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monstersandmaw · 7 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

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#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

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trulyumai · 3 months

Text

Landing a Blow

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Synopsis; The tarnished invaded his keep, Messmer on the brink of defeat, thinks of his wife.

But wait, isn't that her pushing towards him and the Elden Lord ?

Warnings: Blood, Fighting, Violence, Anger.

A/N: Wooo boy! enjoy :)

Read with my Messmer playlist ! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Lv2RUNKH2voR45QP07ryd?si=WjtWV47iSiywnT7JhADyUg&pi=u-iz0Wfu53T36-

“Gah- Ah,”

The tarnished, as if to mock the legend of flames, stood proudly above him; with his weapon pointed downward towards Messmer, ready for the final strike, once and for all sealing their prophecy of lordship.

He followed the roads, the soldiers all the way to the darkened castle. And now, with the last standing relative of the grace; he could begin his reign. For only him could be Elden Lord.

“To fall- to such a- an indictment upon light; a curse to smother beneath mine own heel,” Messmer gritted out, blood falling off in rhythm off his temple and with teeth bared spat red at the man. His vision blurred, trying not to groan; he focused- the figure in front of him was too shaky for his liking, black dots entered his view.

His opponent said nothing, with a calm but eerie facade, the tarnished raised his sword above Messmer. It shined against the rising fire cascading the surrounding walls.

He couldn't believe it- to die by such indecent hands?

Despicable, what would his family think,

His followers,

His mother?

“O mother,” head tilted down, he could no longer hold the strong appearance, the pain numbed his senses.

His eyes burned, cuts lay waste to his body and his hands- were covered in blood and ash.

The maroon stains were dry, flaking off with each nervous twitch of the man's limb and his nails scratched at his knuckles in shame.

The silence of the room, it pissed him off to no end. For the tarnish to have such a stance- such ground before him, it boiled his blood, flamed his knuckles once more and made him bite down with such a pressure that made the bones in his teeth click and grind.

“Do it,” Messmer urged, red brows furrowed.

“Or is thou such a coward, thy won’t serve me deliverance?”

The blade began its descent, and Messmer couldn't physically shut his eyes. Memories upon memories graced his presence.

And it all involved his wife; his beloved.

Her laugh, the way she kissed him, smiled at him.

She was so, so proud of him, even through all the bodies that lay wasted upon the fields; she stayed upon his altar.

“I'm sorry, my love.” With those final words, his form could now relax and with a wobbling lip, smiled. The smell of Erdflowers and apples comforted his last moments as the blade grew closer.

“Stop! Please!”

A voice so delicate, so desperate drew the man from his displayed remorse.

“Wife?” He all but whispered. It wasn’t possible. It couldn't be real.

And yet there she stood, just beside the pushed open stone hinges- panting and wobbling toward the pair.

“Stop, please, I beg of you!” Tripping over a fallen piece of debris she cried out. Messmer couldn't help but jolt towards her in response; only to be stopped by a blade to the neck.

The girl's eyes widened, still laying on her chest adrenaline began to rush through her bones, shaky arms lifted her upper form yet her bottom half lay sprawled out. Too afraid of the sword running across her husband's skin, distance was kept between them.

However, the flames held no patience; they burnt the wooden beams around the ceiling, every second that passed meant that more instability entered the chambers. Suddenly, a large pillar fell atop the girl, she screamed out from underneath it and Messmer shuddered. Racked with fear he pushed against the blade, looking- wanting to see if her form laid whole.

It had.

She stared back at his yellow iris with blood dripping down the middle of her forehead.

The walls began to crack under such heat, paintings lay melted upon the ground and more objects fell upon the vicinity with a startling bang.

Her eyes, how they shined with such a deep remorse- a sadness that Messmer wished he could pluck out. His hands shook, just how was he supposed to protect his wife in such a state of disarray?

The tarnished so called, “Lord,” did nothing but glance at the woman and her pitiful state.

He felt the need to cut- maim such a pathetic sort in his presence. So with a kick to Messmer’s chest, he acted upon such intrusive thoughts.

The air plummeted out of the knight's throat, landing on his back he did nothing but cough out the ash that had landed in his windpipe. From the corner of his eye, he saw the movement and how the tarnished gripped onto his sword.

“No,” with every fiber of his being he lifted his figure, it was hunched and bloodied, but it stood afoot. His eyes, crazed and desperate, looked towards his cowering wife.

“Halt!” Ignoring the knight's pleas, the intruder quickened his pace. The girl tried to wiggle out from the object atop of her. It burned the back of her skin and she yelled out in fear.

He had to act.

Go.

GO!

“Mmph!” Finally free, his wife leaned back and tried crawling anywhere away from the approaching mongrel feasting upon her delicacy.

But, it was too late.

For the lord had gripped her hair and pulled back with all the might he could. Her feet scraped against the ground until she hung up like a rag doll, clinging desperately onto the man's dirtied glove.

She cried out, tears littered pinkened cheeks as wails left her throat unconsciously.

With his back to Messmer he had to be quick.

It would be clean; one slice.

The blade struck against her throat, creating a line of blood that reached down to her ruined dress.

For it would have been deeper, if nobody had slammed against his backside.

“Augh-”

“How dare you,”

Long fingers found their way against the tarnished neck.

“Touch my wife, with your graceless, vile hands.”

Desperate for air the man kicked- wriggled under the tall flame.

It wasn’t enough- for the knight was fueled with fire and anger; only to be snuffed out by the revenge he sought.

His wife did nothing but push her back against the farthest corner, sobs racked her body and the tears flowed freely.

She didn't hear the plethora of curses,

The kicking of the crazed lord,

Or the stillness that came after.

Everything went quiet. Only smoke clouded her vision and it began assaulting her throat most viciously. Coughing she looked, she needed proof of her husband, she wouldn't leave without it. Blinking she tried to push past the itching of her face- ash fell atop it gracefully as her nails itched without care upon her features.

“Mess-” a dry cough

“Mess-mer!” With such a scratchy tone, there was no way to hear her over the roaring of the flames.

For once, she crumpled. Did nothing but lay wilted against the floorboards as grief seeped into her bones like a plague.

Eyelids heavy, they sagged against the itchy smoke filled air. She couldn’t find the energy to leave the chambers.

Finally allowing her lids to fall; she waited. For death to come and pluck her away, away from the smoke and bodies.

Warm fingers touched her cheeks, the tips reached to her ears and her eyes jostled open.

It was him, her darling husband covered in fresh blood, with blackened ash clinging onto his frame. His snakes not upon his form, only ripped pieces of armor littered with maroon stains.

Grunting the man pushed forward, with everything he had left he began to lift the withered girl.

She tried to cry out in joy, cheer on her husband for such a monstrosity of a fight- but the tears ran thick. They wouldn't stop leaking out and falling atop her husband's hair and face.

Bursting through the doors, Messmer leaned against the wall as he descended down the walkway.

His wife whimpered out incessant worries, nabbing at his face as the man tried his best to find the way out of such a destroyed place.

“Wife- Ah, please,”

Her lips wobbled as the man continued his trek, never once did her eyes strain from his bloodied form.

Her hands gripped onto his shoulders, his face, neck- anything she could touch- she did.

Finally bursting through the last set of doors, Messmer collapsed, his knees skidded against the floor as he held his wife up against him.

She crumpled with the knight, leaned right into his form with a tight embrace.

“You- Are you hurt?”

He felt her head shift back and forth.

“Thou is- ah, sure?”

Another shift.

His palms rested on her back, soothingly trying to comfort the sniveling woman.

She jolted back, and Messmer would have been relieved to see her if not for the harsh slap that accompanied her features.

“You fool!” She bellowed.

“You- you ingrate, you nobody! You swore to be the strongest- to protect the order-

“I swore to protect you, darling- stop this,”

A single hand rose to capture her violent fists.

“Thou is fine, the order is fine. That pretender? He lays in the flames of the past, my love-

“Don’t ‘my love me!’ You could have died Messmer, and what then? Am I just supposed to forget you-us?!”

“Don't be foolish.”

No longer interested in such a conversation the man leaned back, he groaned out in pain as his bones once more lit aflame with agony.

His eyes were on hers, and with the other hand, captured her jaw.

“Thou remains safe, that's all that matters.”

She was too tired to argue- after such an event she was grateful to have her husband alive and well, but the fear had been replaced with anger.

Remorse hit her like a bolt of lightning.

“I'm sorry.” She whispered.

“I thought you died.”

He smiled lightly upon the girl- ever infatuated with the love she held for the man.

“Mmm,” He hummed. “That’s alright, dear wife.”

Without hesitation she leaned in, her bloodied forehead molded against his.

He could do nothing but stare with half lidded eyes- fighting the sleep off with only her image.

Noticing the blank expression upon him she laughed, it was rough and exhausted.

“Sleep, my husband. I will watch over thee, hm?”

Nothing more needed to be said, securing his head against the stone support behind him, sleep took over the lanky man.

His wife sighed and with an adoring smile, kissed upon his stained lips.

It was her time to watch over and protect.

Nothing would get between her and the knight snoring tiredly against her body.

#elden ring dlc #Elden ring #Messmer #Messmer the impaler #Messmer x you #Messmer x reader #Messmer the impaler x reader #video game #video game x reader #angst with a happy ending #Fluff #Messmer is so tired bro #Let that man rest #Spotify

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months

Text

Prologue: Missing

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 3.2 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Excuse me, coming through".

You walk down the dim corridor, the sound of telephones and mundane conversations muffled by the large window that separates the common office from the rest of the rooms. You take a quick glance inside and notice that it is emptier than usual, with only a couple of agents sitting at their desks filling out forms, watching the television broadcasting the evening news, or chatting with their cubicle neighbors.

You continue, carefully hugging the old box tighter as you slip past some of your father's co-workers, who greet you quietly before resuming their conversation, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cigarette smoke clinging to their shirts wafting through the air. You're thankful it's not a stupidly strong cologne like the one James Blanc, one of the junior officers, wears. He puts on too much and it always makes you sneeze.

It reminds you of your male classmates who shower themselves in body spray after gym class, the smell making you dizzy as you sit inside the suffocating classroom.

After a few minutes of walking down the dull, gray hallway, you finally reach your destination, stopping in front of a worn wooden door with a silver plaque that reads a familiar name in faded letters: "Det. Pembroke”. Behind the doorway, you can hear a male and female voice, the latter sounding distressed, though you can't discern what they're talking about. Balancing the cardboard box on one arm, you lift your free hand and rack your knuckles against the solid material.

"Come in, door's open", replies a gruff voice after a couple of seconds of silence. Grunting and mentally begging yourself not to drop the heavy package, your hand quickly finds the handle and turns it urgently, the old wood creaking loudly as the door swings open, giving way to a simple yet messy office.

Tall rectangular metal cabinets and bookcases line the dark green walls, with various certificates and diplomas filling the empty spaces. On the right side of the room is a large display cabinet with various comic book figurines, knick-knacks, trophies and photo frames, displaying some of your family's memorabilia and achievements. On the opposite side of the office, under a rectangular window, is a wooden table with small drawers containing a small coffee pot and water dispenser.

Your eyes sweep around the room and settle on your father, who sits behind a metal desk, with piles of documents, dirty mugs, a cup full of pens and pencils, and an old laptop taking up space on the surface. Behind it is a large map detailing the geography of your city, Kotohira. You take notice of several colored thumbtacks mark certain areas, though you can't see exactly where they point to.

He lifts his head to acknowledge your presence and his slender finger points to a table hidden in the corner of the room. “Put it there, kid. Careful with that, it's important,” you nod quickly at your father's words and head for the cabinet, pushing aside the manila folders to make room for the box.

You place the package down with a quiet sigh, using your now free hands to wipe the dust from your button-up shirt, your legs burning as a reminder that it's been hours since you've sat down, too busy running errands and fetching documents around the station.

Your father's eyes focus again on the woman sitting across from him, and he clears his throat as he continues. “Mrs. Enma, please don't worry, my men are working full-time to solve this case,” he reassures the woman, who nods silently at his affirmation.

Your gaze is drawn to the figure, an old woman you recognize as your upstairs neighbor who lives in apartment 305, Saeki Enma. You have bumped into her and her husband several times, either in the building's elevator or the nearby supermarket. It's strange to see her like this, with her usual warm smile and cheerful laughter replaced by a chagrined expression and puffy red eyes.

However, her reaction is understandable, as her only grandson is now the ninth person to go missing in the last month in Kotohira.

Saeki shakily reaches for her small black leather purse sitting on her lap, her small hands pulling out a beautiful baby-blue silk handkerchief, dabbing the corner of her wrinkled eyes to wipe away the rest of her salty tears. Her lips quiver as she looks down.

"Thank you, Detective Pembroke. My little Yuuken means the world to me, he's a kind and responsible boy. Oh my God... he must be so scared," she breaks down after glancing at the file in front of her, the picture of her grandson quietly staring back at her.

Her hands cover her eyes as her body shakes, the sound of her sobs echoing off the walls of the quiet office. Your father immediately gets up from his swivel chair and places a comforting hand on the old woman's back, while you run to the water dispenser, fill a glass, and hand it to her with a comforting smile.

Saeki accepts it with a sniffle, her trembling hands wrapping around the transparent glass as she sips in silence, her crying ceasing. A few minutes later, she calms down and sighs, gently patting your father's hand as a sign of gratitude. And suddenly, her eyes widen as her attention turns to you.

"Oh my, (Y/N)! It's good to see you, what are you doing here? I apologize that you have to see me in this state," she laughs weakly, and you can still hear a hint of sadness in her voice. You suspect she's trying to distract herself from the grief of losing her grandson.

In return, you offer a small smile and a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Please don't worry, Mrs. Enma. It's good to see you, too." Your father suddenly slaps a hand on your shoulder with a toothy smile, causing you to jump in surprise as you turn to look at him in confusion.

“Kiddo over here had no plans for the summer, so I dragged them to the station to help out” - bullshit, you did have plans! You were going to spend every day inside, locked in your room with the air conditioning on, sprawled on your bed, and enjoying your free time. Hell, you'd even bought so many books and comics to read during the break! Now they're just going to sit there, gathering dust.

As Saeki finishes her glass of water, she lifts her head to look at the clock, whose hands point to the current time, 8:43 p.m. “My God! I apologize for taking up so much of your time, Detective Pembroke. My husband will be worried, I should be getting home,” she gasps in surprise. As you help Mrs. Enma out of her chair and pick up her cane, your father heads down the hallway, shouting for a nearby officer to help escort Saeki home.

In a matter of seconds, you hear a pair of footsteps running toward the office, and suddenly a young blond policeman stands in the doorway, nervously greeting your father. You remember that his name is Renart, a French cop freshly graduated from the police academy near Chichibugahama beach. The officers at the station call him "Croissant Surfer.”

Renart escorts Mrs. Enma out of the office, but not before she thanks your father again and gives you a warm smile as she bids you farewell. Your father promptly closes the door, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nine people... nine people just gone," he whispers.

As you walk to the desk, your eyes scan the missing person's report. Yuuken Enma, a second-year student of Hibari Municipal High School disappeared this afternoon after leaving the Ishimoto gymnasium at around 2:30 p.m. He was reported missing by his grandparents who explained that Yuuken failed to pick up his phone and had never arrived home at an agreed hour.

According to witness reports, he was last seen by his fellow kendo club member and first-year student, Koito Saya. The two of them were training for an upcoming kendo match which would take place after summer break ended.

Koito explains that Yuuken left practice early because "he was feeling unwell and he had to help his grandmother prepare some things for the Tanabata Festival.” The first-year student stayed in the gym for another hour of training, and when he left the facility around 4:00 p.m., he found a keychain from an action figure that belonged to Yuuken on the floor. Minutes later, the Enma's called the police station.

Your fingers grab the corner of the paper and turn the page to read some additional details about the case. This Yuuken boy... the two of you stood together at the bus station, but you never really spoke. You went to different schools, and his appearance and aura communicated that he didn't want to be bothered, so you left him alone. Besides, you're not the most outgoing person, so you never really made a move to befriend him. You only knew of his personality from the comments of neighbors and even your parents; a "charismatic and determined young man.”

Your eyes land on an evidence report detailing the footage from the gym's surveillance camera. Your eyes widened as you remembered the conversation you overheard in the records room about two days ago about the recent missing persons cases.

According to the officer, all of the nine disappearances have been caught on CCTV, but you can never see who is taking them or where they are going because the recording always glitches.

He described in detail the disappearance of Fígaro Koskela, the young heir to a Finnish jewelry empire, who was walking home from a party organized by his classmates. He's alone, it's the middle of the night, he's strolling down an alley near some residential houses, when all of a sudden his head whips around as he hears a strange noise, the policeman describes the sound as that of a loud roar followed by a cry similar to that of horses.

Figaro's expression morphed into one of shock and bewilderment, paralyzed on the spot as his blue eyes did not look away from where the sound came. At that moment, the camera stops and the footage goes black. Suspiciously, the camera reactivated itself hours later as police arrived on the scene and neighbors peered out their windows and doors to see what was going on.

The officer explained that all the victims disappeared in the same way: they were alone in Kotohira, they heard something, and the camera footage went black, adding that the people who were near where the victims disappeared never heard anything strange. But he also points out that none of the victims have anything in common. Age, appearance, socioeconomic status, even where they live, nothing.

You're jolted out of your trance as your father clears his throat and walks past you, taking a seat in his chair, before turning to face you, the lack of sleep and stress evident due to the dark circles under his eyes. "From the looks of things, I don't think I'll be leaving the office anytime soon. Do you think your mom can pick you up?"

Normally, you would walk home, since the police station is not that far from the apartment building. That, and the night air feels good on your skin, plus, it gives you some time alone to think and take some pictures of the sky and wildlife.

However, because of the recent disappearances, everyone in Kotohira is on edge, including you and especially your parents. This morning, you even received some messages from a few of your school friends who were outraged because their parents wouldn't let them go on their annual trip to the beach for fear that their children would be the next victims.

You nodded at your dad’s request before taking the seat that Mrs. Enma had previously occupied and wasted no time dialing your mother's phone number. Frankly, you were tired and hungry, having accidentally skipped lunch to help the Chief's secretary organize a mountain of paperwork that needed to be archived. Seriously, these guys are a mess.

After a few dials, you hear the sound of the phone picking up and your mother's cheery voice answering from the other end. "Hello, honey! How's my baby doing?" you see out of the corner of your eye as your father chuckles, having heard your mother's cooing over the loud volume of the phone. "I'm fine, Mom. How was your case?"

You can hear your mother gasp in surprise before she giddily recounts the details of the latest case she took on. "Oh, you bet your ass I won it! You should have seen the look on that idiot Howard's face when they declared my client innocent. That asshole always takes the side of dirty money," you laugh lightly at your mom’s colorful words; she has had a fierce rivalry with Vanguard Legal Services’ best attorney, Howard Waltz, ever since college. They even work at competing firms.

Your mother spends a few minutes telling you more details about the case before asking you why you called her. You tell her about Yuuken Enma's recent disappearance and that your father won't be able to take you home due to the heavy workload.

"Yuuken has disappeared!? Oh, poor thing, I hope they find him soon. Don't worry, darling, I just left the office, I'll be there in about half an hour," after exchanging a few more words, you hang up the call.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You hold your head in your hands, it feels like someone is violently sticking a sharp needle into the left side of your brain and your eyes won't stop throbbing. 'What the actual hell happened? I was doing fine a minute ago.’

Your father had left after the Chief knocked on the door and told him that they were going to have a brief meeting to organize a search party for Yuuken and share some updates on the case. Seconds after they departed and your dad bid you goodbye in case you were gone before he returned, your terrible headache suddenly appeared, and now you feel like you're going to throw up.

“O, thou who were guided by the dark mirror”.

"What was that!? Hello!?" you yell, the chair legs squeaking loudly against the floor as you quickly stand up, your eyes scanning the room trying to find the deep voice that just spoke. Your heart is beating fast, your breathing labored as your hands immediately find a fountain pen sitting on top of some papers, grab it, and point the tip outward to use it as a makeshift weapon.

‘Are the rookies pulling a prank? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it! This fucking headache is driving me insane!’ You lower your head to look at the gap between the door and the floor, but you don’t see anyone standing outside or hear any movement from the hallway. Before you can continue to examine the room any further, your phone vibrates and the screen turns on, displaying a recent message from your mother alongside other notifications: "I'm outside."

You waste no time getting your things, slinging the messenger bag over your shoulder, grabbing your sweater off the back of the chair, and throwing the pen away, landing behind your father’s chair. You're tired, you're hungry, you don’t want to deal with whatever prank somebody’s pulling on you, and you want to take care of this headache before it turns into an excruciating migraine.

You make your way over the door, making sure you stomp your feet as hard as you can to warn whoever is hiding and pulling your hair, to start running before you catch them and kill them. You twist the doorknob and open the door quickly, only to find... the hallway completely desolated and eerily quiet.

This is strange... even if everyone was working, you would hear the noise coming from the offices, but, there is no sound at all. You can’t even hear the wind blowing outside or the droning songs from the cicadas. Your stomach twists into knots, a feeling in your gut screaming at you that something is wrong. You need to get out of there now.

“Let thy heart’s desire reflected in the mirror take thee by the hand”.

Yeah, no, this is no prank. Whatever's going on here is some paranormal shit.

You don't waste a second as you bolt from your father's office, running down the hallway as fast as you can, never looking back for fear of something coming after you. You groan as your headache begins to worsen, your head now throbbing and your ears ringing loudly as you begin to hear a chorus of unintelligible voices inside your brain.

“In me. In them. In you.”

You pant as you run past the common office, your eyes widening as you find the entire room empty, all the equipment turned off and the chairs scattered around the room as if everyone had suddenly gotten up and gone home. The deep voice rings louder in your head again, its words feeling like mockery. ‘What the hell is going on? Where did everyone go? Dad, please be okay!’

“We all have very little time left.”

"AGH, JUST SHUT UP!" you shout, hoping the voices will go away, but they only get louder by the second. Thankfully, you reach the entrance of the police station, your eyes widening in relief as you find your mother's gray car parked right outside. Swinging the glass door open, you dash towards the vehicle, panic running through your veins.

"MOM! PLEASE! IT'S ME! OPEN THE DOOR!" you slam your right hand against the window as you yank hard at the handle of the locked car door. But as you duck your head to look inside the car, your breath is cut short and you feel your heart come to a screeching halt. The driver's side is empty, not a trace of your mother inside.

You slowly back away from the vehicle in utter disbelief, the voices having stopped, but you don't even notice, too preoccupied with the sudden disappearance of everyone around you. Your attention, however, is drawn to a hellish sound coming from your right. A loud roar, creaking wood, heavy wheels rolling on the pavement, and the whole cacophony accompanied by the cries of horses.

You feel frozen in place as your head turns to the side and your eyes widen at the sudden appearance of a funeral carriage drawn by two elegant horses coming at you at full speed.

You want to run, to escape from this hellish scene as quickly as possible, to run into your parents' arms. ‘This has to be a nightmare. This isn’t real!’ Every single muscle and nerve in your body is screaming for you to move, and yet something is holding you back. You close your eyes in fear as the sound of hooves comes closer and closer.

You feel nothing as the carriage crashes into you.

“Welcome to Night Raven College, young soul”.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox

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microsheetcrafts · 1 year

Text

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 1 year

Note

Could you describe how you see some of the creeps' rooms? Like what they havein there or if their roms are messy or always clean? :)

I decided that for this one, I would do my most popular creeps, if you or anyone else reading would like more headcanons on different creeps, let me know and i will be happy to!

Thank you so much for requesting!!

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

Toby

Toby's room is located on the third floor of the mansion/manor (havent decided which one i like better) and is the third door on the left

His door doesn't really have anything fancy on it, it is a simple wooden door with his name on a bronze plate, just like the rest of the creeps

His room has a very grunge-esc and indie vibe to it

His bed is a twin sized bed, with a deep brown comforter, faded yellow sheets and two pillows with no pillowcases on them

He has 2 squishmellows, the hamster and the mango, they sit on his bed, and when he sleeps he uses one as an additional pillow, and the other one he hugs tightly to his chest

He has a lot of tapestries, and not many posters

He has posters for the beetles, fleetwood mac, and ozzy osbourne, and they are all on the wall above his bed

The rest of the tapestries are generic designs with skeletons and stars

He has a small couch under the window of his room, that has a small purple blanket thrown over the top of the couch

He has a lot of fake plants and vines in his room, because he can't take care of real plants to save his life

He has a wooden desk, and on that desk he has his laptop, headphones, tablet, hairspray, books, and writing utensils

Amongst those other things, he also has a few dishes on his desk

He uses his closet as a makeshift house for animals he finds (often possums and raccoons) so that he can help them return to full health, before setting them free once more

However, he does have 3 pet raccoons that just kept on coming back after he set them free, so he just kind of uses his closet for them

His clothes are stored on a clothing rack next to his couch

He has one nightstand on the left side of his bed, where he keeps his phone, charger, and in the drawer, he has spare masks, gloves, medications, and bandages/bandaids

He has a tv in his room, on the wall in front of his bed

All things considered, his room isnt too messy, he has a few dirty clothes here and there, and a few dishes, but it's not terrible

Masky

His room is on the third floor, and is the second door on the right

His door is also not decorated, just a simple wooden door with his name on a bronze plate

His room reeks of cigarettes

His bed is right under his window, it is queen sized and is the first thing you see as you open his door

He has basic white sheets, pillows with basic white pillowcases, and a basic brown comforter

He has a desk on the wall to the left of his bed, where he keeps books, notebooks, writing utensils, and his laptop

Next to his desk, he has an array of weapons

Guns, knifes, crossbows, etc

He has them displayed on the wall, he absolutely just stares at them from time to time, very proud of them

He doesn't have many decorations, but he does have a few trinkets Toby and Sally have given him

He has two nightstands, one has a lamp and the book hes reading, and the other has an ashtray and his current pack of cigarettes

In the drawers he has his medications, and his reading glasses (he refuses to accept the fact he's old, be nice to him about the glasses)

The jacket he normally wears is almost always thrown over his desk chair, ready for it to be used the next day

His closet is only really halfway full, so he uses the other half to store his pajamas, socks and underwear

He has a bunch of records and loves to play them

Takes him back to the good ol days

He is probably the second cleanest on this list

Eyeless Jack

His bedroom is on the second floor, and is the first door to your left

His door has been painted black and his entire room is soundproof

The black door is partly because he just likes it that way and partly to differentiate himself from Laughing Jack, which both door plates just read "Jack"

He has a twin sized bed with grey sheets and pillowcases, and a black comforter

His windows are covered by blackout curtains, making his room one of the darkest

Next to his bed, he has a nightstand with a lamp

Thats the only light source he allows

On the other side of his bed, there is a book cart with books (duh) and a few plants

He also has a bookshelf, but all of the books on the shelf are strictly educational books (studies on anatomy, different illnesses for different creatures, etc)

His desk has his laptop, tablet and a stack of notebooks, all full with his neat handwriting and labled with different things

He doesnt have many decorations in his room, but he does have some framed pictures of his friends from around the mansion

He also has a mini fridge with his stash of fresh food, it is kept clean and is restocked once every 2 weeks

He keeps his room spotless, no dust on anything, bed always made, etc

Definetly the cleanest on this list, if not in the entire house

Jeff

Jeff's room is on the second floor, and is the second door on the left

His door is very much decorated with crime scene tape, a stop sign and a small band poster

His room is very dirty, clothes, trash and dishes are strewn about the room, with a small path from his door to his bed

He has a twin sized bed (if you can even call it that) it is a worn out matress on the floor, with no sheets, pillows without a pillowcase, and a black comforter

He has a nightstand with his vape, medications and phone on it

He has a desk with a pc, nintendo switch, hairspray and makeup but he doesn't really sit at his desk much

His walls are completely covered in band posters, pride flags, road signs, and of course, his tv

He has an electric guitar, but he doesn't play it much

He only knows how to play MSI songs, but he is suprisingly good at them

He has a mannequin in his room as well, "Lucy", he named her, she is missing a leg, and four of her fingers on her left hand, jeff has stuck a knife through her eye and placed stickers over where her nipples would be as makeshift pasties

It is a running joke that Lucy is Jeff's one true love, but they have to keep their love a secret because people wouldn't understand them being together

BEN even bought lucy a cheap wig off of amazon, which sits crooked and tangled on her head

Lucy holds Jeff's bags, and his knives

His room doesn't exactly smell bad, but it doesn't smell pleasent

0/10 PLEASE DO NOT GO IN THERE WHATEVER YOU DO, YOU WILL BE MUTATED

BEN

He is on the third floor, and is the third door on the right

His door is a simple wooden door with a bronze plate that says his name

His bed is very low, almost touching the floor

There are no sheets, no pillowcases and a basic blue comforter

He has LED lights on the ceiling, which are almost always turned green

His desk has a full gaming set up, double moniters, and LED headphones, keyboard and mouse

Behind all of that, he has his hairspray, deodorant, and nintendo switch OLED

On the wall in front of his bed, his tv is mounted, under his tv he has a ps5, an xbox1 and an n64

He also has a small bookshelf where he stores all of his physical game copies

He has a bunch of blue light tapestries, almost all of them have at least one skeleton on it

He also has some posters for his favorite animes and video games (Black butler, one piece, the occassional hatsune miku poster...)

SPEAKING OF HATSUNE MIKU

He is throughly obsessed with her

He has a bunch of figurines he keeps around his gaming set up, he has a hatsune miku plush that sits on his shelf of video games, and he also bought a miku body pillow "as a joke"

And you better believe he has a few t-shirts

He keeps the body pillow stuffed under his bed, away from anyone who could possibly see her

I wouldn't say he classifies as a weeb, but he's definitely up there in the ranks

He also has a snack cart by his pc set up, one tier with drinks, the other two with snacks like chips, cookies, pastries, etc

As for cleanliness, i would say he isnt too dirty

He has a few dirty dishes on his desk, a few dirty shirts and hoodies here and there but other than that, his room is pretty clean

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slutshamethesquirrels · 2 months

Text

The Breadline

Ch.2 - The Lunch Menu pairing: recovering!line cook!eren yeager x fat! fem! reader TW's: alcoholism, recovery, mentions of abuse, mentions of domestic violence, foster care, child custody, foster system, CPS, mentions of body/weight

The Flying Plate was the town’s largest and most popular food joint. Open from 7AM to 11PM, it served as not only a one stop shop for every meal, but also the only place attempting to make any sort of attempt at breathing a nightlife into your city. Every traveler passing through the unmarked spot on the map that you called home was liable to stop in, and with that, it had garnered a bit of a name for itself on yelp, with most reviews praising the food, and only a few complaining about the rude disposition of it’s manager.

Rude as he may be, Levi had undeniably turned the establishment on it’s head. Growing up, you could remember attending more than a couple of your friends' birthday parties at The Flying Plate. Back in those days, it was a popular pick for the spacious interior and cheap food, albeit quite the eye sore. You could remember the way the cracked vinyl of the booths would stick to the fat of your thighs, the checkerboard tabletops assaulting your eyes like they were attempting to distract you from the well-worn walls, still coated with nicotine from when smoking in restaurants was encouraged.

Stepping into the building on your first day, however, you're almost in awe at the major facelift the place had been given. Those old walls had now been completely replaced, with a coating of tile made to look like exposed brick, the occasional exposed wooden beam proudly rocketing out of them and continuing their march all the way across the ceiling, casting shadows on the ground from what looked like a myriad of freshly installed skylights. You found yourself thinking that was a smart idea; it would make the vibe transition from cozy family diner in the day to dive bar at night so much easier. Vinyl booths and checker top tables had been replaced with reclaimed wooden furniture, a testament to Levi’s monetary success with the business.

You hear your name being called and give an apprehensive wave and a sheepish smile as Levi emerges from a side door by the bar in the back. He nods as he saunters over, motioning for you to follow as he passes, leading you over to a register at the front entrance to the kitchen.

“So this is where you’ll clock in,” He skipped the introduction entirely, but stopped himself with a pinch of his brow to give you a once over. You couldn’t help but hold your breath.

You’d arrived dressed as instructed, a long sleeved black blouse and khaki pants with no visible tearing, your hair pulled away from your face in a tight braid. Figuring you’d somehow manage to get some critical feedback from Levi anyway, you’d even thrown on some eyeliner and sparkly silver jewelry from the clearance rack at walmart. You hated pointed stares at your body. While you weren’t particularly insecure, you were well aware of the way the critical lens of the world could perceive you at times. You weren’t lazy, you weren’t gross, you exercised regularly and ate like any other normal woman would, and yet those judgments would often be thrown your way just for being heavier than most.

“Much better than yesterday, but your feet are gonna be on fire by the end of the day.”

You let out a sigh of relief and glance down at your shoes. They were the only pair you owned. A well worn pair of converse. You couldn’t exactly afford another pair at the moment, but unwilling to argue with Levi, you stay silent. After showing you the ropes on the POS system, with a warning that he will write you up for frequent punch errors, he instructs you to wait by the POS while he grabs your trainer for the day.

It takes him longer than you think it should to find this mystery trainer, and you find yourself absentmindedly leaning against the counter and grabbing a to-go lunch menu from the customer display, reading over it while you wait. Things really had changed around here. Long gone were the greasy burgers and half burnt hotdogs you remembered devouring in your childhood, replaced instead with cleaner sandwiches and salads, most with some sort of germanic influence. Not exactly fancy, but fancier-

Your focus switched as the door swung back open, a male voice already announcing it presence, though not to you.

“-I mean, seriously, are you gonna actually pay me enough to make up for this?”

Levi emerges from the door first, stone faced as ever, although you swear you can see a minor clench in his jaw as he speaks, but doesn’t look at, the taller man trailing behind him. He’s clutching a blue folder with a stack of paperwork nestled inside.

“Jean, training is part of your job, and per policy you get the federal minimum wage when you’re training, along with half the tips acquired between the two of you. You half run the floor, for fucks sake. I let you get first pick for shifts, and occasionally the privilege of getting cut first before its your turn. Do not mistake my spoiling you for weakness-”

Levi spins and the dirty blonde nearly topples into him. He seems unwavered.

“If you don’t want to train, fine. But you can go back to full time nights and close all the time with the rest of them.”

The taller man looks like he’s debating fighting this, and you took the moment to size him up. He was, for lack of a better word, pretty. Even from feet away you could smell the cologne radiating off of him, see that the top of his undercut had been styled back away from his face. His black button up was quite obviously tailored to fit tighter to his chest, the sleeves rolled to expose muscular forearms, and you take note of black painted fingernails curled around his biceps where his arms were tightly tucked around his chest in defiance.

In an attempt to break the tension, you pointedly straighten yourself from your lax position, purposefully shoving the menu back in the display hard enough for it to rattle against the wooden counter. Expectedly, both of the men's heads snapped to you, Levi immediately readjusting his body to look more relaxed, while your trainer remained stiff.

“See? She’s studying already! She’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Levi gives Jean a smile, you think, but it comes off a little more devilish than kind. With that, he shoved the folder full of papers into Jean’s chest, which the manicured man reflexively grips, and disappeared into the kitchen once more with a quick and hard half-smack half-pat on the forearm.

“Jesus H Christ” Jean muttered with a sigh, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and draw a deep breath. Silence permeates the air.

After a few moments, he tucks the folder under his arm, clapping his hands together once. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and you can tell from the tension on his lips he’d really rather be doing anything else.

“Alright, let’s get started!”

As the day went on, you started to get more comfortable. Despite his initial attitude, you found him to be an excellent mentor, and a damn good waiter. You watched and shadowed as he effortlessly charmed customers of all ages, and seemed to never make a single mistake. It was almost impressive. You’d never even given thought to the amount of personality and effort that was going to go into this job, but watching him made you a little nervous. You could understand why Levi would “spoil” him, and also make him train. An employee like that had to be invaluable. You could also see why he’d be upset about having to split his tips with you.

As clueless as you were, you did your best, but ended up being a glorified tray holder, a drink refiller, an accessory to all his hard work. You certainly didn’t think you deserved half his tips either.

After the initial rush, Jean lead you back to the kitchen. Expo was a wreck, stray food and sauce splattered on the counters and floors. Lost receipt papers and drink spillage decorated the small space, making it feel all the more cramped and intimate.

“So, we’re by default the last one’s cut for this shift since you’re training-” He speaks as the two of you round the corner “-usually around this time is when we’d clean up for the next rush. If you don't you’ll track barbecue sauce on your feet all the way home, I swear to god. I found a spot of it in my bed once, after I showered-”

Go exclaim a small “Ew!” at the visual, he nods his head and gives a sly grin, never stopping his movement until the two of you had settled on the counter across from the expo station that propped up shelving with extra condiments, ramekins, and utensils. Effortlessly, he reaches his hand up to the very top, producing the blue folder you’d long since forgotten.

“Anyway” he continued “-you still have to fill out your new hire paperwork. So you’re gonna sit here and do that and I’m gonna go take a smoke break before I come back and clean up.”.

He passes the folder to you. You take it, and then give him a questioning look.

“You sure? That hardly seems fair.”

A sigh.

“Training is always unfair. It’s not your fault.” the irritation starts to return to his face.

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Like I said, not your fault.” A moment later, he had disappeared outside and you were left to fill out your paperwork. It was typical new hire bureaucracy. You’d filled out six of these forms in the past year. Lucky number 7, perhaps? You hoped.

Levi had been right about your shoes. You tried to ignore the stabbing pain radiating from your feet as you answered the questions almost automatically, leaning further on the counter to shift more of your weight to your arms than your legs. There would be blisters tomorrow, you were almost certain of it.

“Aye, new girl-” a voice behind you drew your attention and you whipped around in a mild panic, unaware anyone was even acknowledging your presence. One of the line cooks is peering at you from behind the expo shelf, dipped down to meet your gaze. You recognize him instantly. The green-eyed man who’d caught you acting a fool in the parking lot yesterday. All you could really make out were his eyes, but that’s all you needed. They were insanely vibrant, a jungle when you’d only seen pine forests. Your cheeks flushed despite yourself.

“Hmm?” you nodded like you were expecting instruction, and he takes you by surprise.

“What do you want for lunch?”

Your head cocked to the side, brow furrowed in mild confusion. He sighs, as if he’s explained this a time or two before.

“You get one meal per shift, Levi says a restaurant that can’t afford to feed it’s own staff is bound to fail.”

“Uhm…”

Oh god, you wish he’d quit looking at you. Your brain felt melted and slushy, and you couldn’t quite understand why. You were no stranger to men, no stranger to hot men, but with his viridescent gaze locked on your face you felt like you couldn’t move. It felt like the top hill of a rollercoaster, right before the drop, when your body was most rigid, anticipating the rush of the fall.

As you floundered, you could swear for a moment you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle, as if he were smirking. Did he know?

“Yeager makes a damn good Reuben.”

You jump and jerk your head toward the familiar voice, as if caught doing something wrong. Jean was slipping back through the door and pulling an apron on in preparation for his cleaning duties, his next words muffled at first as he slid it over his head “And you know it’s good if I’m willing to give him of all people a compliment over it.”.

“...Then I guess I have to try it, right?” Your eyes slide back over to the line cook, but he's already backing away from the window, a shit eating grin plastering his face.

“Im about to blow your fucking mind.” He promised, and walked to the other end of the kitchen to retrieve a few things. You crack a smile at his disposition. Cocky, arrogant, but underneath the initial layer seemed to be a boyish excitement, like he was really looking forward to making you food.

“We’ll see about that!” You called to him, only being able to catch a dismissive hand wave as he disappeared into the walk-in freezer.

As you settled back into your paperwork and Jean into cleaning, the two of you make light chatter, and you try to stop yourself from peering over the expo line to catch a glimpse of those eyes again.

“So, what are you doing here anyway?” Jean asks casually as he returns from the back with a mop bucket “No offense, but you kind of seem like the type to be working a casual office job somewhere, not busting your ass for tips.”

You watch as he rings an unholy amount of water onto the floor and then return your eyes to your paperwork, debating whether or not to tell the truth.

“Too personal?” He prods again after a moment of silence. “No!” you retort quickly, and then concede with a sigh:

“It’s kind of embarrassing, but my parents are real shitbags. Lost custody of my sister last year and now I’m her sole guardian. Turns out keeping a job and having a kid dumped on you unexpectedly is pretty hard.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“How old is she?”

“Four.”

Jean tensed slightly, paused to look up at you. You hated that face. It was the same one everyone gave you. Somewhere between pity and remorse. “Don’t you even try to feel bad for me. You know how many jobs I’ve had in the last year?” you attempted to lighten the mood. He shook his head.

“Six.”

At this, the tension broke and he raised his eyebrows, his mouth parted in an “o” of surprise that quickly transitioned into an incredulous smirk. Momentarily, he rested the mop in the crook of his arm to hold up all five fingers on one hand and a thumb.

“This many?!”

You both erupt into a fit of giggles as you nod, your face reddening at the embarrassment and silliness of it all.

“Okay, okay-” Jean shook his head as he returned to his work “- but is that just like, because of the kid or have you always been this bad?”. He gives you a look to tell you he’s teasing.

“No!” You defend yourself, your voice still lighthearted “I had a job for years before this, thank you very much! I sold and repaired musical instruments.”

He seemed surprised at this, his teasing smile turning genuine as he questioned further:

“Oh, word?!”

You nodded, proud.

“You play?”

You nodded again and he waved his hand in the air as if to say “Go on-”

“Uhhm, piano. Guitar, Violin, Banjo, anything with strings, really. Drums, woodwinds-”

You’re cut off by the clatter of a plate on the expo line. Yeager! You’d gotten lost in conversation and completely forgotten about him. He’s peering at you from across the line, his brow raised and expectant. You remembered his promise from earlier. You make your way over and grab the plate, eyeing it over once you’ve set it on the counter. It smells delicious, and looks even better. The bread of the sandwich is meticulously grilled, the marks from the searing a perfect shade of brown. Cheese and meat spills from the edges in a manner that almost seems intentional, not too sloppy to pick up, just enough to advertise what’s in store for you.

He cleared his throat expectantly, and you could've stopped breathing when you realized he had slid back so he could watch the entirety of your face. From this angle and distance, you can make out every detail of his face. Strong jawline, angel skin, puppy dog lashes and all. You try not to think about an incredibly attractive man watching you eat.

Hesitantly, you pick up the reuben and take a bite. The taste floods your senses. Its salty, tangy and savory, though not overpowering. The corned beef practically melts against your tongue and your find yourself closing your eyes and leaning in to the texture, bringing your free hand to your mouth to let a garbled “Holy fuck-” escape your lips. Were you starving before this moment? You were now.

When you open your eyes, Yeager’s eyeing you with a wicked prideful glint in his gaze. He wraps his knuckles against the counter twice and turns to clean up after himself, energized by your reaction. You don’t have to tell him it’s good, he already knew.

The rest of the shift passed slowly without incident. You finished your paperwork, turned it into Levi, and shamefully divided up tips you didn’t deserve with Jean. You’d tried to insist on him keeping all, and then three quarters in his favor, but he refused. Something told you if he didn’t know about Ellie he maybe wouldn’t have had the same attitude.

Your thoughts were on getting home as quickly as possible by the end of the day. Your feet were on fire, and you hadn’t moved that much sense… well. Your last job. Momentarily defeated, you sunk into the driver's seat of your beat up car, for once appreciating its torn seats and mildly stinky interior. Your head resting back against the seat and your eyes closed, you had the thought that there was probably an old sippy cup rolling around in the back somewhere, but knew you couldn’t be arsed to look for it until the stench became unbearable.

You still had so much to do. You needed to pick Ellie up, do the laundry, use the money you’d earned that day to go to Wal-Mart and buy a new pair of shoes for fucks sake, which meant you’d have to take Ellie with you, and then bring her back home, find time to make dinner-

Just as you’re starting to get overwhelmed, there's a light knocking on your driver’s side window that causes you to startle slightly. It’s Yeager, as everyone called him. You rolled down the window and he immediately held out a white to-go container. He had to bend down to look at you, using his free arm to rest his weight against the roof of your car.

“What’s this?” you question, reaching your hand out to take it from him regardless.

“For the baby.” He answered plainly, his face completely unreadable but his tone soft.

It immediately takes a load off you as you hesitantly pop the container open to reveal a grilled cheese and a side of fries. You recognized it from the kids menu. That's one less thing you have to deal with.

“Yeager, thank you-” You breathe, but when you look back up to meet his gaze he’s already gone, trekking across the parking lot and loading himself into an S.U.V.

m a s t e r l i s t

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 months

Note

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

👑👑👑👑👑👑

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

So keen for these!!

HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So happy you're looking forward to them!

Here it goes.

18 for 🔮:

---

Banking on the fact that he is invisible and of no consequence here at all, Bobby hurries after him. He follows Buck into the front entryway of what is, by all appearances, a nice family home. Polished wood floors. Art on the wall. Shoes on a rack and jackets on hooks, all in nice, new condition. But there’s a dimness to the space. A sterility.

He doesn’t see any family photos on the wall.

Buck doesn’t even take off his sneakers before marching down the hall, tromping over some fancy cream-colored rug, into the living room.

Sitting in identical pale green armchairs are Margaret and Phillip Buckley. Phillip is reading the paper. Margaret is working on a crossword, likely taken out of said paper. It’s as if neither of them is even aware of what just happened in their driveway.

“Evan, you’re going to track dirt everywhere,” Margaret says without even looking up. “Take off your shoes.”

Buck scoffs. “Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Phillip chimes in, in an equally detached tone.

---

18 for 🌠:

---

Nico found that out last summer when he tried to lie about who threw a baseball through her neighbor’s window. In his defense, it was a total accident.

This, though? Running off? When he knew there was nothing Dad could do about it? This was no accident. And everyone will know that. Nico is kind of screwed.

He has no idea why he did this.

He was supposed to wait to be picked up at the house.

“It’s only a few hours,” Dad had said. “You’ll be okay home alone for a bit? You have my card to order a pizza.”

Maybe Dad trusted him too much.

Nico hadn’t been planning on leaving. He’d planned on being good. He knew Dad really needed him to be good right now. But for some reason, he only made it an hour before his body just couldn’t physically handle it anymore.

---

18 for 👑:

---

“You’re never in the way, Chim.” Hen chides. “Except maybe your own.”

Chimney frowns. What the hell does that mean?

“I’ll think about it,” he says. Mostly just to placate her.

“I just hate seeing you so down, Chim.” Hen sighs.

He shrugs, shoulders only lifting a little under the weight of his med bag.

“I’ll be okay, Hen. Always am.”

They make their way through the mall, to the open corridor that has been designated as Santa’s Village. It kind of looks like a farce. Like a Will Ferrell movie made real. The large wooden workshop structure has collapsed forward, onto the large, plush red chair. Santa himself is unconscious, pinned under the weight of the display to his seat. A woman in civilian’s clothing - perhaps the one who had called 9-1-1 - is standing with one of the costumed elves. It looks like she’s checking Santa’s vitals as best she can.

---

18 for 🧟:

---

“Mama said you can take me to the beach with you to check the fish traps.” Denny tells him.

Buck’s chore for the morning. Finding protein.

“Sure, okay,” Buck says. “We can do that. You stick close to me though, right?”

Denny nods eagerly, curls bouncing. “Mama already told me.”

“Give me a minute to get dressed and get myself ready,” Buck tells him.

“Okay! I’ll be in the kids’ section.”

Denny takes off, and Buck slowly rises, stretching.

They’re a well oiled machine. Not just with Denny’s childcare, but with everything else as well. Bobby, Hen, Karen, Chim, and of course, Buck. One of them is always working a six hour shift on the security cameras. Checking for zombies that get too close.

---

18 for 🦮:

---

No matter what anyone might think. My physical and emotional needs are important, he repeats to himself, like a mantra. A tactic his therapist, Dr. Copeland, suggests. Something to think louder than the anxious, looping thoughts that don’t serve him. A month in, and it’s really starting to work. He hardly thinks about not bringing her places.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he’s not ever without her. He can make a quick run for beer or to the post office alone. But he always brings her on longer grocery shopping outings. He doesn’t need her if he’s going to get a haircut. But he never neglects to bring her to physio appointments. There’s a balance to it, he’s slowly learning.

He’s also getting better at dealing with the social part of it. He’s coming up with strategies. Ways to shut down the people bugging him and Cranberry, or invading his privacy.

For Carolyn, the administration assistant who makes kiss noises at Cranberry - or anyone like her - Buck has a pretty foolproof method. When it happens, he simply stops, looks at Cranberry, and very loudly says, “leave it, Cranberry. Good girl. Good job ignoring distractions.”

#daisies and briars writes #weary memory fic #i always wanted my own spark fic #madney cinderella fic #go and kill go and die fic #buck service dog fic

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monstrousvoice · 1 year

Text

Royal Treatment

A/N: I wrote this for a Discord server and someone said it was good enough for posting so…here you go.

Tags: Smut, Spanking, Light Bondage, BDSM,, Dom-Sub, Dub-Con, Consensual Non-Consent, Kidnapping, Drug Induced Knock-out, Playing a Scene, everything is consensual I swear, Female Tarnished

Read on AO3!

You're sneaking around the castle of Lyndell when it happens. Margit the Fell, who you now know is the King, finds you.

It was unexpected, you didn't know he had been watching you the entire time. In a quick flurry of attacks you were disarmed and a potion of sleeping draught was broken at your feet. The cool mist seemed to seep into your very bones, making you drowsy and desperate for sleep. You collapse, but don't hit the floor. The last thing your mind registers is the Fell Omen of Lyndell staring down at you.

When you awaken, you're staring at the stone floor. Your joints ache and you feel weary, the aftereffects of breathing in so much sleeping draught. As the pounding in your head clears you look up, taking in your surroundings.

First thing you notice is the cool air on your backside. You're naked, head to toe, not a scrap of clothing to preserve your modesty.

Second, the surface you rest on is actually a rack, one your wrists and ankles are tied firmly to. Even if you were at full strength, you wouldn't be able to break through the binds. Said binds have been chosen carefully, clearly. Leather straps that hold you in place but don't dig roughly into your skin.

If you're a prisoner, why would your captor make sure you were safely tied up for no injury...?

And finally, the room you find yourself in is not your typical prisoner cell or torture room. The walls and floor are pristine, no remnants of blood, no corpses left to rot. The smell of calming perfume tickles your nose. A fireplace, a genuine hearth like you've only seen in the Roundtable Hold, sits in the corner and cackles with flame. Everything is bathed in warm golden light and despite your nakedness you don't feel cold. Just pleasantly cool.

It would be enough to lull you into a false sense of security were it not for the objects lining the walls. Shadows from the fire dance and twist their shape, and fear pools like ice in your belly as you stare at what looks like instruments of torture.

Some you recognize immediately. A wooden paddle, a leather whip and flock. Different types of shackles for your captor (and now torturer, you're certain) to move you into different positions and shapes. Some of the objects are just...so odd looking.

Some look...you blush and chastise yourself for thinking something so lewd, but they look...phallic?

Rising panic makes you yank at your bonds with more force, and you cringe at the loud clatter of leather and metal against wood. You need to get away, you need to get out of here-

The creak of a door opening behind you makes you freeze. Muscles tense and heartbeat in your throat, you crane your neck to look over your shoulder.

Margit the Fell stands, his arms folded across his chest. If you weren't so terrified you would have admired the flex of his muscles, the way his thick pectorals are pushed together by his strong arms. His golden gaze looks heated in the glow of the fire.

"M-Margit?" You whimper. "Please...please whatever you have planned, please don't do it, I swear I-"

"Quite a lovely sight, little Tarnished. A wonder thou does not walk around the Lands Between in such a state." He cuts you off, as if he doesn't even hear your pathetic pleas.

"W-wha-?" Your eyes dart down, and in reflex you try to clamp your thighs closed, only now realizing that with your tied position, everything is on display to the Omen.

Your shackles clatter and hold tight, keeping your legs forced open. You squeal in mortification, tears pricking your eyes at being in such an embarrassing position.

"Calm thyself, Tarnished. I took great care in choosing bonds that would not hurt thee, but too much struggle and thee may do so anyways."

You bow your head, wishing that you could simply disappear.

He can see.

He can see your shame, your lewdness. See how wet you are from simply being tied up.

You can't let him know, you can't-!

How did he even know!? How did he know that you would be in the castle? That you fantasized about this exact scenario on your journey through the land? Was he watching you the whole time?

Did he...did he see you at night? Hiding away in your camp near Grace, whispering his name and plunging your fingers into your dripping cunt?

What would he do with you now? You were helpless, tied down with your only exit being blocked by the very being making your most shameful fantasies a reality.

"I-I don't know what you want with me-please-!"

"Tis no use little Tarnished. I can smell thee." Your neck snaps up, trying in vain to face him again. "...Yes, I can smell thy scent, that sweet coiling spice of heat and arousal..."

"N-no-!" You whimper, wiggling against the table as molten heat, the kind he smells you now know, pooling in your lower belly. You can feel your cunt leak at his words, at the sound of his lower timbre of a voice.

He laughs at you, a deep chuckle that you can feel vibrate through you to your very core. It makes your opening clench, and you bite your lip hard to keep from making more noise.

The heavy thud of his feet along the stone floor echoes in your ears. With no warning, massive scarred hands grip your thighs, the curve of your ass resting just above them. You squeak in shock at his touch, jerking your hips forward out of instinct.

"Don't move away from me, Tarnished." He growls.

"P-please-" He ignores you. You feel his thumbs, each one longer than your palm and as thick as two of your own fingers, pull at you drooling slit.

Your lips open to him, muscles clenching and winking at him as you bury your face against the table and squeal. Your cream beads from your opening, making the skin shine with arousal, all for him to see.

"Ahh, such a lewd sight. A beautiful cunt thou has, my little Tarnished. Tight and wet. Desperate for a cock to fill it, hmm?" You don't say anything, not trusting your voice to work how you want it to.

Embarrassed beyond belief you jerk again, pulling your hips away from him. Immediately you know this was the wrong move. Margit huffs in frustration, his hands falling away from your skin.

"Tis thy wish to be difficult, hmm?" He growls, moving away from the rack. You peek up from the wood to watch him as he goes towards the many shelves holding the various devices you can't even imagine the use of. He goes for something simple, a durable leather flogger.

You tense up again, eyes wide. He won't possibly-!

"Wait! Please, Margit I'll do whatever you ask, p-please not this-!"

"Silence. Or thee shall wear a gag the rest of the night." His eye pins you, and you whimper once more. "I would rather not have to use it. I want to hear thee scream my name by the end of the night."

Resigned to your fate, you give up. There is no changing his mind. He plans to use you, to play with you, to break you.

Make you his.

And trying to fight it would be pointless.

"Now, thy squirming is adorable, but not when thy goal is to pull away from me. Punishment is needed for thee to learn thy proper place." You tense as he walks behind you once more, and flinch hard at the feel of the flogger gently laid against your backside. He simply lets it drape over you, again and again until your muscles relax on instinct at the feel of the leather.

"What should thy punishment be? Tis a first time offense against your Master, I understand that thee must learn first. We shall start small." His free hand joins the flogger on your ass, fingers gripping the flesh of your cheek hard.

"We shall go to ten. Thou shall count every strike, is this understood?" You tremble, nodding your head.

"Y-yes Sir...c-count to ten..." You whisper.

"Good." He purrs.

And the first strike hits.

You cry out, body tensing up all over again as pain ripples through the soft flesh of your ass. Your back arches, trying to pull away even knowing it would be useless. The entire right side of your ass feels like it's on fire.

You fucking love it.

He switches the flogger to his other hand, using his right to grab the stinging flesh of your right cheek. Large fingers massage the area, diluting the pain and making your muscles unclench once again.

"O-o-one..." You croak.

The second strike somehow feels worse. Right against your left cheek, the flogger strikes true, and heat spreads to match the intensity you feel in the right side of your ass. You jump hard again, body rocking back and forth as it tries to make sense of this painful pleasure combo it's been hit with. As Margit's hand massages the area, your own hands turn and grip at your leather cuffs, pulling at the bindings for some sort of stability.

"Tttt-two-!"

When the third hit strikes your right cheek, you scream.

"FFFF-FUCK-! T-THREE-!" Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, the blood pumping through your system making everything feel both heightened and dull.

You can feel your cunt clenching rapidly on nothing but empty air, slick gushing out of you and coating your thighs. You need...you need something, anything. Anything that the Omen behind you will give to you.

"Good job little Tarnished, thee are doing very well..." His voice rumbles. A burst of smug pride and bliss spreads through your whole body at his words.

Yes, you are doing good. You're taking Master's punishment and doing exactly as he commands...what a good pet you are~

Another strike of the flogger against your abused skin.

"G-grace give me str-streng...Fff-four..."

Margit rubs soothing circles into the flesh again, watching as you go lax to his touch. Your skin is already hot to the touch, welts forming over your skin.

His cock is aching between his legs. It has already slipped out of his sheathe, the head leaking precum into a pool on the table between your feet. His knot was still tucked snuggly away inside, not yet swollen enough to come out.

He wanted to see your ass ruined, the skin tender and sore as he rubbed his cock in between the meaty flesh before pounding away at your cunt. To hear you cry for him as his cock stretched you open and his hips slapped against your abused skin.

He needed to move this along.

You were starting to relax fully at his gentle touch, the sting in your butt slowly fading away. And suddenly in quick succession, two strikes hit you at the same time.

Your back arched again and you threw your head back, staring wide eyed at the ceiling in a silent scream as searing pain blossomed into hot pleasure that shot straight to your cunt. It spasmed hard, a gush of cream squirting out and soaking your legs and Margit's hips.

You weren't sure if you just came, you didn't know. You could feel the release of tension from your pussy, waves of pleasure rolling over you from head to toe, but the heat in your belly remained.

The need to feel something more was still there.

The flogger was laid down next to you, both the Omen's hands kneading and massaging your abused ass this time.

"Nngghhh-fuhhh-fuck-...Fffive and...and s-sssix..."

You fell limp against the rack, tears in your eyes as your overstimulated body finally gave out. You let your tears fall, unashamed as your body squirmed and wiggled. You didn't know what you needed anymore, a rest? A cock, to be bred by your Omen Master? Did it even matter?

What did anything matter when Master was here for you? He knew what you needed, he would take care of you.

"P-pleasssse...Master I...I need-..." You needed him, anything from him. His words were as soothing as his touch.

"Yes my little one, I know. First thee must finish the punishment. It shall be over soon, dear one. Just four more."

You gave a choked sob. You didn't want to do four more! You wanted it to be over, you wanted him-!

"Thou is doing such a good job...such a good little pet for me." You heaved and panted, taking solace in that you were being good. You didn't want to do it, but you could. Your Master knew you could.

His hands moved lower towards your lips, spreading them once more to watch you unabashedly.

"Fuck...look at this pretty little cunt, pulsing for me...so wet." You heard him say as a single finger dipped into you. It didn't even press against your opening or your engorged clit before it was gone again, a sticky trail of moisture connecting it to you. The trail snapped under its own weight, the slick falling back onto your trembling thighs.

You heard Margit suck on his finger, tasting your cream on his tongue. You hoped he liked it.

"Let us continue."

The flogger was picked back up, the threads of leather trailing on the table in the corner of your eye. You took a deep breath, bowing your head and presenting your sore ass for more punishment.

A strike on your right cheek, a cry from you. Tears leaked down your face as more pain bloomed under your skin.

"S-seve-!" Your count is cut off as another strike makes its mark, and your body convulses. Your hips wiggle and hump empty air, your lungs feel empty as you try to breathe.

"FFF-FUH-Fuuuckk...please, please, pleasepleaseplease-" You beg, unsure what you're asking for at this point. All you know is that you need this.

"What is our count little one?" Margit growls, his hands already kneading your flesh. You give a choked cry in response.

"Tell me. Otherwise we shall have no choice but to start over." The threat has you shuddering and crying again and you force yourself to mumble with some coherency.

"Sevvven...a-ah-ahnd...e-eight...ooohh fuuhcck..."

"Hmmm, good. We are on our last two little Tarnished." You feel his body press against you, his towering form easily able to press against the entirety of your back and bring his lips to your ear.

His hot breath fans against your skin, and you're overwhelmed with the urge to feel his tongue shoved forcefully down your throat. You can feel his cock, hard as steel pressing against you, his hips pushing burning pressure against your ass.

"Count these last two...and thy punishment is over..." He purrs, nipping your earlobe. You give a broken sob, tears running down to your neck.

You can't take two more...you can't. Your ass feels broken and sore, the skin burning like hot coals were under your skin. Your cunt felt so empty, you just wanted this to be over-!

Margit pulled away from you, standing to his full height once more. His hands give two quick gentle pats against your ass that has you squeaking in protest.

Not that it will earn you a break. The end of your punishment is here.

With a resounding 'WHACK' two more strikes are dealt to your bruising skin. You scream loud enough that if anyone is in the halls of wherever you're being held, they surely would have heard. Your hips buck and thrash as your skin throbs in time with your heartbeat.

You look a mess, tears staining your cheeks as bruises stain the lower ones. Your thighs are coated in slick, your pussy throbbing for any kind of stimulation as the pain slowly fades and leaves pleasurable heat behind.

You give a shuddering gasp when air finally returns to you, dropping your head against the wooden table below you as your muscles all go slack.

"Nnnn-nine...t...ten..."

Margit gives a low groan in his chest at the sight of you, his cock twitching. He doesn't give you a moment of reprieve, simply climbing up and settling himself down against your thighs. You don't protest or try to pull away from him, from your kidnapper, only laying still and watching him over your shoulder with hooded, tear filled eyes.

He grabs his dick, pushing the head down towards your puffy pussy and pressing insistently against the tight hole.

"This will be a tight fit for thee...but I know my little Tarnished whore can handle it~" He smirks, meeting your gaze as he pushes inside. He wants to watch you as he breaks your cunt on his cock.

He watches as your eyes widen and roll to the back of your skull, your jaw dropping open in a silent cry. He bites his bottom lip, endeared by your cute reaction to taking him fully.

With the head snug inside he removes his hand, placing both on opposite sides of you to hold his weight. He shifts to be more comfortable above you before sinking further inside. You give the most adorable mewl at the feeling, your cunt giving a wet 'squelch' as he pushes deeper.

"I-ooohh fuhhck...sss-so deep...b-breaking me-" You gasp, your arms pulling futilely at your cuffs.

"Yes, that's right...this is my cunt now. Mine to use and break how I see fit...no one else." He growls.

You can feel him stretch you open, your muscles lax and sensitive as his fat cock pushes forcefully through. Your gummy walls spread until they can't any more, until his cock goes as deep as it can.

"Margiii-it...my-my womb-your cock is-! Fucking g-!" You can only squeal as he finally stops, his hips resting against your abused ass. His balls, swollen with cum and desperate for release, rest against your pussy, pushing against your blood engorged clit that hasn't gotten any attention this whole time.

He simply sits there for a moment, enjoying the way you pulse against him, the cute noises you keep making.

"Yes little Tarnished, tell me. Tell the world whose cock it is stretching thee so well...who thou belongs to..." His hands move to your back, massaging and pressing against the tense muscles.

"Yes!! Yes-it's yooouuu-! Fuck, it's Margit the F-Fell Omen inside me! S-stretching my p-pussy so faarrr-!" You cry, shuddering.

A sudden wave of pleasure washes over you as you scream those words, bliss overtaking your mind. Your cunt squeezes down hard like a vice as you finally cum. You shake and shudder on his cock, drooling all over yourself as the intense pleasure makes you cry more.

"Fuck, there it is...My little one cumming for thy new Master...So good for me..." He moans. With sudden speed your body is not prepared for, Margit pulls out of your welcoming heat.

He thrusts back in immediately, setting a harsh and brutal pace that knocks the air from your lungs. Your pussy isn't able to keep up, just keeping a tight grip on the fat cock breeding it as wave of bliss after wave of bliss washes over you. Your first orgasm never truly ends…Or it does and is immediately followed by another one, your mind is too blank to tell. Your toes curl and your back arches to keep your ass up and open for the pounding you receive.

Your ass stings with every thrust, sharp jolts of pain that mingle with the pleasure you feel. Margit's fat sack slaps against your clit with every thrust. Your body is trapped in an endless loop of pleasure. You can't do anything except lay there and accept that this is your place now.

Your mind slowly fades, washed away by pleasure and joy as you give everything up to your Master.

Margit watches, entranced by your whimpers and tears as you take him, your body being molded to be his perfect little mate to breed and fill with his thick cum.

He keeps thrusting, holding off on the urge to push his knot inside for as long as he can. He never wants this feeling to end. Your tight heat pulsing around him, opening up to him, welcoming him inside.

His eye looks down at the hypnotic sight of his cock disappearing inside you. Puffy cunt lips spread wide and stands of sticky cream that break and conjoin with every one of his thrusts. His cock is coated in the stuff, the pink skin covered in creamy white with every thrust.

It's too much, his body feeling on edge after your punishment. He feels his knot grow, finally slipping out of his sheath to press against your too small hole.

He'll make it fit.

His hands move down from your shoulders to your ass once more, thumbs hooking against your wet lips to spread them further. It gives him a wonderful view as his knot presses against you, being pushed back out from the tightness before finally-!

With a shuddering groan from deep in his chest, he watches as the knot slips past the tight ring of your cunt and inside. He bows over your prone form, teeth biting into the soft skin of your neck as his hips press deep inside.

Your only reaction is to coo and cum again, head laying limp against the wooden table as Margit takes what he needs from you.

Pump after pump of thick, creamy cum is unloaded inside you, filling your waiting and abused womb. A small bump immediately forms in your abdomen as you’re flooded full. You can feel the liquid slosh back towards your opening, trying to find a way out as you're filled to the absolute limit. Margit's knot does its job, keeping you plugged even as he absentmindedly grinds against your ass for more pleasure.

He's lost in his own mind, huffing and grunting above you, teeth still in your skin as his eye slips closed. It feels so good...pumping you full of his seed, making you his.

You'll never belong to another. Never.

Your body is made for him, made for his cum, for his future pups, for wherever he needs.

You let out one final moan of his name, a plea and a promise, before you fall completely limp against the rack, mind unconscious.

~~~~~

When you come to, you're no longer in the cell.

You lay on a soft luxurious bed, wrapped up in silk sheets. The curtains are drawn but the ever present glow of the Erdtree seeps through and gives the room a soft glow.

Margit sits at his desk, bifocals on his nose as he looks over paperwork. At your shifting, he looks to you.

He smiles and stands, taking his bifocals off and laying them on his desk. He makes his way over to you, and grabs a glass of water off the nightstand you didn't notice.

"Drink. Ye need it." You do as he says, and find he's right. Your throat is sore and tender after all that screaming.

"Ye should have told me it was becoming too much. It was thou's idea to have a safe word for such situations." With a small cough, you clear your throat.

"Yes-...Hrmm, yes. But I didn't want you to stop, love. It was amazing~" You coo. You look at your wrists, and then show them to him.

"And look! No scrapes or cuts! I told you leather cuffs would work just fine!" You smile, taking his hand in yours. The Omen sighs through his nose, sitting down on the mattress next to you. His tail rises and falls in slight agitation, showing his anxious thoughts,

"I worry that I will hurt ye too much someday..." Your expression goes soft, and you bring his hand up to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

"I know you won't. That was wonderful and I loved every moment of it." He looks more reassured by your words, but the doubt is still there. You think for a moment before speaking.

"How about we talk a little more about this and I can tell you how much I loved it? We can have dinner here! I...can't exactly walk, heehee~" You giggle. Morgott smiles, a small quirk of his lips, and nods.

"I shall have the servants bring something up for ye."

"And you too! You need to eat with me." You insist. He pauses for a moment, then bows his head to you.

"Whatever my mate wishes."

#Elden Ring #Morgott #Morgott the Omen King #Margit The Fell Omen #Morgott X Tarnished #Morgott X Reader #My writing

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