#reverse crowe x reader

[imgonnaeatyouhyugosugitmoto]

“I wanna see it, wanna feel your love…”

-Love Taste, Moe Shop

Art by the lovely: @ alyysah._ AKA Waza on Tiktok!

Reverse Crowe Headcanons

Okay so we know that Reverse Crowe is basically the yandere in the AU and obviously emo lmao. Reverse Crowe will also be referred to as R! Crowe and Reverse Sol as R! Sol for Convenience fyi! Sol or “normal” Sol is mentioned here to.

⚠️Sensitive Topic Warning: Murder, Violence, Suggestive topics. You have been warned

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Headcanons🐦‍⬛

If the friendgroup is the same where its; Britney, Jessie, Deryl and Geo then maybe they’d be emo or just the same (just a thought), If his friendgroup is the same as his “Normal” group then he would be the random emo looking kid they adopted but they’d still get along, though R! Crowe would be paranoid that his friends also like you and if so, he would NOT spare them.

If Reverse Crowe was friends with Hyugo you can imagine he’s gets annoyed with Hyugo like Sol does, but it’s also a possibility that R! Crowe is more calm compared to Sol

You can imagine Reverse Crowe being a more calm and calculated Yandere who’s obsessed with you, rather than a irrational one like Sol. For example in the “No Witnesses Ending” You wouldn’t even discover the body in the shed. R! Crowe would have likely killed R! Sol in a more remote place. And He definitely used R! Sol’s phone to text his friends and you that he was “moving away” (obviously he’s dead). R! Crowe would be better at hiding his tracks and hiding his aggression.

R! Crowe would also be very obsessed with you but he can hide it better than Sol. Obviously he stalks you! He’s just inconspicuous about it…

He would definitely use a Crowbar instead of an Axe, yk since his name is “Crowe”. And when he eventually murders R! Sol he beats his head in with the Crowbar, but no decapitation atleast! (Tbh a head getting bashed in is still quite disturbing)

R! Crowe would dispose of bodies in the Ocean in trashbags (Dexter Type shi) since it’s less suspicious compared to burying a body. (I doubt Sol disposes of them himself He probably has Hyugo do it)

Even though R! Crowe’s nickname is Crowe the reason behind it in this case is that he prefers it because Jericho doesn’t fit the vibe and Crows (the birds) are cool (he just wants to aurafarm)

Definitely wears Guyliner and dark eyeshadow

(Heavy Headcanon) but you can imagine that he uses silver loc jewlery in his hair especially on his braid

Seems like the type to wear a lot of silver jewlery, such as leather bracelets and silver necklaces. ALSO! Silver Studded Belts!!!

He is a natural hair color person, and doesn’t dye his hair not even bleaching either

Gives off CD Collection of really niche emobands

(Personal Headcanon) but he seems like the kind of guy to go to punk shows/hardcore shows basically small emo (ahhh) concerts.

Would still be a nepo baby since regular is hinted to be welloff/rich but an emo rich kid who hides the fact that he has money

Has definitely been called a “poser atleast once on campus

Has Vertical Nipple Piercings

Also Imagine R!Crowe with a anti-eyebrow piercing

Seems like a knife collector. Not the Kitchen ones, the very fancy butterfly ones. He’d also know how to do the fancy tricks and spinning with them too so he can impress you.

I also see R! Crowe as a more consensual Yandere (like Ren from 14 days with you)

He has definitely snuck into your apartment but instead of getting all freaky with you, he’s probably cuddling you or sniffing you. Atleast he’s not rubbing his dick all over you (unlike a certain guy named Sol).

He’s creepy but not freaky (haha)

Actually I lied he’s probably masturbating to you but more so in private instead of a bathroom stall on campus.

When he draws you, his artstyle would be closer to Realism but I can also see him making abstract art of you like Picasso (yes quite contrasting art styles)

Definitely prefers graphite and ink as his art medium but he also know how to work with pastels

I would like to think R! Crowe similar to Crowe enjoys holding your hand (similar to how seaotters do it, I saw this in a comment section)

Speaking of Animals R! Crowe would like seaotters just like Crowe. There wouldn’t be any swapping where R! Crowe likes horses and R! Sol likes seaotters. Some characteristics would stay the same/similar sorta… (Crowe and seaotters is confirmed on Fantasia Tumblr, along with other TKATB characters)

R! Crowe is definitely not as friendly or popular as his counterpart. He would also not be on student council. Though R! Crowe could be in some sort of campus club, maybe the music club or art club

Speaking of Campus Clubs, R! Crowe would show up to meetings whenever he feels like it and usually goes alone, maybe he’d bring a friend with him… But he would prefer to ask you, only if you don’t mind!

If you and R! Crowe are at the dating point you and him have atleast done a mall date.

R! Crowe has money dw! He’ll spoil you!

At the mall, you and him have definitely gone into a hot topic or spencers. Bonus Points if you’re also into alternative fashion.

Random but R! Crowe definitely has a studded phone case

I think R! Crowe would call you “Pumpkin” just like how Sol does but I can also see him calling you a different pet name maybe “Sapphire” for example “my Sapphire” or something. Why Sapphire? Well…because his eyes are Sapphire Blue (idk the discourse with this)

OR R! Crowe wouldn’t use nicknames at all, it depends on how you feel about it. Likely he would ask you about it during a hangout.

R! Crowe is paitient about courting you, he waits and he doesn’t mind because he knows he can get rid of potential threats with ease.

As stated before R! Crowe isn’t irrational as Sol, he’s plotting on you and is smart about it.

If R! Crowe played an instrument he’d play Bass (just a feeling)

He’s probably gotten bullied before but doesn’t care and finds it a waste of time especially if it stops him from seeing you. Rather than getting beatup he just walks away. Non-Reactive and is able to get out of bad situations.

Similar to Crowe he doesn’t mind fighting for you, and would gladly get beat for you. Only for you though.

The manipulative type of Yandere. R! Crowe is Cunning. Has definitely gaslit you before but it’s not like you would know any better. He can lie like nothing plus he’s always Calm, or atleast is Calm in front of you.

R! Crowe is care about your opinion more than anything. He does not want to give off a bad impression of himself to you.

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Excuse any writing errors. This may be my longest one! Let me know if you have any ideas especially with the nickname one. Also I appreciate the support I’ve been getting on my last posts tysm! Ygs are perverts/degenerates but twin…I plan on writing (normal) Crowe headcanons and also actual fanfiction in the future. Funfact I’m mutuals with the artist I mentioned hehe 😈

[swee7dream]

dreamies as manhwa characters 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

genres miscellaneous + headcanons triggers one mention of gagging (?) just to be safe . note purely for myself . i have no one to talk to about my 300+ reading list of shoujo manga/manhwa so you all get this .

mark lee (ᓀ‸ᓂ)

saebom from no office romance !

is it really mark lee-coded if it’s not (childhood) friends-to-lovers? exactly.

saebom and mark are walking green flags full of reasonable expectations, goofy mannerisms, and encouraging words even if it will not result in the best outcome for them personally

everyone loves them, it’s impossible to hate them!

even when their jokes are pity laugh-worthy with their loud barfing sounds and accidentally guilt-tripping gags

they mess up as all humans do but they always do their best to fix it as soon as possible to minimize damage.

they’re considerate of others but also (rightfully) proud of their work and aren’t shy to display it when the time is right. hashtag stream fraktsiya

huang renjun ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

cheol from after school lessons for unripe apples !

obviously i’m not thinking physically when i consider them similar.

but on the inside. on the inside… they are one.

they aren’t too open about their feelings. sometimes it feels like they don’t understand them themselves. and so they have a thin veil of mystique around them

it’s just nerves

they’re both just nervous guys who feel the need to protect everything at all times while also trying to hold back because, why should they? that’s not their job. they’re not getting paid for this.

but it’s just such an innate action on their part they just can’t help themselves !

they are responsible individuals who are just chaos magnets.

lee jeno ૮ .◜◡◝ა

zachary from a marriage of convenience !

men of little words. men of… easily misunderstandable words.

we’re not going to go into zachary’s story because if you haven’t read marriage of convenience i am on my knees begging you to

it’s easy to write them off as tsuns, especially with the way jeno treats jisung, but they’re NOT

they are such big lovers they will move heaven and earth for their loved ones and still be understanding if you ask for something else or more, even

they are well aware of their grand accomplishments, but also keep their eye fixed on their loved ones’ expectations, always making room for improvement

also… great physiques GUYS WHO SAID THAT TUMBLR BLOG SWEE7DREAM GOT HACKED GET THE NEWS REPORTERS

lee donghyuck ʕ˙Ⱉ˙‧:ʔ

kevin from spirit fingers !

specifically, more last arc kevin.

they’re silly, they’re clingy, they love their partner !!!!!!

the banter is always next level with them yet so are the dramatics and sulking.

their confidence is just attractive whether its romantic, platonic, whatever !

they know that no matter what they wear or if they have makeup on or not, their pretty privilege will cancel out the fact that there’s toilet paper clinging to the bottom of their shoes

their positivity is like a purifying beam to the people around them. their kind words and actions are done with the purpose to uplift the people around them.

you can’t have a low self-esteem around them, they are professional cheerleaders! hypemen! supporters!

how could you not love them?

na jaemin ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

camute from the crow’s prince !

i was originally gonna put tamaki from ohshc but that’s like saying the sky is blue. we all know that, why beat a dead horse?

so, camute it is !

first of all, blond. they both eat up the hair color. blueprinted, invented, copywritten !

that aside, they are so open in communication it’s like you just got hit in the eyeball with a neobong with how much of a green flag they both are.

they won’t make you say anything you don’t want to say in the moment, but will make sure to get the point across that they expect to have a conversation about the subject in the near future because YOU ARE IMPORTANT TO THEM.

they’re also highly protective to the point it’s SILLAY. they’re a sulky kind of jealous not a ‘i will lock you up in a basement in an abandoned mansion on the top of a remote mountain for making eye contact with Frank From Work’ kind of jealous

jaemin on bbl… ‘my bag is heavy :(’ ‘oh ur gonna help me? WRONG ANSWER. NEVER TRUST ANY MAN.’

so true king 💯

zhong chenle (ᯟ︿ᯏ)

kahir from i’m the tyrant’s secretary !

‘you love me? duh, of course you do.’

very positive self-perception. nothing can tear this man down. except you, even though he’ll act otherwise.

has a different standard than everyone else from clothes and technology to relationships. to them, it’s easy to act as if money is no object, instead placing more effort into the people that they care about.

their thoughtful gifts are sometimes extravagant to the eyes of anyone aside from themselves, but they really have a different standard of what is considered acceptable, especially if it is something that is going to belong to their loved ones.

don’t you realize how their gifts are also a reflection of themselves? how could they gift anything less than perfect????

quick to cut out anyone that could even be THOUGHT of as a bad influence around their people, and they’ve already warned and cut ties with the person for the simple claim of Bad Vibes (they’re right most of the time it’s actually creepy)

park jisung (∩˃o˂∩)

nadrika from i have fallen into a reverse harem game !

they’re just so soggy wet dog coded

jisung is a five-time loser of the modern public ridicule that is awsaz. you can tell him to do anything and he will, red-faced and sighing the entire time, but he’ll do it

there is just something so ‘aww :(’ about him that makes the people around him go ‘I WILL PROTECT YOU’ at their 5’11 height

they’re either in their own little world, thinking about what life would be like if they lived in saturn rather than earth, or staring at you like painted each star that dots the night sky as you speak

they do not think twice before sacrificing their pride and reputation for the sake of their loved ones (even if it is not asked of them), too shy to ask for but also too obvious to hide the fact they are expecting praise and affection in return

soggy wet dogs that are like 300 pounds but still want to be treated like lap dogs

[daliain]

New Fandoms:

•Reverse 1999

•Vincent: The Secret of Myers

•Therapy With Dr. Albert Krueger

•Morfosi

•Mushroom Oasis

•Kingdom (K-drama about Zombies-)

•Where The Winter Crows Go

•What in hell is bad

•A Date With Death

[la-patrona-magdalena]

Reading list/Fanfic Masterlist Yandere!Batfamily X Reader

NONE OF THESE FANFICS BELONG TO ME, this is more of a personal reading list of fanfics I follow and such, all the links lead you to the creators' direct blogs.

Almost all the fanfics in the 'platonic' section are with Neglected!Reader, I'm addicted to that trope.

More than one link will lead you to the authors' master list instead of a masterlist for the series. This is because they don't have a dedicated list for the series, and it was easier for me to keep them this way. (There are also links to the first chapter, in this case, the author probably left the other chapters there, in addition to imagines, headcanons, and drabbles on their own.) I thought about adding a short description below the links to explain what the fanfic is about… maybe I'll do it later or just leave it as it is.

Not - series

Again and. Again - series

Bruce hears Reader call someone else "dad." - drabble

Reader who only recognizes Alfred - drabble

[UN] Fair - series

Adorned in pearls (although Bruce here is not platonic…) - one shot

Batfamily with a Shallow Reader - imagine

Reader in Squid Games - imagine

Crack Baby - series

Smalltown Meta!Reader - series

Forget me not - series

No more Chances - series

Inmorta! Reader - series

Undoing Fate - series (it's not yandere but it has my favorite cliche so…)

Tip toes - series

Meet The Waynes - series

Bring back the dead - series

Obsessive reader in the shadows - imagine

There are two fanfictions here, the first fic doesn't have a name and I don't know what to name it. - series

Who said money can´t buy hapinness (considering the # I assume that the batfam is platonic….but I'm not sure) - series

Between life and death, death is tempting - series

Ain´t no sushine - series

Beyond the Bat - series

Crow choir - series

Waterbone - drabble

Marine!Reader - one shot? drabble?

Saboteur - series/imagine

Unwanted embrace - series

I'm almost sure this was one of the pioneering stories in this trope. - one shot

Little Demon - one shot

Goodbye World - one shot

Batsis wakes up in a fanfic - imagine? drabble?

Batfam playing with Reader - I think it's a drabble…I don't know

Pity Party - series

Yandere Al Ghuls! - series

How would they spend time with you after the kidnapping? -drabble

You´re a fucking weird hacker - one shot

Lucid Dreams - series

Ghost of the Past - series

Soulamate Soul Animal - series

Good Look(includes more DC yanderes characters) - series

Web Bound (It is NOT yandere, but it does have obsessive characters) - Series

Bug like Angel - series

The other family - one shot

Batman! Damian Wayne x Robin! Reader - one shot?

Children!Reader who loves Tim more than Dick - headcanon

Yandere!Batfam Headcanons - headcanon xd

Advantages and disadvantages of Neglected! Reader - Headcanon(?)

When your family only cherish you after your death - series

Yandere Batfam x Neglected!Elle Woods!Reader - series

My pathetic family - series(?)

The ballad of a bygone blight - series

Batmon and his baby -drabble/ Scenery (bruce is romantic)

Reader happy to be ignored - drabble/Scenery

What We Want - series

The sinfull Allure (the story is not yandere, but it has the batboys, and I love this reverse harem) - series

Seven Days a Week - Hit me Hard and sort - two series

First married to Bruce - one shot

As Yanderes´ Universe - one shot series?

Polyamory with Aged Up! Damian Wayne and John Kent - imagine

Sisters!Reader x Batboys - Headcanon? (according to the hashtags)

Greetings - drabble?

How Dick and Damian would handle learnig reader is dating somebody? - Drabble?

Addictive - Series

Do You Think We´ll Be In Love Forever? (includes more DC characters) - various drabbles

Perfect Life - one shot

Batboys and reader who knows - headcanon set?

Checkmate - one shot

Tim Drake x nursing student!Reader - one shot

Remedial Lesson (18+) - One shot

Dommy Mommy!Reader - headcanon

Reader hosted by Tim Drake - one shot

Yandere self-aware Dick Grayson - headcanon set

Moon Prism Power! - imagine

What types of yanderes would the Batboys be? - headcanon

Yandere!Batboys x Reader HC - Headcanon

Dick Grayson is your coworker - Drabble (?)

Muse: The Painting - one shot

[eddies-ashtray]

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island. 

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down. 

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat. 

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes. 

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up. 

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour. 

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.” 

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt. 

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.  

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly.

But the growing tension vanishes the moment a timer dings, shrill and intrusive. 

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven. 

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop. 

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven. 

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.” 

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass. 

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say. 

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms. 

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest. 

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.” 

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache. 

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach. 

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended. 

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently. 

The word lingers in the air between you. 

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?” 

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them. 

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows. 

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. 

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.” 

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is. 

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back. 

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze. 

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.  

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support. 

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it. 

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity. 

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis. 

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound. 

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room. 

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh. 

“Hey!” He barks. 

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.” 

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat. 

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions. 

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you? 

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man. 

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology. 

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.” 

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly. 

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.  

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey. 

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk. 

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over. 

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him. 

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat. 

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs. 

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant. 

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him. 

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair. 

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it. 

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin. 

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days. 

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder. 

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger. 

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash. 

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad. 

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter. 

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically. 

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan. 

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over. 

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat. 

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure. 

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over. 

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white. 

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax. 

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh. 

“You know…For an old man, that was-” 

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin. 

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.  

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity. 

Finally, he finds your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh. 

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn. 

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape. 

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly. 

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.” 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly. 

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing. 

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer. 

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now. 

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth. 

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck. 

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside. 

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple. 

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand. 

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair. 

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin. 

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate. 

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.” 

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free. 

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’. 

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements. 

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder. 

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves. 

“Open.” 

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips. 

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is. 

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut. 

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.” 

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive. 

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat. 

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder. 

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body. 

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect. 

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.  

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice. 

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily. 

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs. 

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind. 

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit. 

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him. 

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly. 

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot. 

More. You need more of him. 

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair. 

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary. 

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides. 

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him. 

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin. 

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight. 

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse. 

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him. 

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble. 

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it. 

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are. 

 Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you. 

He shudders with his release. 

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening. 

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing. 

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close. 

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound. 

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves. 

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs. 

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead. 

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now. 

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too. 

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily. 

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear. 

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed. 

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again. 

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt. 

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 4

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Predator/Prey, Self-Harm

Chapter Summary: Horns. Antlers. A long tail with smooth scales. A short tail. If those are gone, then both of you are almost the same, right?

Author's Note: Some lines have references to existing media. I have been playing Disco Elysium every now and then with a dash of Reverse 1999. Still going with the main themes tackled by Beastars and BNA though but you know, I really do love certain lines from these games that I just want to put it in here as well.

Enjoy!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

4: My Dearest, Generous

A little downpour has visited the N109 zone today.

It was close to the afternoon when you heard the soft pitter patter against the windows of your studio that is steadily increasing intensity within each passing minute and you immediately rushed to close them one by one, not wanting water to get inside and ruin the patterns and the fabrics you have prepared to sew for tomorrow.

You were about to close the last window when a small, dark figure zoomed past you, spreading droplets on the wooden floor.

It looks like your odd little crow friend has decided to take shelter here at your studio.

Daisy settled on one of the armchairs, shaking the excess rainwater that clung on its feathers, letting out an indignant caw before preening itself.

“I know. It is quite sudden,” you chuckled softly, locking the last window with your ears flicking away little beads of rainwater that clung on your fur.

Daisy seemed to also agree and it let you remove the damp good luck ribbon you have made for it. It is a little worse for wear now so maybe it is time to make a new one. 

Perhaps something more stylish? The image of your crow friend wearing a scarf made you smile. Very fitting because it is becoming colder but for now, another good luck ribbon with the color it prefers should do.

“It’s alright. I won’t throw it away,” you assured it when it hopped along with you, worried where you would put its cherished item.

Will you repair it? Mephisto thinks you can. 

If its master can repair its circuits easily then it thinks you can do the same. You seemed very capable of fixing everything after seeing you stitch together large tears on the twins’ jacket before so it also means piecing back its worn ribbon should be easy to you.

For Mephisto, it doesn’t matter if its good luck charm is slightly damaged (What do you mean it's hanging by a thread?) All the affections you have poured into that ribbon will always be there no matter how it looks and it feels rather naked now that you have removed it.

Your finger grazed against the old wood of the cabinet while you hum absentmindedly, counting the number of the rows of shelves that store everything you need to sew any of your clients’ requests.

‘Oh, dear stranger journeying to a far off land, how many days must pass till I see you again?’

Third column from the left of the cabinet. Above where you keep the little boxes of buttons of various colors, all neatly organized, and then you finally pull out the drawer to retrieve a box inside of it.

Your crow flapped up to your sewing table, watching you set the item and it hopped in excitement.

Mephisto knows this particular box. This is a box where you store all of its trinkets it gave to you (Fine, and its master’s too.)

It was one of the few belongings you brought along before you left the place you once called home with your father. 

A little gift to you when you were young by an old hybrid couple after you knitted them scarves. You never quite remember their faces anymore but even then, the memory of their gratitude lingered, the playful pinch on your cheeks when you handed them their scarves wrapped in brown paper and twine.

“Do you want me to play it?”, you asked Daisy, opening the box to reveal the various precious ores and gemstones resting together with the dried flowers your crow has brought for you.

All of it, hidden in one place, little memories preserved and forever cherished.

Mephisto let out a beep, a yes, its optics adjusting to take a recording once again of this little moment that it may or may not hold over its master’s head (Again) upon its return to the base when the rain subsides.

You nodded in approval, tying around Daisy’s old ribbon around one of the horns of the little black dragon figurine sitting inside the box then turned the key.

A soft melody began playing and both you and Daisy watched the black dragon spin among the field of red blossoms painted in the background as if it was chasing the white ribbon on its horn, a lonesome game but still fun while the two of you looked back at your reflections on the small mirror.

Mephisto pushed the top of its head under your chin, nuzzling you and you laughed softly, petting its back while you listened to the gentle lullaby.

“Quite a downpour, don’t you think?”

Your heart skipped a bit, the lullaby cut short as you immediately closed the box, pushing it near the pile of fabrics beside you. 

These impromptu guests of yours always catch you off guard. Perhaps it comes with their innate trait of being able to make their presence hidden until they choose to reveal themselves.

Or so you thought.

The door shut with a soft click, your surprise visitor making his way towards you and your eyes widened. His footsteps were quiet, almost like Skye’s and twins’ but how is it possible? How is it possible when you and the person standing across your table are certainly alike, are of-

-the same species.

You nodded slowly, and Daisy hopped between you and your visitor, silently assessing this newcomer, one of the many who had made themselves comfortable in your studio.

“Louis,” the deer hybrid said, raising his hand for you to shake which you returned, telling him your name in return but not like you need to tell him, he already knows about you anyways. Everyone who has transactions with Sylus is fully aware of who you are.

The seamstress who dresses all the wolves of this den in sheep’s clothing.

The deer fiercely guarded by the dragon kept in this hidden corner of the N109 zone.

The object of Sylus’ affections.

Or, from people who harbors deep hatred to Sylus-

Sylus’ well-seasoned meal.

“What brings you here, Mister Louis?”, you asked politely, your hands on your lap. You haven’t seen this deer before. 

Is he a new resident here in the N109 zone? 

He is well-dressed, clearly wealthy, and the cut of his clothes fit him well. 

His eyes lingered on Mephisto and he knew that this was the  little heathen made by Sylus to carry out his commands. One of his three errand runners  as people said who goes about doing his dirty work on his behalf. 

That dragon really does keep a close eye over you, doesn’t he?

It was almost concerning. A predator hybrid and prey hybrid spending too much time with each other spells trouble. Is Sylus fattening you up? A meal reserved for a special occasion?

“I heard you are Sylus’ personal tailor,” he said, walking around your studio, studying the clothes on display.

“Yes, but more like his lead tailor,” you corrected him, your eyes watching him closely. It has been so long since you have met your own kind. Is it comforting? Maybe, “He still has other tailors as well.”

“Did he come here often?”

“Oh, never.”

“Never?”

“Yes, he has yet to pay us a visit.”

His eyes narrow slightly at you. The word in the streets is that you and Sylus are seen together more often and people have claimed that he is very forward on his affections to you, how his tail wrapped around your waist, and even how he gazed at you as if when you tell him to jump, he will ask how high you want.

“He only sends his people here,” you continued but you caught the subtle hint of confusion in his gaze and then you added, “Good people.”

Good people?

A brief look of surprise crossed your visitor’s face. Did he hear that right?

You think those wolf cubs, that crow between you, and Sylus of all people are good ? 

Maybe it is true that every hybrids like you and him indeed lost their instincts when they stepped here in the N109 zone which is why your lot has to look after each other just in case, just in case that the beasts who reside here decide to remove their masks and hurt you just like how the humans did outside. 

Because you prey hybrids are just so damn pitiful.

“It didn’t cross your mind that they would hurt you?”

“Everyone who entered this room didn’t.”

“There will always be the first.”

“I trust them more over the humans,” you replied. His concern is valid, of course, and Mister Louis here isn’t the first prey hybrid who expressed his worry over you being friendly with any of your visitors.

Your father is a different case, though, who is specifically worried about Skye.

Skye, of all people.

Skye who never crossed the line when he was here. Skye who doesn’t have to stay but chose to. Skye who helps you if he doesn’t have to.

But you know their concern stems from reality. 

Humans. 

Predator hybrids. 

Prey hybrids. 

That’s how the hierarchy goes. That’s how it has always been. Your kind stood in a delicate balance, docile enough in the eyes of the humans that you are taken advantage of often and weaker than the weakest predator hybrid as long as they have fangs to nip and claws to scratch.

“We’re deers by the end of the day.”

“I know but even then, it doesn’t make much difference.”

If anything, predator or prey, you are all just animals in the eyes of humans.

Tainted blood.

“I appreciate your concern, Mister Louis,” you added politely, giving him a small smile. “But it wouldn’t be fair for us to judge them easily when they haven’t harmed any of us here so far.”

Louis studied you closely. You genuinely do believe that all of you hybrids are equal.

How naive. How idealistic.

It will take centuries or more for prey and predator hybrids to get along and another more for hybrids and humans.

But then again, your father did mention to him you would rather run towards the nearest predator hybrid when in danger than seek help from a human.

“You’re an odd deer, Miss,” he chuckled softly.

He pushed a small package towards you wrapped in old newspaper.

“But just so you know, I heard dragons play with their prey before they eat them alive.”

────────────────────

Sylus adores the subtle signs of affection every time he is visiting you.

The faint blush on your cheeks when he stepped in to observe what you were doing. How you automatically shift closer when his tail is wrapped around your waist or when you listen to his words, your ears flicking while you pay attention.

His species in particular are naturally warm yet he only grew to understand the value of another person’s warmth every time he is with you and if he only can pull you closer, it is an irrevocable fact that you will be the warmest treasure he ever had held in his hands.

Not because of the blood pumping on your veins.

But because of the peaceful grace you have with you.

The deer doesn’t need to step out of her meadow if anything. He had already stepped foot on your paradise under the sunlight that passed the trees and if he can, he doesn’t want to leave the only place that treated him with sincere kindness.

Today, Sylus has been eagerly looking forward to his visit despite the sudden downpour. 

As if a little rain would stop him from seeing his favorite deer and as usual, he is not one to be in your shop without gifts for you.

He gave your father an easy smile and the older deer simply nodded in return, a polite greeting, when the dragon hybrid passed by him.

Thirty steps from the entrance of your shop to the hallway and another set of ten from the hallway to your studio. Oh, Sylus can’t wait to see his hardworking darling and he was halfway to your studio when he stopped, his ears picking up your sweet voice from behind the closed door and well, well, what’s this?

His eyes narrowed, picking up the scent of another guest. Another deer hybrid just like you and-

-A male one.

Your voices were muffled by the walls of your studio but he would always recognize the always gentle and polite tone you used when talking to anyone.

Then, the door opened and Sylus immediately piece together the identity of the newcomer you were just talking to earlier.

He isn’t one to forget the name to the face, afterall.

A young upstart in the N109 zone trying to make a name and recently, the little birds had told him that this one is creating a small association for all prey hybrids living here, not that Sylus minds.

He caught the familiar scent of fear from the male deer hybrid but this one was able to put all of his apprehension under a nonchalant expression laced with subtle defiance.

This gaze is all too familiar to him at this point.

This visitor of yours does not like him.

“I was told you had never set foot in this shop,” the deer hybrid started, not looking away from Sylus.

Brave, perhaps there is a reason why this one managed to reel the leashes of all the predators following his orders but he has a thought that this particular hybrid will be a little nuisance.

“And what exactly have you been told?”, Sylus asked casually, studying the newcomer. A good looking one but he is aware your father wouldn’t set you up with anyone, not when the older deer had gotten the message loud and clear that he is pursuing you.

“The miss said you only send good people in this shop,” the deer hybrid answered, as if piecing together your words and Sylus’ presence, “That Sylus himself never set foot here. Not even once.”

“Is this miss lying, Sylus?” the deer hybrid continued, letting go of the door handle, “Or are you deceiving the poor girl?”

“You’re quite a detective, aren’t you?”

“I took it as my responsibility to look after people here who get too cozy with predators like you.”

“Are you implying I am going to snap and attack her one day?”

“There are too many cases of your kind that did,” the deer hybrid countered. 

These answers, these excuses. 

The same lines recited by predators who thought they could reel in their natural instincts and not harm the prey hybrids they claimed they love and adore.

“Oh really? I suppose you have a solution for that? Locking my sweetheart away just to make sure she is safe from the big bad dragon,” Sylus replied, taking a few steps forward but the deer hybrid did not seem to falter.

Sweetheart.

So the words are true. Sylus is indeed courting you in his own twisted way.

“No, my solution is not drastic,” the male retorted, walking towards him until they were shoulder to shoulder. “You still seemed a reasonable man so just a word of advice-”

“-Pursue your own kind and leave her alone.”

The newcomer walked away but Sylus can’t shake the audacity of this upstart. 

Why? 

Why do people think that he can’t love you or be loved by you just because of your differences?

If you removed your antlers and he cut his horns, both of you would have been humans and no one would bat an eye.

Sylus took a deep breath, the faint scent of rain still clung to his hair and clothes, calming him down slightly and even when the smell of your previous visitor hung about, he could still shift through all the mixed scents and pick up the aroma of cotton and wildflowers.

The scent of you.

It was more than enough to soothe him and then, he opened the door to your studio, ready to see you.

The tension that lingered on his interaction with your previous visitor breaks, in this room, in the garden of fabrics and threads where there is only the two of you, the world is a distant away. 

The ocean of chaos in his heart slowly subsides.

In this little piece of paradise, a small voice emerges. Yours .

The dearest thing he wants to hear for his remaining days.

“Skye, quite a rain we are having, don’t you think?”

If all the precious metals and minerals he had ever owned merged together, its value will not be able to measure up on the fondest smile you wear when you see him. 

Warm like the first rays of the sun after a long winter.

“Well, it certainly did not stop me, didn’t it?” he remarked, all the words the deer hybrid said to him fading in the background and your voice is the only sound he can hear.

He watched you move around your desk, coming close to him to examine him and he chuckled softly when you had to stand by your tiptoes to do so.

“Are you wet? Do you want me to get a towel for you?”, you fretted about.

“You’re so considerate,” he replied, his hands reaching out and settling on your waist to steady you, “But I’m fine, little doe.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have really come over. You might get sick,” you pointed out, looking up to him.

You’d be surprised how far his constitution goes as a dragon but then again, he does love being doted by you.

“I’ll be fine, sweetie.”

“You could always turn down Mr. Sylus. His gifts can always wait.”

“But bringing his gifts to you is the only task I do enjoy.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else, Skye?”, you asked while he brushes the threads hanging on your antlers. 

There are so many things he wants to ask from you. Those kisses you give freely to the twins and Mephisto, to hold you close and take in your comforting scent, and for you to finally call him by his real name but his requests, his pleas overflow, the words lost in his tongue and only then what matters is you, you, you.

Just you.

“Just keep doing your own thing, hm?”, Sylus replied, tapping your nose playfully.

“How about you help me and Daisy then?”, you asked, and you were so quick on pulling a chair for him, setting it beside where you usually sit on your sewing table, “If you don’t mind being my second assistant for today?”

His eyes fleeted on Mephisto which is busy shifting through the pile of fabrics you have laid out on the table. His mechanical crow really does enjoy spending time with you from the looks of it and he caught the absence of that familiar white ribbon you tried around its neck. 

Had his companion managed to lose its valuable treasure already? That seemed unlikely. He had seen Mephisto snap at another crow once who tried to pull it off its neck.

“Just tell me what to do, darling deer.”

“Daisy and I are making another good luck ribbon,” you said, sitting on your chair and you patted on the chair beside you, an indication for him to do the same which he gladly did. 

Oh, is that how that little item is called? No wonder Mephisto is very attached to it.

“A good luck ribbon?”

“Yes, to keep Daisy safe.”

“Well, isn’t Daisy a lucky bird to have you, miss seamstress.”

“I’ll make one for you as well, Skye”, you smiled, and the idea of having Mr. Sylus’ bodyguard wearing a ribbon in one of his horns sounds quite appealing to you. He would very much resemble the dragon figurine inside the music box you have beside you and he will be more approachable, you are sure.

“Are you saying I need good luck, sweetheart?”, he replied but he was already shifting through the fabrics laid out in front of him together with Mephisto and he already had a color in mind.

Afterall, he had always loved the color of your eyes. Warm, welcoming, and eager. He certainly wouldn’t mind a ribbon of that hue tied around one of his horns.

Your ears drooped slightly on his response, “You don’t want one?”

Oh, he doesn’t need luck. 

Not when he already has you near him but how could he resist that cute pout on your face? This little tactic of yours, even if you are not aware of it, always works so well that he always finds himself abiding to whatever you would say.

“Don’t give me that look, Miss Deer,” he gently chided you and tapped your nose, “Of course I want one.”

Your tail wagged just slightly upon hearing his reply. It always gives you a sense of purpose when people say they like to receive gifts from you and since you are now making him one, maybe you should sew one for Mr. Sylus as well, a little token of gratitude for all the gifts.

“Do you think Mr. Sylus would want one as well?”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

“What color do you think he would want?”

“Red,” Sylus replied, an idea already forming in his head after you are done with this project while he fiddled at the edge of the fabric that shares the color of your eyes, “Definitely red, sweetie.”

Daisy hopped near you, dragging its chosen fabric by its beak and Sylus shifted closer to you, your shoulders touching and ready to take any instructions you would give him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the sewing part.”

“Just say the word, miss seamstress.”

Certainly not a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon with you.

────────────────────

Sylus had always detested the horns sitting on top of his head.

Monster.

Among the thousand curses and more he has been called, the word had always carried a certain weight every time humans and hybrids alike had laid eyes upon him. 

His kind is a rarity these days, a dying breed after being hunted and culled like livestocks when the humans had deemed they are a threat.

How many times had he sawed them off? He only lost that habit when he realized that they always grow back, more pointed than ever and-

-If he can’t convince his hunters he meant no harm, then it is time to prove their fears right.

The blood drips from the blade, into his face, and then into the white tiles of the bathroom. In this world overflowing with laughter mocking him from being the last of his kind, he had decided to level the playing field and carve a utopia for himself that slowly grew, a twisted safe haven initially meant for fiends such as him.

Then, on this land of despair, a small patch of paradise had taken root. Clearly impossible but certainly, without a doubt, a miracle.

Sylus then realized having horns isn’t too bad. A grotesque reflection of your elegant antlers, a bad imitation, but one of the similarities you both share.

“I am glad you love it, Daisy,” you clapped your hands, watching your odd little bird hopped about and turn for you and Skye, showing off the little ribbon you have sewn together.

His mechanical crow is more than pleased and Sylus is already sure it is about to show it off to the twins for receiving a new gift from you. 

It has become a little competition between those three and they don’t need to know that their boss is more than aware their contest involves who gets the most kisses and pats from you.

And here he is, sitting at the bottom of the list with the lowest score even if he isn’t technically part of that game.

“Do you want me to put on yours as well, Skye?”, you asked him.

“Just try not to tie it too tight, darling deer,” he said and he bent his head slightly, enough for you to reach his horn.

There was a shiver that ran on his spine when your fingers grazed his horn while you carefully fastened the ribbon around it and he let out a small whimper. 

It was a gesture of trust but you wouldn’t know that, not when it was common for you deer hybrids to touch each other’s antlers.

But it was more than a gesture of trust.

Afterall, Sylus is more than aware that his kind only allows closed family to touch their horns and-

-Their mate.

He almost sounded pathetic in his own ears and for once, he is afraid to see the look of pity on your eyes. Here is your liar, Miss Deer, he wants to tell you but he wouldn’t deny there is a hint of fear that eventually you will realize ‘Skye’ and ‘Mr. Sylus’ are one and the same. 

Would your fond gaze turn to fear by then?

“Oh, did I put it on too tight?”, you asked when your ears picked up the sound he made.

It was not pity that he saw but a flicker of concern if you have hurt him and oh, his sweetheart, always so caring. What did he do to deserve your kindness?

Too tight? Hardly. Your touch was so gentle, so unfamiliar yet he yearned for more.

“No sweetheart, you haven’t,” he replied and then you let out a small laugh when he pinched your cheek.

“I am glad,” you nodded and you studied the bow closely placed at the base of his horn. You should put more ribbons on him because it certainly made him look less threatening. 

Maybe then, your clients wouldn’t have a heart attack if you and him had to go again to do a delivery run soon. 

“It really looks good on you, Skye. People would believe you are a nice and friendly dragon now.”

“Perhaps I should wear ribbons more often then,” he joked but your ears seemed to perk up at his comment, and he caught the anticipation in your eyes at the prospect of making him more bows.

You nodded, and he froze slightly when you rub your antlers against his horn where the ribbon is tied in approval, “That sounds great. I can’t wait to see you in them.”

How many years has it that Sylus had long for such affection? To be treated gently and not as a lesser animal? Now, all of those wishes, his yearning for love that he thought he will never have, were slowly fulfilled unknowingly by you and he closed his eyes, rubbing his horns back to you.

“And I can’t wait to try out more ribbons for you, sweetie.”

“I hope Mr. Sylus will like what I made as much as you do, Skye.”

He may have stayed longer than usual today, especially when you ask him to only leave when the rain stopped. The sound of the downpour, the soft conversation between the two of you, and the sewing machine humming filled the room and even when evening fell, he watched you still push through, making your patterns, until you accidentally dozed off mid-conversation.

Little deer always forgets she is in the company of a beast.

He gently tucked your hair behind your ear, his hand lightly grazing the fur from the base until the tip, fleeting, not enough for you to even stir and the red gemstone that adorn your hairpin twinkled for a moment, like a wink.

Sylus left Mephisto with you, who almost looked like a plushie with you curled up against his companion and he set the gift he had brought for you near your hand holding the pencil.

Perhaps this is the start of another small game. A back and forth. A gift from him in exchange for a little trinket from you this time but Sylus will have to see.

He tied the red ribbon you said to give to ‘Mr. Sylus’ upon his return around the leather strap of his watch before he left your studio.

A small smile formed in Sylus’ lips when he took one glimpse of you before leaving.

If you opened your eyes, you will see that your Mr. Sylus is already more than pleased.

────────────────────

It was such a relief to see the boss returned to the base all too pleased with himself.

Luke and Kieran never found out what actually ticked him off last time he had visited you and their little investigation never arrived on a conclusion because you just looked at them confused when they tried to ask you if you and the boss had a little misunderstanding.

“Do you think he got upset because I asked for a piece of his lemon tart?”

They decided not to press on further, not wanting to upset you (Also because you offered to share the box of macarons they stole given to them begrudgingly by that cute, feisty sheep hybrid.)

They welcomed him in the base as routine but mostly because they are excited to see their father boss once again and he is usually more forgiving with their little antics every time he sees you, their tails wagging in excitement.

(Not that they blew up something again. They have been good while he is away for once. This whole sewing hobby is really taking up their free time.)

Yet, when Sylus went past the double doors of the base, they caught a scent quite strong that clung on him.

The scent of cotton and wildflowers.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other, a flicker of understanding. Is that why the boss is happier today?

“Boss, why do you smell like Miss Deer-”, Luke was about to ask but let out a yelp when Kieran stepped on his toes yet even then, the question had already made its way into his ears.

“What are you two on about?”, he asked, a small smirk tugging on his lips. He knows these two wolf cubs had a superior sense of smell, an already inherent trait for wolf hybrids amplified by whatever the humans did to them before arriving here in the N109 zone.

That little gesture of yours where you rubbed your antlers against his horns is supposed to be an affectionate one, fairly common among deer hybrids who are known for being very friendly to those they like.

He is still wearing the little ribbons you made for him which he had not removed until now but he is more than aware you have unknowingly left your scent on him.

Not that he minds, anyways, especially when he had also left his on yours as well.

He had to give these two points for asking him bluntly unlike your father who had given him an odd look when he exited your shop but he is sure you will be able to clear everything up. 

You are not one for lying after all.

But these wolf cubs have no sense of subtlety. So nosy.

“Did you and Miss Deer had-”, Luke let out another yelp when Kieran stepped on his toes again, “Can you stop that, Kieran?”

“I am not giving you allowance for you both to sniff on my clothes,” Sylus said dryly.

The two looked at each other, their tails wagging harder. They wouldn’t dare do that knowing full enough the boss retaliates during their sparring sessions and it wasn’t their fault when their noses can smell up to miles.

“Come on, boss,” Kieran said, the two walking with him deeper into the base, “We aren’t animals.”

“Actually, it is pretty much stronger around your horns,” Luke piped and his eyes widened slightly, noticing the ribbon fastened on the base of his horn and another one in his watch.

The twins looked at each other, their eyes studying the neck scarves you have gifted them.

The boss had finally received a gift from you just like they did.

“You both are acting like animals.”

But the little scratch he gave them on the back of their pointed ears betrayed his words.

.

.

.

Little gremlins.

────────────────────

Author's Note: Yes, I borrowed Louis from Beastars. He is absolutely necessary in the world building of this story even if he will appear here just ONCE. What did Louis left at Miss Deer's table? What is Sylus' gift? These will all be revealed in due time.

Will there be a side story with the twins? Maybe, maybe. We will see how the stars will align in the coming months.

Anyways, this is so fun to write. I try to write in between my free time and sometimes I just woke up at 2am because the ideas JUST HAD TO COME AT THAT TIME.

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

[motimatcha]

"nostromo"

PART 5. Survivor for the Nostromo.

parts: one | two | three | four | five

dbd Xenomorph (alien) x fem!reader. smute: unprotected sex; vaginal sex; tongue fucking (cunnilingus); sperm inside; tongue in mouth; size difference; a large amount of sperm; bloating; sex with a monster.

The familiar crackle of the fire filled the space, but for the first time, you bet you could feel its phantom warmth. Perhaps you were warmed by the thought that you would still be able to meet the xenomorph. But asking yourself the question “why do I need this?”, you did not dare to give a clear answer. Because this could be the beginning of the end for you and for you to accept those brewing feelings for a humanoid creature.

Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together? The answer to this question could only be given by you yourself, and since you decided to go into the forest to search for an offering that could lead you to the xenomorph, the answer was more than obvious.

The moon was your only companion on this thorny path . Decorated with millions of stars in the dark sky, she looked blankly at your futile attempts and searches in the forest. During all this time, you happened to find several abandoned lanterns of good quality, collect herbs for good luck, a first aid kit, even a high-quality key to the hatch was in your pocket. On any other day, you would have been happy about such a large number of valuable and rare items, as well as improvements to them, but the situation was different and you were looking for offerings for certain territories.

One got the feeling that they exchanged rarity with the items or that the Entity, in mockery, took them away altogether. What did you do with the xenomorph? This couldn’t help but anger you, but gritting your teeth and wrapping yourself in a jacket so that the biting branches of bushes and low trees wouldn’t hit your hands so hard, you continued your search.

He who seeks will find, as your grandmother said, and therefore you did not stop at the achieved result.

The first location found for your offerings was the Loray Memorial Institute, followed by Springwood, Gideon Meat Processing Plant. Apparently the Entity decided to take pity on you, but not too much, and give out offerings in the reverse order of your stay in its world and during the trials. If everything goes on like this, then you won’t be able to get the offering you need in a century.

Exhausted, you sit down on the grass, damp due to fog and dew, and then lie down. In silence, far from the fire and the hubbub of people, you feel calmer than ever. So what if you are a black crow among black crows? You should be proud of yourself, no less; survive the hunt, aka courtship, of a xenomorph , and then be under the protection of the same creature from David, on top of everything else, a successful conversation with GhostFace... it’s time for you to become a living legend of this small world, so as not to go completely crazy. But the idea is not so bad. It will be possible to tell other survivors about this while you are all... while you are imprisoned here for all eternity.

Deep in thought, you don't notice Ellen's silent approach. The woman, concerned about your disappearance, even though she believed in your strength, and the forest shrouded in white fog itself was safe for survivors, but she still decided to check on you. What if you had a nervous breakdown and need the support of a loved one? Ripley , in any case, tried to think that you were close people to each other.

There may be a family not related by blood.

“Are you okay?” a calm and quiet voice pulls you out of your slumber. Louise sits down on the ground next to you, you can feel her familiar warmth and smell, this time mixed with swamp mud. Apparently she was lucky enough to be tested in a rotten swamp, although it also took place at the AutoHaven landfill. “You look inspired, albeit tired.”

“Um, I was looking for an offering,” you answer vaguely before turning from your back to your side towards the woman. So you looked even more like a family, strange, but a family: a mother and daughter, wise in life, in love with a monster. The plot is suitable for a film adaptation of one of the versions of “Beauty and the Beast,” except that the rating will be much higher than that of a regular cartoon, filled with blood and corpses. “So far the search has been unsuccessful.”

The brunette was silent for about a minute. Either she couldn’t find anything to say, or she knew, but had no idea how to do it. Finally, with a sigh, she continued the conversation:

“Do you want to meet him?” and you both didn’t need to clarify with whom exactly. Your nightmare, at the same time an object of interest, haunted you in your sleep and in reality, and with the departure of the xenomorph from the usual tests, this need only became stronger. And thoughts, dark and vicious, visited your dreams much more often than they should have.

And it was time to give answers to my own questions. Is it possible to joke that his courtship has borne fruit? Or is it the time spent together?

“Yes. Really want to.”

The ex-officer does not grin amusedly, but does not express any negativity or disgust towards your choice . You may still regret your choice, but the choice is entirely yours. Everyone must develop their own skills in order to make new decisions based on their experience. Ellen, as a caring person, can only support your aspirations and give advice, but not insist.

“As you said, “after courtship, you must prove your strength by resisting the xenomorph’s attacks , and then you yourself will find your way to him. If you want,” Ripley laughs with you and nibbles grass from the clearing. She pulls out one particularly long spikelet and presses it between her lips, thereby reminding you of a cowboy from the wild west. “It seems your words were prophetic.”

“Yes, I can see it myself,” the woman grumbles demonstratively and waves her hands in the air, and then rummages in her pockets. “Take it. Found it on the way.”

What was in your hands made you sit up abruptly and look in disbelief at the hand holding the offering. The "sluice doors" leading to the xenomorph's territory are in your hands.

“You can take all the things I found while scouring the forest if you give me this offering.”

“I was going to give it to you anyway, I still don’t understand how they work.”

“Thank you thank you thank you…”

You stood up from your seat and, as if under hypnosis, headed towards the general fire, before the voice of the former Nostromo officer brought you out of a kind of trance.

“To the edge of the fog,” was all the woman said before disappearing behind the trees.

You nodded gratefully.

As you moved towards the edge of the safe zone reserved for the survivors and separating those from the killers, the white fog began to rapidly thicken. Was this another test from the Entity? Maybe a test of your determination to see things through? Will you retreat at risk or will you still meet with the one you have been afraid of for so long? Shaking your head, dismissing the thoughts imposed on you that nothing would work out, you moved on.

Soon, a white fog enveloped every part of the space, making it impossible to go further. Somehow subconsciously you realized that this place is the line, the transition between the recreation area and the test, and it is here that you need to use the offering, otherwise the insidious entity will return you back to the fire.

You picked up a green polygon with doors drawn there and threw it into the fog. It, inexplicably fluttering and gurgling, began to become denser, and you were drawn to sleep.

Before you fall into oblivion, you think. How could you talk to Ripley if she was on trial and how did she know where to go?

A brutal industrial interstellar cargo ship where human life takes a back seat to brutal efficiency. Death lurks around every corner of its labyrinthine decks. From Ripley's well of memories, a dark and hopeless realm turns into a terrifying nightmare.

That's what you once thought, but finding yourself at the crash site of the Nostromo, with no generators or grappling hooks, surrounded by control points without turrets, you felt safer than ever.

You hesitantly step forward, hoping to meet the xenomorph, but as you search and spend time walking around the entire map, you realize that it is not here. But this is not so. Otherwise, why would the Entity fulfill your whim and allow you to step into the territory of the fallen spaceship? One can, of course, assume that your the captor just likes to watch how your face is distorted in despair that the stranger has been excluded from the kingdom of essence, and maybe everything is not as simple as it seems at first glance.

You approach the nearest control point. The strange thought “can a person go down there?” takes on new colors when the underground tunnels of the alien remain the only place that you have not yet explored. Exhaling, you turn your back to the entrance and slowly crawl through the narrow hole in the ground. The familiar mucus covers your body from head to toe, and now it becomes clear to you why the alien himself is constantly shiny and so sticky.

The dungeon, made of a material unknown to you, flavored with mucus, greeted you with gloomy silence and rare rays of light penetrating through the tunnels from the control points. You could almost stand up completely, the passages themselves were so wide, but it is worth noting that you still had to bend your head a little so as not to crash into something incomprehensible. And then you had to get down on all fours, because otherwise walking on two legs on the sticky floor threatened you with collapsing on it, and then suffocating in the mucus. Shameful death. Following your plan, you decided to go around the tunnels first along the edge and only then inspect the center, believing that this way you will increase your chances of meeting a xenomorph.

But here you are inspecting every passage at the border, then slowly crawling towards the center because of all the mucus stuck to your body, and the one you are looking for is still not there. There were no tears when you leaned against one of the walls and sat down with your legs bent towards you. The heavy realization that the xenomorph has been removed from the realm of essence falls on your shoulders. A heavy lump rises in your throat when the first plaintive sob escapes your lips. This was, at least, unfair, but the natural outcome for violating the rules of the world of the Entity and the corresponding punishment - for the life of one survivor, the killer pays with his own.

“Apparently, it’s time to leave,” you thought and directed your gaze to the exit to the control center ahead of you. You had just managed to lift your butt off the floor when suddenly there was a sound of a passage opening and a xenomorph descended, gracefully and naturally . “Is he really...”

The stranger you were looking for underground was himself looking for a violator of his peace on earth, sensibly believing that none of the survivors would think of descending into his kingdom. To see you here - covered in the mucus of an underground tunnel, tearful, but seemingly happy - was beyond all his expectations. His precious couple, who reciprocated his advances in marriage, themselves came and descended on him, honoring him with great honor.

The creature from distant space froze in place before taking a step towards you, then another, and now he was already at your feet. Seeing a xenomorph so close, knowing that it would not harm you, was surprising and amazing. Adrenaline hit the blood, and the heart began to beat so fast, attracting the attention of the predator. The alien made a sound similar to a purr, at least you could interpret it that way, before burying his smooth head into your chest. The strangers' hearing was a little weaker than that of a human, but even so, leaning close to your body, practically pressing you into the soft surface of the walls, the creature could hear the beating of your heart.

You knew that once you came and descended here, the xenomorph would not let you go. Remember Ripley said that the humanoid wants to create a new colony with you and you, being a vicious child of the Internet who knows about rule thirty-four, hoped that creating a colony implied a method common among people. Just the thought of what a monster’s penis might be like and how it penetrates inside you already excites your nature: there is a pleasant tug in the lower abdomen, it becomes wet from the approaching vaginal lubrication, and you want to see with your own eyes, feel for yourself everything that can give you xenomorph.

The latter seemed to sense the excitement hanging in the air . He hissed, but not threateningly, as it had always been before, but low and gutturally, so that his knees began to tremble. The alien took two steps back, allowing you to take a more comfortable sitting position, and just when you thought that everything would happen right here, the xenomorph suddenly shook his head negatively and waved into one of the corridors. You had no choice but to follow him.

He led you to one of the far corridors of the tunnel, where you had already been, but you did not properly examine the seemingly identical walls at first glance. And apparently in vain, because they lost sight of one of the secret passages leading somewhere deep down, where the temperature only rose, but not so much that it became unbearable for you. Clothes soaked in mucus clung to your body, outlining the curves of your body, giving the xenomorph an excellent view not only of your juicy ass covered in the fabric of your pants , but also of your breasts with hard nipples, and your long neck, so thin and inviting to leave its mark there. The stranger does not need imagination at all, his instincts and the growing desire to possess your body, heart and soul - all of you - did their dark work. The humanoid creature paused before smoothly descending, standing on its hind legs and extending its large palms towards you, lowering your half-size body down.

Based on generally accepted human standards, you could describe this place as a bedroom, making allowances for the non-human appearance of your future or current lover. The floor under your feet, which was a kind of flesh, was warm, soft and slimy, making it impossible for you to walk on your feet with shoes on. Perhaps, if you had the same sharp claws as a xenomorph, allowing it to cling to any surface, it would be much easier for you, but for now, overcoming the fear of the unknown, you take off your shoes. Your feet touch the soft floor, slightly springy and sagging under your weight, but overall the feeling was not disgusting.

You, drenched from head to toe in the secretions of a strange cave, feel more relaxed than ever.

The xenomorph hisses, attracting your attention and pulls the sleeve of your sweater towards him, pushing you to sit in a small recess in the bedroom. Can this thing be described as a bed? Maybe yes.

Surprisingly neat and gentle movements contrast so much with the wild nature of the stranger that it becomes almost funny. A light half-smile adorns your lips when the creature, picking up the hem of your T-shirt under your jacket, tries to pull it off of you over your head. As soon as you do this, it seems as if it becomes easier to breathe, but inside everything is tugging and burning with impatience. The mucus, which no longer seems so disgusting to you, envelops and warms the body, allows you to relax as much as possible, and now you forget about any pain in the body that tormented you due to both the uncomfortable posture while moving and the for a long walk on the surface. All fear has receded, relaxing and preparing your mind.

The stranger’s attempt to take off your pants was unsuccessful, just like yours, because the fingers covered with a layer of mucus simply could not grab the slippery button. For the first time, the sharp tail of a xenomorph was so close to your body, not in an attempt to kill, piercing through your body, but to get rid of a wardrobe item.

“However,” you think, looking at the sharp tip of the alien’s tail, “I wouldn’t mind trying games with a knife.”

You decide this for later, when the degree of your mutual trust moves to a new level. The xenomorph , kneeling in front of you, hisses and purrs contentedly. You slowly, a little fearfully, spread your legs to the sides, giving him a view of your womb, the pink folds of which are covered with your own juices and mucus. The xenomorph is dripping with saliva from his mouth when your hand reaches down along his stomach, covers his pubis with your palm, and thin fingers spread the natural barrier to your entrance to the sides - another narrow hole shrinks around the void, calling on the alien to fill it with himself. You thought that this creature had no mouth, that it was replaced by that extending thing with fangs, and for a second you even doubted the correctness of your decision when the alien opened its mouth, but instead of seeing the usual second mouth moving forward, it touched your womb something cold, thin and just as slimy.

The xenomorph has a tongue. Long, with a green tip that turns black the closer it gets to the throat. The xenomorph's tongue became thicker somewhere in the middle, you could compare its thickness to your three fingers, and there were also ribbed protrusions along the entire body.

It was hard to believe that it would be inside you, and you were counting only on light caresses, but the alien was determined to prove you wrong. Even if he himself had no idea about the course of your thoughts.

The actions of this snake tongue can be described as “chaotic” rather than “planned” or “purposeful,” but it is worth giving credit for its efforts. The sharp contrast of the coldness of the tongue and the warmth of the room excited your nerves brought to the peak, causing his every movement to tremble in your body. Here the xenomorph caresses your clitoris, tense with excitement, and you are ready to burst into ecstasy at any second, and a second later it teases your entrance to the vagina, penetrating inside with just the tip, and a disappointed groan already escapes your lips. All you can do is rush around the floor in the hope that the absolute weapon will stop playing with you, or mocking you, to be honest, and will fill your needy body, if not with its penis, then at least with its tongue.

Perhaps your prayers have been answered.

As soon as you open your mouth to tell the creature exactly how to move in order to bring you the maximum amount of pleasure, it puts its tail across your stomach, and its paws with razor-sharp claws touch your thighs, spreading them even further to the side. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but as soon as his cold tongue slides inside, stars flash before your eyes. It’s so unusual, strange, but pleasant to feel inside, from this feeling of gradual fullness as the xenomorph slowly and carefully pushes its tongue inside your womb. His movements are rhythmic and slow, first a little forward, then almost completely withdrawing from you, touching the sensitive clitoris with his growths along the tongue. Oh, that wonderful feeling of friction and pressure, pulling moans from your lips. Your hands are rushing around, not knowing where to place yourself . Maybe grab a stranger’s tail, counting the vertebrae with your fingers, or play with nipples swollen from excitement? Well, you have two hands to do both.

As soon as you touch the tail, slightly touch a sensitive point of the alien body, the xenomorph begins to squeal, pushes its tongue into you a little sharper and deeper than originally planned, as you arch your back, but most importantly, your lover’s tongue arches after you, touching and pressing on the very point that brings you a lot of pleasure . Your loud moan, the echo of which reaches your ears, in which you can hear the frantic beating of your heart, marks the arrival of your first orgasm.

The alien had to do so little to get you to your peak that it's almost astounding. Will you then be able to normally perceive caresses from a person or will you become addicted to the feeling of buzz and euphoria from the alien language, and then the penis?

With one hand you cover your tightly closed eyelids. You try to catch your breath, but it’s all in vain, because the overexcited and full of energy xenomorph is ready to continue giving you affection and pleasure. After all, you are his couple, who reciprocated. The tongue inside you rubs and curves, getting thicker and thinner and always touching your swollen clitoris so that you don't have to worry about having a second orgasm. The movements become faster and more chaotic, as if the alien is trying different methods and approaches on you to find what gives you the most pleasure. And when you are ready to reach the peak of orgasm for the second time, the xenomorph allows you to do this too, smearing the wide part of his tongue along your scarlet bundle of nerves.

This time it just rings in horror, and black dots flash before your eyes in place of the stars.

The xenomorph steps back. His slippery tongue comes out of your womb. And such a sound is heard, vulgar as in porn, but damn exciting. It’s as if a plug was pulled out of you and all that mucus that came inside along with your tongue began to flow out of your body.

Having barely caught your breath and found the strength to open your eyes, you look down to where the xenomorph is located. But he soon reached forward, placing his huge paws on either side of your chest. You were wondering if someone else has a penis, right?

There, pushing the groin shields to the sides, it appeared. Something that will divide your world into before and after.

Big, long. The tip of the xenomorph's penis was slightly elongated and thin, becoming thicker just below, and tapered again at the creature's hips. Its color was identical to the tongue - green at first, gradually turning black - and had growths, two of which ran along the upper part of the penis and one below. You could assume that the maximum length of these protrusions does not exceed half a centimeter, but this will be enough to give you an unforgettable experience.

A clear viscous liquid dripped from the tip of the penis, not the same as the mucus that envelops your bodies and you remembered the word pre-cum . Apparently this is typical even for xenomorphs .

“I want to touch,” became your first thought, and you listened to your desire. The stranger, showing you the highest degree of trust, allowed you to touch his most sensitive part of the body without any obstacles. And he hissed in surprise as soon as your hot hand touched the alluring flesh. "Marvelous".

The penis in my hand felt pleasantly heavy. It was slightly warmer than the alien creature's tongue; either the humanoid was simply excited until the body overheated, or its organ itself should be warm. In addition, it itself was soft to the touch, but hard, no matter how paradoxical it may sound. Mucus began to accumulate between your fingers as you ran up and down the ribbed shaft. Soft, pleasant, slippery. And it will end up inside your body.

Being under the influence of hypnosis due to the fascination with the xenomorph’s penis, you yourself, without knowing it, bring him to his first orgasm in his life. The alien life form does not know what it means to hold back, applying a similar concept to you for the first time, so as not to simply break the bones in your body, but otherwise gives its all. White streaks of sperm spread across your chest and stomach, slowly flowing down. You pick up one track with the tips of two fingers, spread them to the side, noting how thick and viscous the sperm of the creature from outer space is, that between the fingers spread in different directions, a string of sperm remains hanging between them.

It tastes... strange. It’s as if there is no taste at all.

The xenomorph groans . His nervous, twitching movements of his pelvis back and forth lead you to the idea that he himself wants to fill you with himself as soon as possible, and not only with his penis. You yourself have to raise your body to align yourself with the length of the penis and place the tip at the entrance to your body . My mouth was dry from anticipation. The creature's strong tail grabs you at the waist, sharply lifts you a little more, which is why you have to grab onto the powerful shoulders of your lover, in particular, reach for the tubes protruding from the back, in order to keep yourself in place. The legs can barely be locked behind the xenomorph's back, so you rest against the area above its tail.

Unusual pressure and stretching constrains your body . Despite the preliminary preparation, a copious amount of lubricant such as saliva, mucus and your own secretions, this is not enough to fully prepare yourself for the meeting with this monstrous penis . Only the head has penetrated, and it already seems to you that there is nowhere else to go . But at the same time, you want it to enter you completely, to divide you into two parts, to destroy your pussy, declaring its sole rights to your body and pleasure. Therefore, the xenomorph slowly moved further, penetrating you deeper and deeper with its monstrously large penis, exerting pleasant pressure with its size. The lumpy growths only complemented this wonderful sensation, pressing on the most sensitive points inside your body, and rubbing against your clitoris along with the thick penis. From pleasure, your mouth opened by itself, and pleasant moans, along with unintelligible babble, caressed the stranger’s ears. He was happy to feel that his partner was getting as much pleasure as he did from the feeling of how tightly the vaginal walls fit around his penis . How they tremble every time he plunges deeper into the supple body. He might think that he is intoxicated by this sensation and now he will certainly not let you go from his grip, he will fill you with his sperm, even if you cannot get pregnant in the realm of the Essence. He didn't care at all as long as it meant he could have you in every sense of the word.

The xenomorph stopped moving as his cock entered you fully, tearing through your sensitive walls, overloading your nervous system with the signals it sent. It was hot, cold, hot, everything throbbed and burned, but the vicious desire to become a victim of an alien creature, to be completely fucked and filled with his seed, overpowered any feeling of fear. But you were afraid to move, reasonably fearing that the feeling of pleasure would disappear. The alien decided to act first; slowly, his pelvis began to move away from you, creating many trails of mucus connecting your bodies. You wanted to tell him to stop, not to deprive you of this wonderful feeling of fullness, when he succumbed back forward, a jerk of the entrance turned around, crashing into your fragile human body with all his bestial power.

For long seconds you lost touch with reality, and when you returned, the feeling of lust, pleasant bliss and excitement that spread throughout your body, capturing every part of your body and soul, dispelled all doubts. You loved the xenomorph, his monstrous cock in particular adored you just like he did. The thrusts became smoother each time as your body and womb got used to the size of the alien creature, adjusting and stretching to suit its needs. And when there was no resistance left between you, when the xenomorph could freely penetrate you, desecrating your flesh with his nature, the angle of entry of his penis into you changed, as did the speed. The creature from another world had strength and endurance incomprehensible to the human mind, so it was not difficult for him to rise with your body on his hind legs and sharply lower him onto his penis, touching with the tip of his penis such places that you could not even think about.

It was nice. It's terribly pleasant. The vulgar sounds - your moans, his animal hands, as well as the slapping of your bodies against each other and the squelching sounds coming from the entry of his penis into your womb - only spurred the arousal of the two of you. The xenomorph opened his mouth, releasing his tongue, which immediately entered your mouth. The feeling of movement, both in your mouth and inside, completely severed your connection with reality and there was nothing left except the pleasure you received.

The pace of the thrusts gradually changed, becoming faster and sharper with each passing second. At the edge of your consciousness, you understood that the xenomorph was about to cum and his sperm would paint the walls of your vagina white. I wonder if there will be enough of it for your tummy to become bulging, if even now, by touching the designated part of the body, you could feel its ribbed penis under your fingers? Most likely, yes, but the excitement to check was as strong as your excitement.

After a few thrusts, the xenomorph released his cum into your body. You felt his cock throb as load after load of cum shot into your body. And there was really, really a lot of it. So much so that, despite still having his cock inside you, acting as a plug, white streaks of his seed were already running down the inside of your thighs and large white drops fell onto the slimy surface of the floor. The alien's long tongue licked the tip of your nose before being hidden in the creature's mouth. It, carefully supporting you in the air, sank back onto the warm floor and laid you under it.

It was clear as day that the xenomorph had no intention of leaving your body just yet. At least until he satisfies his hidden desire to impregnate you.

a little about this work.

Initially I planned to write only one part, the fifth, but I thought that without a pre-story it would not be so interesting.

It took me a day to write. in total there were 32 pages in Word, font Times New Roman, size 14.

I was thinking about attaching files with the Russian and English versions, but Tumler does not have this option. In any case, I don’t know about this.

At the moment, I finished making the last changes at 4:33 am on May 1st, whereas I started at 11 am on April 30th.

[kiwicopia]

MDNI | Themetober: Scarecrow

Shapeshifter!Simon x Fem!Reader

CW: brief mentions of stalking, brief mentions of voyeurism/reverse voyeurism, mentions of death/corpses/blood, brief cunnilingus, biting/marking, mentions of begging, some degradation, mating press position, squirting, creampie.

tags: @sweetchildcloud

Themetober Masterlist

You were never close with your grandfather on your mother’s side, with him becoming estranged even before her passing. Which was why it surprised you to get a letter in the mail one day, detailing that he had left you a sizeable piece of land in his will. The little farm he lived on was rundown and in desperate need of repairs, which came easily due to the assistance from local neighbors. The only issue, however, was the scarecrow in the cornfields.

A raggedy thing, you thought, with a hulking body that could easily frighten any creature that wandered onto the property. If it weren’t for its graveyard keeper appearance, and the fact that your bedroom window faced the cornfields, you would’ve thought differently about it. Still, against better judgement, and with it keeping the crows from taking what little corn you were able to grow, you decided to keep it where it was—perched up against a large, steady plank of wood that doubled its own size. 

Honestly though, you should have read the letter entirely instead of skimming it. Perhaps if you did that, then everything that followed would make more sense to you. It would have made sense knowing what it was, and had been, to your estranged grandfather. 

The half-buried animal carcasses on the property, the strange grunting noises outside your window at night—along with the milky white substance in the grass below your window—the large paw prints that littered around the edges of the property—sometimes along with dried blood—and the eyes that would watch you from the shadows, only to vanish the second you blinked. Not to mention how, during visits into town, either a crow or a large, black dog—or what you assumed to be a dog—would follow you. The entirety of it was all so strange, and it did little to prepare you for when he finally came to collect what was owed. 

Unbeknownst to you, and due to the skimming of the letter, your estranged grandfather had a deal of sorts with a certain creature—the scarecrow—which you came to find out a little too late one night. “Been waitin’ for ya,” he huffed. His tongue lapped at your cunt, feasting on it like a wild and starved animal. You tasted even better than he had originally imagined, and the soft and sweet moans and mewls that spilled from your lips caused his cock to throb painfully beneath torn jeans. 

Simon groaned, his patience having worn thin with the needless wait as he pulled back and finally freed himself from the confines of his pants. He was hard and ready, with the tip angry and red while weeping small globs of precum. His large hand wrapped around the shaft, pumping once, twice, three times with achingly slow movements. The nights of watching you through your window as you pleasured yourself while he fucked into his hand—in tune with your soft and tantalizing noises—were over. 

“The old man promised.” He lined his cockhead up to your slit, smearing the tip in your slick before impatiently pushing past the folds. “Fuck,” he groaned. You took him so well, with gummy walls hugging his dick tightly. His body pressed against yours, pushing you down further into the bed of hay as his lips kissed against your neck feverishly, resulting in a whine falling from your lips. 

Simon’s cock twitched at the sound, and his hips pulled back before slamming against yours. The sudden movement pulled a sharp cry from you as he repeated the motion. Faster and faster, his pace relentless as his teeth nibbled on the soft flesh of your neck before biting down. He was marking you as his, and in more ways than one. After all, your grandfather made a promise. 

“S’too much,” you whined. Still, his pace remained as it was as he ignored you. The shifter had waited this long for what was owed to him, and he was taking it without any further delay. Simon’s hands were tight on your hips, his fingers pressing into the plump flesh, keeping you still as his cock bullied your pussy. Your soft whining and pleas for him to slow down faded, having been replaced with neediness as you begged for more. 

“Fuckin’ slag,” he growled, his breath hot in your ear as he bit the lobe. His hips snapped against yours once more as he buried himself to the hilt again, and again. “Makin’ me wait f’ya. Makin’ me ‘ear that old man tell me over ‘nd over ‘bout ya.” He hated that. 

Honestly, Simon was glad for his death because it meant getting you. It was a deal made back when he first arrived on the farm, back when he was a walking body without a purpose. Oh, but your grandfather gave him one. Keep the farm safe and he would receive a reward for his hard work. When that reward became you, his sweet ‘ole granddaughter who lived like the man never existed, that was what kept Simon going—and now he finally had you. 

His hands moved from your hips as his body pulled back just enough to shift you into a mating press. The shapeshifter could reach deeper now, with his cockhead bumping against your cervix with each thrust, earning sharp yet delicious sounding cries from your lips. Simon couldn’t be gentle now, not when he finally had you in his grasp. He waited too damn long, with too many nights of fisting himself to the mere thought of you beneath him like this. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growled, again. You tightened around him, causing his dick to twitch every now and then as your velvety walls coaxed him towards his release. The harsh slap of his balls smacking against your skin echoed in the barn, and you whined at the sting that accompanied it. “Little more, almost, almost.” Oh, he was close now, with only a few more thrusts until he came undone. 

When your cunt fluttered around him, that was the last straw. Simon pressed his face into your neck, teeth clamped down in a harsh bite that caused you to scream out and squirt around him the same time he spilled into you. His hot, creamy seed mixed with your juices and dribbled out and down the back of your ass when he pulled out of you. 

“Look a’ ya,” he smirked. “Fuckin’ mess now.” You stared up at him with half-lidded eyes and panted hard before leaning your head back to rest. The man mumbled something along of being his mess, but the pounding in your ears from being utterly fucked out had muffled it. 

Maybe you should have read the entire letter, or perhaps you should’ve had a better grandfather. One that didn’t offer you up like a steak to a starving mutt. Too many could haves and should haves for you to care right now. At least you had something akin to a guard dog now, even if the reward was a good fuck. 

[sh4nksslvt]

Perfect pair

Y/n lands on the forsaken island of Kuraigana, crossing paths with the world’s greatest swordsman, Dracule Mihawk.

PART 1 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES

dracule mihawk x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: mihawk

tags: fluff, sfw, soft, lots of v!ol3nce

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

words count: 968

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Kuraigana Island was a corpse of a land.

Fog hung like a wet cloth. Gnarled trees clawed at a grey sky. Castles lay in ruin. Crows perched on broken battlements, staring like tiny, judgmental gods. The humandrills lurked in the shadows, half-watching, half-measuring you with the unsettling intelligence of creatures that knew too much and bowed to nothing.

You arrived with no fanfare — a split in space, a ripple in air, and there you stood.

The swordsman was already waiting.

Golden eyes sharp as his blade, Dracule Mihawk took you in without surprise. Just a flick of his gaze, the briefest narrowing of lids.

“You’re not from here.”

“...”

A beat. Then a faint smirk.

“State your business.”

You glanced around. The entire island radiated don’t bother, but you liked the silence.

“Needed a place to land.”

Mihawk regarded you a moment longer, then turned away.

“Don’t get in my way.”

You didn’t answer. You never did.

There he stood, placing the wine aside. Up close, he was taller than you expected, broad-shouldered and impossibly composed, moving like liquid death. The sort of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.

“I don’t know where you came from,” he said, approaching with unhurried grace, “but I can tell you this island is no place for a traveler. It devours the weak.”

“I’m not weak.”

Something in his eyes sharpened. “Prove it.”

A sword materialized in his hand—a black-bladed cross almost as tall as you were.

You didn’t blink.

He smirked, and in a blur of movement, brought the blade down.

You raised a hand.

The world stuttered. Time hiccupped.

His strike slowed to a crawl, the blade inches from your face.

“Cute,” you murmured, tilting your head. You could feel the hum of cosmic power rising within you.

With a flick of your wrist, you stepped out of sync with the moment. Time resumed, his blade cleaving harmlessly through empty air.

You were leaning against a column now.

“Done?” you asked, voice flat.

Mihawk turned, eye narrowing. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Well, Aren’t you interesting.”

Days bled together.

Mihawk didn’t ask you to leave, and you didn’t offer. He trained in the ruins. You wandered. A routine of unspoken tolerance.

Occasionally, the hum of his blade slicing the mist would pause as you flexed space to pluck fruit from high branches, reversed time to catch a falling stone before it shattered, or made entire sections of the crumbling wall rebuild themselves just for fun.

Once, a particularly bold baboon lunged at you. Mihawk turned just in time to see it dissolve into stardust.

You held its still-beating heart in your palm for a moment, then let it fall.

The humandrills kept their distance after that.

He said nothing, but his eyes followed you longer after that.

He asked about your powers one evening, rare curiosity threading his tone.

You sat by a fire you didn’t need, lazily manipulating the flame into twisting shapes.

“Are you a god?”

You considered it. “Complicated.”

He hummed. “Good. I hate gods.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Noted.”

Tension hung between you like fine wire. Neither speaking it. Neither breaking it.

When pirates landed, drunk on courage and legends of Mihawk’s title, you watched from a stone wall.

Twenty men.

They charged.

Mihawk moved like death made flesh, blade a dark glimmer. He cut through them like wind through leaves.

One survivor crawled toward you, gasping, reaching.

You tilted your head.

The man froze. His body peeled apart into strings of light, unraveling like an old tapestry.

Mihawk watched, bloodied and silent.

You met his gaze. “Messy work.”

He smirked. “Efficient.”

Weeks later, a storm hit.

Lightning split the sky. Waves devoured the shore.

A galleon, unfamiliar flag, shattered against the cliffs.

Mihawk and you stood at the shore. Bodies in the water. Survivors clinging to wreckage.

“Yours?” you asked.

He shook his head.

A captain, foolish and loud, cursed and called Mihawk out by name.

Mihawk’s blade lifted — but you stepped past him.

A simple gesture. A ripple in reality.

The ocean bent, swallowing the survivors. The ship’s remains vanished, leaving only empty, perfect water.

Silence.

“You stole my kill,” Mihawk said.

You shrugged. “They bored me.”

He stared at you a long moment, then laughed. Low, rare.

“Stay,” he said.

You did.

Because for once, you weren’t bored.

One dusky evening, Mihawk invited you on a hunt.

“A nuisance on a nearby island,” he said. “A former Warlord pretending to hold dominion.”

You quirked a brow. “And you need me?”

“I don’t need anyone,” he replied smoothly. “But you might amuse me.”

You smirked and stepped through a portal, Mihawk following.

The island was a lush jungle, overrun with hostile fauna and even more hostile men.

They expected Mihawk. They didn’t expect you.

One tried to cleave your head from behind.

You stopped time.

Walked around the frozen scene, plucking the man’s weapon away, rewinding his attempted strike into a trip and face-first fall into mud.

When time resumed, Mihawk didn’t flinch, but you caught the slight twitch of his lip.

“You enjoy showing off.”

“I enjoy being alive.”

You flicked a finger. Space warped around a group of enemies, their bodies crushed into a single, compacted orb of air before disappearing.

Mihawk cut down the rest, his precise strikes a sharp contrast to your cosmic chaos.

Afterward, the island was silent save for the wind and the cawing of carrion birds.

Mihawk sheathed his sword.

“You might be dangerous company.”

“You might be boring,” you countered.

Another smirk. “Then we’ll keep testing that.”

You stepped back into Kuraigana’s misty air together.

The humandrills stared harder than usual.

And you, for the first time in centuries, considered the notion of staying.

[cavernsandcod]

BELLADONNA - III

SERIES M.L | AO3 VERSION | PREVIOUS | NEXT CHAPTER

CONTENT WARNINGS: obsession. blood. injury. undertones of violence. medical inaccuracies/oversights, i'm sure. NONCON undressing & bathing. strong language. TBI johnny; a.k.a MWIII spoilers by default. not proofread or edited. (stalker!soap x reader)

WC: 3.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: N/A

Ghost arrives faster than he expects.

Headlights flood the cab, forcing Johnny to raise his head from the steering wheel. It’s been pounding the last hour, a thousand knives behind his eyes. 

He gives the rearview mirror one last parting glance. She still hasn’t moved an inch.

He climbs out and shuts the driver's door, kicking up dust as he paces the dirt trail. As Simon’s figure emerged from his vehicle, he cast a shadow on his subordinate. The Jeep idles deep in the woods; the sight on its own is suspicious.

“The fuck is this about, mate?” His voice cut through the crisp air, gravel crunching.

The closer he gets, the more scrutiny his gaze has. Soap had let things bother him more than once. Used a sledgehammer on something that needed a chisel. This felt different.

He’s in his civvie clothes, he looks despondent, and frankly, beat to shit. “That yours?” He gestures to the splotches starting to soak into his gray tee.

“No.” The younger replies, massaging his sore jaw. “No’ all of it.” He spits maroon dots onto the dirt.

The fabric of his black K-95 shifts and his crow's feet wrinkle into what Johnny assumes is a facetious sneer.

“Look— I’ve got no bloody time for your problems, mutt. ‘S bad enough that you ping me all the way out ‘ere for whatever the fuck this is. I’m going.”

When his Lieutenant starts to retreat, Johnny feels his chest strangle with panic. He can’t do this alone.

“Wait, Simon. I need—fuck. I need ye to not judge me right now.” He trails off, placing his palm on the back window, gazing inside despite the tint. Seeing something Ghost couldn’t. He turns to face Simon. “I did something. Somethin’ bad.” His eyes well, voice shaking.

“Promise me ye won’t tell Price.” Ghost freezes, and ticks his head.

He’s seen hell and walked through it. Sent people down there, some more deserving than others. Still, there’s nothing rational running through Simon’s brain. Nothing decent or salvageable to warrant intense secrecy and the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Johnny,” his voice drops low, “what did you do?”

Ghost’s body went rigid as Soap pulled open the car door.

Something mangled—no, someone. A woman sprawled against the back seat, thighs, and arms caked in scratches and minor bruising. Blood matted her hair, dried dark against the upholstery.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Johnny.” He curses, taking a sharp step back.

He’d seen hundreds of bodies, sometimes ones with only bits and pieces left from one of Johnny’s bombs. That’s nothing compared to now.

“I can explain, Lt. She’s— I didnae mean to hurt her. She ran, and I….” He raked his fingers through his greasy mohawk, grey-blue eyes wild. “Help me get her inside, somewhere, and I’ll tell ye everything. I need tae ken she’ll be alright.”

“We can’t do this ‘ere.” His tone is cold and detached, despite the anxiety radiating off Johnny. “Get in the car.”

Ghost gets behind the wheel, refusing to look back at the woman. Johnny isn’t entirely in his seat before he reverses to leave the trail, white knuckles on the wheel.

“What about yours?” Johnny asks from the back, shrugging his jacket off to drape over her torso. Words are coming out of his mouth, but it’s obvious he is a man long gone. May as well be a brick wall while he gazes down at her.

“Worry about yourself.” His teeth grit, head shaking. “I’ll pick it up later. Can handle things like that without killing women in the woods.”

The thought makes his throat dry.

She’s not dead. He’d never forgive himself. As if on cue, Soap puts two fingers on her pulse, even though he’d done it a hundred times.

Still there, but thready.

The vehicle rocks when Simon comes to a complete stop at the exit of the footpath. “Where am I takin’ her?” He looks over his shoulder at Johnny; a deer in the headlights. “Choose quickly. Or I will.”

No doubt that Simon’s ideas involve cinder blocks and the ocean. The flat in the city is soundproofed. Was going to turn it into a home gym. No one would hear her.

No, he needs privacy, time, and plans— Then, the idea seeps in.

His throat bobs with a wet swallow before he can answer. “I have a place, ‘s not far from here, was my gran’s. It’s quiet.”

“Hidden enough?”

Johnny nods.

The drive was tense. Only the rattle of the engine and the occasional rustle when Johnny got restless in the backseat.

She shivers occasionally, fingers twitching. Somewhere, trapped in her horrified shell, she knows this is for the best. Knows not to be so afraid of him. As his blue eyes stay glued to her, he wonders what he’ll have to do to make her see it.

The blood flow stopped at some point, beginning to crust and dry around the crack in her head. Scuffs and pools of the crimson had begun to turn rusty, on his clothes and her skin. A right mess.

He turns his attention out the window. Rural, muddy land with a tight path leading to the cottage he finds familiar. His gran moved out here years ago, further from Glasglow when his grandad was still alive. They were sufficient on their own, raising chickens and planting enough crops for the pair.

She left it to him after he died. Insisted on her favorite grandson having something of hers to remember her by.

It’s a shame he hasn’t been there in years. Left the furniture and a few items of his to rot in there, dusty and forgotten because he can’t ever face his grief head-on.

Rain hits the metal roof the closer they get, hard and fast.

It’s a solid home, intact from the harsh seasons. The gate squeals as the wind blows it open and closed on a loop, in need of oil. Moonlight illuminates the wrap-around porch, the wood splintery and aged. Pearl white paint coats the exterior of all three floors. The fence and garden shed need some work, overgrown with thick brush.

When the car is parked, Simon climbs out with his hood up to keep the rain from his lashes. He opens the back door and begins shifting her without paying any mind to the man at fault. One arm snakes around her tailbone to drag her closer, the other on her arm socket.

Simon bends his knees to avoid hitting her head on the frame. Once she’s out of the car, he lifts her over his shoulder, a palm splayed on her bottom. “Ye don’t want me to—?”

“No.” He bites. “Open the trunk, grab my kit, and get us inside.”

Soap fumbles with the key for a beat too long, unusually clumsy. He only hears it click when Si sighs deeply behind him, acting as if carrying her weight burdened him.

The living room smells faintly of mildew and dust. It’s as nostalgic as it was years ago; couch, armchair, fireplace, crank radio, L-shaped staircase beside the kitchen’s threshold. White sheets cloak the furniture, looking like figures that have caught the two of them in the act.

The elder brushes past him in a huff, intentionally knocking his arm into Johnny. As if there wasn’t more than enough room for him to go around.

Simon does not attempt to be subtle, despite the—sort of—sleeping woman on his shoulder. His boots take every step hard, and Johnny relies on muscle memory to follow behind him like a duckling.

He has to take double the stride to keep up with his purpose walk, fingers shaky on the kit strap. “Lt, I’m real worried,” they reach the top, and Simon opens the first set of double doors, the master, both sets of feet making the floor rattle. “She has no’ made a peep in two hours. What if I…? She’s— Is her neck broken?” Johnny pants. He’s out of fuel, choking on his worry.

“She’s still breathing, you bloody idiot.” Ghost mutters in response.

Metal creaks when Simon lugs her onto the mattress, flicking on the bedside lamp. Yellowish, spotty lighting isn’t ideal, but he’s stitched worse in the dead of night.

“I shouldn’t have,” his voice cracks, accent growing thicker. His eyes were feral with panic, piercing the wide back blocking the view of his bird. Her screams echo in his ears, fusing with the tinnitus. “If she’s— Ah’ll never forgive myself, Si. She just kept fighting, and I couldn’t stop my hands—” 

Ghost doesn’t look back. Doesn’t comfort the only man who knows him better than anyone else. His trained hands tug off her shoes, then the wet socks to ward off frostbitten toes.

“Hush.” He snaps his fingers, pointing to the unoccupied space beside her. Soap rounds the bed in haste, setting the kit down and unzipping it.

Now, they both can truly see what’s been done, one more sickened than the other, which isn’t saying much.

Her clothes were a lost cause, the faded band tee ripped off at the shoulder, sleeve barely hanging on. The sleep shorts had ridden up, smeared with grass and dirt stains. Bruises had formed on the fat of her thighs, kneecaps, her collarbone where he’d grabbed her. Their discolorations varied in stages, some more green than purple yet. Her ankle gave Johnny a phantom pain in his own, how it twisted into the scraped, swollen mess it is now.

Chapped lips parted ever so slightly, her cheek pressed against the pillows. Strands of hair clung to her sweaty forehead like they’d been dipped in honey. Tendrils matted with grime, twigs, and crimson surrounded the head wound, making it impossible for him to gauge it from the right side of the bed.

“Get the fireplace going. She’s ice.” Simon’s calloused fingers prod the bottoms of her feet. His tone is clinical, kicking Soap’s anxiety into overdrive.

Cold. Stiff. Ice means dead, even when her lungs are still functioning.

His eyes zero in on the dusty logs, crossing the room in two strides. Start a fire. Warm and safe. A warm lass, that’s what he needs— By some miracle, it’s still dry enough to ignite. Amber flames bloom quaint at first before they blossom and illuminate the rest of the room, creating a haze of warmth in their vicinity.

“You ‘ave her phone?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Toss it in.”

Johnny, kneeling in front of the fire, clenches his cheeks as he reaches into his shirt pocket.

It’s not contemplation over the morality of the situation. Not second thoughts. Just the feeling of overhauling all his plans, taking a one-eighty in only a few measly hours because of his stubborn girl. He rises once the screen begins to warp and break completely, shifting his focus to what Ghost is doing with her.

Simon digs through the bag without looking; pulling out instruments and supplies from their assigned places.

When Johnny crosses the room again, he’s got a clamp in one hand, and the other gathers through her locks, pulling them apart to tend to the source of all the blood.

“How bad is it?” He probes, rubbing his scar. “When will she…?”

Simon sighs, still refusing to look back as he inspects the laceration. “Have a drink and shut your mouth. Fuckin’ sit down, too, you’re giving me a migraine.”

Clear, antique bottles glimmer from the fire on the chiffonier in the corner, filled with various spirits. It’s not in his nature to question his Luitenant’s word. Supposes he deserves to be barked at right now.

The first toss of whiskey punches his tongue, but he doesn’t grimace. Finishes it in one go to cope with the aftermath of his temper. It’s not quite grief, not quite guilt, either. A feeling he can not make any sense of. After pouring himself another measure, he lowers himself into the chair by the lamp.

“She’s concussed,” Simon finally speaks, peeling open a package of sterile thread and needle. “Gash needs stitches.” He gets to work, the same way Johnny had seen him do in the field a million times. A needledriver held steady, while a tissue clamp manipulates the flesh. Part of him is glad she’s not awake, screaming and tossing around from the agony. Something is bothering him, even though he’s got an intense focus on the state of the sutures. His posture is off, fingers harsh when he tosses excess supplies aside.

Friction stirred in his chest as he examined the rest of her skin, disinfecting each scratch with swabs. “Look, ‘m not going to ask, mate. I don’t want to know. But—”

“Been following her,” Soap professes quietly, watching the brown liquid in his glass rather than holding eye contact. “For weeks now. She… she got scared. Almost called the police. I couldnae let her.”

The occupied hands still momentarily before resuming. Johnny’s always had a few screws loose, often being too much for his partners. Too possessive after a few hours of fun. He’s never gone this far. Watching some woman, obsessing over her until his polluted mind believed she was his.

This wasn’t some date gone wrong, nor a hookup gone sour. It was unbridled violence. Something Simon knew more than the back of his hand, and yet, the taste in his mouth was pungent.

“You’ve gone bloody mental,” Ghost snarls, rounding the bed to stand at her feet. “She’s a civilian, Johnny. Not like us.” With more force than necessary, he tears away a long strip of bandage, the tear accentuating his words.

He fists her calf, raising it as he swirls the synthetic fabric tight around her twisted ankle. “And now, you’ve turned me into a goddamn accomplice.”

“I didnae want to, Lt,” Johnny tiffs, before setting his glass aside and wiping at his lids. “She’s in my head, Sir. All night, all damn day. I tried to stay away. Tried to just… watch.”

“Yeah? And what about her? You think she’ll keep her mouth shut when she wakes up here, with you, of all blokes.”

His head lifts, hand curling into a fist. “I’ll handle it, Sir.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Johnny.” Simon grabs his kit, taking out a small jar and syringe. “You need to think this through. Soon.” He stabs through the seal and draws a small dosage.

“What are you giving her?”

“Field sedative,” he caps the needle, before gathering the other remnants and zipping up his kit. “It’ll buy you a few hours.”

“You need to clean this place up, and her. Secure all the weapons, or anything she’ll use as one.” Simon’s footsteps retreat toward the bathroom, water running, followed by cabinets opening and closing.

Johnny sucks in a breath, heading toward the wardrobe beside the crackling fire. There are some boxes here, old PT shirts and track pants left in a forgotten go-bag; they’ll do.

With trembling hands, he peels the dirty, torn shirt off her limp form. Liquid sloshes beside him when Simon returns, setting down a small wash basin and cloth on the nightstand.

“Just need to change yer clothes, bonnie. Clean you up.” He mutters tersely as if she was lying there expectantly with her eyes open.

After blindly soaking the washcloth, he drags it along every inch of her skin. First, the rust on her forehead and down the apples of her cheeks. Her neck until he reaches her sternum. Under each breast and armpit, dragging southward to the mossy, cracked knuckles. Until her skin smells of stale soap and something uniquely her, instead of musk and metal.

She slumps when he maneuvers his shirt over her head. It falls mid-thigh, dwarfing her shoulders and torso. The sleep shorts came next, one leg at a time, and extra cautious to not disturb the tight gauze on her foot. He replaces them with baggy sweats after scrubbing her irritated knees, thumbing the waistband when he finishes.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Simon murmurs, noting the linger of his hands on her flesh.

“I can do this.” The whiskey took the feral edge of his voice, but not the rest of him. “When she wakes, I’ll…”

“She’ll have one hell of a headache. Probably disoriented. Might be sick. Might panic.” His voice hardens, “might scream. You ready for that, Johnny? One hiccup and this fantasy of yours is going to get you—get both of you—killed.”

Under scrutiny, he shuts down. Ignores the pungent validity of Simon’s concerns. “I ken, Lt. But she’s worth the risk.”

“If she dies, or if Price gets wind of anything—”

“Ye’d turn me in.” Soap growls, but only with resignation in his tone.

“In a heartbeat.” Simon crosses the room in only a few strides, pulling a bottle of painkillers from one of the pockets. Rattles them before setting them next to the bed. “I’ll be back, Johnny.”

That could mean any frame of time in his language. Days, weeks, months. Maybe an hour.

He’s truly on his own to face the possible consequences. How difficult will it be to make her see clearly? To force her into a mellow mold?

Johnny places a pillow under the bandaged foot to keep it elevated. Gives her head a turn to see if she’s bled through the gauze, but there’s only a few specks. Her skin looks less sickly than before, at least. More like she did.

Following, he begrudgingly shuts the door to the master and heads downstairs. Sorts through all the drawers and cupboards to see what he’s working with. All the canned food is unsalvagable, leaving only his gran’s china plates and mugs. There’s not much in the way of boxes or trash, leaving the place barren when he removes all the sheets off the furniture.

Silence cloaks the room as he sweeps away all the dust and filth. Brings the clutter up to the attic on the third floor and locks it away.

He’ll need a blank slate if there is any chance of this going off without a hitch.

A bead of sweat cascades down his temple when he’s finished with his third trip, morning light coming through the stained windows.

The sound of an engine ebbing in the distance makes him turn solid, hand hovering over his piece. Perhaps someone was watching the place, or Simon had a change of heart to save his skin.

It takes a few moments for him to gather the courage and open the front door. His shoulders drop when nobody is standing there, no armed service police as he was expecting.

Only a box occupies the mat. It’s lidless with handles on the side. Fresh cuts of meat wrapped in paper with dates scribbled on them, a stack of canned vegetables and beans, toothbrushes and paste, and painkillers you can’t get over the counter.

No doubt who brought it without knocking. He said he’d be back, and he’s a man of his word in the strangest of ways.

The stove clicks when he fires it up, channeling the memories of watching his grandmother’s process. All the ingredients begin to simmer in the tall pot, mixing into a perfect meal for someone bedridden and nauseous. Chunks of meat and veg, a carton of broth, and the few seasonings that were still sealed. Once he places the lid on, he takes note of the hours that have passed on his watch.

It’s time for him to get back up there and prepare accordingly for the hell-storm brewing when she opens her eyes.

The steps creak under his feet. All the knives need to be locked away. He’ll probably need to replace the vases and lamps with metal. Everything has to be shatter-proof, all the hard edges of the place need to be soft. Not to mention keeping her here, which will be a task in itself. Based on the very recent past, he’s sure a hurt ankle and head gash isn’t going to prevent her from running.

Unconsciousness begins to fade from her features.

Smaller fingers twitch against his. A raspy exhale comes from her lips. Her eyelids flutter. Johnny goes rigid, scooting closer to prevent any flailing.

Her eyes snap open.

[leighsartworks216]

HELLO! It's me again. 🥺🎀

I come bearing more questions.

Mephisto shifter reader?? Any crumbs to spare?

I'll take anything you give me. Origin story. How they shift. How they met Sylus. How they fell for each other...😩

(These are just examples btw, not asking you to drop all this information in one go...unless /j)

Is the process of shifting painful? Does it have a cure? Would they even want it to be "cured"? Reversed? Because it's part of who they are now really.

Anything else entirely that I didn't mention here? Thank you in advance for taking the time to answer honestly, I'm so invested in your stories 🥹🥹

It's a joy to read your work.

*cracks knuckles* LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOO

So I hint at this/not so subtly reference this in the stories with them to the point I lowkey dislike those stories cuz like cmon dude focus on anything else, but Mephisto was a child in the EVER program like MC and Caleb. In the universe they exist in, I actually have shit like drabbled out (very loosely) where Sylus was also a child in that program where they studied the aether core in his eye (and/or put it there themselves).

Their EVOL, before the program, allowed them to transform into any animal they wanted to. EVER wanted to see how, idk how to phrase this but like "efficient" and weaponized this ability could be, by literally piece by piece turning them into a robot. So think like Caleb's arm(s?) mixed with the fuckin fnaf short story "To Be Beautiful". But the more they altered, the less they could change into, until the only thing they could manage to become was a crow.

Except this crow they could change into didn't really look like a crow yet. It didn't have any feathers, parts of their body shifting and warping into this shape without being able to change its appearance more than just the synthetic skin turning a rich midnight black. I actually like to think that Sylus helps with that after their escape. He finds a way to make it so they have feathers that lay properly on their wings and body. Even when they shift back to their human form, some of the feathers remain, scattered along their arms and back and neck. (I also like to think they're straight up naked bc of the shifting so yeah naked person with some feathers but make that sound cooler lmao). I think also bc their eyes are essentially mechanical by this point, it's them who suggests acting as a camera lookout, because it gives them a chance to fly and be free and keep an eye out for danger at the same time.

I feel like they fell for each other slowly over time. They were sort of unlikely friends in the facility. He was quiet, watching everything around him, on guard, ready for danger. And they were just this weird kid that kept bugging him, sitting in the corner with him, giving him odd nuts and bolts they found. (He had to watch them slowly become more and more machine...) Just sticking by each other's side after their escape and looking out for each other, they naturally got close, until friendship blurred into a casual romance, and he realizes he's fallen head over heels for them one day while they're just complaining about a loose feather on their back that itches.

As for the shifting, it doesn't hurt. It's sort of like when you curl into a ball and wish you were a cat for it to be extra cozy; it just happens with very little fanfare, and quick enough it's not like disturbing to watch. When they were flesh and blood, I imagine it was sort of like that girl in Sky High that turns into a guinea pig; just sort of shrinking down into that form. When they're mechanized, it's more like all the plates that form their skin and body shift and turn and come together until they form the shape of a crow. Idk if that makes sense. I also imagine when they change from crow to human, it happens sort of like Mystique in X-Men with all those feathery little things shifting away. For a while the shifting was "stiff", because the machinery was so fresh and clean and new, but now they've transformed so much that it's worn down and become easier.

I don't think there's much more to add? I wanna say they already started out having crow-like tendencies or hoarding neat-looking things and being curious, which have been sort of amplified now that it's all they can become. So they do indeed have a hoard of items and Sylus likes to bring them interesting rocks and gems, to show his affection and to make them happy. They also are just a little bit jealous and protective of Sylus, which is why MC being around annoys them (especially when she shakes them cuz wtf girl 😭). So they'll perch on Sylus and preen him a lot when they're feeling more jealous, to show that he's theirs, though they also preen him just to show affection.

Again, feel free to ask more lol this is so fun (and lowkey inspiring me to write smth 👀)

[lovelypastelsweets]

♡{Onychinus' Kitten:}♡ [Part #6]

Sylus Qin X female!Cat-Hybrid!Reader

{Notes:}

This is my first fan-fiction, if you have any tip/suggestions please let me know!In this story, the 'reader' is NOT the MC, and is female(I don't have an issue with males reading, but I don't know anything about guys, and I want to be authentic. If you'd like a male-reader fan-fic please collaborate with me to deepen my understanding of the male-mind)

{Trigger-warnings:}

This story will contain mentions human-trafficking(not in-detail; Technically hybrid-trafficking), the experimentation of humans-subjects, mentions past-trauma. ALSO; The reader is described as having all limbs, having the ability to use all senses, and as having hair. I'm sorry if this is an issue, I'm trying to be as universal as possible, but if you'd like a specialized part, please message me.

After dinner, the man, who you came to know as "Sylus", ordered his henchmen to escort you back to your room. He referred to them as "Luke" and "Kiren", but he didn't explain which of them was Luke, and which one was Kiren.

You now sat idly waiting for the two to arrive, with the bare, jet-black oakwood table before you. The crimson-red placement-mat gently cradling your hands as you softly rested them upon the table.

Sylus had left soon after giving his orders, so now it is just you and your new-found crow-companion.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as you waited. You were part cat, of course you get bored easily. It definitely didn't have anything to do with having a lack of a maturity level.

Little did you know, this wait was too, a test; To see what you'd do if you were left alone.

As boredom crept in, you leaned forwards onto the table, reaching out to pet the crow that sat perched on the table.

Y/N: "Hey, little.. Uh..? Me-? Meo-? Me-thh?.. Ah, little guy. I-ah, ha.. I can't remember your name.. He, he.."

You put you fingers through the the crow's feathers; It felt as odd as it looked. The feathers had a metallic texture, it was like dragging your hand across the handles of lined-up, thin silverware. Each feather had a soft texture and had some give, yet they were sold and firm, like a folding-fan.

As you petted the crow, it made a slight machnial "Iiia" noise.

Y/N: "Aw, do yo- Ah!"

Suddenly, you could hear footsteps as you went to speak. There seems to be two people walking towards the dinning room.You jolted into a proper sitting-position, retracting your hands to sit in your lap; The reaction rote.

The door opens to reveal the two hooded people who escorted you earlier.

"Wow, you're still alive? The boss really does like you."

One of them said.

"Surviving an entire meal with the boss definitely speaks volumes."

Said the other one.

"It seems we've been tasked with escorting you, again. So, let's go."

As they spoke, they walked to you, then gestured with their heads to leave. If you weren't imagining it, One of them seemed more flamboyant than the other. Looking closer, you realize that on their hoods, they have differing numbers; "06" and "07".

As you walked down the same hallway you walk earlier, gained the courage to ask for the subordinates' names.

Y/N: "Uh, h-hey? Is it alright if I.. Ask for your names?"

"And, what would you do with that information?"

"Just telling you wouldn't be any fun."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you take a guess?"

They turned towards you, and leaned in.

These two, they seem to be the very definition of "Mischief".

Y/N: "Uh.. Um, You're Kiren and.. You're Luke?"

You pointed at each of them, guessing a random answer.

"Wrong answer! Try again!"

"You only have one chance left!"

They spoke as if you were a contestant on a game-show.

"Um, okay. Then.. You are Luke and you are Kiren."

You said, reversing who you pointed at.

"Nope! That's incorrect!"

They said in unison, laughing as the began walking again.

You let you a small "Wha-!?", before walking with a quickened pace to catch up with them.

As you continue to walk, you caught sight of a window that you were nearing; Going outside was such a scarce thing, only done for training purposes.

Luke and Kiren immediately lifted their guards when noticing your reaction when seeing the window; A glint in your eyes and your fluffy ears gave a twitch. But, after a moment, your expression changed; Eyes drifting downwards and looking dejected. After all, 'why would they let you go outside?'. The twins could understand. And, against their better judgment-

"Do you want to go over there?.. To the window?"

"We can let you."

They spoke with such fragility. They sounded nostalgic. They sounded so gentle. It was like they had just out a band-aid on a old, ugly scar, that was left as a gaping wound since it was made- Not just to cover it, but to treat it with the care it never received. Your heart, it felt tight.

It was odd, but you wanted to take this chance. It may not come again.

Y/N: "O..Okay."

They kept walking, changing the directory to stand in front of the window.

You stood in front of it, the twins stood silently behind you as you slowly came closer.

The window was clean; Shiny and reflective.

You took a glance backwards at the twins, the thought of someone standing behind you while your guard is down makes you uneasy, but they keep at a distance, which at that, you decide to move look back at the glass before you, moving even closer.

Looking at your reflection, you looked odd, but you liked it. You looked so different, you were hardly recognizable. You didn't mind it though, it.. It felt right.

You came even closer to the glass, to see the world beyond it.

Leaning in gently, you hesitantly put your hands on the glass- It's cold. You jerk your hands back at the unexpected chill. After a second, you return your hands on the glass, intakiing the coldness with curiosity.

The dark cityscape sits below. It's a marvelous sight. Your lips curved into a smile, driven by your awe. You breath comes out in little huffs, wonder spreads through your thight-feeling heart and into your nerves. Your eyes widened, sparkles of excitement igniting within them.

Under their masks, the twins wore matching -as always- soft smiles.

"You seem to be enjoying this, but..We need to get going."

Y/N: "Ah.. Oh, okay.."

The sudden statement, brought you out of your awed-state.

Feeling sort of disappointed, you solemnly walked back to your room.

Before you reached the door, the twins came in front of you; One of them stood on the side of the door where the hinges are, holding the doorknob, the other faced you while gesturing the door as if it were a win-able prize.

"Are you ready?"

They gleefully said in unison.

Y/N: "Uh? Yeah..?"

You said, your voice unsure and confused.

"TA-DA!"

The two said with a flourish.

Your breath catches your throat- Before you, on the floor of an originally bare, dark room, is a large verity of bags and boxes filled with girls' clothing, plushies, and other items.

You're frozen in shock. "Did-did they.. Do this?" You thought.

Y/N: "Are.. Are these things.. For me?"

It was self-absorbed to assume, but you had to ask.

"Of course!"

"Who else would all this belong to?"

They replied. The one with "06" on his hood picked up a pink, plush bunny toy.

"As funny as it would be, the boss probably would kill us if we gave him this!".

He said while laughing.

The other twin walk to the gift-filled area and lifted a dress.

"If the boss wears 'this', death would be worth it!"

They both laughed as they pretend to wipe tears from their masks.

Their laughter was infectious, you began to giggle, too.

Without you noticing, they both stopped to witness you smile- It wasn't the forced one you gave before, it was real. It was beautiful. It was pure. It was something rare for the twins to experience, not just because it was from you, but because of the genuine, honest, and raw enjoyment in your smile.

Y/N: "Thank you. This- This is- .. A lot.. And, so.. So nice.. Thank you, both."

Through your slightly embarrassed and awkward laughter, your sincerity seeped through.

Nobody's ever done something like this for you. Nobody's ever went to such lengths for you before. Your chest felt so tight, it, and your stomach hurt. But you couldn't help but to enjoy this feeling.

Would this feeling last, though?

Were they just tricking you into lowering your guard?

["What does the word "Home" really mean?", it's a thought that always plagued you.. Would you ever learn the answer? Could you learn the answer here?]

[vikkirosko]

Masterlist Happy Hotel 3

🌈 Charlie Morningstar 🎶

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Moon Goddess

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Phosphophyllite

Charlie Morningstar x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Not perfect

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Charlie Morningstar x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

Charlie Morningstar x sinner!Reader headcanons Innocent and kind

Charlie Morningstar x fem!Reader headcanons Smashed to pieces

❌ Vaggie 🎀

Vaggie x fem!Reader headcanons Phosphophyllite

Vaggie x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Not perfect

Vaggie x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Vaggie x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Vaggie x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

Vaggie x sinner!Reader headcanons Innocent and kind

Vaggie x fem!Reader headcanons Smashed to pieces

🕷 Angel Dust 💖

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Moon Goddess

I will always be there for you, my precious friend

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Mother figure

Smoke of menthol cigarettes

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Phosphophyllite

Angel Dust x teen fem!Reader platonic headcanons Adopted daughter

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Euphoria

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Doll

Angel Dust x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Not perfect

Angel Dust x sinner!Reader headcanons Designer

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Angel Dust x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Angel Dust x sinner!Reader headcanons Spartan Warrior

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Terrifying face

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

Angel Dust x Reader headcanons Severe emotional state

Angel Dust x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Smashed to pieces

📻 Alastor🎙

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Moon Goddess

Alastor x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons His young ward

Alastor x Reader headcanons Reverse Why me?

Alastor x Reader headcanons Dentist

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Phosphophyllite

Alastor x teen fem!Reader platonic headcanons Young lady

Alastor x Reader headcanons Doll

Alastor x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Not perfect

Alastor x Reader headcanons Mutuality

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Alastor x gn!Reader headcanons Cutthroat

Alastor x sinner!Reader headcanons Spartan Warrior

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Terrifying face

Alastor x child fem!Reader platonic headcanons Chaotic

Alastor x Reader headcanons Vocaloid

Alastor x Reader headcanons White crow among the elite

Alastor x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

Alastor x gn!Reader headcanons Gyaru

Alastor x Reader headcanons Severe emotional state

Alastor x fem!Reader headcanons Smashed to pieces

Alastor x Reader headcanons Innocent kiss

🧹 Niffty ❤

Niffty x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Niffty x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Niffty x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

🃏 Husk 🥃

Husk x Reader headcanons Auras

Husk x Reader headcanons Taking care of a little lamb

Husk x Reader headcanons Dentist

You won't be alone on this day

Husk x Reader headcanons Drunken confession

I also know Russian

Husk x Reader headcanons Mutuality

Husk x Reader platonic headcanons Bartender mode

Husk x Reader headcanons From overlord to bartender

Husk x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Artist

Husk x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Husk x fem!Reader platonic headcanons Friendship

Husk x sinner!Reader headcanons Innocent and kind

Husk x Reader headcanons Severe emotional state

Husk x fem!Reader headcanons Dance

Husk x Reader headcanons Innocent kiss

🐍Sir Pentious 🎩

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Time spent

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Just a friend

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Boop

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Confession from shy

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Lean closer

Sir Pentious x fem!Reader headcanons Evening care

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons A little more time

Sir Pentious x fem!Reader headcanons Sick

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Perfect Date

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Freeze from shock

Sir Pentious x teen!Reader platonic headcanons Adoption documents

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Fleetingly said

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Traumatic mutism

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Flirty spaniard

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Remembered

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Shortening the distance

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Memorabilia

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Staring

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Excessive determination

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Kiss hand

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Why me?

Sir Pentious x fem!Reader headcanons Phosphophyllite

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Mutuality

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons Love songs

Sir Pentious x gn!Reader platonic headcanons Cutthroat

Sir Pentious x Reader headcanons White crow among the elite

Sir Pentious x fem!Reader headcanons First kiss

Sir Pentious x fem!Reader headcanons Bouquet

[kikyoupdates]

Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

⊱ CASSIUS CROWE, 22

⊱ Lizbell, 24

⊱ SERGEI GARIN, 26

⊱ LAWRENCE FLEMING, 20

⊱DOMINIC, 25

⊱ FLORA TILLBERRY, 19

⊱ THERESA SIMMONS, 20

⊱ ZODIN

⊱ CEDRIC LIGHTSTEEL, 23 

⊱ TRISTON VON HERSCH, 25

⊱ CYRUS FLEMING, 46

⊱ EDITH FLEMING, 39 

⊱ OSCAR TILLBERRY, 49

⊱ FRIEDRICH BEAUFORT, 27

⊱ GLENN SAMUELS, 29 

⊱ CELINE EGERTON, 21

⊱ ELEANOR LIGHTSTEEL, 42 

⊱ FELIX LIGHTSTEEL, 15 

⊱ GORDON LIGHTSTEEL, 44

Read the first chapter here! Or, read all the available chapters on Quotev!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

main masterlist ♡ story masterlist

[otherwordlyanathema]

GOJO SATORU X F!READER

DESCENT INTO INSANITY

Wherein Gojo Satoru is the anchor that keeps you sane.

A/N: Currently crying because of Leaks 😭

'Satoru is dead?'

Y/N couldn't wrap her head around it. One minute he was standing triumphant after annihilating the majority of Shinjuku with his Hallow Purple, the next thing they knew; Sukuna had disembodied him in half.

Everyone was silent.

The situation changed drastically that they couldn't wrap their head around it.

Gojo's students were in anguish.

Y/N watched as Kashimo jumped down as the next contender against Sukuna.

"No! No!" she mumbled, frantically. "Satoru's body is still there..."

It was Hakari who first sprung into action, dashing towards where Kashimo and Sukuna are clashing and narrowly dodging being cut as he took Gojo's body from the battlefield. Returning back to the others, he laid the Special Grade down in front of his lover.

Y/N was a Special Grade in her own right. She was often overlooked because she allowed Gojo's brightness to shine and allowed herself to stay in the background.

Nobody knew how destructive she could be. She was kept in check because Satoru made her happy. Happy and contented enough that she could keep her unstable powers at bay.

Choked sobs escaped from her throat at the sight of Satoru's body.

It hurt like nothing she experienced before. Seeing him bloodied.

From beside her, Shoko knelt down placing a hand where Gojo was cleaved. With her Reverse Cursed Technique, she healed the skin to reattach despite not knowing what it would do. She figured Y/N deserved to see Satoru as she met him.

'I don't know if Satoru could come back from this but at least this gives him a fighting chance.' Shoko thought, sadly looking at her annoying friend.

Y/N let out a heartbroken scream which broke the heart of the spectators of the Battle of the Strongest.

Kneeling down beside Satoru, her hand caressed his blood stained hair and she wiped the blood on his lips with her sleeve. Her hands covered his once bright Six-Eyes that she loved so much as she moved them closed.

'Satoru did not deserve this. He had done so much only to end up like this.' Y/N thought, bitterly. 'You don't know how much I wanted to shelter you from this world you did so much to uphold order.'

Something else had taken root inside of Y/N.

They said death of a beloved makes you numb.

Not in her case.

Her entire being screamed revenge.

Shoko's eyes widened as her gaze drifted to Y/N. Her friend's Cursed Energy was pulsing dangerously. "Y/N what..."

Y/N's leaking Cursed Energy caused everyone to wince at how intense it was.

"Y/N stop! You'll manifest a curse like this!" Shoko scolded, attempting to get the female to calm down.

To their surprise, the female vanished before one of Mei Mei's crows had spotted Y/N levitating above where the clash of Sukuna and Kashimo were currently happening.

'And here comes the numbness they were talking about during grief.' Y/N thought, mustering up her Cursed Energy at maximum output as her eyes took on a crazed look.

'What good has being good done me? None. I'm done being good. The world is about to witness how bad I can be.'

---FLASHBACK---

"Aren't you tired, love?" Y/N asked an exhausted Gojo, who just returned from a solo mission.

His eyes brightened even more at the sight of the female cooking. He bounded towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in the crook of her neck. "I am. But I do it for you and the kids. I think that's enough of an incentive to keep going."

Her eyes widened at his statement and how serious he actually seemed. "I want to be able to protect you too. Or at the very least be a sanctuary where you can actually relax and let your guard down."

His only response was a smile, inhaling her scent that never fails to make him content. 'You already do. Coming home to you is sanctuary enough.'

---END FLASHBACK---

"What is life without you, Satoru?" She murmured before a maniacal look came on her once angelic features. "What use is this world without you?"

Her Cursed Energy continued emerging from her, fueled by her desire to destroy it all. It manifested into a huge black sphere of condensed Cursed Energy, ready to raze anything in its path.

She's slowly realizing she wasn't meant to save the world, rather to watch it burn.

"Watch me burn this world for what it has done to you, Satoru."

[another-lost-mc]

MAMMON masterlist

➤ fics

working in the garden together

➤ poly / multi-pairing fics

second chances [ afab!reader | nsfw ] mammon x reader, leviathan x reader (separately) cw: threesome, resolved sexual tension

one for all [ nsfw ] the demon brothers x reader cw: vampire!au (demon brothers are vampires)

fun and games [ nsfw ] mammon x reader, leviathan x reader (separately) cw: implied threesome, levi's demon form/tail, jealousy

➤ drabbles / thirsts

reflecting on mc's mortality cw: angst, discussions of grieving and death

when he has wings [ nsfw ]

➤ headcanons

when it's mc's turn to cook

when mc needs a little TLC [ gn! + afab!reader | nsfw ]

shopping for beauty supplies

high-achiever mc struggles at RAD

mc is reborn in the celestial realm

when they go down on you [ afab!reader | nsfw ]

living with a rich mc

your first kiss [ nsfw ]

the demon brothers go into heat [ afab!reader | nsfw ]

mc misses their sibling

when mc is quiet in bed [ nsfw ]

f*ck lucifer! (jokingly)

mc sends them audio porn [ nsfw ]

mc that feels burnt out/numb

where they bite mc (as vampires) [ nsfw ]

why they don't want to be vampires

would they use a love potion on mc? [ nsfw ]

when they randomly lick mc [ nsfw ]

lactation kink headcanons [ nsfw ]

being with a shy mc [ nsfw ]

mc drives them on a road trip

going to the movies

when movies make them cry

what they wear to see Barbie

chubby demon headcanons

size kink headcanons [ nsfw ]

watching over your human family

how the little d's act when you date the avatars of sin

when they hurt you by accident

when they find out you have a fwb [ nsfw ]

when they find out solomon is your fwb [ nsfw ]

watching the movie se7en [ nsfw ]

shadow-walking with mc

summoning their shadow forms

how they mark mc [ nsfw ]

when mc is a professional f1 driver

the crow bros

when they turn into their symbolic animals

when mc has a reversible plushie

when it's mc's birthday

sharing the same birthday with mc

shower thoughts [ nsfw ]

when mc needs surgery

nb timeline part 1: the worst goodbye

nb timeline part 2: welcome home

➤ return to the obey me! masterlist