. Though you could feel the outrage that was emanating from his very body, you could sense the recognition in his eyes, the kindness deep within those haunting eyes.

The clatter of a loose can snapped you both out of your gaze, Alastor whipping his giant head up and forward, once again sharp and on alert. You heard a whimper of fright and manage to notice the Mastiff tumble out from the shadows and begin to run, yelling like a child and scrambling to get as far away as possible. There was a sudden buzz in the air, the Radio Demon’s smile curling up on his face and drooling blood. A chilling laugh escaped his throat, his jaw practically unhinging like a snake. 

“Well that was not a wise decision on your part…” Alastor growled, his voice deeper and booming as the sound practically shook the ground beneath you. His large body began to move forward, crawling like an animal and the screeching of static ringing out in the air.

“Don’t you know a hunter ⱤɆⱠł₴ⱧɆ₴ ł₦ ₳ ₲ØØĐ ₵Ⱨ₳₴Ɇ??”

The Overlord pounds forward, surprisingly fast for his size as the Hell Hound screeches in horror, sprinting further into the darkness of the alleyway ahead. You sat in the pool of the alpha’s blood, still stunned at the events of this afternoon and unable to do anything other than sit and stare. You numbly look over to the severed wolf beside you, his eyes already glossy and deprived of any life.

One.

You look back up to the large lanky demon stomping forward, laughing maniacally as whimpered screams of the Mastiff could be heard bouncing off the brick walls.

Two.

You blinked for a moment, your brain slow to process, but eventually catching up to the current events and what seemed wrong about this picture.

Fuck. 

Where was the Doberman. 

You heard some shuffling from behind a dumpster and whip your head over, your previous question instantly being answered. The skinny dog limped forward, eyes locked on Alastor and unaware of you watching him. He limped forward, his right paw still sore from you stomping on it. But his arm was tucked into his jacket suspiciously, and you felt your eyes narrow dubiously. A soft click snapped from inside the cloth, and the Doberman pulled out what appeared to be a gun, pointing it right at Alastor’s back. 

But there was something about this weapon that made you feel uneasy. The silver finishes that swirled around it, the way it practically radiated light in the darkness. There was something about this weapon that felt unnatural; like it didn’t belong in this world.

It seemed almost… Holy… 

You felt your blood run cold. 

It was all a blur. Rage and fear had taken full control of your body. Whatever exhaustion you had felt earlier was forgotten, whatever aches and pains slowing you down were no longer a hindrance. Completely fuelled with adrenaline and desperation, you scramble forward, bending over and grabbing your hair pin splayed on the ground. You sprint at a speed in which you never had before, screeching out Alastor’s name in warning before leaping onto the hound from behind.

The Doberman shouted in protest, raising his arms in defense and misfiring. The sound ricocheted off the walls, causing the Radio Demon to whip his head around, mouth half full of the Mastiff to a sight truly unbeheld. 

Your legs tight around the Dobermans waist, your one hand gripped at his head while the other continuously stabbed him in the neck. The dog clawed away at your arms desperately, howling out in pain as blood began to gush from his throat. But his screams were nothing compared to yours. Like a wild animal, you shrieked in fury, holding him tight and eyes feral as you punctured his neck again and again. The Doberman’s eyes eventually rolled to the back of his head, falling to his knees and landing face first on the ground. But as you went down with him, you continued your assault, kneeling over him with both arms overhead and slamming the hair pin into his back again and again and again.

Alastor watched from afar, jaw hanging open and the Mastiff’s carcass falling out from between his razor teeth. Never had he imagined he would see a spectacle such as this, certainly not from the likes of you. Not the girl who sang jazz in the kitchen, laughed at his horrendous puns, and slept so peacefully in his presence. He was convinced you were an angel in disguise, too pure for this damned world. 

And yet.

Here you were, stabbing and slashing and drenched in another's blood.

And he got to witness it.

Your furious screams started sputtering into sobs, and Alastor immediately snapped out of his thoughts. He immediately shifted into the shadows, slithering to you at lightning speed and emerging beside you, back to his regular appearance and hesitating a moment before gently placing both his hands on your shoulders.

“Y/n,” he spoke tenderly, “Y/n, darling. It’s ok. He’s gone. You’re safe.”

The sound of his voice made you whip your head up to him, snapping you out of your daze. Your eyes were wide with horror making Alastor flinch, unsure how you were going to react. Immediately, you turn your upper body to him, grabbing onto his cheeks with bloodied hands and inspecting his face all over.

“Are you ok??” you sob, eyes panicked and looking all over his body, “you didn’t get hit, did you?? God please tell me you’re ok!”

Alastor blinked back his confusion, his eyebrows furrowing at your words. “Of course I’m alright my dear, whatever do you-!”

A glimmer of light caught his eye, and his gaze was momentarily pulled away from your frantic face. Upon laying eyes over the peculiar weapon, he felt his eyes widen in recognition. There was no mistaking the silver swirls decorating the gun. He had heard rumours of such weapons, not yet having the pleasure of seeing anything of the like in real life. 

He had heard the gunshot earlier, and was worried you were on the other end of the rifle which had triggered him to turn. But he hadn’t considered that the bullet was intended for him. Of course, a regular bullet wound was of no concern to him, he had survived much worse. 

But a bullet from an angelic weapon? 

As he formed the picture in his head, you calling out his name desperately and your sudden panic for his well being, it didn’t take him long to put the pieces together. 

You didn’t kill out of self defense.

You had killed to protect him.

You had killed for him. 

His mind was tumbling with this new wave of information and emotions, something that he didn’t often struggle with. But he felt your hands slip away from his face, causing him to focus back on you. Your head was bent down, hair draping over and covering your face, and soon your shoulders began to tremble. The distinct sound of you crying caused a jolt to shoot up Alastor’s spine, and immediately he lowered a hand under your chin to tilt your head up towards him. Sure enough, big salty tears were streaming down your face. But what caught him the most off guard was the weepy smile spread across your face. 

“Thank God.” you wept, your voice so soft he almost didn’t hear it, “I-I was so worried… I couldn’t live with myself if…” your lip trembled as you burst into tears. Whether they were tears of relief or fear, he wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain.

Alastor had never seen someone so shaken at the thought of him dying.

And that made him feel… something. 

But he didn’t have time to delve into that. Not right now. He had to address this situation before he could dissect his thoughts. He knelt beside you, truly taking in your state of dress and being. Your dress was torn to shreds and blood-soaked, your chest bearing deep claw marks, the side of your head had dried blood spilling from your hairline, cheek swollen, scrapped stomach and legs, and bruises scattered all over your body. 

Rage swelled up in his body. Furious at the hounds who did this to you. Bitter at you for thinking that going off on your own was a good idea. And most of all, outraged at himself for allowing this to have happened in the first place. And when that last thought trickled into his brain, he felt something else slither in his mind to replace that anger. An ancient feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time; ever since he was alive. 

Guilt.

What a terrible emotion. He hated it with every fiber of his being. He never felt regret or sorrow for the actions he took since descending to Hell. Why would he when dealing with demons and creatures alike that he saw as mere obstacles in his way? But as he looked down at your crumpled form, his usual sunny sparrow clipped of her wings and trembling before him. Knowing that he had broken his promise of protecting you… 

His eyebrows furrowed, ears falling flat on his head as his jaw clenched tightly. 

Of course, you weren’t at all aware of the torment currently happening in Alastor’s mind. You were just so damn relieved he was ok, and that you were alive to tell the tale. Your choked sobs were slowly lessening, trying to focus on your breathing and just so freaking grateful to still have oxygen in your lungs. As you took deep breaths to calm your racing heart, you could feel your eyes growing tired, body slowly relaxing finally knowing the horror was over. The aches and pains were coming back to life, your chest especially burning painfully and your dress sticky with blood. Whatever adrenaline that was pumping through your veins was fastly subsiding, blood loss making your head heavy and limbs numb. 

You didn’t even realize you were falling over until you felt long arms catch you, holding you up so you didn’t hit the ground. You could hear the familiar buzz of Alastor’s radio-like voice speaking to you, but your head was swimming, and your ears weren’t able to pick up what he was saying. You tried to look up at him, but your vision was so blurred, he was just a red fuzz in your eyes. You were so tired; you just wanted to sleep. And Alastor’s body was so warm and familiar, it was like a comforting blanket. You leaned in closer to his body, desperate for that feeling after such a harrowing event.  

You could feel yourself fading fast, and a single thought emerged that made you panic a moment. The bag. The present. You can’t leave that damned thing behind. You reached out a hand and lazily padded at Alastor’s chest, mumbling out a string of words that you prayed made sense. The red blob tilted to the side, and you knew he was confused, but you couldn’t fully explain yourself. He was smart, you knew he would figure it out. And you knew he would take care of you; you were in safe hands now. 

You could finally allow yourself to sleep. 

Your vision was quickly dimming, darkness beginning to surround you until eventually your eyelids fell shut and you blacked out completely.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

FIRST PREVIOUS NEXT

My beautiful does and bucks: @saccharine-nectarine @doowopshewop @mysterypotatoink @wendds @crispybelieverworld @raicomme ((WE GOT MORE BEAUTIFUL SINNERS YAY ꨄ ))

[spookymystery67]

I Wish I Could Walk In Heels

AN: Yes. That's the title lol. I caved and made an Ada story! Only problem is it will be long, slow burn and will take a few chapters before Ada is even introduced. Sorry about that. Also, I've never written a love story before, so we'll see how it goes. This story will take place mostly in the resident evil games and is mostly written for female readers as I don't know how to write for others. I am cross posting on ao3 with the username RaineyDaysInRaccoonCity. NO MINORS! MATURE PEOPLE ONLY. I'm not writing smut (maybe) but still, 18+. I will put trigger warnings for the story. Enjoy!

TW: Violence, blood/gore, implied/reference sexual assault, murder/death, zombies, mentioned human experimentation, ect. It's a Resident evil fic, I would hope you would know what you're getting into.

Chapter 1:

Zombies.

Never, in all your 20 years of life so far, did you ever think that zombies could actually become a thing. Yet, here you were, dealing with said zombies.

September 28, 1998 is when shit really hit the fan in Raccoon City. Before that, there were sporadic attacks and strange happenings all over the city the last few weeks. People seemingly having random psychotic breaks and brutally attacking strangers, friends, and family members. They would tear into them with their teeth and kill them in the process. The news covered it, though they never truly went into depth about what was the cause of these "psychotic breaks".

Of course, you knew exactly how this all started. Let's start from the beginning of your part in this chaos.

—

It was the summer of 1998. You had graduated high school two years prior in 1996. You were not really sure of exactly what career you wanted to pursue, unlike your peers, who all seemed to have a plan on what to do for the rest of their lives. You just knew that you wanted to do something involving writing.

Writing wasn't exactly your life long passion. More of a current interest you had taken up in high school. You have had many hobbies throughout your life, nothing ever quite taking your mind hostage like reading did. Reading was always something you enjoyed, and when you were six, you had expressed to your parents about wanting to be a professional reader. But, according to them, that wouldn't pay the bills. They had wanted you to become something more. Like a doctor or lawyer. Something you have never had any interest in.

Writing only became an interest when you realized you needed a plan besides "professional reader". It was the closest you could get to reading without becoming a librarian and disappointing your parents too much. Granted, they weren't very happy with that career choice either. But you had given up wanting their approval for everything and flew the nest right after graduation.

Now, you still need to make money for your apartment, and for life in general. You desperately wanted to move on from your dead-end job at a fast food place that you had been working at for two years now. It was sucking the life, and the minimal joy you had left, away from you. College? Not an option. Nor were you interested in the lifelong debt attached to it. 

Running low on options, you had decided to apply to be a journalist's assistant. No one that you had applied for was really interested in having you, a relatively fresh high school graduate with minimal to no experience in any field involving the career, work for them. All except for one person.

Ben Bertolucci.

Ben was a freelance investigative journalist. He's a caucasian man who wore glasses and a ponytail, along with a goatee on his face. He had come to Raccoon city after hearing about the strange murders in Arklay County. He believed that there was something deeper going on, that there was something at work that was preventing the police from investigating further into these cases. Though after weeks of dead ends, he felt he needed a fresh pair of eyes to assist him on this.

Ben had seen the potential in you. Or so he had told you. He saw a drive in you that you hadn't even noticed in yourself. A need to do what was right by the civilians of Raccoon City and do whatever it took in the process to get there. Even if you'd put yourself in danger.

"That is exactly what I need for this project. Someone who wants to seek out injustice and expose it for what it really is. To show the civilians what's really happening behind all the red tape." Ben had said. You couldn't help but agree to the job. You had felt that something wasn't right in Raccoon City. And you really wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

That all started with Umbrella.

You had both spent your time bribing and blackmailing Umbrella employees to get your information. This helped you learn that Chief Brian Irons had been accepting bribes to work for Umbrella and help cover up whatever shady shit they had going on. One informant had also briefly mentioned the orphanage being connected with Umbrella. They had never mentioned exactly how, too afraid to reveal that information. 

That had filled you with dread. What could be so bad that they were afraid to say? You theorized that maybe those adoptions weren't actually adoptions. What they could have been doing to those kids, you didn't know. Now your curiosity had peaked, and you desperately needed answers.

All these bits and pieces of the puzzle were connecting, but nothing was giving you the bigger picture. Umbrella, Irons, orphanage, strange attacks and murders. All connected, but how and why exactly wasn't known. You needed more than just bits. You needed everything. 

So you both came up with a plan, Ben would investigate more on Irons, and you, Umbrella. An Umbrella employee had agreed to help get you in. He seemed to be out for a bigger profit than he gets working for Umbrella and wanted out. He didn't tell you exactly how he would be getting the bigger profit, and you weren't sure he was reliable, but you would cross that bridge when you came to it.

You're probably wondering, why did Ben get the "easier" end of investigation? Shouldn't he be attempting to infiltrate Umbrella, what with him having more experience?  Well, for one, Ben had already made a name for himself in Umbrella. His failed interview with Annette Birkin had put him on a list. 

Adding on to that, you both learned that not only was Irons sketchy with work and who he dealt with, he was also a major creep. Some women had expressed how he would make nasty, sexual, innuendos towards them and borderline harass them. He would get away with it all, of course. He was the Chief of police after all. A "hero" to the people of Raccoon City. He would never do such a thing.

Now, this was all from word of mouth. No physical evidence to prove it. But one person who had also, unfortunately, encountered Irons was Katherine Warren, daughter of the Mayor of Raccoon city. Her word you trusted, as she was your best friend, and now,  a secret lover of Ben's. 

-September 20th, 1998-

"Trust me, he is a disgusting man. Always looking at me with a hunger in his eyes that makes me nauseous. I can't tell if he wants to sleep with me or murder me." Katherine grimaced as she popped a fry in her mouth. Her pretty blonde hair was in a casual updo and her blue sweater was wrapped snugly against her pale skin, pulled up slightly at the sleeves to avoid ketchup stains.

The three of you were at a corner booth in a quiet and secure diner for lunch. A quaint little place you three liked to hang out at to hide away from the world. Katherine was sitting in the booth across from you and to the left of Ben, who had a protective arm around her shoulders and a sour look on his face.

You cringed from the way she described the man. "Why do you talk to him? He sounds awful." You asked as you reached for a french fry from her plate. 

"The only reason I interact with him is because of my father. He brings me to these charity parties and Irons is always there. I have to play nice." She smacked your grabby hand away from her plate. You playfully pouted and took a bite of your garden salad that you now regret getting after looking at those fries. Kathrine eventually took pity on you and allowed you to take a few fries from her plate as Ben chuckled at the scene, briefly forgetting the topic at hand.

"Bottom line, it's best you stay away, Y/n. You're a young, attractive woman and you are bound to make it on to Irons radar rather than around it. Ben might have better luck sneaking around for whatever you two are looking for. I really don't want you getting his attention." Kathrine finished.

She didn't have an in-depth idea of what you two were doing. She just knew it was big, and potentially dangerous, if things were to go south. But she was happy to help however she could for her best friend and boyfriend.

Ben and you shared a solemn glance, agreeing with that statement. You'd only attract attention. He'd be better with dealing with Irons in this scenario. He would have to be careful, what with Umbrella having put him on the watch list.

"Alright, looks like I might get the harder job huh?" You weakly joked to the two.

"I'm not worried. I have faith in you, Y/n." Ben grinned.

"That makes one of us." This was a lot. You weren't sure if you would be able to make it into Umbrella's secret lab and get data without getting caught. There was a lot at stake here, and you couldn't let anyone down.

"Two of us. I believe in you too." Kathrine added, reaching forward to grab your hand over the table in comfort. She's sweet. Sometimes too sweet. Makes you think that she doesn't deserve this corrupted world around her. 

"You've got this. Come on, Y/n. You've helped me get so far on this case in the last few months than I ever would have on my own. I chose you to help me because I saw your potential. And you have yet to disappoint me. If anyone can do this, it's you." Ben said seriously. He stared you right in the eye, wanting you to know that he meant every word of what he said. 

Ben knew you suffered from serious self doubt and that you always thought you did everything wrong. He thought that it might have come from your childhood. When he became not only your employer, but your friend as well, he had set out to make you get rid of that habit. He and Katherine combined had been making some progress in that.

You sighed, "Alright. I can do this." Still not convinced.

"Okay, progress. Now I want you to repeat that back to me again, but this time make it more believable. You need to believe in yourself." He said, gesturing at you to repeat yourself.

"Really? You're giving me a therapy lesson right now?" 

"Yes. When's a better time? It's now or never. Now, go on."

You looked at Katherine in disbelief, but she just nodded as she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. You looked back at Ben, who just raised a brow.

"I can do this." You muttered quietly but firmly.

"Louder."

"I can do this." You said louder. Not loud enough to attract other attention, but enough to satisfy both Ben and Katherine.

"That's what I like to hear." Ben grinned dorkily. You couldn't help but burst out laughing at his face, Katherine joining with a bright smile on her face.

Little did you three know, this would be the last time you would all sit in this diner together. 

-September 22nd, 1998-

Infiltrating Umbrella really shouldn't have been easy. It really shouldn't have. But all you needed was a guest pass. Which is interesting considering this place was supposed to be secret. What kind of guests are coming to a secret lab?

You were dressed in black dress pants, a short sleeved white shirt, a dark navy blue buttoned up cardigan and black flats. You also had your backpack full of essentials. Your notebook, pencils, water bottle, flashlight, granola bar and a flash drive.

When you arrived, your informant told you that this place was called NEST.

NEST was constructed fairly recently and ran along the Arklay mountains not far from Raccoon City, sitting directly underneath the Umbrella Chemical Plant. Tunnels were throughout and around the city, giving different access points in and out. It was built sometime in 1991. For what, you may be wondering? 

Well, your informant told you that the main reason it was built was to expand research on something called the G-virus. The G-virus being the main reason. Although research on the G-virus wasn't the only thing Umbrella was working on.

To get more information, you and your informant and temporary partner in crime, Frederic Downing, had to get to level B5F, where the G-virus research was taking place. The problem was security was tight, with a security office sitting closely to the lab to keep the research safe.

"The first security team goes on break in ten minutes. Once they exit that door, we have exactly three minutes before the second team comes to replace them." Downing said once he got you near, but hidden enough, to the entrance of the level. 

"Right, that should hopefully be enough time to get information on the G-virus and whatever else I can store on this flash drive then get out, right?" You questioned the British man, holding the drive tightly in your hand. 

"Yes. Umbrella's technology is state of the art and speedy, but weak to certain hacker offenses from the inside. You should get by no problem as long as you've got the overdrive code your friend gave you. You have it? " He asked.

Friend is a loose term, more acquaintance. You helped him out a while ago and, conveniently, he just so happened to owe you a favor. You needed his hacking skills and he pulled through by giving you a fool proof passcode to get through any firewall easy peasy.

You pulled out a notebook that was full of notes and the passcode out of your backpack. You were worried that the backpack would attract attention, but Downing had said there were many students that Umbrella felt had potential that visited the NEST from time to time. He was right. He vouched for you at the entrance security and you were in like that.

You flipped to the page. "Right here." You said, holding up the page.

"Alright. In six minutes, we're a go." But just as he had finished that sentence, alarms started going off. His face paled with obvious worry.

"What? What the hell does that mean?" I questioned anxiously.

"The Hunter R test subjects were released." He looked at the door and quickly pulled you down to a hiding spot as it slid open.

You both watched as the security team, donning guns, ran out and down the opposite way from where you both were hiding. 

You waited until the hall was cleared before standing. 

"What are Hunter R's?" You questioned, pen in hand ready to write it down. You're worried, but your job is to get any information down. Danger be damned.

"You'll find out one way or another. Either by the flash drive we're about to get or by encountering them. Let's hope it isn't the latter." He quickly ran to the door with you in tow, placing his bracelet near the chip reader, making it beep and open.

He quickly beacons you to follow him down a long hall. He gets you to one of the computers in a room across from Birkins lab, just out of sight in case he was still there.

"Do what you need to. Fast. I'll take watch." He does as he said, standing near the door to watch for any signs of movement.

You quickly get to work, putting the flash drive in the slot and typing the passcode into the computer. The sirens blaring in your ear drums and ricocheting through your head. You're going to have a migraine at this rate.

The code worked, you're in. You quickly begin to type in the command code, making any document, file, and anything else useful store itself into the flash drive. As it does so, you take the time to skim through the files, looking through keywords you might recognize. Good thing you're a fast reader.

Orphanage. Oh god. This was worse than you and Ben had thought it was. Far worse.

They weren't adopted. Far from it. They were taken from Umbrella and used for experiments. Raccoon City's very own chief of police covering it up. The man who swore to protect the civilians. Figures.

Progenitor virus. The basis for all viruses Umbrella have developed or are developing.

T-virus. Or the Tyrant virus. Likely the cause of some the random psychotic breaks and attacks. It can sustain its host near death. So only those alive can get infected. The virus mutates and kills the host in the process.

G-virus. Or Golgotha or God virus. What Birkin has been working on. Like the T-virus, it causes rapid mutation and aggression to whomever is infected with it. But unlike the T-virus, it can reanimate dead tissue.

And- oh, that's what the Hunter R's are…There's a whole list of Umbrella's creations. This is horrific.

What kind of people can just experiment on children, on people, and not bat an eye? Umbrella has been testing and genetically altering viruses. Creating things that should only exist in horror movies. 

But why? What's the motive?

"Hurry up, Y/n!" Downing told you.

From what you've gathered, Umbrella has created these viruses, mutating animals and people. But why? Oh. Their goal is to develop the ultimate weapons. Bio Organic Weapons. To get the upper hand in wars by replacing the military with monsters.

How much was the United States government aware of what's going on here? You didn't know. But you figured they had some knowledge. And that Umbrella may have some insiders within the government pulling strings and making decisions.

"Y/n! Let's go!" Downing was nervous. Rightfully so. You take note of the sirens having stopped.

You needed to get out of there. You finished storing and saving everything and grabbed the flash drive, shoving it down your front, right, dress pants pocket to make sure it was secure. You toss your notebook back into your backpack and quickly put it on.

"Alright. Come on." You said, speedily meeting him at the door. 

But as you are about to leave, you stumble upon a scene. You noticed a team of four men, armed with combat gear and machine guns. They were surrounding a blonde man you know as William Birkin, who was carrying a briefcase protectively. You quickly pull Downing to a crouch and hide out of sight.

"Doctor Birkin, you'll come along with us quietly." One of the armed men said.

"You think I didn't know you were coming? This is my life's work! I'm not handing over anything!" Birkin exclaimed.

"We have our orders, Dr. Birkin. I'll ask you one more time…" The man said.

Birkin paused, looking at the four men who had their guns pointed at him, before deciding. 

It all happened so fast. Birkin attempted to grab his hand gun from his side when one man quickly fired his gun at him. Birkin collapsed to the ground, filled with bullet holes and becoming surrounded by a pool of his own blood. You put a hand over your mouth to muffle any sounds of shock that might escape, still hidden with Downing and watching the scene unfold.

"Stop! Hold your fire!" The man yelled.

The shooting stopped and a silence filled the air. One man goes over to check if Birkin was alive. Dead.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Our orders were to bring him in alive!" The man exclaimed to the man who shot Birkin. He sighed and turned to talk to someone on what you assumed was a comm.

"We're in sir. But we had a snafu. Target resisted, we had to take him out." He paused. "That's correct, sir… Roger that. Just the samples then." He finished. 

One of the men grabbed the breif case and they turned to head out.

"Let's move." The man said.

The men leave and you slowly walk out of your hiding place. Downing quickly rushed around the lab to find something. Turning over drawers and papers.

"What are you doing?" You questioned.

"Earning a bigger profit." He grinned as he found what he was looking for. He held up a vial of something and your eyes widened.

"Is that…is that the G-virus?" You asked.

"A version of it, yes. A small sample. But it will make me a handsome fortune on the black market." He pocketed the vial and went to leave.

"Wait! You can't just take it and sell it! You know how dangerous it is!" You exclaimed. He nodded in agreement.

"Which is why it will make me rich. You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. I think this is where we part ways, dear. Bye now." He said as he rushed out of the room. You'll end up lost in this place without him.

"Wai-" you started to follow but stopped when you saw Birkin twitch. You notice an empty vial next to him and gasp. You slowly backed away toward a wall to his right as he stood up and faced the exit the men had left through, nearly bumping into a blonde woman who looked at the scene with shock.

You make eye contact with the woman and her eyes flashed with confusion before shaking her head and facing Birkin. Judging by a photo you saw on his desk and from what Ben told you, you can assume this is Annette Birkin.

You stood slightly behind the woman and out of his line of sight. He panted as he glared at the exit angrily.

"What have you done?" Annette gasped to her husband.

"G is my creation!" He wailed. He started to pant and grunt in pain, something within him shifting. He walked toward the exit and his wife quickly ran and grabbed the gun on the floor next to the puddle of blood. He grunted in pain and she pointed the gun at him.

"William!" She exclaimed. She seemed desperate for any sign of recognition within him.

He continued walking to the exit, grunting and panting, ignoring his wife. She looked to be considering shooting him, but she just put the gun down after a moment of consideration. 

You watched wide eyed as he left after the soldiers, beginning to mutate into this grotesque being, lab coat ripping as his body grew and his right arm begging to form into this rotted, muscular limb with a yellow eyeball attached. That must be where he injected the G-virus.

"Who are you?" Annette Birkin asked. You turned to look at her and saw her gun was pointed at you. You quickly put your hands up.

"No one! Literally no one. I was just passing through." You told her. She didn't seem to believe you though.

"I won't ask you again, who are you? And why are you here?" She asked, lifting the gun higher.

You had to come up with something on the spot. So why not rat out the bastard who ditched you before getting you out of here.

"Downing! You know Downing?" You asked. She nodded for you to continue. "Well, he brought me here to show off his workplace. Thought it would impress me enough to get me to sleep with him. He ditched me after taking something from that drawer when that guy was bleeding out on the ground." You explained. Well, it was the partial truth.

She seemed to have believed you, or just didn't care enough to have you explain more, and sighed. "Was it shaped like a vial?" She questioned.

"Yeah, like those." You nodded as you pointed to the empty glass vials on the desk.

"Damn it!" She exclaimed in frustration. She lowered the gun away from you. You slowly relaxed your arms and backed away a single step. Annette ran a hand over her tired eyes, seemingly in disbelief over all the shit that has gone wrong in a single night. 

You two stood there for a minute, silence deafening as you took a moment to gather your thoughts. You hesitantly step forward.

"Look, ma'am, I really want to get out of here. I don't really know where I am. Any chance you can help?" You asked her. She turned to look and study your features, seeming to have an internal debate, before sighing once more and nodding.

"Of course. We were put in lock down briefly, but the exits should still be accessible. You have a gun?" She asked you. You shook your head no. You're a reporter's assistant. So definitely not.

She walked over to a drawer and pulled it open, shuffled through it for a moment, before pulling out a small pistol and three ammo magazines. She walked back over and handed you the gun and ammo.

"Here, it's already loaded. Each magazine had ten bullets in them. You know how to use it?" She asked. You shook your head once more. Again. Reporter's assistant.

She quickly went over gun safety 101. How to reload. How to use the safety button. Make sure that you're pointing away from yourself when you pull the trigger. Everything seemed pretty straight forward. The aiming will depend on you. 

"Alright. Follow me and try to keep up. I will not stop for you if you fall behind." Annette said.

You nodded in understanding and followed her out of the room and into the hallways. You made sure to keep somewhat of a distance and observe your surroundings. Blood occasionally smeared throughout the hallways. You watched for the labels on the walls and for any potential monster running at you with the intent to kill.

You and Annette make it to a long hallway, the lights being broken make the whole area dark. You slowed to a stop. Two bodies of former scientists lay bloodied and bruised on the ground in the middle of the hall. Bones were snapped in half and poked out in awkward directions. Deep scratch marks littered their bodies and gory bite marks their necks. Likely the finishing move of whatever killed them. Upon closer inspection, you also noticed another dead body in shredded combat gear, much like the men you saw before. He had two grenades on the floor next to him. One was a flash, the other a normal hand grenade.

"The exit is just through this way. We'll have to be quiet and keep a watchful eye out." Annette whispered. You nodded in agreement, lifting your gun with the safety off along with Annette, and slowly walked into the room.

Your eyes had to slowly adjust to the dark the deeper you went down the hall. The flashlight you packed was still in your backpack. You noticed a bright red exit sign not far from the direction Annette was leading you toward. You stood a few feet behind her as she led the way. As you step besides the armed, dead man, you hear a growl from the opened closet door up ahead to the right of Annette.

She froze, gun down and still facing the exit, too afraid to move. 

The growling continued. You, out of sight of the closet in front of you with gun in hand, slowly crouched down to the body in combat gear, left hand moving to grab the flash and hand grenade.

You place the hand grenade in your cardigan pocket, before grabbing the flash grenade next. You slowly pulled the pin out with your teeth, growling continuing while Annette stood still, and prepared to throw. 

You slowly take a step forward. Stopped, aimed, and quickly rolled the flash grenade through the door as the growling turned to screeching. You ran to Annette and pushed her away from the door and toward the exit. You both stumbled as the grenade let off a loud bang and bright flash, briefly blinding you both. 

You quickly recovered and pushed Annette through the door, shutting it behind you. She jogged ahead to a ladder and started climbing up, the ladder leading to the outside world.

You ran right behind her, but stopped when you heard screeching from behind the door you had just come from. You turned and saw the door rattling and made a decision. You ran up to the ladder as Annette finally made it through the hole in the ceiling. You climbed as fast as you could as the door rattling became more and more intense.

You just make it through the hole and to solid ground when the door bursts open. You grabbed the grenade, pulled the pin with your teeth, turned, and threw it down the hole. 

The grenade immediately exploded. Causing the ladder and bits of the hall to fall apart. The monster shrieked in pain as debris fell on it, making the ladder and exit unusable. 

Annette quickly shut the hatch to the hole and locked it up. You sat on the ground as you gasped for air, out of breath from all the action that just happened. You glanced around at your surroundings and realized you're in a secluded alleyway somewhere in the city. You looked at your watch and saw that it was an hour after midnight. September 23rd.

Annette stood up, "You need to get out of here. Get out of the city if you can. Things are about to get real messy. It's best if you stay away." She turned and walked away without saying anything further.

You debated on whether or not to follow her, but decided that you should follow the plan and meet up with Ben at the Apple Inn to share what you learned.

You sighed, standing up and dusting off your dirtied cardigan. You walked out of the alley and realized where you were, beginning your trek to the Inn Ben was staying at.

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 13 - Alone, Together - Part 1

You and Killer find yourselves trapped on a deserted island after going overboard during a storm.

WC: ~5k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

Day 1

You woke up with a groan as a gentle wave pushed your body further up onto the beach. The sun was bright in your eyes, your entire body ached, and there was something heavy laying across your chest, pinning you down. You tried to see what it was, coming to your senses suddenly when you saw the familiar scarred arm of the first mate draped protectively across you. You followed the arm back to its owner, finding Killer laying beside you, face down in the sand as the waves lapped at his legs.

“Killer, move your arm,” you groaned.

He didn’t reply, or even attempt to move. You watched him carefully for a moment, concerned with the lack of response. There was no rise and fall of his torso to indicate breathing, and you felt yourself start to panic.

“Killer?” You said as you did your best to push his heavy arm off. It was still warm, that had to be a good sign, right? “Kil please say something”

You put all your strength into rolling him, which was no easy feat considering he was probably five times your size and made of pure muscle. His arms splayed out on the sand as he rolled to his back, and you quickly pressed two fingers against his neck. There was a pulse, but it was unbearably weak, and he still wasn't breathing. He can't have been out for long though, since his heart was still working, as weak as it may be. You started to panic more, you needed to resuscitate him immediately before his heart finally gave up, but his damned mask was in the way. You had no choice, it was either remove it or let him die, and you couldn't fathom the latter.

  You knew the mask had some sort of latch, you'd heard it in the infirmary during checkups, so you tilted his neck to search for it, finding what seemed like a button towards the side of it. It clicked as you unfastened it, and you began to slide the mask off, chickening out at the last second and squeezing your eyes shut before you could see more than the base of his blond goatee. Despite the fact that this was necessary to save his life, you still felt awful for invading his privacy.

You pushed the mask aside and used your hands to blindly feel for his nose and mouth, making sure his chin was adequately titled to open his airway before pinching his nose and pressing in hard breaths, pausing between each so his lungs could deflate. Thank god for mandatory marine first aid training. You paused after a short series of breaths, tilting your head so your ear was over his mouth, listening carefully to hear if he was breathing on his own yet. He wasn't, so you pinched his nose again and blew in another.

All of a sudden he coughed hard and turned to his side, throwing up water and hacking. You breathed a sigh of relief and almost cried, realising how close you'd just come to being on your own again. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, covering them with your hands so he could see clearly that you weren't looking as he took sharp breaths and tried to clear the water from his lungs.

After a short coughing fit he caught his breath, wiping the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand and laying flat on his back again. He felt weak and sore, and he lacked the energy to sit up. He noticed you now, sitting quietly with your eyes covered, and he quickly realised with nervous panic that he wasn't wearing his mask. He pulled it back on and tapped your kneeling leg with a weak finger.

“It's back on, you can open now,” he wheezed. His throat was raw from coughing. You let out a deep sigh and pulled your hands away anxiously, visibly relaxing when you saw the mask back in place. You flopped back down on the sand next to him, exhausted, physically and emotionally.

“I didn't see anything…” you whispered.

“I know, it's okay,” he replied softly, “I'm guessing I stopped breathing, huh?”

“Yeah…” you mumbled sadly.

“Sorry for scaring you”

“It's okay…” you sounded on the brink of tears and he turned his head to look at you. You were staring up at the sky, your eyes watering as you tried hard to not cry.

“Kid has my vivre card, he'll find us,” Killer said gently, “we just have to hold out till then”

“Okay,” you replied quietly.

“Are you okay?” He said, his voice full of concern.

“Are you?”

“Not really,” he replied.

“I don't remember much,” you admitted, “I think I must have hit my head on the railing”

“The wave swept you off, so I dived in to keep you afloat, but the ship got too far away” he explained, sitting up as best he could and gently tilting your head to check for wounds. There was a small patch of blood at the back of your head, dried and matted into your hair, he scowled at it, but it seemed to be okay for now. “The currents brought us here, can't have been much long ago, since we're still saturated and the tide is so close. You definitely hit your head but it doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore, can you see okay? You don't feel sick do you?”

“I'm okay, it just hurts,” you turned your head to face him, scanning him up and down like you were searching for an answer as he lay back down, “You tread water all night to keep me from drowning?”

“Well I wasn't just gonna let you die,” he said sincerely. You rolled over and nestled against his side, emotionally moved by him risking his life to save you. You were shivering a little, the waves still lapping at your legs, and he rubbed your arm in a comforting manner to try and warm you. “We need to get out of the water, and get out of these wet clothes. And find shelter, if this area had one storm it'll no doubt have another”

“Give me a second,” you sat up and flipped your pendant, letting your vision simultaneously expand and obscure. You couldn't make out details, but solid rock was hard to see through, it was an easy way to scan the island for caves. You could also see the inner workings of the various inhabitants, so you could see whether there were any people or potential animals to hunt or be wary of. You scanned quickly, aware that you were a ticking time bomb like this. You found what you were looking for though, a cave that looked large enough for both of you, as well as the presence of a decent wild pig population. You flicked your seastone back and sighed in relief as your vision and hearing returned to normal.

“There's a cave, it looks big enough for both of us, not too far away I think,” you reported, “I can't see any people or any dangerous animals but I could see some wild pigs”

“Okay, good,” he said, trying to stand, “lead the way.” He got to his feet and his legs quickly gave out under him, falling back to the sand on his hands and knees with a heavy thud, “Fuck”

“Your legs must be like jelly,” you said, “let me help you”

You helped him stand again, this time doing your best to support his heavy weight with an arm over your shoulders to keep him upright. He had to take slow, careful steps as you made your way into the dense jungle, quickly leading him to where you had seen the cave. Thankfully it wasn't far from shore, you'd been walking for maybe twenty minutes when you came to it, probably only a ten minute walk at a normal speed. The cave was small as expected, more of an overhang in a short cliff, but it was wide enough for Killer to lay down across it and would serve its purpose to protect from the elements. You were certainly fairing better than him, your body still hurt badly and recovering from being weakened by the ocean water, but at least you could walk unassisted, so you set about gathering dry leaves to act as a makeshift bed, to insulate against the cold, hard, rock floor.

He couldn't help but notice you were bone dry now as you approached with an arm full of leaves, “What happened to your dress? You find a hairdryer out here or something?” he asked curiously.

“Glad you asked, take off your clothes,”

“Bit forward,” he smirked, pulling his shirt off.

“Gimme your underwear too, you can't keep sitting around in wet undies you'll start to smell,” you sat down next to him and closed your eyes, then held out your arms for his clothes, “I won't peek, I promise, just flip my pendant for me when I'm holding everything”

He did as he was told, sitting awkwardly next to you, naked except for his mask. He delicately flipped the pendant and you started to vibrate the clothing, heating it as much as you could without setting fire to it. Steam came off the fabric as the water evaporated, leaving the clothes dry. You flipped the pendant yourself when you were done, holding the clothes out for him to take, but keeping your eyes shut. He took them and quickly worked on putting them back on, thankful that he'd at least been wearing comfortable clothes to sleep so he didn't have to fight with tight jeans over his sore legs. They felt like they were fresh from the dryer, though slightly scratchy from the sand and sea salt still on them.

“You couldn't just do that while they were on me?” He mumbled.

“And miss out on getting you naked?” You smirked, “with my mask I could have, but I can't concentrate properly without it, I could have burned you”

“Oh, fair enough,” he said, slipping his shirt on, “you can open now”

You opened your eyes, sighing in relief and arranging the thick pile of leaves you'd dropped in a pile before so he could lay on them. He laid down with a small wince, and you stood like you were about to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“We need water,” you replied.

“It can wait, you need rest,” he sighed, “if you drop from exhaustion out there I won't be able to help you. I might not even be able to find you, the forest seems pretty thick”

You sat back down with a pout but rubbed your forehead like a headache was forming, “you're not wrong…”

“No more using your powers till we get some food and water,” he shimmied over to make space for you on the leaves, making them crunch as he moved. The cave wasn't large but it was just enough room for you to both lay down with a little space between. He patted the leaves to invite you to relax and you did as you were told, laying to face him. You looked sad, a deep frown on your face as you picked at a leaf between your faces.

“The others will find us, we're gonna be okay,” he assured you, like he was reading your mind.

“How long do you think we're gonna be here?”

“Depends on if the ship is damaged,” he replied, “if it wasn't, maybe two days at most. But if it was damaged, which is likely, the nearest port wasn't far away, maybe a day's sailing. Give or take a week to make repairs, then the couple days sailing back, we're probably looking at a little over a week”

“We need to find water then,” you stated.

“It can wait till tomorrow,” he said firmly, “we both need rest right now. We'll look for water tomorrow. If there's wild pigs here like you said then there has to be fresh water somewhere, don't worry too much about it. We're gonna be fine”

“Okay Kil, I trust you,” you sighed.

“Get some rest,” he said blearily as he tried to get comfortable. The leaves weren't exactly a five star mattress but they were better than cold hard ground. “We'll look for water tomorrow”

“Okay,” you mumbled, trying to get comfortable as well and unwillingly closing your eyes. It didn't take long for you to both fall asleep, overwhelmed and exhausted from what you'd both been through.

Killer woke up in the middle of the night. The temperature had dropped a significant amount, and there was a light rainstorm happening outside the cave. The overhang protected you from the water, but not the temperature. You were shivering, still in only a thin satin nightie to cover you. You were facing away from him, but he could hear your teeth chattering as you hugged yourself tight. Instinctively he pulled you closer, holding your body against his to keep you warm. You sighed, intertwining your fingers with his over your chest and pressing back against him. The chattering slowly stopped as his body heat warmed you, and you soon fell back asleep.

Day 2

Killer was already awake and moving by the time you opened your eyes. The rain had stopped, the heavy dew leftover still sticking to the vegetation around the cave. He had broken a rock open, and was sitting cross legged near your feet, using the sharp edge of the broken stone to scrape away at the end of a long, thick branch. He planned to scorch it later to strengthen it, so he could make it even sharper, but first he'd need to find materials appropriate for making a bow drill. He'd need to find some soft, dry wood, as well as some sort of fibre for the bow string. He wasn't so worried about the “dry” part though, he was sure you could repeat what you did for the clothes if necessary. You could probably start a fire on your own in general, but he didn't want to push your abilities when there was no guarantee you'd have adequate food to replenish your energy.

Given the island clearly had frequent rain, and a healthy population of animals, it was likely he would find some sort of stream or river nearby if he looked. Water and fire were his priorities today, he was overly aware now that any temperature drops were going to affect you a lot worse than him. He at least had a shirt and sweatpants, but you were almost entirely exposed, with only thin, delicate fabric that offered no insulation or protection against the elements

He noticed you stirring in the corner of his eye and stood, ripping a large leaf from a nearby tree that had caught a decent amount of rain the night before. He'd used the same plant to sate his own thirst earlier, and delicately carried the water over to you, tilting the leaf carefully for you as you sat up so you could drink from it.

“Thanks Kil,” you mumbled sleepily, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He discarded the leaf and went back to sharpening his makeshift spear. “That for hunting?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “it'd be better if I can burn the end though, I'm hoping to make a fire later. We can survive without food if we have to, but I'm worried about you getting too cold if your body doesn't have anything to make energy with”

“That's sweet of you Kil, I'll be okay though,” you smiled, “this isn't the first time I've starved. I'm glad I at least have a friend this time though”

He paused his sharpening for a moment, trying not to get bummed out about the depressing statement. “Right, yeah, of course”

“I'm more worried about you, big guy,” you poked his arm, “how will Kid find us if you waste away to nothing?”

“This isn't the first time I've starved either,” he said nonchalantly.

“Oh..” you replied sadly.

“It's fine, Kid and I were street urchins,” he explained, “the South Blue where we're from is pretty well known for gang wars. That's how we met Heat and Wire actually. Ended up forming an alliance with them to take down a gang that killed our friend, and it turned into a crew at some point.”

“Victoria?” You asked shyly.

“How did you know that?” He entirely stopped what he was doing to look at you.

“No crew of blood thirsty men names their ship after a woman without good reason,” you shrugged, “most ships I've seen are named after things the captain likes, or something to do with their devil fruit or reputation. Not women.”

“I guess that's true,” he conceded, returning to his stick.

“She must have meant a lot to Kid for him to name the ship after her,” you mused.

“Yeah, we loved her a lot,” he replied.

“‘We’?”

“Slip of the tongue”

“Sure,” you squinted suspiciously, “well I'm sure she must have been an impressive woman then to catch your eyes”

“She beat the shit out of us,” he huffed, it was almost a laugh.

“Why does that not surprise me that that's Kid's type,” you laughed.

“We were only kids, to be fair,” he added.

“Sure, cos Kid wouldn't get rock hard if I beat the shit out of him any day now,” you smirked.

Killers shoulders shimmied in silent laughter, “Yeah, he probably would,” he admitted.

Once you were properly awake, he abandoned his half-carved spear and you both set off in search of water. It didn't take long to find a stream, decently sized but not quite wide enough to be considered a river. The water was clear and untouched by pollution, the stir up from last night's rain already having passed through. There were fish in the stream that neither of you could identify, and you made a mental note to weave a trap later, something else you'd been taught in the marines. You were feeling glad now for the course they made everyone do on what to do if you got shipwrecked, Killer wasn't the only one who knew how to start a fire with sticks.

You unabashedly stripped off your nightie and panties, stepping into the water with no shame for your nudity and using the gentle flow of the water to help wash your garments. It didn't take long, given how little fabric there was, and you returned to the water's edge to drape them over some larger rocks to dry. Killer stood awkwardly at the water's edge, doing his best to look away as you casually stood naked in front of him.

“Don't tell me you're shy,” you laughed, “I don't have the energy to dry the clothes again, so if you don't want to keep walking around with sand in your undies I suggest you wash your stuff too. The sun here isn't too bad, it shouldn't take too long to dry if you wring them out well”

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the sand that was still chafing his ass. You weren't wrong, the sun was bright and warm in the small clearing the stream passed through, it was an ideal chance to wash his clothes. He wasn't shy about his body, it was more that his feelings for you were making him shy. You giggled at his hesitation.

“I won't look, big baby,” you laughed, turning and wadding away. The water was waist high on you, which meant he'd have to stay on his knees if you weren't going to get an eyeful. He trusted you to not look though, you hadn't even looked at his face when you'd had the chance. He finally conceded, and you heard the soft rustling of clothes and gentle splashing of him entering the water behind you and setting about washing his things. You leaned your front against a smooth boulder on the other side of the stream, slightly warmed by the sun, watching a small bird collect pieces of dead plants to make its nest.

He laid his clothes out to dry next to yours and turned back around, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him in the water. There wasn't much else he could do till the clothes dried, so he may as well let the cool water ice his sore body. He observed your smooth back, painted with the same purple freckles that were scattered over the rest of your body. Your hair was loose, as it had been when you'd gone to bed before you were tossed overboard, and the wet strands stuck to your shoulder blades. In the middle of your back was the old, faded slave brand you'd received when you were young. It stung his heart to think of a child being sold, he could only imagine what most people bought kids for. Not that you'd escaped that fate anyway when the marines got hold of you instead. The Kid Pirates occasionally visited the human auction houses on Sabaody, whenever Kid had extra cash to throw around he liked to use it to rescue men who showed promise. It was a small thing, but it was all they could really do to save the occasional man or teenage boy from slavery or sexual abuse. Women were harder to save, they always fetched a higher price, so he avoided bidding on them. Chances were they'd just be recaptured again the second he left anyway, since he wasn't in the habit of bringing women on board. Why save one woman when he could save three men instead?

“Does it ever hurt?” Killer asked, looking at the slave mark. You didn't have to ask what he was talking about, it was usually the first question you got when someone saw the branding scar.

“Not for a long time,” you replied, “it hurt for a few months after it happened, but once it healed I couldn't feel it anymore. It's a little sensitive though”

“I heard they can hurt for years for some people, we've had a couple of men over the years with them,” he added.

“Yeah?” You said, “guess I got lucky then aye? Lucky, lucky me”

“Sorry,” he said, feeling like he'd hit a nerve.

“It's okay, I'm just hungry and stressed, it's making me bitchy,” you sighed.

“I'm gonna try to finish that spear and hunt when we're done here,” he assured you.

“That'd be good,” you replied, “I'm gonna see if I can find something to make a fishing trap”

He replied with a mmm and there was a pregnant silence while he watched your back again. He couldn't really help himself, but he was doing his very best to not imagine other reasons why he might see your naked back. “Do you think she's still alive out there somewhere?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the threat of dirty thoughts.

“Who?” You replied curiously.

“Your mother,” he asked.

“I have to hope she is,” you sighed, “but in reality I don't think it's likely. The marines tracked her down for me for my 16th birthday, the vice admiral I was with at the time was kinder than most and wanted to get me something to celebrate officially being old enough to join the marines. They found her but the best they could do was get me a letter, not that I could read it. I kept it with me all these years, it's one of the only things I ever had for myself and the commodore kept it in his safe as a bargaining chip. I haven't heard anything since though, and that was maybe ten years ago? Hard to tell when I don't know how old I am now.”

“You still have it then?” He asked.

“Yeah, it's in my side table back on the ship”

“I'll read it for you, when we get back,” he promised.

“Thanks Kil,” you sighed, “maybe it'll even tell me my name”

“You don't know your name?” He asked, genuinely surprised. He knew Yin wasn't your real name, but he assumed like many pirates, himself included, that you'd just chosen to go by the nickname.

“It's been so long since anyone used it, I forgot what it was,” you replied sadly, “my mother was the last one to use it. Marines have always called me Yin, it was the codename they used for the mission they had to get their hands on me, and I guess it stuck”

“Surely it'll be addressed to your given name,” he assured, “maybe it'll even be dated. If it is then we could use it to figure out how old you are”

“That'd be nice,” you mused.

Eventually the clothes dried and you were able to return to the cave, working together to gather wood for a fire along the way. You used the end of a blunt branch to dig a small pit into the earth to house the fire, and Killer lit it with the bow drill he'd assembled, setting fire to the dried leaves you had collected to get the flames started.

You watched curiously as he alternated between searing the end of the makeshift spear, and grinding it against a rough rock, till it formed a sturdy, sharp point. You used your devil fruit again to point him in the direction of a nearby boar, and he left, returning a few hours later with the already bled carcass. You'd built a makeshift split from branches and vines while he was gone to make yourself useful, and you ate well that night. With renewed energy you used your power to entirely dry whatever was left, preserving the meat so it could be eaten over the coming days.

The temperature was already dropping again as you settled in to sleep, and he didn't wait this time to pull you in close, anticipating your shivering. He didn't want to be woken by your chattering teeth again tonight, at least that was the excuse he told himself. The dying fire helped a little, but at some point it too would grow cold and you'd have nothing but his body to keep you warm. He didn't run as hot as Heat did, but it was certainly warm blooded. You didn't protest, you enjoyed how safe and secure you felt when he held you.

“Do you usually sleep with your mask on?” You asked curiously.

“No,” he replied bluntly.

“Aren't you uncomfortable then?” You asked, “I won't look, if you want to sleep without it”

He thought about it for a moment before unlatching the mask and removing it, returning his arm to your side. He could press his face against the bare skin at the top of your back now, and it felt nice for both of you. You could feel his warm, steady breaths against your skin.

“Whatever your reason for the mask, I won't judge you, you know?” You told him, “I'm sure you have your reasons but I hope one day you'll trust me enough with it”

He gave you a noncommittal hum and closed his eyes to sleep. You didn't pry any further, just happy that he trusted you enough to remove it at all, even if you weren't allowed to look.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[mthofferings2023]

MassiveSpaceWren

See MassiveSpaceWren’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: massivespacewren@gmail.com Discord: massivespacewren Tumblr: massivespacewren / wrenchirps

Preferred organizations: - Anything from the list of approved organizations

Will create works that contain: I’m open to almost anything not mentioned in the “Do not want” section. If you are unsure or have your heart set on something very specific, feel free to ask! Happy couple-y scenes, fighting together, fighting against each other, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, character being tied up or hurt, armor or no armor, all good! I like AUs too, especially medieval/fantasy AUs, fairy tale, canon AUs, Western AU, Roman AU, Viking AU, etc. Story wise, I love secret identities, enemies to lovers, pining, forbidden romance, secret relationships, and other fun tropes!

Will not create works that contain: NSFW content, mpreg/pregnancy, D/s AU, daddy kink, eye gore/eye stuff, general heavy gore, kids, dogs, actual major character death, Superior Iron Man (unless AU), smoking cigarettes, eyelid kissing, genderbending to make m/m into cis m/f (crossdressing, trans, nb, gnc, bending into f/f are all awesome though). I prefer Tony with a goatee instead of just a mustache, but will make exceptions in digital art. If you are unsure if I would do it, feel free to contact me.

  -- Art --

Auction ID: 1111

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, AvAc, AA, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, Earth-TRN591, Earth-TRN944, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Next Avengers, Noir, Old Man Logan, Secret Wars: Civil War, Secret Wars: Planet Hulk, Ultimates, What If..? Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, AvAc, AA, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, Earth-TRN591, Heroes United, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Marvel's Avengers (video game), Next Avengers, Noir, Secret Wars: Civil War, Secret Wars: Planet Hulk, What If..? Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, AvAc, AA, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Next Avengers, Noir, Secret Wars: Civil War, Secret Wars: Planet Hulk, What If..? Loki/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, Arcadia, AvAc, Earth-TRN193, MCU, Noir, What If..? Teddy Altman/Billy Kaplan - 616, Noir

Work Description: Welcome to MassiveSpaceWren’s auction sheet for art or comics! This auction is for a custom piece of art/single comic panel that can be upgraded to more standalone pieces of art or more comic panels. The tiers are: <$60: A single drawing / single comic panel from $60: up to 2 standalone images OR 4 comic panels from $100: up to 3 standalone images OR 7 comic panels from $150: up to 4 standalone images OR 10 comic panels from $200: up to 5 standalone images OR 13 comic panels from $250: up to 6 standalone images OR 16 comic panels from $300: up to 6 standalone images OR 22 comic panels from $400: up to 6 standalone images OR 28 comic panels from $500: up to 6 standalone images OR 34 comic panels from $600: up to 6 standalone images OR 40 comic panels The art will be lineart or black & white, with a little bit of grey shading or some single colors. Please be aware I have a maximum of 6 standalone images and 40 comic panels, no matter how high the bid gets after these goals are reached. The standalone images are allowed to have up to 3 characters (without too complicated background) in it; the complexity of the comic panels will vary depending on the story. For the standalone images, I am happy to work with prompts or descriptions; for the comic, you can send me a script or a rough idea and I will work from that. I will show the sketches/page planning to be okayed by you. Since a page can have a different amount of panels, the page number will vary depending on the story, and I will send sketches for the arrangement on the page to be okayed by you. At least two changes to the sketches/planning are included. If your story idea doesn’t exactly fit the panel number, we can discuss options and work it out after the auction. If you have special wishes such as that you definitely want fullcolor art, or a very complicated background, please message me beforehand and we can talk about it (or take a look at my second auction). For example comic pages, click here. For example lineart, click here. Digital or traditional is up to you, in either case you will receive a digital file. (If you want to have the physical art, you will have to pay for shipping, might cost up to $10). I might be open to other ships depending on prompt and setting, so if you are interested, please message me beforehand and we can talk about it (or take a look at my second auction). It will take a while to finish it, since my real life takes a lot of attention, and other events also exist, and comics/multiple images can take a long while to complete. Please be patient. Good luck bidding and have fun with all of the great content in all of MTH! :)

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

-- Art --

Auction ID: 2059

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, AvAc, AA, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, Earth-TRN591, Earth-TRN944, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Next Avengers, Noir, Old Man Logan, Secret Wars: Civil War, Secret Wars: Planet Hulk, Ultimates, What If..? Tony Stark/Victor von Doom - 616, AvAc, Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, Earth-TRN591 Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow - MCU, What If..? Tony Stark-centric - 616, 1872, AvAc, AA, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, Earth-TRN193, Earth-TRN591, Earth-TRN944, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Next Avengers, Noir, Secret Wars: Civil War, What If..? Carol Danvers/Jessica Drew - 616, 1872, Arcadia, AvAc Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov - 616, AvAc James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark - 616, 1872, AvAc, Bullet Points (BP), Dark Ages, IM:AA, Marvel 1602, MCU, Next Avengers, Noir, What If..? JARVIS/Tony Stark - AvAc, MCU, What If..? T'Challa/Tony Stark - 616, AvAc, MCU, What If..? Richard Rider/Tony Stark - 616, AvAc

Work Description: Welcome to MassiveSpaceWren’s single image auction sheet. In addition to the listed ships, I am also open to doing art for other rarepairs than the ones listed. If you are unsure, please ask me beforehand. Do you like a weird small comic universe, or obscure characters with only a few appearances? I am likely up to drawing them. I may not have drawn all of the characters super often, so you may have to give me some reference. If you want a friendship with characters not listed (especially for female comic characters), I am likely up for it, just send me a message to ask maybe :D This auction is for a custom piece of art, that is: If the bids stay under $80: A black&white or greyscale or lineart style drawing, maximum of 2 characters with no complicated background. If the bids reach $80 or more: A full colour drawing/painting, maximum of 2 characters with no complicated background. If you want a more complicated background, please talk to me beforehand :) You can find general examples of my art here. - Black and white style - Watercolour style - Digital art Digital or traditional is up to you, in either case you will receive a digital file. (if you want the physical art, you will have to pay for shipping. It may cost up to $10, I am located in EU) It will take a while to finish it, since my real life takes a lot of attention, and other events also exist. Please be patient. Feel free to ask questions, I’m up for drawing almost anything! If you want a ship I don’t have listed, you can still ask (preferably beforehand). Good luck bidding and have fun with all of the great content in all of MTH! :)

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[juelliuscaesarsalad]

Legends of Gapen!

Introduction

Hi, freaks! This is the first chapter from my spinoff series, "Legends of Gapen!" that comes from the same universe as, "How Many Cocks Does It Take To Screw A Dumb Knight?!" Explicit smut is present so please be a cautious reader and have fun!

PS: There's also a special art at the end of the read!)

AO3 Profile AO3 Original Work

DISCLAIMER: "Legends of Gapen" is an NSFW work of fantasy that contains triggering themes such as violence, gore, and non-consensual elements.

This is written for entertainment purposes ONLY. If any of the themes bother you, please refrain from reading, and thank you for your understanding.

Summary: Come one; come all! Welcome to the literary collection of Gapen's most infamous manwhores and their stories that prove just how depraved a cock-loving slut can be! In this anthology, prepare to be thrown into worlds like no other! Pack warm clothes as you travel to the mountains of Bacraut, home to the vulgar Viking, Ásgeirr, who will stop at nothing to get his dick wet. Careful where you step, as the cum pits of Hancock are known to drag innocent adventurers below their surfaces- and meet thee, Hancock! Place your bets in the Gauntlets of Gunk, a rowdy city made of arenas secretly ruled by Spunker and his underground gang of ruffians! And finally, take flight with the innocent mage, Lachlan, who soars through the skies in search of his only true love. Oh- but don't worry, folks, that's just the beginning of our tales. You'll find many more characters here just itching to introduce themselves. Beware, for there is little chance that anyone is safe.

Chapter 1: Came... But I Still Stand!

[For Percy]

"And they call you a Jarl," snickered a young man who caused a bare hole to flinch as he brought his palm against it.

     The hole belonged to a middle-aged Viking who— 

"Huh?"

     It belonged to an older—

"Try again."

     The spry hole belonged to not-so-youthful—

"STEEL YOURSELF-"

BELONGED— to a very hunky and good-looking Viking who was mature, BUT that did not matter because of how stunning he was— barely aging, but like fine wine regardless. His features betrayed youthfulness and adulthood, making it difficult to discern his exact age. His panicked dark-blue gaze swept across the room, looking over several other young adult men who could hardly stay clothed. Each of them rushed to take off their clothing, following presumably their leader, who stood naked before Ásgeirr.

     Aside from being ridiculously impatient, the men were tall and had fair hair, which was much different from the Viking's white hair, long and healthy as it cascaded gracefully down past his neck. The men likely recently reached adulthood— about a year or two ago— their bodies, cheeks, and jaws still smooth. Ásgeirr bared a charming face, a firm mustache, and a narrow, ghostly-shaped goatee, which began at the middle of his chin and draped downward slightly. Like the young men, Ásgeirr also had a pale complexion, but his body, currently stripped, was painted with runic designs, enhanced by his robust physique. The Viking's face was slightly softer than his enemies' narrow-shaped heads and prominent cheekbones. But the biggest difference, literally, was the appendage attached to the Viking, his cock prying towards the surrounding men. 

     The atmosphere was thick with testosterone as the young soldiers circled Ásgeirr, their eyes filled with hunger. 

"Leave it to a barbaric Viking to burst into a crowded barracks as if he's invincible," sneered a young man, his leanness belying his strength. "You really thought you could handle us all?" he taunted.

"I can't wait to fill him up," growled a soldier with a massive cock that dwarfed the others.

     But it was the youngest among them who seemed the most entranced by the situation. With an expression of naive excitement, he muttered, "This is the perfect first time for me."

"I think it's all our first times," said the first young man, slapping his leaking dick against Ásgeirr's exposed taint. The Viking was forced into an undignified position, his back arched and feet held up in the air, his ass completely vulnerable. He could feel his pressed-together pecs being grasped by the same taunting man. "You're going to be used until we've proven ourselves to be true men."

"Virgin cocks— I can't believe you would be so loud with embarrassment," Ásgeirr spat, successfully hitting the man in the eye.

"Fuck!" exclaimed the soldier, stumbling back but keeping his hand over his eye as he inserted a finger into Ásgeirr's tight entrance, stretching it open mercilessly. "Save your saliva, asshole." As the finger probed deeper inside him, Ásgeirr couldn't help but let out a quiet grunt, which only seemed to amuse the young man even more. "Looks like you'll be the only loud one." 

     Ásgeirr tried to let go of his feet, but the younger man grasped his hands, both grips now forcefully holding up a pair of legs. The lad made a guttural noise in his throat before spitting on his cock, rubbing it against the Viking's hole by moving his hips. The other soldiers cheered, goading their comrade to ravage the helpless Viking.

"Do it!"

"Plow his ass!"

"Make him suffer!"

     The young soldiers cheered, and unfortunately for the Viking, he knew the only way out of this was to take every vile load of cum from the virgin cocks that surrounded him.

"By Odin's spear—" exclaimed Ásgeirr, without the pun intended.

     The Viking's toes curled around both sets of fingers, and his nipples perked up at the same time. Meanwhile, his butt clenched around a youthful, impatient, curious cock. The young man had slid inside the Viking messily, nearly falling over from the unexpected feeling of Ásgeirr's hole embracing his shaft. The feeling was electric, but the young man's dick was so sensitive that he struggled to be as aggressive as he wanted to be. Instead, his once-hostile demeanor softened as he panted through his careful strokes, trying not to spill inside the Viking instantly. Despite him moving slower, the Viking moaned due to the soldier's length rubbing against his walls. But before both men knew it, the hard dick sprayed inside of Ásgeirr's ass. 

"G-god... that was fucking-"

"Move over!" yelled a voice that shoved the soldier out of the way. It was a young man who was the thickest of all the men and possibly the oldest, but he still had a sense of youth about him. His facial hair was light, and his features were soft, but his wicked grin spoke of nothing good.

     Before Ásgeirr could prepare to accommodate the new cock, it was buried inside him, eager and far more resilient than the last. Ásgeirr groaned abruptly, caught off guard as the soldier pushed against him, feeling the weight of heavy balls against his cheeks. The soldier gripped the Viking's waist roughly before placing a foot on the bed as he pumped Ásgeirr. Ásgeirr's entire body trembled and shivered, most noticeably his chest heaving. The soldier noticed this and allowed one hand to squeeze around the Viking's pec, fondling it excitedly. His head tilted up towards the ceiling, his mouth agape as he moaned after every thrust. Ásgeirr's ass continuously flexed, working away at the cock's thickness, hoping to add another load to its collection— but a different hole was soon to be attacked. 

     Ásgeirr felt the weight of the bed shift, and his gaze spotted the man equipped with the most enormous cock in terms of length climbing around. Within a few seconds, he knelt above Ásgeirr, his giant dick looming over him before slapping against his forehead. 

"D-don't you dare, boy! I refuse to-" Ásgeirr yelled, but his shouts were silenced by a pair of balls that were dropped on his eyes after the man readjusted his position. Ásgeirr cried out, but his mouth was forced to preoccupy a shaft that slid against his lips, back and forth swiftly. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, kissing the underside of the long dick each time it traveled.

     The Viking rocked back and forth, his body yielding to the soldiers. His skin felt warm, and a pungent smell filled his nose, likely from the sweat from the man above him. A tangy-tasting liquid dripped from the cock, and Ásgeirr tried to let it fall off his tongue. But in a matter of seconds, the man noticed and slithered his cock inside the Viking's throat, nearly slamming the tip towards the back of it.

     With both of his holes filled, Ásgeirr couldn't help but quiver and lean into the shockwaves that kissed his body. The moments were fleeting, forcing the Viking to beg for more, but they returned as quickly as they left, intoxicating the moment. 

     After a few minutes, far longer than Ásgeirr thought the soldiers would last, two sets of fluid slipped into his butt and throat. The semen in his ass was generously warm and simmered inside of him like softly as if it asked to stay. As for the liquid in his throat, it caused Ásgeirr to choke- the amount heavy and thick. A hint of tanginess remained, but it was now far more bitter as he swallowed it, gulping as it burned his throat. 

     The Viking's entire body was shaken violently as the cocks left his orifices. But his ordeal had yet to be done.

     Next up was the skinny soldier, who took several minutes writhing his tongue around Ásgeirr's hole. The other men became impatient and bullied him enough that he began to drive his cock inside the Viking. Ásgeirr enjoyed hearing this soldier's moans, which were closer to whimpers. The Viking's cock twitched, and pre-cum squirted onto his thighs and stomach each time the skinny-framed man pumped. Ásgeirr adjusted his neck, cracking it to the side, his muscles and joints becoming tensed and stiff from his position. The soldier struggled from Ásgeirr's movements and slipped a few times, which received him several laughs from his allies and Ásgeirr himself. The soldier brought a heavy hand across the Viking, slapping him before leaning down and taking a nipple into his mouth. Ásgeirr cried out, his tender nipple being sucked on gently by the man's lips. The Viking's cries caused the skinny soldier's hips to buck, and his cock sunk into Ásgeirr's butt just in time for a nice stream of cum to squeeze out his tip. 

     Nearly every man had taken their turn, only the youngest remaining. The soldiers egged him on and shoved him forward, but the young man was frozen. He felt scared and couldn't believe a man like Ásgeirr was up for the taking. He hesitated as Ásgeirr's head spun around before stopping and peering at him. "...Please, I can't- too much... too many."

     Despite being lustfully mesmerized, guilt spread across the young soldier's face. He looked back at his fellow soldiers and shook his head, refusing to participate in Ásgeirr's mistreatment. But like a pack of wolves, the men rallied next to him, pressuring him further.

"Come on, do it!"

"Kill him with your cock!"

"You're gonna' love it!"

     While his body begged for more, Ásgeirr believed the ordeal was finally done. That was until he spotted a cock peeking above his balls. 

"Fucking hell-"

     Ásgeirr felt the final cock breach him, smaller than most but still full of vitality. Ásgeirr watched the young man's mouth open wide and-

"Thank the Gods."

     Officially beating the world record for fast ejaculation was the youngest soldier, who fell on top of Ásgeirr with his small frame. He tilted his head upwards slightly just as Ásgeirr finally let go of his feet, resting his soles on the wooden floorboards. "That was amazing... did you cum?" asked the young soldier innocently.

     The soldiers snickered at the young man's naivety. "Who cares if the Viking came? It's our dicks that matter," the skinny one said, shoving the youngest aside. "And we're far from done with him." Ásgeirr groaned as he felt the skinny soldier's cock prodding at his entrance again, still slick with seed. The man pushed inside, sighing as the Viking's warm, cum-filled hole enveloped him.

"Damn, he's so loose and sloppy now," the thickest soldier said, stroking himself as he watched. "Fucking perfect." He moved to stand by Ásgeirr's head, rubbing his heavy cock against the Viking's face. "Open up, whore."

     With a defiant glare, Ásgeirr parted his lips, allowing the girthy shaft to slide into his mouth. The soldier fisted his long white hair, holding his head in place as he fucked his throat. Drool ran down the Viking's chin as he sputtered and gagged.

     Another load slowly seeped inside of the Viking’s ass, and he tried to shift his weight off the bed, only to be confronted once again. "Aye, plenty more rounds to go," chuckled the thickest soldier, giving Ásgeirr's plump ass a hard smack from across that made the Viking grunt. "We just can’t get enough.” But before the skinny soldier could take another turn, he was pushed aside by another man, who was then contested by a third.

     The soldiers shoved each other repeatedly and protested before descending upon Ásgeirr once more like a pack of starving wolves. Hands groped his chiseled chest, fingers tweaked his sensitive nipples. Tongues dragged along his neck, teeth nipped at his earlobes. Cocks rutted against his thighs, leaking pre-cum onto his runic tattoos.

"N-no more..." Ásgeirr panted, but his body betrayed him, his hole clenching hungrily around cocks and fingers.

"This ass says otherwise," smirked a soldier. He pushed Ásgeirr's knees to his shoulders, baring his pink, puffy hole. Rivulets of cum dribbled out, pooling on the bed. "Look how it begs for more." Without warning, he plunged his cock into the ring of muscle, drawing a strangled moan from Ásgeirr. "You love this, don't you, Viking?" the soldier grunted, pounding into Ásgeirr's sloppy hole while several cocks slapped his chest and face. "Being used like a cumdump by a bunch of virgins."

     Ásgeirr could only moan brokenly in response, his eyes rolling back as the relentless thrusts battered his prostate. His own neglected cock bobbed against his stomach, smearing pre-cum across his abs.

"Fuck, I can't wait to breed you again," said a different soldier, watching the cock slide out of the Viking’s hole. The Viking sobbed from unwanted glee. Tears and sweat streaked down his handsome face.

"P-please..." he begged weakly, unsure if he was pleading for mercy or more.

"Listen to him whine like a bitch," a soldier sneered. He grabbed Ásgeirr's jaw roughly. "Shut him up."

     Thick, musky cocks took turns fucking the Viking's face, choking him with their girth. Ásgeirr shouted and gasped, strings of saliva connecting his lips to the shafts violating his mouth. Ásgeirr's muscular body was buffeted by thrusting hips and grasping hands as the soldiers took their pleasure again and again, their youthful stamina seeming endless. His hole was completely defiled, gaping obscenely each time a cock pulled out only to be replaced by the next. Every single man rutted like beasts in heat as crude wet slaps and grunts mixed with Ásgeirr's muffled moans around the cocks pummeling his throat.

"Fuck, this ass was made to milk cocks," groaned the skinny soldier, panting harshly as he slammed into Ásgeirr's cum-slick hole for a third time. His sharp hipbones smacked against the Viking's round cheeks with each brutal thrust. Ásgeirr could only gurgle in response, stuffed full of throbbing, twitching cocks at both ends. Drool leaked from the corners of his stretched lips.

     The cocks in his mouth switched out rapidly, the men using his face like a toy. "Stick out your tongue," one commanded, slapping his heavy shaft on Ásgeirr's wet muscle.

"Norns have mercy," Ásgeirr groaned deliriously, voice hoarse from choking on cocks. His jaw ached, and his throat felt bruised. Sticky ropes of cum painted his face, matting his hair and beard. A particularly deep thrust made stars explode behind his eyelids. He'd lost count of how many times he’d been pumped. Ásgeirr's head lolled to the side, eyes glazed and unfocused.

     But as the brutal gangbang stretched on, the soldiers' movements gradually became more erratic and uncoordinated. Sweat poured down their youthful faces, chests heaving with exertion. Their grip on Ásgeirr's body loosened as fatigue seeped into their limbs. Their groans and whimpers filled the room until body after body dropped flat to the floor until a single soldier was awake. He was lying on top of Ásgeirr until he blew a final load inside the Viking. He fell sound asleep between Ásgeirr’s chest as if nothing had happened.

     Ásgeirr, who nearly snapped out of his lust as a bright flash attacked his gaze, suddenly felt invigorated. His cock still begged for release while his hole and other muscles were incredibly sore, but surprisingly, he felt more prepared than ever. His eyebrow furrowed, and he toppled the man over with his weight as he stood up. The young soldier fell on the ground and joined the several other soldiers that had fallen. Ásgeirr's jaw nearly fell on the ground as he examined every unconscious soldier. As soon as he sighed heavily, the entrance to the barracks was busted open, the door breaking off and flying across the room. Ásgeirr dodged it casually and looked back to where he watched several fellow Vikings, weapons ready, preparing to strike. But they all relaxed as they slowly entered the room, looking around confused. 

"My Jarl!" exclaimed a Viking who rushed over to Ásgeirr but took a step back as he watched a small lump of cum fall from the Viking's ass. "Oh... I see you went with the other plan."

"You are all late," Ásgeirr said, another heavy sigh escaping his mouth before he pointed around. "Take these men and bring them back to Danalaw. We will question them once we are back home."

"Yes, Jarl," the Viking said, ordering the other men to gather the soldiers. They did so hurriedly, and Ásgeirr found a tunic thrown on the floor, using it to wipe his body— and mostly his ass— down.

"...Sorry about that, Jarl Ásgeirr. We struggled to... uhm, find the correct building."

"I figured as much," Ásgeirr responded but gently touched the Viking's shoulder. "It is no worries, though. A few cocks is hardly enough to stop me!" Ásgeirr laughed loudly, as did the other Viking. But as Ásgeirr's laughter became louder and louder, causing all the Vikings to turn, the Jarl slowly slipped into a similar unconsciousness, landing face-first on one of the soldier's asses. As soon as Ásgeirr's head sunk into the cheeks, his dick erupted, cum running down his legs and warming his thighs.

The room fell silent until one of the Vikings slowly picked up Ásgeirr in a soft hold, the Jarl already snoring wildly. Ásgeirr nuzzled against the Viking's chest just as the rest of the men smiled and continued cleaning up the mess of sleeping bodies.

"Oh, Ásgeirr..."

[upwards-descent]

With Love

(mild gore warning)

Vikram washed his hands in the sink, burning hot water tracing down the delicate details of manicured nails and taut tendons. The smell of the soap grounded him, cinnamon and apple, and when he splashed his face he felt like he'd been caught in an autumnal rainshower. 

He patted his face dry.

Doctor Bedlam was running as fast as he could, lungs aching, heart pumping. The clatter of his lazer rifle against his back would definitely leave an ugly bruise tomorrow. Even as he ran, he did his best to reload, a loud clunk accompanying the pneumatic hiss of the stock opening, the depleted plasmic charge clattering across the asphalt. Despite his nerves and the incessant beat of his boots on the pavement, his hands were as steady as always, and the gun was promptly reloaded.

The liquor cabinet would need some restocking soon. Fingertips caught on the rim of a tequila bottle, stroking across the label of his favorite wine. Part of him just wanted to gargle Everclear and then pass out, face-down. Instead, he plucked up an oddball; some nice dark rum. 

Four fingers in a glass, with a chunk of clear ice, and it was gone in seconds, some leftover chilled liquid clinging to the whiskers of his goatee.

"OTTO!" Bedlam screeched, the rifle propped up on his hip. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU HURT HIM."

Vikram didn't know why he was wasting time surfing through channels. Nothing held his attention. There were some real classics on, too, some sitcoms from his childhood, a few great blockbuster hits. Even his absolute favorites-- the first Terminator, How It's Made, I Robot-- nada. He turned off the TV. More than he had with the shows flickering by, he was locked in focus, staring back at his own darkened reflection.

Even from his spot so many meters away, Doctor Bedlam's visor HUD could capture the action. Mr. Brawn was slumped over on his knees, one arm blown off. His eyes were slightly open but it was clear he wasn't online. Why a fellow villain like The Judicator would take the android, Bedlam had no idea. All he knew was that The Judicator had hurt his lover and was trying to do more damage, even as Bedlam screamed his vocal chords raw.

Taking the elevator felt silly but Vikram didn't feel like using the stairs. The ride down beneath the mansion felt longer than ever. When the musak kicked on all of a sudden, some Queen song he didn't feel like recognizing, he punched the access panel hard enough to both silence the speaker and leave harsh red abrasions on his knuckles. Vikram didn't feel the pain.

The Judicator's head seemed to jump from his body. It'd been his own fault. You didn't listen to a maniac shrieking threats and then begin to place a grenade in said psycho's lover's mouth. Not that he knew, or anyone knew. To them, Mr. Brawn was just a machine. To Bedlam, he was his life.

The lights in the lab flickered on, almost sickly in hue, but perhaps that was just Vikram's vision swimming. He loathed seeing Otto like this; naked, bared, damaged and offline on the fucking operating table. It wasn't even his lack of skin that was unnerving. The doctor knew he'd love the android just as much if he barely resembled a humanoid thing. It wasn't the body but the soul he adored.

Hesitant fingertips ran down Otto's chest. He was repaired, his new arm set aside on another table to finish calibrating. The next step was to synthesize his bulk in lab-grown flesh. Maybe Vikram would give him a slight tan this time, or freckles, or a cute little "birthmark" only he'd be privy to.

Doctor Bedlam didn't only kill when he finally hit his breaking point. He left behind such gruesome gore that the news channels knew better than to report on them, on the very rare occasion that it happened.

The Judicator wouldn't just be beheaded, left steaming on the asphalt with how powerful the beam had been. Bedlam made sure to beat his corpse into ground beef before shoving his own grenade into his open chest cavity. Bedlam didn't even move, facing the full force of the explosion from only a few feet away. He had that much trust in his own armor. Plus, the heat, the light, the flying fleshy debris; it grounded him. That burning white bloodthirsty mania only began to calm when he couldn't recognize what was a limb or organ anymore.

Leaning over, Vikram pressed a delicate kiss to Otto's mouth, or at least the metallic mandibles that made it. He stroked his hands, no longer red with blood, down his cranium, petting his chest, his one shoulder.

"Love you," He whispered, his scowl finally abating after so many hours. "See you soon, okay?"

[hunkhauler]

We're in it for the long haul

tl:dr

This is a vore and kink heavy rp blog

Rules are basically, be nice, understand I have a job and other hobbies and blogs outside of this, don’t follow or interact if you don’t care for the aforementioned content and let me know if I make you uncomfortable

Stats and Larger rules under the cut.

Stats-

Name: Raymond Avarice

Bio: A strange trucker who always seems to pop up in some odd places while hauling something or someone in that big rig of his.

Occupation: Trucker for Inhuman Haulers LLC, does various odd jobs on the side

Vore Role: Heavily Pred leaning 90/10

Age: Looks to be in his upper 40s or lower 50s

Personality: Friendly to a point of being a flirt, a tad domineering

Gender: Male (He/Him)

Current Height: 8'10

Current Weight: roughly 600lbs

Current Bodyshape: Bulky and strongfat, very apparent musclegut and pecs with just a bit of curve to his backside, hairy

Current Species: Human (Mimic)

Skin Color: Tan

Eye Color: N/A His eyes always seem to be covered. either by his bangs, cap, or convenient shadow

Current Color and Hairstyle: Curly brown and medium length along with a beard and a goatee

Current Ass Size: 20 inches across each cheek

Current Crotch: An two foot long cock that’s a foot thick along with a pair of nuts that span a foot along in diameter each

Usual Attire: A red plaid shirt, denim jeans, and his trusty trucker hat

Abilities-

Absolute Absorption: From biological material to souls to demons or gods, nothing is truly safe from his bottomless insides. Unless he wants them to be.

Shapeshifting: This comes in two different types of shapeshifting

Type 1 is simply shifting around his bodymass or adding stored mass to his body to increase his size. He can also soften his body to make it malleable

Type 2 is a complete transformation to another species, this requires some sort of sample to go off of either biological or spiritual.

He can also use these methods of shapeshifting on people or objects through touch

Current M!A effects-

None

Rules-

Be nice and realize that I do have a job and other obligations so I may not be here 24/7

This is a nsfw heavy blog so no minors, muns, muses or otherwise.

IMs and Discord will be used for OOC convos only, if you come at me in character in IMs I will either ignore you or give you a gentle reminder

This is going to be a standard style rp blog (ie the character is not actually running a tumblr blog) most interactions will be face to face unless specified otherwise.

Let me know if you’re uncomfortable with any kinks and I’ll be sure to steer them away from you, especially if you feel if I’m about to cross a line, note when it comes to bolded kinks of the vore log I won’t even touch them unless you tell me at some point that you’re comfortable with it and that is a right you are free to revoke at any time, so if at one point you give me permission to put your muse on the vorelog but change your mind later and don’t feel comfortable with it, let me know so I can take it down

All kinks will be tagged appropriately

Bolded kinks will be put under readmore

Kinks-

Yes- Vore (Being Pred) Alternative vore Expansion Hyper Sized Endowments Light Slob Anthro Muses Demi-human muses Human muses Robotic/Android Muses Monster Muses Bad Ends (Giving) Gas (Burps) Post-vore disposal (Cum) Post-vore Disposal (Scat) TransformationOlder Muses

Maybe- Heavy Slob Gas (the other kind) Hypnotism Dubcon Sex Daddy Kinks Vore (Being Prey) Bad Ends (Receiving)

No- Health Issues Unintelligent Feral Muses/Beastiality Noncon Sex Underaged/Loli/Shota Muses Pregnancy Diapers/ABDL Gore/Violence/Kinks that involve excessive pain Toilet kinks (Without vore)