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creamsickle-writes · 10 months

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Swimming with Sharks: Arlong x F!Reader

Tags: nsfw, unhealthy relationships (Reader is delusional), Reader is kept as a "pet", masturbation, size difference, double penetration, oral sex, Arlong-typical degradation

There had to have been something wrong with you.

You were enamored with a pirate, which was bad enough on its own, but the situation was even more twisted than that, as the pirate you lusted after was the man who had been holding your village captive for the past eight years.

Arlong was a horrible, terrible man.

You felt disgusted with yourself. This wasn’t normal, and it certainly wasn’t healthy. This man had killed villagers, recruited a child to join his slimy crew, and was very open about his views on the “inferior” human race. To him, you were nothing more than a piggy bank, offering your tribute as often as he requested.

But whatever god exists is cruel and loves to play jokes.

You couldn’t help but be enchanted by him. Maybe it was his power, tall stature, or something else entirely, but you wanted him more than anything.

To be his was all you ever desired since Arlong arrived years ago, awakening something inside your teenage heart. You had hoped it was just the hormones acting up or some sort of weird phase, but no, you were in your twenties now, and the fish man still made you hot and bothered.

And as much as you wanted to hate him, to loathe and despise him, you couldn’t.

So when collection day came, you were jittery in anticipation instead of shaking and cowering in fear like an average person would. It was the rare occasion where you got to see him up close, and while he wouldn’t speak with you directly, you would hear his gruff voice ordering his underlings around.

And today, you were very fortunate as Arlong would grace you with his presence once more.

When the fishmen enter the village, the place becomes a ghost town, everyone making themselves scarce as they wait for the pirates to bang on their door.

You peek out the window, your heart racing and your head spinning as you watch them approach your neighbor’s house. You observe in interest, your eyes raking over each man before your eyes finally catch on Arlong, who seems to be conversing with one of his men.

When they head for your door, you’re on the porch before they even get the chance to knock. On the porch are several fishmen, but Arlong seems to be missing. Your face falls in disappointment.

“Well, you’re eager for us to drain your pockets,” one of his crewmates laughs, leaning in to sneer down at you, “Just make sure you hand it all over, or else we’ll have to sic our Captain on you.”

Your ears twitch at that.

You knew what you were thinking was dumb, reckless, and really dangerous, but this was an opportunity to get his attention, and it couldn’t be thrown away.

“Ah, I don’t have any money this month-“you smile nervously, “But maybe I could talk things over with your Captain and-“

As you try to talk your way into meeting with Arlong personally, the fishman you’re speaking to glances over your shoulder, seeing your purse lying on your kitchen table.

“You have nothing, you say?” He asks, clearly not believing a word, “Then what’s this over here?”

He shoves you aside roughly, and you hiss in pain, rubbing the area where he pushed you.

The man starts digging around in your handbag, retrieving enough berries for his month’s payment and then some.

You grow hot in embarrassment as he waves the cash in the air before walking towards the door, “Looks like humans are just as dumb as I thought! They can’t even count properly.”

Shit. There goes the money for food.

As the fishman passes the threshold, you hear him call out, “Hey, Arlong! This human was trying to get out of handing over our money!”

And when he emerges from the rabble of men, your heart races in your chest.

“What’s this now?” His low voice inquires, talking more to you than to his subordinate.

You try to muster the courage to speak, but nothing comes out. Arlong steps forward, crowding your space, and your heartbeat grows louder.

“And why would you ever think of doing that, little human?” The question is definitely more of a threat, and because you are clearly some sort of masochist, your insides throb excitedly.

You answer honestly, “I-I wanted to get your attention-“

His crew bursts out laughing.

“His attention?”

“It’s like a child!”

“What a strange wish!”

Arlong lets his men laugh for a while, but eventually, he raises a hand, making them quiet down.

“And why do you want my attention, pitiful little creature?” He smirks, “Maybe you plan to distract me while your fellow humans attempt to attack my men, is that it?”

“N-No sir, I would never!” You exclaim, “I-I just- well-“

Your stammering wears Arlong’s patience thin, “Out with it already.”

“I-I am entranced by you-“you confess, “A-And I- um-“

Your sentence trails off as he begins pacing around you in circles, his eyes never leaving you for a moment as if he were appraising you, which, in all fairness, he probably was.

“So,” he takes some of your hair, allowing it to fall between his fingers as he assesses you closely, “You’re entranced by me, are you? A human that desires a fishman- now that is something I have never seen before…”

Arlong hums, and you squeal as he hooks a finger under your camisole straps, sliding it past your shoulder as if examining the skin underneath. But clearly, he wasn’t; he was just hoping to get into your head.

And it was working, but in a different way than he anticipated.

“For a human,” he starts, “you’re not terrible looking… I’d even say that you are somewhat attractive.”

“T-Thank you,” your voice quivers, “It’s such great praise to hear you say that, sir.”

“Tell me,” he’s behind you now, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “Do you fear me?”

“Y-Yes sir,” you choke out, “Very much-“

“And yet you are aroused by me. Your logical mind tells you to stay away from me, but you listen to your body instead. Humans are such foolish, primitive creatures.” He chuckles darkly before pulling away from your ear and pacing again so he’s in front of you, his dark eyes glued to your face.

Without taking his eyes off you, he speaks to his crew, “We’ll take this one back with us. I’ve always wanted a pet.”

He wickedly smiles at his words and motions for you to follow when he turns on his heels. You hear several fellow villagers sob when they see you leaving your house with the pirates. They must believe that you are about to be killed, and for all you know, their beliefs could be correct, but in your heart, you don’t believe Arlong will slaughter you.

You hope and pray that your instincts are correct.

The walk to Arlong Park isn’t long, and soon you’re in front of the towering structure. You’ve never seen it up close before, and the building’s intense aura washes over you; the once faraway symbol of your oppression was now directly suffocating you.

“Come,” Arlong orders, and you scurry to his side, “This will be your new place of residence. You will eat when I say so and sleep only where I allow.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

He laughs, “Finally, a human that knows their place.”

He enters the pagoda, and you try to keep up, walking briskly to keep time with his long strides. Arlong leads you upstairs to a rather large bedroom, a bed built for a man of his stature sitting in the middle.

He sits at the edge of the bed and beckons you to come close. You obey without question, standing before him, your hands placed timidly in front of you.

“Remove your clothing,” he commands suddenly, “Make it quick.”

You scramble to remove your top and slide your shorts off your thighs, kicking them to the side. You’re left only in your underwear, your bra never touching your chest today. You hesitate momentarily when your fingers brush over your underwear’s waistband.

“S-Sorry, I’m a bit nervous-“you confess, “No one’s ever seen me naked before-“

“I don’t care about your sentimentality. Although,” Arlong smirks, his eyes raking over your body, “the knowledge that I am the first to lay eyes on you is quite amusing...”

His tone’s clear hunger flusters you, and you slip your panties off, stepping out of them and tossing them aside with your other clothes.

He stands up, towering before you as he looks you over. Without warning, he roughly grabs one of your breasts, causing you to gasp.

“Your breasts barely fill my hand,” he scoffs, squeezing the flesh almost painfully tight, “but what else did I expect? Your body is so pitifully small.”

He huffs and releases you, kneeling before you to examine your exposed pussy. You’re about to cover it up, but Arlong beats you to the punch, using his webbed fingers to spread your lips instead.

“But because you’re so small, I imagine you’ll feel much better around me.”

Your face burns with embarrassment yet anticipation as he slides a finger over your slit. You let out a soft gasp, jolting upright at the touch. He lets out a booming laugh.

“How sensitive!” He mocks you, “I barely graze you, and you jump like a scared cat!”

He removes his hand from your body and stands up, humming to himself, “Yes, I think I’ll make quite good use of you.”

That’s all he says before he walks past you, approaching the door.

You stutter out, “I-Is that all?”

“For now, yes.” Looking over his shoulder, he simply states, “I have more important things that need my attention at the moment.”

And with that, he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.

You were now left alone in what you assumed were his personal quarters.

And the reality of the situation finally sets in: you were taken as Arlong’s plaything. You would probably never get to go back to your regular life ever again. You had signed yourself, body and soul, over to him.

The thought both terrified and excited you.

___

Days pass, and you slowly adjust to your situation, if only slightly. You don’t see Arlong often, and when you do, he barely acknowledges your presence. You figured the unspoken rule was that only Arlong could treat you poorly if desired and that anyone else injuring or degrading you would end in disaster.

And while you enjoyed their kind treatment, you were still chasing after Arlong’s approval and attention.

You wanted him to want you, desire you, maybe even love you. You felt stupid for even falling for a man like him in the first place, and yet here you were, throwing yourself at his feet like a dog.

You sighed as you thought this over in your bed; life wasn’t terrible here, but you wished things could be different. You had your own room but wished you could sleep in his. He wasn’t abusing you, but you wished you had his praise.

The night drags on, and you lay awake in bed, the sounds of the fishmen drinking and laughing rising from outside to your window. You didn’t attend the party tonight, the smell of alcohol and loud conversations not sounding appealing to you today.

You tried closing your eyes to get some rest, but you weren’t tired.

And your mind suddenly remembers that day.

You remember how he touched you the day he took you in, how he grabbed your breast. Your hand slides up to your chest, squeezing harshly to recreate the feeling. It’s not the same, but the sensation reminds you of that moment.

Your body grows excited at the memory.

You bite your lip as your other hand slips between your legs, teasingly sliding over your clothed slit. A moan bubbles up in your throat, and you don’t bother quieting yourself; everyone is outside at the party, so certainly, they wouldn’t hear you.

You rub slow circles into your clit, your back arching slightly as pleasure runs through your body.

Tired of the teasing, you pull your pajama shorts off your body, your underwear following soon behind, and spread your legs eagerly. As your fingers slide over your slit, you imagine Arlong above you, his fingers teasing your most intimate area.

You slide a finger inside but quickly opt for two, trying to replicate how full his fingers would make you feel.

You finger yourself, curling your fingers upwards to stimulate your g-spot. Your mind goes crazy imagining the dirty things he would say to you, and you move your fingers even faster, mashing your sensitive spot the way you imagined he would.

It doesn’t take long to cum, and you’re embarrassed when you realize the thought of him made you orgasm so quickly.

You pull out your fingers, your cum coating them completely. You go to your personal bathroom and prepare to wash your hands and clean your slit.

But for some reason, you feel as though you’re being watched.

You timidly walk back into your bedroom to check things out and jump as you see Arlong sliding open your bedroom door, inviting himself into your space.

You scramble to cover your exposed lower half with still dirty hands, your cum smearing over your pubic mound as you shield yourself, “A-Arlong- sir! I didn’t know you were back-”

“I heard you made yourself scarce,” Arlong hums in an uncharacteristically soft tone, “Everyone was asking about you.”

“About me?” You point to yourself in disbelief.

“Yes, but…” his eyes rake over you, “now I can see you were occupied…”

You shake your head, “W-What? No-“

“Don’t deny it; I could smell the filthy scent of your arousal before I even entered the room.”

His words send a jolt down your spine. You look away in embarrassment, refusing to look him in the eyes.

Arlong smirks, approaching you slowly, his fingers finding their way around your chin and jerking your head upwards so you would look at him.

His voice lowers, his eyes boring into your soul, “And just what were you imagining that aroused you?”

You stutter, unable to answer him, but Arlong expected that you wouldn’t respond in the first place.

He takes your hand, lifting it up to see the mess you had made moments prior. You want to hide it, but fighting him would only test his patience.

His finger swipes over the cum that covers your digits, the webbed appendage collecting the fluid.

He lifts it up to your lips, demanding, “Open.”

You obey immediately, taking his fingers into your mouth. Your tongue slides against his skin, cleaning his digits as thoroughly as possible.

“Disgusting human,” he smirks, “You’ll even lick your own cum off my fingers- absolutely revolting.”

Your face heats up at his insult, and despite his degrading words, you keep licking, sucking them clean. Hell, you keep sucking even when you know nothing is left on his fingers. And when he growls lowly, you can tell the sight affects him.

“Disgusting human indeed,” he hums, looking down at you in disdain, “Look how you react to the mere taste of my fingers… Do you desire more of me now?”

You nod eagerly, pulling his fingers from your mouth, “I-I want you more than anything. I’ve wanted you for so long-“

He growls at your words yet again and presses his body against yours; however, with his height, his crotch is pressed against your chest.

“Desperate thing. You spend all night with your hands in your panties, yet you still crave more.” Arlong tsks, “But it’s no wonder; you were left with only those small fingers of yours. There’s no way something so small can satisfy anyone, not even a human.”

You whine as his words rile you up, your pussy aching for more stimulation, “N-No, I need something more… m-maybe something that only a man your size could provide...”

“Is that right…?” He chuckles a bit at your words.

Your tongue darts over your lips quickly as you reach for the waistband of his pants. He looks down at you with a glint in his eye and a smug grin. He isn’t stopping you; you take that as a good sign.

And if that wasn’t convincing enough, he even says, “Go ahead, pitiful thing…”

You nod and pull his pants down along with his undergarments and gasp in shock.

You weren’t exactly familiar with the differences between fishmen and human anatomy. Of course, you knew they had gills or lungs that were different from yours; they might have tentacles or webbed fingers or things of that nature, but.. you never thought that something like this would be different.

Your mouth gapes in surprise as you see not one but two appendages between his legs. They’re shaped differently than you anticipated, the shafts slender with a slight curve. After he steps out from the discarded garments, you curiously reach a hand out and grab it, testing how the lengthy appendage feels in your hands.

It’s warm, and you gasp when you see the precum dripping onto your hands; its consistency is watery, and it seems to come out like a faucet. You blush at how it effortlessly lubricates your hands, allowing you to stroke even faster.

As you stroke the cock that is on top, you nearly forget the other shaft until it twitches excitedly, hitting your hand and smearing the cum over your wrist. You hurriedly grab the other cock, trying to stroke both simultaneously.

“Ah, I can barely get my hands around them…” You laugh nervously, “They’re huge-”

Arlong gives a cocky, lop-sided smirk, looking down at you as you struggle to wrap your hands around his two shafts.

“The sight of you struggling is pathetic, but…” You gasp as, in an instant, he grabs you, lifting you in the air, “I can’t deny some part of me finds it rather endearing as well.”

Your face lights up in a bright blush at the surprising praise. Your legs wrap around his waist as he sits on the bed, leaning back until his head hits the pillows. Your body is pressed against his, and you gasp as the slick appendages slide against your thigh.

“Go on and finish what you started,” He growls lowly in a seductive tone, “Prove to me just how badly you need me, and if you do well, I’ll reward you.”

You whimper as he takes your chin in hand, tilting your head so you look directly into his eyes, “Does that sound exciting, little one?”

Your heart stops at what sounds like a term of endearment.

“Y-Yes-” You breathe out, almost in a trance, “Yes, I’ll earn that reward, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” He hums, “Remove your shirt. I wish to see all of you before we begin…”

You nod and grab the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head and off your body.

You leave little kisses in your wake as you crawl down his body. Each kiss shows reverence as you worship his body, your lips trailing from his chest to his stomach and finally to the base of his first cock. When you reach it, you gulp as you ponder how to approach this. You’ve never pleased a man before, and definitely not a man with not one large shaft but two.

But you had to try.

You bite your lip as your hands attempt to wrap around both dicks at the same time. Now that your face is level with them, you realize they’re both larger than your head; you begin to wonder just how they’ll fit if Arlong decides to claim you. Will he be merciful and only fuck you with one?

You abandon the thought as quickly as it came; clearly, he wasn’t the merciful type.

You would have to be able to take both at once.

The idea terrifies and excites you.

Your grip is firm as you begin stroking them, glancing up at him with nervous eyes before your gaze flickers back to the task at hand. You moan softly as you watch his cocks jolt and throb under your touch, your pussy growing wet again as you imagine how they would feel stuffed inside you.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” He growls, but you’re surprised at how soft and affectionate it sounds. It almost sounds like a gentle suggestion instead of a command.

You nod and lean forward, taking one of the cocks into your mouth slowly. You take it a bit farther than you anticipated, but probably because of how tapered the tip is. You bob your head slowly, stroking the rest of the shaft with one hand while your hand continues coaxing precum out of the other.

Arlong hums in appreciation, and you melt when his hand pushes back your hair, encouraging you to keep going.

You switch to the other shaft, attempting to take as much down your throat as possible.

In your overzealous attempt, you gag around his cock, and you grow embarrassed. You pull off instantly and begin profusely apologizing: “I-I’m sorry, sir! I-I really am just as disgusting as you say I-”

He cuts you off, “That’s bound to happen. Keep going until I order you to stop.”

Your eyes widen in surprise; was gagging like that normal? He didn’t seem put off by it at all…

You bite your lip before trying again, this time sucking on the cock that rests above the other. You try pacing yourself for your second deepthroating attempt; even though he wasn’t angry about the gagging sounds, you didn’t want to actually throw up around him.

You slowly bob your head, ensuring both hands are full of him, and begin hollowing your cheeks, attempting to make a tighter hole for his pleasure. You inevitably gag again as his cock hits the back of your throat, but soon enough, it gets easier, and you’re able to take him down even further. You hit the halfway point before deciding not to push your luck, determining this was your limit. Soon enough, you find a rhythm, bobbing your head for some time before pulling off his shaft, your tongue swirling around the tapered head to coax out more precum. Eventually, you switch back and forth between the two dicks, trying your best to give both an equal amount of attention.

As you please him, you can’t help but sneak glances at his face, ensuring he’s enjoying himself.

Each time you look at him, his brows are furrowed as his eyes are shut tight, quiet grunts escaping his throat. Your pussy throbs as he gets more vocal, and you can’t help but to whine around his shaft, voicing your frustrations as your holes feel terribly empty.

Your needy sounds don’t go unnoticed.

“Oh,” he coos, clearly belittling you, “It sounds like you’re growing antsy… Was there something you wanted, little human?”

You pull off his cock with your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You breathe heavily, your eyes pleading as you beg, “Please, sir. I need you in me-”

He gives a cocky smirk, “I’m already in your mouth, and yet you want more? You’re a greedy little thing…”

“Please, I’m begging,” You whine, “I need you inside me- Please, sir, fuck me-!”

He hums, his interest clearly piqued by your desperate begging, “And why do you deserve it, hm? What have you done to deserve such an honor?”

You part your lips to answer, but your mind goes blank.

“Go on,” He puts on the pressure, “Speak.”

You finally stutter, “I don’t deserve them, but I’ll do anything to earn them. I-I’ll swallow all your cum, I-I’ll let you use my body any way you like, just please- please fill me up and fuck me until I can’t think-”

Your face radiates warmth as you realize what you just said; you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but god, as your slick drips onto the bed under you, you can’t lie: you really will do anything for him to take you.

Arlong makes an amused little sound; it seems your babbling has caught his interest.

You give one final push, “Please give me a purpose; please let me be useful to you, sir. I’m begging you to use my body- I want to please you- please, let me be a good girl for you-“

“Mm, what a good little human you are,” he hums, his tone patronizing as he looks down at you, “So eager to please… It would be a waste to not take advantage of your devotion and desperation…”

Your eyes light up, and your heart races, excited that he’s finally accepted you.

“Now…” He hums, “How should I take you…”

You shudder as his eyes rake over your body before he motions for you to sit on him. You straddle him and gasp when he holds your hips, his large hands encapsulating your waist. Your heart pounds as he lines one of his cocks up with your pussy, your juices dripping onto him. He laughs a bit when he feels the slick oozing onto him but doesn’t say anything, not about your arousal anyway.

“While I may be a demanding master, I am not heartless…” He says, rubbing the tip of one of his cocks against your entrance, “You’ll take just one first before I add the second…”

Your throat goes dry, but you nod, steadying yourself by planting your hands on his broad chest.

You wince and hiss in pain when he begins to lower you onto his shaft. Even though it’s barely inside you, it already feels like it’s too much to bear. But you attempt to endure it and keep your pained sounds to a minimum, not wanting Arlong to get annoyed by your discomfort.

Your thighs shake, and eventually, you feel his pelvis pressed against your mound. You whimper as you feel completely stuffed, your stomach bulging slightly as he finally sheathes himself within you. A shaky sigh leaves your lips as, for the first time, you’re filled by someone else.

You’re surprised when he doesn’t order you to move immediately, giving you a few moments to adjust.

It’s almost like he actually cares about you.

As you’re seated on top of him, his hands reach out to knead your breasts, his thumbs sliding over your hardened nipples. You whine shamelessly, rocking your hips back and forth as you grind your clit into his pelvis.

“Look at you,” He chuckles, “Rubbing your needy clit against anything you can… I’m starting to think it’s not humans as a whole that are this desperate, but just you in particular.”

Your face burns in shame as he calls out your slutty behavior, but that doesn’t stop you. In fact, it only encourages you to begin riding him, sliding maybe an inch or so upwards before slowly sinking back down. You try to move slowly and carefully as you’re stretched beyond your limits, the pain still stinging as you begin fucking yourself.

And after some time, you release that it actually feels really good-

Your mouth hangs open as you take him with deeper strokes, your hips lifting up to the halfway point before slamming down. Your loud moans and whines fill the room as you fuck him, his cock hitting all the right spots. You begin to drool as his cock slams against your cervix, making your legs feel weak. You start to melt atop him, your thrusts growing sporadic and sloppy.

Arlong tsks as he watches you fall apart, your face nuzzled in his chest as you pathetically grind and frantically slam your hips against his.

“Is this really your best effort?” He teases, “I thought you said you would please me… and yet here you are, only using me for your pleasure. How selfish, little human…”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. I promise I can be useful-” You begin to babble, “I can be a good girl- I can take whatever you give me- fuck me- please- use me-”

Arlong clicks his tongue before gripping your waist and slamming into you on his own. You gasp sharply as he hits your furthest walls and begins his relentless assault.

“You are so pathetic,” He growls, “I’ll just have to fuck into you myself as if you were an object.”

And he does precisely that, his thrusts from below causing your body to jolt and jostle above him. You feel your brain go numb, every thought you could possibly have leaving your head. Your body works purely on instinct, grabbing his shoulders as your face rests on his chest, your drool beginning to leak onto his skin. The sounds of skin smacking against itself fills the room, along with wet squelches.

“I’m so close-” You say dumbly, “Please, let me cum! Please-!”

“Good girl, asking for permission,” He grunts, “Go ahead.”

Your legs shake violently, and your back aches as your cunt squeezes him tight, attempting to milk him. But he doesn’t climax, not yet; You’re the only one reaching that beautiful high, your voice growing raspy as you cry out for him. Your nails dig into his chest and shoulders as you try to grip onto something, anything, to keep you grounded. You feel as though your soul is floating out of your body.

It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, without a doubt.

As you’re left panting, attempting to recover from the intense experience, Arlong laughs at you; but to your surprise, it’s not malicious. He seems genuinely amused, even proud, at how he caused such a reaction from you.

“Look at you…” He hums, his hands raking over your body, his palms running over your hips and chest before reaching your cheeks, “You’re exhausted, and I’ve hardly begun using you…”

Your body feels limp as he lifts you up, attempting to place you on your hands and knees before him. But you can’t do it; your knees wobble, and your thighs shake as a warning before you fall forward, falling flat on your face. You try to lift yourself up, but even your arms feel boneless.

Arlong lets out an amused sound, “It seems you can no longer hold yourself up… It looks like I will have to support you myself…”

You let out a drawn-out groan as Arlong picks you up like a doll, flipping you around and holding you close to him as he stands beside the bed. Your legs dangle as your thighs are pressed to his sides, one of his shafts poking against your sopping wet entrance.

“I let you off easy earlier,” He whispers, “But you’ve proven that you can handle one, so now you will take both…. I expect that you won’t complain.”

You nodded your head; while you were exhausted, you were also more than eager to cum again. Though, as you feel them both press against your hole, a feeling of uncertainty pokes and prods at you.

But you ignore it.

Arlong is able to lift your body with one hand, balancing you in his palm as if you are weightless. With his other hand, he takes both shafts, lining them up before pressing them both inside.

At first, it isn’t difficult to accept them both; his dicks are tapered at the top, meaning the initial stretch isn’t too bad. But then he keeps pulling you down, inch by inch, penetrating you. You grit your teeth as the feeling nearly feels unbearable, your hole clinging to his shafts as you are stretched more than ever.

You throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder, biting your lip as you whine.

Your sounds grow louder as he lifts your hips, guiding you up and down on his cocks. He thrusts into you fast, not giving you time to adjust the way you did before. You feel as though you could split in two, but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

You moan desperately into his shoulder, babbling and whining as you’re tossed around like an object. The whole ordeal is so humiliating, but you can’t deny that you are enjoying it all the same.

“I knew you were greedy,” He grunts, “But this is ridiculous; You’re stuffed full, and all you can do is whine and beg for more. You are the most shameless human I’ve ever known.”

Your lip quivers as you try to form words, but your vocal cords fail you; all you can do is whine and moan, clinging tight to his body.

He laughs at your desperation, “Though, it’ll be nice to have a toy so eager to be used. I’ll keep you for quite a while, I imagine..”

He continues his fast and harsh pace, bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more. Your legs quiver, and your body grows terribly hot, sweat building on your skin. You hold your breath as you ready yourself for your climax, the lack of oxygen making your head dizzy. And, in your dazed state, you lift your head and smash your lips against his.

And, to your surprise, he actually kisses you back.

With your lips pressed against his and your fingers tangled in his thick, dark hair, you finally release.

He grunts loudly into your lips, and with one final forceful thrust, you feel your insides flood with warmth. His hips slow, and with your cavern too stuffed for anything else to fit, his cum begins to dribble out of you.

Your lips part, and you stutter, “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kiss you without your permission!”

He only rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, “And yet I feel as though you’re only apologizing because you did so without permission, not because you’re actually sorry.”

You avert your eyes, and you feel yourself slowly lowered onto the bed, your back caressed by the soft sheets.

“I will say,” He begins, “I enjoyed your sudden display of boldness; it just shows how excited you were in the moment… I will allow it for now.”

Your eyes widen at his pardon, and you nod slowly, “Thank you, sir.”

“Now, rest easy, little human.” He says quietly, stepping back once you rest entirely on the bed.

“Wait,” You interject, propping yourself on your elbows, “You’re leaving?”

He laughs as if dismissing you, “Were you expecting me to stay with you?”

Your heart feels a pang of pain, and you visibly deflate, clearly disappointed. Of course, this entire thing meant nothing to him, and while you should’ve expected this, it didn’t make it hurt any less. Your eyes trail off, looking down at the edge of the bed as you fill with this indescribable loneliness.

His eyes linger on you for a moment and you can’t help but look up at him, trying to discern why he hasn’t abandoned you yet.

“Most masters don’t sleep in the same beds as their pets. But…” he hums, “I suppose for humans, it is a fairly common occurrence…”

You perk up at his words.

Is he saying what you think he is…?

“I will allow it just this once,” He insists, “But never again, do you understand?”

And that’s good enough for you because you knew owners who insisted on such things never kept their word.

#cream's fics #arlong x reader #arlong #one piece smut #x reader #fanfiction #it ended up being longer than anticipated #hope you all enjoy!

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sycamorelibrary754 · 5 months

Text

The Piggy Story

Summary: Yelena is Melina’s Secret Santa and takes a crack at a few handmade piggy presents!

Pairing: Yelena x reader (platonic), Natasha x reader, Alexei Alanovich Shostakov x reader (platonic) Melina Vostokoff x reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

A/N: If you read Happy Thanksgiving, you will understand this story. If you didn’t, please enjoy the random silly fluffiness. 😂

For two weeks Yelena had been sneaking around putting everyone on edge. Coming and going at all hours of the night. Not letting you tag along like you normally would when she would walk Fanny. At first, you thought maybe she was preparing for an undercover assignment. Every time you asked her what was up, she evaded answering the question with a face that said, “If I tell you, I have to kill you.” Honestly, it was par for the course. You had learned not to overthink your sister-in-law’s idiosyncrasies. If it was possible, they made you love her even more.

You were still in your pajamas playing cards with Wanda on the sofa of the common room when Natasha walked in. “Hey detka, have you seen Yelena? She was supposed to be in a briefing with me and Steve 20 minutes ago.”

“No, I haven’t,” placing your cards face down on your lap. “Not since this morning anyway.”

“She’s been acting odd lately,” Nat said.

“Odd in general, or odd for her because you know there’s a difference,” Wanda offered.

“That’s true,” pointing at Wanda.

“If you see your best friend, would you tell her that her sister is going to kick her ass?”

“Aye aye wifey,” you giggled with a mock salute and a quick peck to her lips.

Your wife rolled her eyes, “It’s a wonder I married you.”

*^~^*

The next day you and Yelena were putting up Christmas decorations around the compound. You were dancing around the halls in your favorite Christmas sweater singing happily.

“Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

Peter’s on the go

Laughing all the way

Bells on Fanny ring

Making Tony fight

Wanda wants to flip a coin

And sing this song tonight

Jingle bells, Clinton smells

Banner laid an egg

Ant mobile lost a wheel

And Loki got away

Hey!”

“That was very nice, y/n, now how about something from White Christmas?” Handing you a cup of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream.

No can do, boo. Only one performance per Christmas season,” sitting beside her on the sofa.

You both took a small sip of the chocolate beverage, the steam still rising hypnotically off the mug.

“You know, one of mom’s pigs is named Clinton.” Yelena grinned sheepishly.

“Really? That’s funny, I only know Alexi,” slurping some of the whipped cream off the top of your hot cocoa.

“Mom named Alexi, then she asked if Natasha and I would do the honors of naming the other two. Clinton was the poser’s choice.”

“I can’t believe Nat never told me. What name did you choose?” You took another sip of your beverage.

“Sir Francis Bacon.”

You almost choke on your hot cocoa, as you sputter and it rolls down your chin. “Oh my God. That’s adorable! You’ll have to point out which is which when we go to your parents house for Christmas next week.”

“You’ve got some whipped cream on your cheek.” Leaning over and licking it off.

“Oh my God! Who are you, Fanny?! I don’t know where your tongue has been! Ick!! Get some hot water, get some disinfectant, get some iodine!” You jumped up and ran to the bathroom as Yelena lapsed into giggles and fell on the floor.

*^~^*

The next few days are a splendor of Christmas activities. You had just settled down on the sofa wrapped in your favorite blanket to watch The Family Stone with the rest of the team when you noticed you were missing someone.

“Where’s Yelena?”

“In my lab,” Tony replied, tossing popcorn up in the air and catching it in his mouth.

“Umm, why?” Slightly confused.

“Blondie wanted a private space to work on a project. I told her she could use the lab as long as she didn’t joyride any of the suits.”

“Yelena in your lab with unlimited access to nanotechnology.” Nat pondered, grabbing two Christmas cookies and offering you one before snuggling up beside you in your blanket ball.

“Go down there and ask her if she wants to watch the movie,” you said, throwing popcorn across the room at Kate.

“Why me?” The young archer asked.

“Because you’re closer, and she’s starting to freak me out,” you reasoned.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. FRIDAY has an eye on her.” Tony said.

*^~^*

You awoke at Melina and Alexi’s on Christmas morning to the wonderful smell of Cinnamon Rolls and coffee. You agreed to do Secret Santas with your wife’s family this year. You and Natasha were wearing your matching Christmas pajamas ready to exchange presents, but Yelena was unusually eager and insisted on going first.

“I’m so excited! Mama, I was your Secret Santa this year and I wanted to try my hand at a homemade gift,” Yelena said, grabbing Melina’s tablet from the counter and tapping a few buttons on the touchscreen. “Come on in, boys!”

The door opened and all three of Melina’s pigs toddled into the house. As the three swine rounded the corner, you were greeted with the sight of each one wearing a custom-crocheted vest. Red on Alexi, Purple on Clinton, and Orange on Sir Francis Bacon. Each vest was expertly crafted and adorned with their name. Piggy prestige at its finest.

“Surprise, Mama! Now, not only will the piggies be warm in the winter, but they are stylish individuals with lots of pockets!”

“The pigs are wearing vests,” Nat deadpanned. You squeezed her hand with a smile, a silent plea to be nice.

“Not vests, sestra. Pests! Piggy vests. An invention of my own creation.” Yelena corrected. “Just call me the next Tony Stark.”

“The pigs are wearing Pests,” you revised with a giggle.

Thank you so much, sweetheart! They are wonderful. You know, I always thought they needed some sort of clothing. The winters are so harsh in Russia, and they certainly deserve something special.” Melina declared, planting a kiss on her younger daughter’s cheek.

“Alexi has the best Pest! Look at him, girls. He looks just like the Red Guardian. Ready to take on Captain America.” Alexi added, petting his namesake.

“Oh my God, it’s like living in a Dr. Seuss book,” Nat joked.

“I didn’t know you knew how to crochet?” Turning to your best friend.

“I didn’t. No, no… Kate Bishop does though. She taught me. It only took $100 for the yarn and supplies, which I stole from Stark, and a promise to never show up in the middle of the night again unless it’s an emergency.”

“That’s where you were sneaking out to at all hours of the day and night?” Surprise written all over your face.

“Of course, where did you think I was going?” Yelena asked.

“Undercover, the Multiverse, I don’t know!” Turning beat red the longer she looked at you. “You were scaring the crap out of everyone.”

“Ha! That is funny. You are so funny, y/n.” She placed her hands on yours and Natasha’s shoulders. “Now, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but by New Year’s Eve, a couple of people in this room are going to be stylish individuals as well!” Wrapping you both in a warm group hug.

Natasha looked over at you behind Yelena’s back, and you couldn’t help but smile. Merry Christmas, indeed.

#yelena belova #natasha romanoff x reader #red guardian #melina vostokoff #fluff #mcu #the avengers #wanda maximoff #tony stark #kate bishop

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hiwelcometothemonstersancturary · 1 month

Note

How does The Prototype react to each toy calling him “dad” for the first time, as well as Angel referring to him as a Father to the toys for the first time?

Anon please know I'm SCREAMING.

Being realistic, I doubt a majority of the toys would see him as a dad, but it's our save everyone AU and we can make it as wholesome as possible! So what I think is:

Prototype's overall reaction is always a mix of him internally being close to tears, trembling and screaming and him externally just going "oh ok guess i. guess i have another kid now".

Catnap/Theo was, of course, the first one to call him that. It was when Theo had a very bad fever when he still was a normal human child, and Prototype comforted him when he woke up in the middle of the night. Theo accidentally called him dad before going to bed, and Prototype had to collect himself for a moment.

Theo would continue to accidentally call him that from time to time, and internally Prototype/Elliot did start to view him as HIS kid.

Catnap called him dad again when he was eletrocuted by Angel and was begging Prototype to end his pain, only for Angel to throw themself at the feline before the killing blow was delivered. And Catnap did that once again during the confrontation in order to get Prototype/his god to realize that he too deserves to leave the factory.

After Angel and co leave Playtime and move to a farm house, Prototype starts living with them. It takes a while for him and Catnap to have a proper talk about their relationship and the whole cult thing, and when they do it involves a lot of tears and apologies and years of unresolved issues between the two of them being brought back. After this long talk, Catnap does his best to drop his view of the Prototype as his god to start fully viewing him as his dad, and Prototype is so happy with this.

After that Angel jokingly says "your kid is asking for help" when Catnap gets his tail wrapped around a tree.

It takes a long time for any other toy to start viewing him in a better way after the +10 years of living within the factory. Most of the toys, with Angel's help, stop viewing him as the boogeyman or the guy who'll take their remains once they die and start seeing him as just the weird guy who lives in the farm's hut and patrols at night in search of possible intruders.

Speaking of patrols: Picky Piggy is the 2nd one to call him dad, but everyone only finds out after most of the Smiling Critters start doing that. She's the one who takes care of the farm the most and has been getting close to the Prototype for the past year, since he's always patrolling the farm to make sure no intruders are around, and accidentally makes the birds go away, stopping them from eating the corn and veggies. He listens to Picky when she breaks down from guilt from half-eating three of her friends, reminds her to eat properly, etc. She says dad by accident, nervously apologizes and Prototype (being THIS close to crying because what do you mean he has a New Precious Daughter) says it's okay. She avoids doing it when others are around until Prototype is viewed in a better light by them, and he' I's VERY emotional about it because to him he was just helping Angel deal with their traumatized kids. He goes to tell Angel about it and he's so confused but SO happy. Angel gives him a thumbs up.

Miss Delight is next. Much like with calling Angel dad and mom it just sort of comes naturally to her after living with them for long enough. Delight enjoys asking lots of questions and Prototype enjoys answering them, and then! Bam! He calms her down when Angel takes far too long to come back home one day and she feels like they're abandoning her and oh no she'll be all alone again just like it was back at Playtime. Delight figures having one extra parent is good for everyone in the long-run and hits Prototype with the "dad!" beam. He LOVES it, frankly, Delight was already his kid since the moment she asked Prototype if she could study how his body works, girlie takes no time satisfying her own curiosity and he's so amused by her. Yes girl!!!! Hit him with that Child Wonder!!!! Also be careful because Catnap got too comfy with being a single kid.

The next toy to put Prototype under the dad-ification beam is Poppy, because she was Elliot's og adopted daughter and Angel only finds that out after a whole year, and because PROTOTYPE told them about him being Elliot. Angel drags his ass to talk to Poppy about the situation and the doll is obviously in SHOCK. Lots of talk about why Prototype locked her in the case (he didnt want the other toys to kill her), why he never told her about anything (because she didnt know how bad things actually were for the toys), why he tried to stop her (because he didnt want his only daughter to die). Angel suggests Prototype, Catnap and Poppy to go on a hiking trip, and when they come back Poppy is calling him her dad.

The other toys finds out about that and then suddenly so many things make sense. They dont thing what he did is right but they get it now.

Huggy, Boxy Boo, Bunzo and the mini critters are next. Their logic is that he did a lot of bad things but also he's doing better, and if Poppy, the "leader" of the toys is calling him dad, then he's also their dad! The mini critters have wanted to refer to him like that for SO long because he's Catnap's dad and they all love Catnap, so now they officially have him as a sibling. RIP Catnap's single child title. Prototype is confused by the sudden increase in children under his name but he has the spirit.

Next users of the fatherification beam are Bobby and Kickin. With Prototype leaving his hut more often and with Picky confessing to Bobby and Poppy about the whole dad thing, the bear really warms up to him, esp with him trying to learn how to braid Poppy's hair. Kickin was following them around to "keep an eye on what the Prototype is doing" but in the end he convinced Catnap to do something monumentally stupid and dangerous and Prototype stopped them from breaking their legs and giving then a whole parent monologue about safety. "Okay, MOM", Kickin sarcastically replies, hears Bobby saying "awnt 🥺" and realizes what he did. Prototype is amused until he notices Kickin sometimes non-ironically refers to him as a parent, then he is off again to Angel to tell them about the progress. Angel is not impressed.

Kissy follows suit because it feels natural, as some of her best friends refer to Prototype as their dad and he's actually proving himself to deserve the title (making sure Kickin or Hoppy don't break their necks, for example).

Craftycorn is next. She's a bit wary of him for a long time, but with the toys realizing more and more that the Prototype is just a guy sometimes. She's one of the few toys that actually help him when he enters a dissociation or PTSD episode, and given enough time she politely asks if she can refer to him as he dad because he also helps her during her bad days and episodes. She just drops the question as he braids her hair. Poppy, Kissy and Bobby are also there and they all see him pause for a moment before hesitantly agreeing to the idea. Crafty is very happy! Another parent for her!

Mommy Long Legs still has beef with Prototype from that one time he stopped her from attacking Catnap +6 years ago. He doesn't remember, only realizes it after Catnap tells him. I think that with time, and with Prototype cutting off the other toys when they try to put Mommy into the caretaker role even when she's tired of that, she warms up to him. I think Prototype and her have a Talk about the Ollie situation, and he tells MLL that her disliking being the caretaker isnt her fault. She was just a kid, they took away her choice. She ends up crying so much, because Prototype is saying the same thing Angel told her, and she doesn't know why but having him tell her that is reassuring. She starts thinking of him as her second parent after that, refering to him as both dad and father. Prototype once again was NOT expecting that turn of events and he indeed cries once again because he's just happy Long Legs is finally recovering, even if it's just a tiny bit.

I think that by the time Long Legs gives him that title most of the smaller toys see him as parent #2 as well! And Prototype is happy by each and every toy starting to call him that.

Something EXTREMELY amusing happens when Angel is asking for pizza on the phone and Catnap and Mommy Long Legs are fighting with Poppy over who gets to sleep in Angel's room and Prototype tells them to cut it off and leave Angel at least ONE night of rest. Angel on the phone stops for a moment before saying "uh, please ignore all the screaming, the kids are pretty agitated today", then asks Prototype if he wants a pizza, then goes back to the phone to say "the kids, uh...", and a pause. "... Second parent? Wants two of pepperoni". When they end the phone call to turn back at the group Prototype is just "?????", and Angel tells him that overall consensus is that he's dad #2.

Prototype is not normal about that in the slighest but pretends he is. Cue to him the following 2 weeks going "!!!!! i'm paren't #2!!!!!" all the time.

Hoppy starts viewing the Prototype in a better light after she gives Catnap another chance and forgives him, because our girl did indeed notice Prototype trying to genuinely help Catnap in a normal way for once, and she also did notice Prototype trying to be better. But also she's bitter and she yells a LOT at him. Girl doesn't try to bit an arm of his off because she's physically incapable of doing that for the first year and a half. Catnap has the brilliant idea of inviting her to a hunting trip with the Prototype when she's finally allowed to do that, not expecting his dad and her enter a hunting competition against each other. After that it's Hoppy play fighting Prototype so she can stand a chance against play fighting Catnap, and then she realizes far too late she kind of... TOLERATES... The guy who caused the Hour of Joy. I feel like it takes her some time even after that, but when she does call him dad Prototype feels honored. He's glad he's doing better even for her, despite all the play fighting and the competition between her and Catnap. Dare I say... He enjoys teaching toys how to hunt because it reminds him of teaching baby Catnap how to do that.

Bubba sees his stubborn friend calling Prototype "dad" and is just. Confused. I mean, he appreciates the fact the guy is proving himself to be decent, because otherwise Bubba would have already made a plan to get rid of him in order to protect his #1 parent, but also what the hell! And then he decides to follow his favorite sister (Miss Delight) because Prototype has been teaching her some things regarding the experiments, and Bubba has a hard time keeping track of the "class" until this triggers a dissociation episode. Both Delight and Prototype are able to calm him down, and then after that Bubba has a Talk with the big guy, because "how can you keep track of your own mind after everything that's been happening, because I can't and this is bothering me for far too long and I really REALLY need to go back to normal-", only for Prototype to tell him that. He can't. He can't just bounce back to being like before. And Bubba is annoyed, because Angel told him exactly that, and then he asks what he's even supposed to do now. "Adapt to how you are changing", Prototype tells him.

It also takes Bubba some more time, but after many long conversations with Prototype about mental health and what he should do, he tells the big guy he is truly deseving to be the group's second parent and Angel's helper. Prototype is pretty honest and tells him this is what he has been trying to be since he agreed to leave Playtime co, and although they don't share a hug, Prototype gives him a pat.

Dogday... Is very torn on the idea. In one hand he spent months in pain due to Catnap believing the guy to be his god, on the other hand said guy is actually owning up to his mistakes and helping Dogday's single parent take care of everyone. Dogday thanks the Prototype for helping Picky, but only refers to him as his parent I think two years after Prototype starts doing progress, when all other Smiling Critters agree on him now deserving the title. Prototype feels like he just received a medal of honor from the kid he felt has been one of the most hurt by his inability to talk with Catnap, and although glad he's NERVOUS because what if he dissapoints the kid. What if he fails as a parent. What if things don't get better, etc etc, but Dogday genuinely sees him as someone who's doing his best, and although calling him "dad" still feels too weird sometimes he's happy with that. Because things got better for everyone, and now Dogday feels truly safe in the little heaven they all built as a family. Probably gives Prototype the tightest hug he's capable of giving because frankly Dogday is just. Happy. There's no other word for that, just pure genuine happiness.

Prototype is extremely glad and may or may have not given Dogday a pat in order to say thank you. Prototype wanted the title for so long, and after Dogday's approval it feels like he actually is doing better for everyone.

I think that's everyone! This post was longer than expected but anyways, hope this is cohesive enough! Thank you for the ask and free brainrot <3

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billythenightguard · 3 months

Text

Run Away: Detention (2011) & FNAF Movie Crossover - Chapter Seven

Masterlist

Mentions: self harm, bullies, Cinderhella (brief)

Word Count: 875

Warnings: same as mentions

Older!Clapton/Mike x GN!Reader

Finally, a day off for you and Mike, the owner wanted to fix the security cameras and some other miscellaneous items, so you and Mike at last had a day off together, but you hadn’t known that yet, still peacefully asleep in his bed. Mike opened the front door and trekked in quietly at 4:30 in the morning, an hour before you were meant to show up to Freddy’s.

“Hey,” he said softly, hating that he’d have to wake you.

“Mmph, not now Clapton… too early.” You mumbled, not fully awake, not realizing whose name you said. It made Mike’s chest tighten as he bit his lower lip, hating that now he was outright lying to you.

“Not Clapton, sweetheart.” He murmured, “it’s Mike. We have the day off today.”

You sat up slowly and rubbed your eyes, blinking up at him, “we do?”

“Mhm, there’s a bunch of technical dudes there, with a paper signed by none other than Mr. Afton himself.”

“Want your bed back?”

“Not yet, you go back to sleep okay? I’ll take Abby to school, rest as much as you need.” His words warmed you as you settled back into his bed, face buried in the pillow and letting the cologne engulf you once again.

“Sleep, you know you need it.” Clapton said to you sweetly, stroking your hair as you laid on his bed, tears stained your cheeks from the past hour spent crying into his chest. “I’ll be just downstairs okay? I want to make us some dinner.”

“M’kay…” you had murmured, falling asleep easily, Clapton smiled and watched you for five minutes before his gaze hardened and he got up, grabbing his old baseball bat.

“Don’t!” Smash. “Fuck!” Smash. “With!” Smash. “My!” Smash. “Best friend!!” He yelled, his baseball bat colliding with the metal and windows of the old ‘98 Chevy, the boy who was not only his age, but had asked you out only to humiliate you. He was ready to kill this boy, to make him hurt physically like you were hurting mentally.

“They’re fucking awesome! They’re incredibly smart, kind, and loving! And you hurt them?!” He pointed his bat at the boy who ran out, his chest heaving. It was how he got arrested at 18, how at 13 you brought the police yours and his piggy bank’s savings for his bail, the sheriff wasn’t fond of Clapton’s actions, but he could appreciate your effort to free your best friend, so he covered the remaining $75 of the $300 bail.

Your eyes slowly blinked open, fluttering to adjust to the sunlight peeking in from the blinds, a smile on your face as you recalled your dream, how Clapton had told you what he had done for you.

“I miss you Clapton, more than you know.” You whispered, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side, stretching slowly as the faint smell of breakfast filled your senses. You walked out to go greet Mike, noticing he was shirtless, most likely doing laundry as you heard the faint hum of the washer. But your eyes couldn’t tear apart from one spot. His lower back on the left side. The scar you knew too well. Your mouth felt dry, your throat seemed to close as questions filled your head, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Clapton.” You said firmly, watching how his shoulders tensed for a second, and then he turned to you and smiled.

“Are you still in dreamland? It’s Mike.” He chucked, those deep brown eyes, the faint sunbleach in his brown curls, the way his smile created the dimples you adored. You stepped towards him, tears in your eyes and rage filling you. He lied. For months.

“Liar,” was all you said, watching the panic set in just before you slapped him.

“I can explain!” He stammered out, grabbing your hand, hardly flinching from your slap, it hurt, but he was scared to look away. “Please, please let me explain.”

“You left me!” You shrieked, trying to get out of his grip, “for ten years! Not a text, a call, a card, nothing! I was alone, Clapton!”

“I’m sorry!” He pulled you into a hug, tightly holding you to him as you beat against his back.

“I was so blind! So fucking blind!”

“I-”

“You don’t get to speak, Clapton Micheal Davis!!” You cried, shoving yourself back from him, trying to avoid the wounded look he gave you. “You left, and then you lied to me… for months.”

“It was to keep you safe.” He said quietly, willing himself to not cry.

“I would have been safer with you!”

“No, you don’t get it, Sander-”

“Oh, like he was the problem? Not the fucking bullies, or the guys and girls who would humiliate me, not myself?!”

Yourself? His eyes flicked to your arms, he barely saw them before you crossed your arms over your chest, his heart dropped to his stomach and he felt sick. Not you, not his firecracker. He knew his absence caused this.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, head hung low as he felt tears escaping.

“Leave me alone…” and with that, you had left, the front door opening and closing, and Mike was alone in the world again, his sobs filling the kitchen as he sat down at the table.

Tags: @na-is-salty @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @mad-die45 @cancelledkaley @mschmidt @dessxoxsworld @madihatter0

#billyjustexists #billyistired #detention 2011 #fnaf #mike schmidt #run away #clapton davis #mike schimdt x reader #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt angst #fnaf mike #mike schmidt fnaf #clapton davis angst #clapton davis x you #clapton davis x reader #clapton #bje run away

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raccoonspooky · 10 months

Text

Miss Piggy.

Billy Lenz x Female Reader. Rated E, 6k words.

Y/N device is not used in this fic. Second person, Billy pov.

(Femdom, dubious consent, Billy being gross. Character exploration. Full list of tags & description on ao3)

Miss Piggy is cruel.

Miss Piggy cuffed Billy to a table and spread him open like a frog to be dissected.

Stripped him naked. Secured his wrists and ankles to something out of sight. Attached to his thighs is another contraption, something with a metal bar that keeps him from closing his legs.

He’s sure that he must look like a sight. Billy would love to see Miss Piggy tied up like this. Trussed up like a Christmas ham. It’s unfair that Billy is in your position. He’s supposed to get you, not the other way around! Hasn’t anyone told you the rules? You've already been given your role. You're the whore. You're supposed to stumble over yourself running away while screaming and begging for something to save you! You're not supposed to conk him over the head with something. You don’t play fair!

It’s unfair to keep him like this. He should kill you for this. He wants to kill you for this. The only thing keeping Billy coherent is daydreaming of killing you. You’d scream and cry like aaall the other little sluts. You're not special. Miss Piggy might be clever, she might’ve won this round but she’d die like all the rest. You’ll die like all the rest. He can’t wait to see you in pieces, broken and useless in a heap. He’ll bleed you like the pig you are and you’ll feel stupid for ever thinking you were anything better than a dumb slut.

Miss Piggy treats him like meat. She treats him like a thing.

With his legs spread and secured and his arms forced still above his head, she could slice him from sternum to groin like a bullfrog in middle school science class. All of his squishy insides would spill out to stain Mrs. Piggy's hands and ruin her table. She's never done this before. Maybe she'd want to make a mess.

The phantom sensation of the cool press of a sharp knife appears at his throat. The bite of metal is ticklish, he wants to tuck his chin but he can barely move his jaw. He can do nothing as the knife begins to slice through his body without resistance. It glides like sharp scissors against crinkly wrapping paper. It makes him want to sneeze. He wants to wriggle and dance the discomfort away, but he can’t move. Miss Piggy has him tied tight. He wants to mimic the sound of sharp scissors but Miss Piggy stuck something in his mouth and he can barely move his tongue. If he contorts his wrist inward, he can just barely touch his restraints with his middle finger but he can't touch them otherwise.

His guts feel like eels, they slip and slide over each other and he wants to dig his fingers into the mess. He wants to tie them in knots, he wants to know what it's like to have nothing inside of himself. No bones. Just empty skin with his entrails strewn around himself like a red, juicy bird’s nest. All wet and dripping, he'd be nothing but a loose bag of flesh. Like the way Virgin Mary’s covered in her red robe as she stands in the middle of her halo that flutters outward, tinged with red and pink. Billy’s always thought Virgin Mary in the paintings always looked like a gaping cunt. Lying slut. She wasn’t a virgin. Whoever fucked baby Jesus into her wasn’t God. She let some dirty, nasty person violate her whore cunt that she promised to someone else and she lied to the world because that’s what whores do.

Now the world dresses up in red and green and people make up more lies in honor of the biggest lie ever told by god’s favorite whore. Little baby Jesus was brought into the world, doomed from the start because of his slut mother and now Billy has to endure the awful awful holiday songs that loop themselves over and over in his head. It's a holly jolly nothing Billy’s never even seen a partridge in a pear tree!

The twinkling lights that everyone else seems to enjoy hurt his head. Too many of them cause blade-like streaks of visual distortion to start slicing his thoughts apart. Too many smells. Too many sounds. Cinnamon is too itchy, pine is too sneezy. Eggnog smells rotten like death. Bells. Singing. Commercial jingles screaming at you to BUY BUY BUY. Too many smiling little sluts spoiled rotten by their daddies. Sit on a fat old man’s lap and you’ll get all the lipsticks and panties that a slut could ever want!

He wants to belt out a Ho Ho Ho like Santa but all he can do is let his lungs expand with the sound that’s coming alive only to suffocate, stillborn before he can let it escape. He curls his toes and shifts his shoulders but nothing he does helps the noise find a way out. Santa is stuck inside of him and he wants the chubby old pervert out.

Billy wants to open his mouth like a baby bird. He wants to squawk and squawk but the only noise he can emit is weak, wet garbling that makes his jaw ache. The gag in his mouth is secured too tightly for him to speak. He can’t open his mouth any wider and drool spills helplessly from his lips. It runs down his chin to collect in the divot between his collarbones and his bottom lip is cold and wet like a puppy dog’s nose. Is he a puppy dog right now? Is he to be neutered here on this table?

Is Miss Piggy going to chop his balls off?

He almost wishes she would.

Billy’s balls ache. On second thought, they’ve gone past ache to downright pain. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trussed up on this table but ever since he can remember he’s been here with a thing attached to his cock. A thing that sucks and pumps with a mechanical chugging whirr that accompanies the pattern. It's tighter than his fist, tighter than any cunt he’s ever forced his way inside of. With each agonizing upward suck and downward pump, Billy’s thigh muscles twitch uselessly as he endures round after round of endless sensation. Sometimes the machine will slow, and he’ll find a millisecond of clarity only for it to whirr back up again, sucking and pumping faster and faster until Billy is wheezing through his gag. He feels like he’s being milked but Miss Piggy clearly doesn’t know how to use the machine because no matter how close he gets, he can’t fucking cum.

He needs to. He needs to so fucking bad. He’ll show you, Miss Piggy. He’ll show you what a good dairy cow he can be. If you’d just let him FUCKING cum then you wouldn’t need be so mean to him would you? Is this why you’re torturing him? You want a big load for your slut mouth? Are you gonna drink it, Miss Piggy? Are you going to play with it on your tongue? It’ll be thick like his cock… thick and gooey… Sticky gloppy slop for Miss Piggy’s hungry gullet. Miss Piggy wants a mouthful, doesn’t she? He bets you do. Miss Piggy is nothing but a hungry slut after all.

Clever slut, unfortunately. Clever piggy who managed to stick him on this table and attach a torture machine to his cock.

Mean. Awful. NASTY. Fucking SLUT.

He can’t see. Maybe he isn’t Billy anymore. Maybe he is a cow. Some prized stud being milked for his oh so fancy load. Maybe Miss Piggy wants a baby? Stupid skank, she could’ve gotten one if she just spread her fucking legs like a good slut. She didn’t need to strap him to this awful table. He would’ve fucked her good. He would’ve fucked her dead.

Sound clogs in his throat and the cow moo that he wants to perform is stuck in the too tight walls of his esophagus. He needs to let the noise out into the pasture but he can’t and now the cow is angry and braying, it’s a bull with big horns and it's stuck in Billy’s windpipe. He can't breathe, not even through his nose. Sudden panic makes him release a keening whine. The machine’s movement is shallow, the toy teases the first inch of his cock, up and down, up and down, over and over until he’s grunting and trying to thrash away from it. He's been teased past the point of sensitivity. It stings. He wants more. He wants to fuck the awful fucking thing in the way he wants to. None of this is fair and he fucking hates you for this. Billy manages to whip his head to the side, causing his muzzle’s buckle to slam loudly against the metal table. It's a good solid noise and the metal scrape of the buckle against the table is almost enough to keep him from forgetting how to breathe.

Desperate to feel something besides the never-ending tease, Billy would bite his tongue off if not for the gag preventing him from doing it. Beef tongue is a delicacy in some places. Porky Miss Piggy probably loves it. She probably loves a tough mouthful of muscle. She probably loves big, beefy cows. Big studs with abs and body hair and chiseled jaws. Miss Piggy would never look twice at someone like him. You’d never want someone shorter than you. Someone scrawny and with hair that's impossible to tame one way or another. You’re not a nice girl. You wouldn’t look past something like that. You don’t want him. You’d never want him. No one looks at him. No one sees him. Especially not girls. Nice girls don’t exist anyhow. He’d know if one existed.

You don’t want him. So WHY are you keeping him? Why are you doing this to him? It’s unfair. It's pointless.

It's MEAN.

Struggling and thrashing as much as he's able to causes more slobber collect in his mouth. While unable to spit or sputter, all he can do is uselessly drool onto himself. The machine is too uniform. Too tight. Too loud. Feels good but it’s too much. Feels awful but it’s not awful enough. The machine could rip his cock clean off and at this point, he might want it to. He wants to cum more than he wants to kill you and the thought makes him want to vomit. His throat tastes acidic, his shoulders ache. His ass has gone numb and a broken whimper creeps past his gag to get tangled up in the netting of his muzzle.

“Awww, does Billy need a break?”

For a moment your taunt sounds like his own voice and Billy’s stomach flips. He can’t remember the last time he's heard his name from anyone’s lips besides his own. In the near distance, footsteps come closer and closer. The sort of shoes you’re wearing clack against the floor. Soon, you’re close enough that he curls his fingers into fists as if to prepare to deck you right in the face even though he can't move his arms. Pretty piggy wouldn’t be so pretty with her face swollen and her nose bloody. He wants to cave your teeth in. He wants you to beg him to stop.

He wants your begging to turn weak and squelchy until you’re not speaking anymore.

He wants to beg you to let him go.

He wants to demand that you let him fucking cum.

Maybe he spoke his demand out loud because the machine stops abruptly and the vacuum suction loosens. It pops off of his prick and the immediate lack of stimuli feels like a slap to the face. It leaves him gasping and his dick throbs angrily, upset with its newfound freedom. Stupid thing. It wants back in. His balls hurt, they're heavy and pulled tight, the end of the sucking thing has been mashing into them for hours now and he feels as if his balls have been battered black and blue. Despite this, he jolts his hips upward with a whine, as he mindlessly seeks out the machine of his nightmares. Billy flexes his cock, making it bob in the air. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his fucking life and awful, awful Miss Piggy won’t do a thing about it.

Without warning, fingers are suddenly stroking through his sweaty hair. Miss Piggy pets him like a kitty cat. He’s not a kitty cat. He’s not yours to touch either. Your other hand settles on the side of his face, right where the muzzle covers his cheek and your thumb traces his jaw slowly. You coo at him, annoying and sharp. The insert wound is precise, its an icepick to the brain that nails in a heavy reminder of how much he hates you.

Completely overwhelmed and caught off guard, a deep growl begins to swell in his lungs to claw its way up past his lips. He coughs, choking on it and his dry throat convulses in protest. Unphased, you pet him through his coughing fit, offering false tones of sympathy as he struggles to breathe.

“Does Billy need some water?” You ask gently, still running your fingers through his hair.

Hearing his name is abrasive as sandpaper. He doesn’t like the way it sounds. It reminds him that he’s Billy. Sometimes he’s Billy, sometimes he forgets what he is. It’s not fair for you to remind him. His name isn't yours. It’s his. It's the only thing he has. He frantically shakes his head from side to side as best he can, trying to shake the sound of his name out of his ears.

“No?” You chuckle, sounding far away even though you’re uncomfortably close. “You don’t need anything at all? I guess I should leave then."

“No.” is spit from behind his gag and it comes out clearer than he thought possible. He tries again and again, further distorting the word with manic excitement in hearing himself speak. He repeats the word no until he doesn’t even know what he’s disagreeing with anymore.

When he inevitably quiets to take in a gasping haggard breath, you lift his head by pulling on his hair. His muzzle is loosened and you slide it from behind his ears to settle around his neck like a collar. The leather saturates in his drool and Billy thoughtlessly thrashes, fighting you even though he doesn’t know what he’s fighting against. He wants to be released from all the tight things that keep him from moving but your touch feels like a live wire. It's burning hot and he imagines his skin bubbling up pus-filled blisters. You’re branding him with your touch and pigs shouldn’t be allowed to do something like that.

He’s not cattle. He’s Billy. You’re not a rancher with a hot iron. You’re not even a person. You’re a stupid little whore who thinks she’s caught herself a stray to domesticate. You’re just the same as a shitty little girl whose parents condemned a hamster to die by giving it to her for Christmas. She’ll kill the thing in a few weeks. She’ll dress it up like a princess, feed it food that it shouldn’t eat, and then she’ll get bored of it and end up letting her pet kitty cat eat it as a snack. Maybe it’ll escape her chubby little fingers, but the stupid little thing is doomed nonetheless. It might as well get a few bites in. It might as well do its best to punish the mean little bitch and make fat tears roll down her stupid piggy face.

As soon as the gag is removed from his mouth, Billy snaps his teeth hard and takes a big bite of the air. The proceeding rattle in his skull has a deranged laugh tickling past his sore throat. The first chortle stretches and elongates into loud, heaving noises that grow deeper and closer to animal grunts. Just as he prepares to let out the loudest scream he’d ever attempted, you dig your thumb into the spongy meat of his cockhead, causing his scream to mangle itself into a groan.

His outrage falls apart and it flits weakly back into himself like broken tinsel pulled off a tree. The bullshit has the nerve to look pretty even as it becomes trash on the ground. You trail a fingertip down his overheated shaft and Billy forgets that he was previously trying to destroy your ear drums. Impulse takes over and he attempts bucking against your touch, trying to fuck himself against the barely there press of your fingertip.

Billy's molars sink into his cheek, but trying to shut himself up is useless. It’s never been something he figured out how to do. He’s not in control of the noises that want to come out of him. He’s only the vessel. He’s not to be blamed for the mewling moan that dances excitedly into the room when you wrap your fingers around his stiff prick. That wasn’t his noise. Billy didn’t do it. If anything his cock is at fault. Stupid, stupid thing.

Stupid Miss Piggy’s somehow convinced his dick that a loose fist is all he needs to feel better. His eyes feel as if they’re going to roll back into his head and Billy shivers, overstimulated and under stimulated at the same time. The relief that he doesn’t want makes him wish he could peel his skin off. He wants it coiled up into tightly wound ribbons because you like pretty things like that. Maybe you’d clap your hands together and squeal like a piggy pig in excitement as you gush over the mess you’ve made of him.

You’ve ruined him. Used him like a cheap slut and none of it is fair.

You’re supposed to be dead. You’re not supposed to be doing this.

Wrong. Wrong. WRONG.

Billy barks out the acid that’s coagulated in his throat. He spits aimlessly in random directions and your claws subsequently sink into the meat of his cock which causes him to yelp in shock. With his senses all twisted up and tied together, the pain feels dangerously close to good.

“Touch it.” Billy croaks a strange tinny voice, sounding similar to an old radio broadcaster. “Right on the money there ma’am. Hole in one!" He clicks his tongue a few times, "Touch it. Touch it. Tt-TOUCH IT!” The borrowed voice clips into another’s abruptly. The sportscaster fades into the loudmouthed news anchor that’s always complaining and bitching about some prowler out and about, someone called the moaner who goes around butchering pretty girls after tormenting them on the phone for weeks.

Your phone number displays itself digit by digit in his mind. Yes yes. You. He knows you. Miss mouthy cunt bitch. Miss Piggy’s got a big mouth. Miss Piggy is a tease. He'd hate you less if you learned how to suck cock rather than play at pretending you're something that you're not. He told you to put your pussy on the phone. He remembers that. At least he thinks he does.

It’s hard to think while he’s busy demanding for you to touch him in as many voices and accents as he can possibly recite.

The demands wind down down into a series of hiccups, he mimics the watery voice of some other whore. “It hurts. Please.” He whimpers high-pitched and feminine before belting out a pained wail. “It fucking HURTS.” His fingers twitch and he does his best to rotate his wrist in a way that his joints refuse to go, causing his wrist to pop and crack unnaturally. It hurts but he wants OUT. He wants to fucking cum. He wants to kill you in a thousand ways for this. You deserve it. You deserve something awful awful.

The loose grip around his dick lifts away and he mumbles the same plea from before. Mimicking the crying girl. This time, it comes out just a smidgen closer to his own inflection and tone. His voice no longer sounds so feminine. The whine he gives isn’t all the way a mimicry.

Footsteps. Footsteps. You stand at the head of the table, and Billy tries to tilt his chin up, he squints even though it's impossible to see through the blindfold. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, swallowing dryly he chews on his it and decides that his tongue is now a wad of mashed potatoes.

You’re going to make his dick fall off. You’re going to polish it and keep it above your fireplace. You’re going to use it to hang coats off of. He’s so fucking hard that he’ll probably stay like this forever. You’ll be dead. An unrecognizable pulpy puddle of broken bones and hair and the only thing left of him will be his dick standing up proud above your fireplace. You’ve doomed him just as you might as well have scrawled your fate in golden ink over the ending of one of those old fairy tales thats supposed to scare children into behaving.

It’s your fault. All your fault. Stupid, stupid PIG.

His blindfold is removed quickly enough that it pulls on a few strands of his hair and he grunts in surprise, grumbling wordlessly about the pinch. Billy blinks against the harsh overhead lighting with an accompanying hiss as the sudden assault of brightness burns his retinas. The ceiling light behind you frames your head like a halo, and looking at you hurts. Everything is too much, he can barely crinkle his eyes open and one of the only things he can register is the cruel smile on your lips.

He feels exposed. He wants to find somewhere cold and dark. He’s not meant to be here. You’ve done something wrong and you’ve stolen him from wherever he was supposed to be. The room feels too big and Billy chirps his discomfort out with cat like yowling. He wants to bash his head against the table but he can’t fucking MOVE.

Disinterested, you don’t react to his tantrum. You’ve gotten good at that. Billy’s short-term memory has always been shoddily stuck together with spit and dried cum, but he remembers bits and pieces about you. Sort of. It’s been a long time since you’ve been afraid of him as you should be.

You walk away from his field of view, your shoes clack their way into the distance and you return a few minutes later with a tray that you set gently on a nearby table. A faucet begins to run and the water reminds him of bashing cymbals and storm sirens. A crunched up slice of a memory trickles back into his consciousness and he’s wordless as he recalls something going in him. You stuck something in him! You shot water into him with a nozzle! You did! Pervert! Disgusting! You don’t DO that to people. Something is WRONG with you.

You’re a bad bad boy Billy! You’ve done bad bad things!

"Filthy Billy!" A memory whispers, "Billy, I know what you DID."

“We’re not cleaning you again.” You answer his increasing panic without being asked. The snap of latex gloves bites through the air and Billy’s lungs feel small like a bird’s. He's breathing too hard for the tiny amount of air that’s in his little bird body.

“I like it when you’re quiet. You can be cute when you shut the fuck up.” Your words are poison. They strike him individually with stinging tails.

As you re-approach the table, Billy feels as if his eyes are shaking in his skull. They're going to pop right out and deflate like old balloons. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel scared, but right now he feels like a mouse caught in a glue trap. He feels small. His bones are hollow and brittle. The incoming waves of dread are almost enough to convince his cock to calm down. Almost. It flags down, curved toward his hip but it's still heavy with blood. Billy wonders if he could maybe flop it from side to side well enough to get himself off. Probably not, but he could try.

Already, he forgets what he’s worried about and he plays with his dick with the limited movement that he has, staring with empty eyes up at the ceiling. The light above him looks like a titty. It’s got a light pull and he thinks that the house is a slut for having pierced nipples. Of course you'd live in a slutty house. He’s never seen pierced tits before. He’s seen a lot of tits. But not decorated ones.

Your approach is ignored as Billy giggles over his mental dialogue, a chair scrapes against the floor and it isn’t until your glove-covered hand sets on his thigh that he falls back down into his body. He was off somewhere else, testing the way that the word titty felt in his mouth. The harsh T was a spitty sound. Makes sense for what the word meant, but then Miss Piggy rudely stole his attention. He looks down his nose, glaring while scrunching his lips up into a pout.

Ignoring him or just disinterested in his frustration, you pump something clear from a bottle into your other hand and Billy doesn’t have a moment to consider what it is before you hold his thigh once again and he’s reminded of the awful bar that spreads his legs. He twists, trying to invert his knees as if that would somehow stop you from pressing your slimy fingertips against his twitching hole.

“Pervert!” Billy screeches, using a stern old woman’s voice. It’s familiar and it makes him want to break something. It's a voice that reminds him of the true definition of hate. Perfecting her voice makes his eyes bug and goosebumps erupt over his skin. You tease the rim of his ass with a finger and Billy shudders. The sheer wrongness of the situation has his dick perking up to attention and Billy grumbles in annoyance at his traitor of a prick.

He’s always liked things he shouldn't. Dirty things. Naughty things.

Violent things.

But this was too far, wasn’t it? An affirmative, almost excited hum answers his question. It is wrong. It's definitely wrong. Billy wonders where the sound came from because he didn’t make it. No. You did. His stupid dick did. Something did and it wasn’t him. No. No. No.

“I get it now.” You laugh, “The only time you learn how to shut the fuck up is when you’re wanting something in your ass. Is that it Billy? You want me to fuck you you there?”

“No.” He finds his own voice and it's completely flat. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of tone. It sounds like a recording and he barely registers that he spoke. Straining his neck, he does his best to look only at the ceiling and the light above him.

“I don’t think I believe that.” You continue as you prod at his cock with your other hand. Stupid thing is stabbing into the air proudly, back at attention and Billy sucks in a breath through his teeth, stubbornly saying nothing. He’s not here. He’s not. This isn’t right. He’s somewhere else. He’s on the TV. He’s on the phone. He’s a recording of a disembodied voice and he’s anywhere but here.

Wordless chitters and vocalizations twist and tangle in his mind, they filter from his lips in broken pieces that end up sounding guttural and ragged. Your touch leaves him only for a moment and then you wrap a gloved hand tightly around his shaft. The gooey stuff on your glove is cold, but your upward stroke forces his eyes shut. The moan he gives is needy, and he hates the sobering reality of it. The mental clarity that he weakly tries to stitch himself to is quickly stolen and he doesn’t have time to light up the neon vacancy sign in his head before sick curiosity comes and settles itself into the groove of which coherence left.

Distracted by your hand on his cock, he barely reacts to your fingertip pressing into him. His lips and tongue test the shape of a word that he’s not sure he’s ever spoken earnestly before. It comes out in clipped bursts that barely sound like a word at all. He hopes that you can't decipher anything of what he’s saying because they mean nothing. The word please ends up translating into a harsh “Ghgh…” sounding noise but the tone is pleading nonetheless.

Slowly, you ease more of your finger inside of him and his brain feels as if he’s plugged too many strings of lights into the same outlet. His body feels like a tightly compressed implosion of bursting sparks that skitter onto the carpet in search of something flammable to consume. Hate and discomfort mutate themselves into consuming want and a greedy desire for more. You give him exactly that by stretching him open on another finger.

Billy’s always been greedy. Nothing is ever enough. Never enough hurt. Never enough shame. Never enough hate. He’s always cold. He’s never happy with staying in one place for too long. The only thing that pulls him from place to place is the need for more blood on his hands. He can never get enough of anything because it's impossible to get his fill of something that feels so fucking good. Nothing else gets him hard. The only release that feels right comes with destroying something nice. Breaking something pretty. Addicted to pleasure, he seeks it out through terror. He’s addicted to want and right now he feels the closest he’s ever been to full.

“Good boy,” You whisper, and the praise lifts to wrap tightly around his throat. He’s short of breath but the dizzying discomfort feels so good. Maybe dying feels good too. Maybe he’s doing all the little whores a favor by doing what he does to them. Lucky sluts. They didn’t even need to beg for it. He hunts them down like vermin, like rats and Billy didn’t even brag about getting rid of them! He’s not LIKE you. He doesn’t feel the need to gloat. He doesn’t feel the need to tease or draw things out so that they’ll fold into a neat little box in just the way you want. He likes a fucking mess. He likes the way that fear feels when it smells like iron and it squelches wetly between his fingers.

The auditory squelch of your hand pumping his cock feels makes him want to spit the noise back at you, he blows a raspberry with his lips only for his mouth to fall slack when you change the angle of your fingers in his ass. You brush up against somewhere that has bubbling pleasure spitting from his cock and drooling from his mouth. He wants to rock back against your fingers, wants to ride your touch like a whore. Useless noises float into the room, and Billy finally relaxes fully, releasing his white-knuckled fist and the tension in his shoulders.

His eyes are open but he can’t see. He’s not even sure if he’s still breathing. He’s drowning in everything you’re giving to him and suffocating never felt so good. His head is a mess of static and chopped-up beginnings of words and memories. The only thing anchoring him to his body is the sound your fist makes as you pump him up and down, almost as mechanical as the machine but the pressure is everything he needs. You’re taking this from him, and therefore he's not wrong for being helpless. You’re the one who’s being a pervert. You’re the one who’s doing something wrong.

“You’re doing such a good job, such a good little whore aren’t you Billy?”

He doesn’t hear your words but they brush up against him ticklishly, like a cat rubbing up against his legs. Your tone is comforting and he wants to rub his face against your words to better understand them.

“You’ve been fighting so hard… isn’t it easier to be a good slut for me? I like you better like this. Cum dumb and quiet.”

Billy grunts affirmatively without listening to you at all and you giggle in response. He doesn’t hate the sound of it. The bubbling laughter is soft and chewy like popcorn. His senses have given up trying to differentiate themselves from each other. Thought and feeling, touch and sound are all the same. His body's been replaced and all he has left is needy cock and a slutty fuck hole. He’s just the same as all the dead piggies who he left in similar states. Unmoving heaps. Messy puddles of what used to be a person. He’s just like them. Dead. Ruined. Used just like them. This is what he’s good for. Feels good to stop fighting. He doesn’t need to stumble around near blind and confused while he hunts down something new to terrorize. He's not starving now. He doesn't have anywhere to go. He's not lost in his head and unsure where he is. Maybe he doesn’t need to drag himself from place to place in the cold. He can stay here. He’s dead anyway. He’ll stay here and and let stupid Miss Piggy touch his cock until he's a rotted husk.

“Fuck drunk slut.” You hum, clearly giddy with the state you’ve put him in. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth to puddle onto the table and Billy bubbles spit between his lips once realizing the mess that he’s making.

“So loud all the time, who knew that stretching your ass would get you to shut up. Maybe I should find something bigger than my fingers? Maybe Billy needs a plug. Do you want more baby?”

Maybe you meant to call him by his name, but the word baby makes him groan. He’s never liked babies. Crying, stupid things. It's an insult to call someone a baby but he feels like one right now. Helpless and barely in control of himself. The word doesn't make him something that he's not. He likes the way that the two syllables settle heavily over his body, pinning him down like an insect. No one’s ever called him baby before. He repeats the word, playing with the feel of it on his tongue. It’s is all smooth edges, it’s cold when he says it but warm in his thoughts. He repeats it in your voice and your resulting laugh doesn't sting.

Like this, he's not able to get lost between notes of sound. He’s not able to forget where he is. Each thrust of your fingers comes with a punch of pleasure that has him whimpering for more. The word please isn't swallowed, he openly begs because please is the only word he can perfect right now.

He’s not even aware of the fact that he’s coming until he feels bubbling hot spunk dribble from his slit. The rise and fall of his orgasm blends into the general wave of pleasure that he’s been asphyxiating on. No relief or finality comes even after his balls are drained and his cum is beginning to cool on his stomach. The weak notes of an overstimulated complaint manage past his lips as you stroke his softening cock firmly as if to make sure that you’ve milked him for all he was worth.

The retreat of your fingers feels strange, but he can’t do anything but whine about it. Billy’s head feels as if it’s full of concrete. There’s no room for thoughts. His limbs are heavy, he couldn’t struggle even if he wanted to. His head flops limply to his side and his cheek settles in a puddle of cold drool. Feels nice. Billy forgets to fight as you secure his muzzle back into place. You leave out the gag this time.

Good boys, behaved ones get presents right? Was this a reward?

Billy’s only ever gotten coal, but earning something feels okay. He looks at you with surprisingly wet eyes and the expression on your face is unreadable. He’s never been good at understanding people but he’d be proud if he was you. He always feels the best after standing amongst the mess of a fresh kill, the twisting delirium always simmers low once he can see and feel what he’d done. He can't always pinpoint where he is or what he’s doing, but touch and smell were things he could depend on. It's easiest to focus when there's no noise to be distracted by and there's no impulse left to wildly drag him from place to place.

Maybe he isn't himself right now. Maybe you’re on the table. Not him. That would make more sense anyway. Maybe he’s you. Maybe you’re him? Maybe Billy is somewhere else entirely and you’ve already done away with his remains.

Feels good to finally die. Feels good to remember what quiet sounds like.

Your fingers find their place in his hair and Billy shudders, eyes closing as he relaxes against your touch. He doesn’t need to be Billy right now and you don’t need to be Miss Piggy. You’re you and he’s whatever he is.

Feels good to understand something for once.

Thanks so much for reading! This is my comeback piece after a few months of writers block lol. Comments keep me inspired, I need your thoughts on the FUCKNASTY that went down here.

Also! Here's my masterlist with my other slasher x reader works.

#Billy Lenz x Reader #Billy Lenz #Horror fandom #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #x reader #Slashers #black christmas 1974 #Black christmas #poki writing #i forgot to make a nice post abt this and upload it to tumble lol

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underground-secret · 8 months

Text

The Hunter and The Witch: Dean Winchester x fem! reader

description: The boys and Y/N are still looking for John Winchester, now following after the coordinate clue he left.

warnings: cannon violence, blood, death, missing persons, usage and mention of guns, cursing (i think)

tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

word count: 6,856

Wendigo

(Masterlist/ Next Chapter)

November 10, 2005

Sam jerks awake from the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean driving while a song from the Foreigner’s plays from the radio.

“You okay?” Dean asks voice clear with concern

Sam glances at him and then away, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Another nightmare?” Dean asks him, but Sam doesn't answer, only clearing his throat

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asks instead.

I look up from my book, with a questioning look.

Sam laughs practically reading my mind, “Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.”

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” Dean brushes off.

“Awwww, Dean, you softie” I say smiling widely with a laugh.

He catches my eyes in the rear view mirror giving me a gruff “No”, but the glint in my eye doesn't go away nor does the smile on my face.

He can deny it all he wants but I know he’s a softie, it’s one of the many many things I love about him…that made me fall for him

Sam laughs, piggy backing off of my teasing, “Look, man, you're worried about me. I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

“Mm-hm” Dean hums, and I have to agree with him here. There’s no way Sam’s okay, his girlfriend just died in front of him in the same way his mom was killed, I don’t think anyone would be okay after that.

Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing a map from the glove department, “All right, where are we?”

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” Dean responds.

Sam folds the map, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—“ Dean reasons getting cut off by Sam

“We gotta find Dad first.”

“Dad disappearing—and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence. Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.” Dean remarked.

“It's weird, man.These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.” Sam points out.

“Hm? What about it?” I ask

“There's nothing there. It's just woods. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?” Sam answers.

“Lots of things could be and or happen in the woods.” I explain just as we drive past a National Forest sign reading "Welcome to LOST CREEK COLORADO National Forest".

The Impala is parked next to a sign that says "RANGER STATION Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest". Meanwhile we’re inside, Dean looking at the decorations while I look at the trinkets around.

Sam’s being the helpful one here looking at a 3D map of the forest, “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.” He informs.

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.” Dean calls out looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear.

“And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It's no nature hike, that's for sure.” Sam adds on looking at the photo.

“This will certainly be interesting then” I murmur, picking up a little wooden bear from a shelf holding it up for the boys to see.

“You guys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” A Ranger says from behind the boys, both of them whipping around startled.

I put the little bear down quickly, locking my hands behind my back with a tight smile on my face.

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam covers laughing a little.

Dean grins raising a fist, “Recycle, man.”

I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to not laugh, so as to not break our cover.

“Bull” the Ranger calls, and suddenly I don’t feel like laughing.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” he adds

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…Wilkinson.” Dean goes along with it.

“Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?” Ranger Wilkinson stated.

Dean shakes his head as the Ranger goes on,

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will. Well that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?” Dean replied.

“That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.” Dean adds, clever guy.

We leave the station, Dean holding the paper he asked for laughing

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks him.

“Ew, please don’t answer that.” I groan, trying to ignore the pang that rings through my heart at the mere suggestion.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, looking between me and Sam.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam explains, rounding the car to the passenger side.

“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean reasons.

There’s a pause where no one says anything nor do we move to get into the car.

“What?” Sam asks

“Since when are you all shoot first, ask questions later, anyway?” Dean asks back in return.

“Since now.” He answers, opening the car door and entering.

“Really?” Dean looks from me to the car.

I took a step forward giving Dean’s upper arm a reassuring squeeze. It was meant to be helpful at best but squeezing his arm made me feel the hard muscle underneath his jacket and my head went blank for just one second, my hand lingering.

My face flushed as I gave him a quick smile, entering the car myself.

So much for being inconspicuous.

Dean didn’t move from outside the car for a moment longer, staring where I was standing previously, before throwing open the driver’s side door.

We stand outside the Collins house, the door opening by who I assume to be Haley Collins.

“You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, and that’s Y/N, we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.” Dean introduces.

Haley hesitates, “Lemme see some ID.”

Clever girl, I have to admit.

Dean pulls out a fake ID holding it up against the screen. Haley looks at it, then at Dean, who smiles.

She takes the lie, opening the door for us, “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Dean says simply.

“That yours?” Haley asks Dean, referring to the Impala out front.

“Yeah” He answers.

“Nice car” Shs compliments.

Their brief conversation ends as she leads us into the kitchen, some younger guy sitting at the table on a laptop.

In the corner of my eye I see Dean mouthing something to Sam who rolls his eyes back, but I couldn’t tell what it was about

“So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Sam starts off.

Haley places a bowl on the table answering, “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” Sam offers but that theory gets shut down quickly by Haley as she responds, “He's got a satellite phone, too.”

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean reasons.

The boy on the laptop answered this time, “He wouldn't do that.”

“Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Haley explains.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks her as she places food down on the table.

“Yeah.” She answers pulling the pictures up quickly,

“That's Tommy” she points.

She clicks two more times showing another picture and then a video, she presses play.

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

“We will find your brother.” I tell her with a reassuring smile as I continue, “We’ll be heading to Blackwater Ridge in the morning.”

“Then maybe I'll see you there. Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.” Haley claims voice and face full of determination.

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean pipes in.

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks, cutting into the slightly heartfelt moment.

“Sure.”

The bar where we sat was a little loud, the sound of pool ringing in the background.

Sam sits across from Dean and I, me sitting on the inside of the booth; a habit we’d picked up when we were younger.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam informs us opening John's journal

“Anything before that?” I ask him, leaning forward a bit more.

Sam pulls out newspaper articles sliding them between me and Dean.

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Sam speaks as we read the article titled

‘The Lost Creek Gazette.’

GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS!

UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA

HIKERS DISAPPEARANCE BAFFLE AUTHORITIES'

Families continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing [...]

“And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” Sam adds, his laptop now pulled out.

“I know bears can be dangerous and all but do people really believe a bear is responsible for eight plus, people’s disappearance. There’s no way a bear would be so pattern like.” I say baffled.

“Yeah well people believe what they want to when nothing else makes sense” Sam answers opening his laptop, continuing with his information

“Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” He turns his computer towards Dean and I, going through three frames at a time. A shadow crosses the screen.

I squint at the shadow as Dean says, “Do it again.”

He adds, “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

“It’s actually just the reverse flash” I joke

Sam breathes a short laugh, understanding my reference, as he closes his laptop.

Dean looks between the both of us, “Nerds.”

I laugh nudging Dean with my body, “Oh you know you love us” I tease.

“Yeah yeah” he answers playfully, shoving me lightly.

Dean then hits Sam causing him to look up,“Anyway I told you something weird was going on.”

“Yeah, but I got one more thing” Sam adds, bringing back the serious energy. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

“Is there a name?”

Mr.Shaw, the only survivor of these attacks, leads us inside his house with a cigarette in his mouth as he talks to us “Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—“

Sam interrupts, “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean adds, a pause hits the room before he continues, “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Another pause, he adds, “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

“I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr.Shaw sits down, “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

“Mr. Shaw trust me when I say that we’ve seen things, crazy things, there’s nothing you could tell us that we wouldn’t believe” I speak honestly.

He doesn’t answer for a beat, grumbling underneath his breath before finally responding, “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” Sam asks.

He nods.

Sam asks another question, “Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” Mr.Shaw clarifies.

“It killed them?” Sam questions.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr.Shaw shakes his head adding, “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since.”

Another pause rings through the room before he lifts a hand to his collar, “Did leave me this, though.”

He opens his collar revealing three long scars, claw marks.

“There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

LATER

We walk the length of the motel corridor, discussing our new found information.

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls.” Dean says.

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.” Sam offers

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean mocks,

“Seriously, that's some big word use” I add on laughing.

“Shut up. So what do you think?” Sam ignores our teasing, well Deans teasing. I wasn't really joking, this time.

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.” Dean answers using Sam’s big word.

We exited the motel entering its parking lot, heading to the Impala.

Dean opens the truck and then the weapons box, propping it up with a shotgun, as he always does, before putting guns into a duffel bag.

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” Sam reasons leaning in.

“Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” Dean answers, and I have to agree.

“Yeah.” Sam replies.

“Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” Dean lists out.

“I gotta agree with Dean, there’s no way we’d be able to convince Haley anyways so there’s no point in trying.” I pipe in.

Dean picks up the duffel, throwing me a smile. Most likely because I agreed with him this time.

“And finding Dad's not enough? No we gotta babysit too?” Sam argues slamming the weapons box shut, then the trunk.

Dean stares at Sam.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Nothing.” He answers, throwing the duffel bag at Sam turning to walk away.

Sam stares at me and I shrug not knowing what that was about with Dean either.

The next day

The Impala pulls up. Haley, Ben (her other brother), and some other guy in shorts stare at us as we get out of the car.

I handed Sam the duffle bag that was riding with me in the back seat. Securing my brown messenger bag across my chest, carrying some more witchy belongings that might be of aid including my spell book.

“You guys got room for three more? Dean calls out.

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley questions.

“Who are these guys?” Mystery man in shorts asks.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” Haley comments, eyeing us up.

Sam heads past us all, clearly not wanting to be here any longer then we have to.

“You're rangers?” Shorts man asks.

“That's right.” Dean confirms.

And I can already tell that we’re going to be bumping heads with this shorts wearing guy.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley picks out.

Dean looks down at himself causing me to look down at myself feeling a little conscious now that Haley pointed our outfits out. But hey I’m prepared for the cold wearing a long sleeve shirt, a black sweatshirt, my fleece corduroy jacket that I always wear, and…jeans (to me this seems very logical).

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean replies simply heading past Haley.

“Wait, I'm sorry, why would we wear shorts? It’s already cold out and as it gets darker that’s only going to worsen plus wearing shorts leaves you more vulnerable to whatever is out there.” I point behind,me towards the woods, adding, “And I’m just gonna assume here that you short wearing man are supposed to be this, uh, hunter? Haley mentioned yesterday.”

I hear Dean huff a laugh a couple steps in front of us.

Short wearing man didn’t take too kindly to my questioning, “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt. And it’s Roy.”

Sam turns back as Dean calls out behind him, “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

Dean passes Sam, and I begin walking after them.

The group hikes through the forest, Roy leading us followed by Dean, Haley, Ben, me, and then Sam holding up the rear.

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean says, making conversation.

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy answers, sounding quite proud.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?” Dean keeps the convo going.

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.”

Poor bears.

Dean passes Roy taking the lead, “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

I laugh maybe a little too hard, I bite my bottom lip remembering the serious circumstance in which we’re here.

Roy grabs Dean, “Whatcha doing, Roy?” he asks.

Roy grabs a stick poking something behind Dean.

A loud snap rings through the quiet forest, a bear trap, Dean was one step away from walking into a bear trap.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.” Roy drops the stick, retaking the lead.

Roy drops the stick and retakes the lead as we continue hiking.

“It’s a bear trap.” Dean points out.

I catch up to him, giving him a hit on the arm looking at him with a face full of worry. Has he been in more dangerous situations than a bear trap? Yes. But I can’t help but worry, even over the stupid things.

His face softens and he gives me a smile.

Haley caught up to us immediately calling out, “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.”

She grabs Dean's arm, “So who the hell are you?”

Ben passes us by, Sam and I look at Dean. He gives us a look that tells us to go, that he has it covered and we do.

LATER

Roy’s leading the way still, this time the following order is Sam, Ben, me, Haley and Dean.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge.” Roy announces

Sam passed him as he asked, “What coordinates are we at?”

Roy pulls out a GPS, answering, “Thirty-five and minus one-eleven.”

Dean goes up to Sam, catching my wrist as he goes by pulling me after him.

“You hear that?” Dean asks. We listen. Its dead quiet.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.” Sam confirms.

“I'm gonna go take a look around.” Roy announces

“You really shouldn’t go off by yourself” I warn.

“That’s sweet. Don’t worry about me” He waves his gun pushing past us to retake the lead.

Stubborn shorts man.

Dean turns back to Ben and Haley as they catch up, “All right, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

Sam, Dean, Ben, Haley and I are looking around near a particularly large rock before we hear Roy yelling for Haley.

She runs over to his voice, the rest of us following closely.

“Oh my God.” The tents are torn open and bloody, all the supplies being scattered.

“Looks like a grizzly.” Roy announces.

We all sort of break off, not far from each other, looking around for any clues or anything of the sort.

Haley begins yelling for Tommy, practically throwing her backpack down as she goes through the campsite. Sam moves to catch up to her, I don’t hear the conversation as I focus on the tracks I found. But whatever he said got her to stop yelling

I crouch to see the tracks better, getting Dean's attention as he crouches next to me before calling out for Sam. He comes over, joining our crouching party.

“The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here” I point, “the tracks just vanish.”

“I’ll tell you what, that’s no skinwalker or black dog” Dean adds standing up, heading back to the campsite, Sam and I following.

Haley’s picked up a cell phone that I assume is Tommy’s from the blood on it. She’s hunched over on the ground crying.

Dean crouches next to her, “Hey, he could still be alive.” he says reassuringly.

“Help! Help” a sudden voice yells out. Almost in sync, our heads snap towards the direction of the voice.

Roy leads the way everyone running after him

“Help! Somebody!” the voice yells out again.

But when we reached where it was coming from there was no one around.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn’t it?” Haley asks and I nod.

“Everybody back to camp” Sam orders, we obey as we run back.

All of the supplies are missing, and suddenly I'm grateful for carrying my bag with me even if it only slightly got in the way of my running.

“Our packs!” Haley yells, pointing out the obvious.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.” Roy mutters.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley commands.

“It's smart. It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.” Sam informs.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” Roy corrects.

Sam goes over to Dean and I as Roy goes on this ‘nutjob’ theory, “I need to speak with you, both. In private.”

We follow him a little bit away from the group, “Let me see Dad's journal.”

Dean hands it over, Sam opens it and flips through until he finds a particular page.

“All right, check that out.” Sam turns the book so we can see it better pointing to a First Nations–style drawing of a figure, more specifically a Wendigo.

“Oh come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west.” Dean rationalizes.

“It does make sense though. I mean the claws and especially the way it can mimic a human voice” I explained. Getting eager head nods from Sam, “Exactly” he adds.

“Great. Then this is useless” Dean sighs,taking out his pistol. Being the only way to kill a Wendigo is silver through the heart or fire.

Sam gives back the journal heading past us back to camp before stopping, “We gotta get these people to safety.”

Back at the campsite, Sam addresses the group, “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

“What? Haley asks.

“Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.” Roy buds in and all I can think about is how stubborn this man is.

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now.” Sam ordered.

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy lists out.

“Relax” Dean cuts in.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.” Sam says.

Roy steps up to Sam getting in his face, “You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

It’s then I decide I'm not going to get in the middle of this argument, seeing as this will definitely turn into a ‘who’s more macho’ sort of deal.

“Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.” Sam challenges.

Roy laughs, “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—“ Dean cuts Sam off, pushing him.

“Chill out.” Dean orders.

“Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.” Haley informs, and as much as it’s a stupid stubborn choice it is her brother.

There's a long pause before Dean speaks up, “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?”

It’s pitch dark out now, our only source of light being the campfire that was built.

Deans drawing a Anasazi symbol, for protection, around the campsite as the rest of us are kind of just sitting around the fire.

“One more time, that’s—“ Haley asks poking at the fire

“An anasazi symbol, it’s for our protection. The wendigo can’t cross over them” I explain for at least the fifth time.

Roy laughs, holding a gun over his shoulder.

I give him a sharp gaze as Dean says, “Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy.”

Dean finishes the symbol sitting next to Sam and I, Sam being in the middle.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asks him

“Dean—“

But Dean cuts him off, “No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

Feeling as this is going to turn personal quickly, more of a family/brotherly moment that wouldn’t include me, I get up giving them a nod and a look that lets them know I'm giving them privacy. I move to sit near Haley, instead.

A few minutes have gone before suddenly someone screams and it isn’t anyone in our group, “Help me! Please!”

It’s almost most definitely the wendigo.

I see Dean stand, readying his gun as another “Help!” rings through the normally quiet woods.

Sam pulled out a flashlight, throwing one to me before flashing it around in an attempt to see if the wendigo is close by, I follow suit doing the same.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put.” Dean commands.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy mocks.

“Jesus Christ Roy, yes!” I exclaimed, Roy getting on my nerves.

“Help! Help me” The wendigo yells, mimicking a human voice, growling following.

Roy points his gun at the sound, “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

Haley turns, talking to her younger brother, “It's okay. You'll be alright, I promise.”

Something rushes past, Haley shrieks.

“It’s here.” Sam announces.

Roy shoots the rustling, twice.

“I hit it” he yells running off to see what exactly he hit.

“Roy! No!” I yell after him

Dean turns to Haley and Ben, commanding them, “Don’t move.”

Haley grabs a stick lighting it on fire as a weapon. Dean gives me and Sam a nod, queuing us to run after Roy.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” Roy announces.

Sam and I use our flashlights, looking to see where Roy went. But we wind up with nothing.

It’s day now, hours since Roy went missing.

Now we sit trying to explain the whole supernatural stuff we encounter.

Sam’s sitting against a tree stump holding his dads journal whilst me, Dean, Haley, and Ben are among the tents

“I don't...I mean, these types of things, they aren't supposed to be real.” Haley states.

“I wish I could tell you different.” Dean replies, half shrugging.

“You can say that again” I mumble.

“How do we know it's not out there watching us?” Haley asks

“We don't. But we're safe for now.” Dean answers.

“How do you know about this stuff?” She asks

There’s a pause where you can see the gears turning in Dean's head as he considers an answer, “Kind of runs in the family.”

“Literally” I mermer underneath my breath, we hadn’t told them I was a Witch, which was probably for the better considering we’re being hunted by a Wendigo and they had just learned that the things in the dark are real.

Sam comes over, “Hey. So we've got half a chance in the daylight. And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

Haley stands nodding

“Well, hell, you know I'm in.” Dean answers, “Same here” I add.

Sam opens the journal to the wendigo page, turning the book around for Haley and Ben to see.

“'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours'.” Sam informs.

“They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.” Dean adds to the information.

“How's a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asks.

“Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.” Dean answers.

“Like the Donner Party.” Ben offers.

“Nice reference” I compliment before joining in on the info train, “And, uh, cultures all over the world actually believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities like speed, strength, immortality…” I trail off

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry.” Dean adds on.

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley points out.

“You're not gonna like it.” Dean answers simply, glancing from Sam to me then back to Haley.

“Tell me.” She orders.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.” Dean finishes.

“And then how do we stop it?” Haley asks

“Well, guns are useless, so are knives. Basically we gotta torch the sucker.” He holds up a can of lighter fluid, a beer bottle, and a white cloth aka the makings of a molotov cocktail.

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

Dean leads the group, molotov cocktail in hand, as we follow the trail of claw marks on trees and blood.

It’s a while later when Sam starts leading the group.

“Dean. Y/N”

We catch up quickly, “mhm?” I hum in question

“You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.” Sam talks, pointing out the bloody broken tree branches.

“Ah fric-“ My commentary gets cut off by growling, we whip around the trees rustling.

Haley’s standing under a tree looking up, blood dripping on her. When suddenly she leaps out of the way a corpse falling to the ground with a thud.

Roy’s corpse.

“His neck's broken.” Dean announces, examining the body as Sam helps Haley up.

More growling surrounds us.

“Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!” Dean yells and without a second thought we take off. The sounds of our boots hitting the soft dirt.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam retreating backwards, I stop running, turning to see if he’s okay.

Bens on the ground, getting hauled up by Sam. I head closer towards them in case the wendigo decides to show up knowing I can at the very least hold it off.

“Come on, I gotcha, I gotcha.” Sam reassures Ben, as we start running again.

A scream, noticeably Haley’s racks the forest.

“Haley” Ben asks skidding to a stop.

Sam and I stop running, noticing that Dean and Haley are nowhere to be seen.

Sam bends down picking up Deans molotov cocktail, the bottles broken.

“Dean!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?” Ben asks, walking in front of us.

“Roys shooting probably pissed it off” I answer wrapping my arms around myself, hoping the worry in my voice isn’t apparent.

Ben leans down picking something up, turning towards us holding up a peanut m&m. He moves over revealing a trail of them, “They went this way.”

I smile, Ben hands over the m&m to Sam who laughs.

“It's better than breadcrumbs.”

He tosses the piece of chocolate away.

We follow the trial carefully, coming up to a mine entrance marked with a sign that reads

‘WARNING! DANGER! DO NOT ENTER EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL.’

We all look at each other shrugging before entering.

Sam leads the way, flashlight shining ahead.

There’s a sudden growl, he quickly turns the light off pulling Ben and me against the wall.

A tall white figure with long fingers stalks towards us, Sam having to cover Ben's mouth before he screams.

The Wendigo takes a different tunnel, only just missing us.

We keep going, the floors creaking below our feet.

A particular step made the floor creak a little too much, but before I can even take another step forward the floor collapses underneath us.

I groan quietly at the hard landing, trying to contain my coughing from the dust and destroyed wood. I looked down, noticing that the hard landing was a pile of bones.

I get up swiftly feeling grossed out, Ben must have just noticed the bones as he leaps backwards. Sam helps him up as he reassuringly says, “Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”

We look up, finding Dean and Haley hanging by their wrists from the ceiling. My eyes widen and I feel my heart physically drop. I’ve been hunting before, even with Dean a couple of times. But I've never seen him hurt, not like this, not during a hunt, not being tied up.

Sam runs to Dean, Ben to Haley.

“Y/N! Cover us?” Sam orders and I move, breaking out of my freezing. I have my back towards the others, my hands lit up with pure white energy, ready for the wendigo. I knew it wouldn’t kill it, but at least I could keep it back.

“Haley, wake up!” Ben yells and I’m tempted to turn around but I know I shouldn’t.

“Dean!” Sam yells.

“Hey, you okay?” I hear Sam ask from behind me.

I hear Dean suck in a breath behind me, “Yeah.” He grumbles.

“Haley, Haley, wake up, wake up!” Ben yells again.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam cut down Dean and then Haley, moving them to an empty patch of floor. As they move I follow, still covering them.

Dean makes a pained noise. I clench my fists, the white energy still surging around them.

“Dean, you okay?” I ask, still not turning around.

He groans in pain, “Yeah. Yep. Where is he?”

“He’s gone for now” I answer simply.

Haley runs past me to a figure hanging in the corner, she starts crying, it’s then that I know it’s Tommy.

She touches his face gently, his head jerks up and she jumps back with a shriek. She turns towards me, eyeing me and the boys behind me, I don’t make eye contact.

Not because I don’t want to help but because I don’t want her to see my eyes, knowing my irises would be purple. Stupid thing to worry about when literal energy was coming from my hands, she’d see that before my eyes. But, still, I was scared for the moment she asks what the hell was going on with me. When her or her brothers do. It’s a rooted fear that no matter how much time goes by I can’t seem to shake.

Sam heads over and cuts Tommy free.

“We’re gonna get you home” She tells him.

A hand touches my shoulder and I tense, flinching slightly, even though it felt familiar.

“Relax” Dean whispers near my ear sending a shiver down my spine.

“You don’t have to be so stiff trying to protect us, cause look what I found” He holds up two flare guns pointing to a pile in the corner full of stolen supplies.

“Flare guns. Those’ll work” Sam says grinning.

Dean laughs and twirls the guns in his hands, and I can’t help the smile that makes its way onto my face.

We head down the tunnel Dean and Sam in the lead with their flare guns as I keep to the rear of the group.

“Looks like someone's home for supper.” Dean comments at the growling we heard.

“We’ll never outrun it” Haley points out.

Dean looks back at us, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sam answers and I nod.

“All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and Y/N. They’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean plans.

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asks Dean.

He winks, walking and yelling, “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

Sam waits until Dean is a safe distance away, “All right, come on! Hurry!”

The Collinses follow him down the tunnel, as I continue to hold down the rear.

We hurry down the tunnel before we hear more growling.

Sam points the gun in the direction, then lowers it turning to the Collinses.

“Get him outta here” He orders

“Sam, no”

“Go! Y/N get them outta here, Go!” he orders

I turned to the family making sure I no longer was using my powers as I pushed them out of there.

A moment later I hear Sam running after us, catching up, “Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry” he says, and I let him get in front of me as we reach the end of the tunnel.

I half turn to see the wendigo right behind us. I pivot the rest of the way around, quickly letting my hands light back up with energy during the half second that I moved.

I move my hands in front of me throwing a large energy blast right at the tall white creature, sending it a few feet back knocking it into a tree (the one that got in the way of it getting thrown further).

“Get behind me.” Sam tells the Collinses, hiding them behind himself as I stay in front of him.

The Wendigo approaches again and I throw it back again, a little harder this time.

I keep my hand in front of me, still lit with white energy as I bring my other hand down, flicking it swiftly, conjuring a flare gun into my hand.

I let the wendigo stalk a little closer before I raise my hand with the gun, I aim, pulling the trigger.

Just as Dean comes up a foot behind the wendigo, pulling his trigger.

The flare I shot goes off first, Deans following a second later. The wendigo goes up in flames.

“Teamwork” Dean says grinning at me.

I huff a laugh.

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

An ambulance loads up Tommy, two police officers interview Ben as Sam stands behind him.

“So…what was that whole thing back there with you” Haley asks me hands in her pockets, her and Dean both already patched up.

“I, oh, um…I’m a witch” I answer, feeling as if I'm shrinking inside myself. Telling people has never been a part I enjoy much.

“You're in the journal?” She asks

“I mean not me specifically but witches, yes. Most witches aren’t good, quite the opposite really…” I tail off looking down, feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” She says leaning her head down to catch my eyes before adding, “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

I just smile at her, glad to have helped but also glad to have moved away from the awkward conversation.

But when I look over to Dean, he’s smirking lasciviously.

“Whelp that’s my que to leave.” I announce, not wanting to know her answer. I turn around, heading to the Impala, a certain stabbing feeling echoes in my heart and I know it must be jealousy.

Which is stupid because 1. it’s not like me and Dean are even together, and 2. Dean does not like me in any sort of romantic way.

“Must you cheapen the moment” I hear Haley comment as I walk away, leaning on the hood of the Impala.

A minute or so later Sam joins me, and then Dean.

“Man, I hate camping.” Dean remarked

“Me too.”

“Amen.”

“You know we're gonna find Dad, right?” Dean asks, and I know the question is for Sam.

“Yeah, I know. But in the meantime? I'm driving.” Sam says all proudly.

Dean tosses him the keys smiling widely

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #slow burn #wendigo #forest #fanfiction #fanfic #the hunter and the witch

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