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hisui-dreamer · 5 months

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we are one

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Rook, Sebek

Synopsis: You shared a night of passion with your lover before you left for the other side of the mirror, but fate's cruel hands strike once again as you realise you have to raise his child alone in your original world. Thankfully, your child is incredibly drawn to magic, and they opened a portal...?

Tags: slight angst, fluffy end because im a sap, fem reader, reader gives birth to a child, reunions

Word count: 4.5k+

Notes: im sorry this took so long lol, but part 4 is finally here!!

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3✧Masterlist

A few months passed as you settled back into your routine at home. Eventually, with the noticeable changes in your body, it dawned on you that you were with child—his child, your lover from the other side of the mirror whom you could no longer reach.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turn into months. You had adapted to the trials and tribulations of parenthood. Juggling the responsibilities of work, childcare, and household chores was no easy feat, but you found solace in the small moments of your child's growth and development.

Your child was a true joy to behold, a mirror image of their father in many ways, and you often see the ghost of your past lover in them. Having inherited his magic, your child experimented with their powers, leaving you to support them with what limited knowledge of magic that remained from your NRC days.

On one such experiment, your environment started to shift as a wave of magical energy engulfed you. When you opened your eyes again, he was there, right in front of you—

Shizuka (靜菓) with 静 meaning "quiet, still, calm" and 菓 meaning "confectionery, sweets, pastry"

your daughter had silky green hair the colour of fresh matcha and golden yellow eyes that were reminiscent of fresh honey

you named your daughter after her father's dislike of noise and his culinary abilities that never failed to amaze the whole of Heartslabyul

she's rather a quiet child, not very loud but too quiet either

she gets along with other kids perfectly fine, and she doesn't mind sharing or taking a step back at all, always choosing to go with the flow and not get worked up over small things

honestly she's really a mature kid

also just really good at being a peacekeeper and stopping other kids from getting into big fights

buut she does have a mischievous side and may tease her friends when she's in the mood to

at home, she's pretty obedient and will listen to you, but there are moments when she sneaks around

loves helping you with cooking, and her eyes sparkle when she's baking with you

she loves sweets and desserts, but thanks to your warnings about her dental health, she does stop herself from eating too much sugar

is slightly freaked out about cavities so don't you worry, she'll never need any reminding about brushing her teeth or late night snacks

when it comes to school, she doesn't put in too much effort, but you can tell she'd be excellent if she cared more about her grades

which is clearly shown when fixates on learning magic, always so focused that you'll have to call her twice before she snaps out of her trance

you can't blame her for giving it her all though, after all, you've never seen her more excited than when you told her how amazing a person her father is, calm and soothing like a gentle summer rain

once she puts her heart to it, there's really no stopping her

so on another normal evening, as you were cooking dinner while she was studying on the kitchen counter, you found yourself enveloped by a soft light

when you open your eyes, you find yourself standing outside a charming bakery, the fragrance of roses engulfing your senses

and peering through the bakery windows, was the man you had yearned for all these years

It was just a normal day of running the bakery for Trey. With the sun on the verge of setting, he began preparations for closing, when the soft chime of the bell announced a new customer's arrival. He turned around, catching sight of you. His eyes widened in surprise, mirroring the disbelief in your own.

Before words could be exchanged, Trey rushed past the counter. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you as he pulled you close. The years melted away, and the two of you were transported back to a time when you always had each other.

"Is this real?" he wondered aloud, your hearts pounding in sync.

You nodded into his shoulder, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. He pulled back slightly, brushing away your tears as his gaze softened, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"It's been a long time," he whispered. "I missed you so much."

he's just holding you tight, crying as he thanks the heavens for being so lucky to have you in his life again

trey returned to his hometown after graduation, helping out and eventually inheriting the family bakery

he loved incorporating your favourite foods into the store's selection, adding some new desserts from your world that you taught him, and always reminiscing on those tender moments when it was just the two of you in the kitchen

he always knew you had to go home eventually, but that didn't stop him from wishing you could be his life-long partner, supporting each other through thick and thin

so he's beyond grateful and excited to know you and his daughter(?!) shared the feelings even though you were apart

he's rather surprised about said daughter, but there would be no denying how similar they looked

shizuka is a bit nervous, tugging your skirt as she stares curiously at her supposed father

but Trey very quickly makes her feel at home, his warm smiles and even warmer hugs melting away all her nervousness!

he closes the bakery for a few days to help the two of you settle down a bit

this involves reunions with friends and of course, the clover family, who welcome you and their granddaughter with open arms

the clovers are just really really glad their son finally has someone in his life and that he seems a lot more energised now

Shizuka is very quickly introduced to uncle riddle!! who is very surprised but delighted by the behaving little girl who seems to stick to him a lot

uncle deuce and ace also get along with her wonderfully!! especially when Shizuka wants to play around with riddle for a bit hahaha

don't forget uncle cater who flies instantly to meet his new adorable niece and show her off on magicam!!

the three of you settle into a nice rhythm and you help out trey at the bakery now

Trey is very very affectionate with you always, pecking you on the cheek or nuzzling into your neck any chance he can get

Shizuka loves helping out whenever she can too!! she loves learning from her papa and sometimes will just spend hours watching him work

all in all, a blissful, simple family that Trey had always dreamed of, but never would he have believed he was so blessed to have the two of you come back to him

Trey gazed at the young girl, her silky green hair catching the light in a way that seemed surreal. With a heart full of emotions, he approached her hesitantly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Shizuka, was it?" he spoke softly, the name lingering on his lips like a prayer. "It's so nice to meet you."

Shizuka's gaze flickered from Trey to you, seeking reassurance. With a gentle nod from you, she turned her attention back to him, her eyes studying him intently.

Trey knelt to her level, his heart racing. "I know this might be a lot to take in, but I'm your father."

She took a small step forward, cautious but curious. Trey extended his hand tentatively, offering a warm smile. Without a word, Shizuka reached out, placing her small hand in his.

A soft smile graced her lips, mirroring the warmth reflected in Trey's eyes. With a tentative but genuine embrace, Trey enveloped his daughter in his arms, tears cascading down his cheeks. Shizuka, feeling the sincerity in his embrace, wrapped her arms around him as well, a sense of belonging beginning to bloom within her.

Kenji (賢至) with 賢 meaning "intelligence, wisdom, cleverness" and 至 meaning "to arrive at, to reach, to come to"

your son had the softest hair the colour of wheat, and blue eyes that reminded you of cloudy skies

you named your son after how clever his father was, and his endless determination to reach his goals

he's a really sweet kid, always eager to help around and even others when he notices they're in need

you've heard about the many experiences his father had when he grew up, so you've tried your hardest to make sure Kenji wouldn't have to go through them, knowing it's what your hyena would've wanted

but even then, he's never complained about not having enough, there's a subtle wisdom to him that really mirrors his father

though he differs from him in that he's always willing to share, because he knows not everyone can be so lucky

he may not be too good at haggling prices, but his puppy dog eyes work just as well!

he loves doing chores with you, always smiling and laughing that familiar laugh as he helps you sweep the floor while he tells you about his day

he loves cuddles and kisses!!! his favourite part of the day is climbing into your warm bed to wrap his arms around you, asking you for a goodnight kiss and sometimes even bedtime stories

his ears and tails are a bit of a problem, so you keep his hair a bit long to hide the ears, or just say they're fun accessories

you've told him how his father's determination to support his family and community shined through even in unfortunate circumstances, the resourceful and intelligent man he became and you fell in love with

his blue-grey eyes almost resembled a clear sky when he listened to you, asking you more and more questions about this amazing person

he'll try learning more to be like him, but his kind nature stops him from being too schemey

he's not exactly academic weapon material, but he's pretty quick at absorbing information and putting it into practice

and with lots of determination and practice, he somehow manages to manifest the very thing the two of you wanted, and before your eyes was the man who never failed to make you laugh with him

As Ruggie's eyes adjusted, your figure slowly came into focus, revealing the very person who took his heart with them. "Prefect...?" He whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

His usually carefree expression shifted to one of disbelief, and then a bittersweet smile spread across his face as the tears welled up in his eyes. Without a second thought, he rushed towards you, sweeping you into a tight embrace.

"You're here... You're really here, right?" Ruggie mumbled, his voice choked with emotion.

You nodded furiously, comfort washing over you at his touch. "Yes, Ruggie, it's real. I'm really here."

His hand reached up to thread his fingers through your hair, cupping the back of your head. "I'm so glad... So, so glad..."

he's holding onto you as tightly as he can, so afraid that you'd disappear into the light if he let you loose for even a bit

after graduation, Ruggie followed leona to become his official attendant, what with him knowing how leona likes to get things done, and his ability to pick up etiquette cues

he's also a great information gatherer, so he's perfectly able to assist leona with his foreign affairs

it's leona's voice that finally breaks the two of you out of your trance, him rushing over to investigate that weird light

the two of you pull back and you almost wouldn't notice it, but leona's smile has softened a bit from the image you had in your memory

Ruggie never expected himself to be a father, and things are going a bit faster than he'd like, but there's no denying he's absolutely grateful to have you and your kid at his side

almost immediately the next day, he takes you back to his hometown so you and Kenji can meet grandma and the neighbourhood

grandma bucchi welcomes the two of you so warmly, she even gets a little teary eyed when she sees Kenji, with him looking so similar to the very hyena she raised

leona and Ruggie delegate a room for you in the side palace, where they also live, so you'll be able to see familiar faces often

Kenji loves following his father around, picking up his mannerisms and wanting to learn more about being more schemey

Ruggie's a bit conflicted his angel of a son wants to learn his ways but even he can't deny those puppy dog eyes

uncle leona and guard jack also love spending time with him! though one of them pretends it's annoying

leona shows him magic tricks and jack will teach him how to fight! he'll be getting great lessons all around

Kenji is very eager to learn more and explore this world, so sometimes you'll have to hold him back a bit just in case he gets hurt

but you suppose with the splendid man his father is, you don't have to worry too much

Ruggie's schedule can be a bit hectic and he pulls a lot of late nights, but he always tries to make time for his family

they're the most precious thing to him in the entire world, did you think he'd let them go that easily?

"Dad!" Kenji exclaimed, darting over to grasp at the fabric of Ruggie's pants. "You're my dad, right?"

Ruggie blinked in disbelief, shifting his gaze towards you. "Is... Is he?" he asked, hope saturating his voice.

You affirmed with a nod, and Ruggie redirected his attention to Kenji. "Yeah... I'm your dad..."

Instantly, Kenji wrapped his arms around Ruggie's legs. "Yay! I've always wanted to meet you, Dad!"

Ruggie couldn't help but marvel in awe at the bundle of joy now clinging to his legs, realizing that this spirited kid was the product of your love.

Ayaka (斐佳) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 華 meaning "flower, splendour, brilliance"　

Ayato (斐斗) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 杜 meaning "forest, grove, woods"

maybe a part of you should have expected it, with how unpredictable your beloved hunter always has been, but you ended up having to raise twins

the two had luscious golden locks that rivalled sunlight and sharp green eyes akin to the forests in the summer

you named the two of them after their father's love for all things beauty and his love for forests and nature

the two are well-behaved children, though they can be surprisingly sneaky and mischievous

Ayaka is more outgoing and is always fascinated by the pretty things in her vicinity

while Ayato is more introverted and quiet, often silently following his younger sister and nodding along to her ramblings

he definitely appreciates beauty, but he's less vocal about it

and whereas Ayaka is more fascinated by gems and cute plushies, Ayato is more interested in nature, finding beauty in the moss, the trees and the insects

the siblings are just really really curious about the world and they love observing the little details, from catching beetles to keep as pets, to planting flowers they found on a hike

they really do reflect your hunter's wide range of appreciation

the twins love sticking to each other and they're rarely arguing

though they do fight a bit over who helped you more with chores or who you love more

they're very helpful and efficient, and though they may complain about not wanting to work because the other twin is lazing, they'll still get the job done

they love watching tv shows and dramas, often acting out scenes in the shows or in fairytales

and oh the way their eyes sparkled when you told the fascinating man their father was, a man who could control his own heartbeat, keep track of time so accurately, and with such incredible eyesight, who devoted himself to spreading joy and beauty

almost immediately they doubled their efforts in studying, wanting desperately to meet the man to learn his ways and see for themselves just how interesting he is

and just like that, the dazzling light gradually subsided, unveiling a world that you thought only existed in your dreams

you remember the villa, it's where he took you on vacation for the first, and supposedly last time

You hesitantly knocked on the weathered wooden door of the villa, the echoes of your anticipation mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As the door creaked open, memories flooded back to the first time you entered this place with the man who had captured your heart.

Rook's usual stoic expression shifted, replaced by a mix of surprise and unspoken emotions. "Mon amour... You're really here," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper that hung in the air. Without uttering a single word, he enfolded you in an embrace, as though afraid you might slip away like a fleeting dream.

"I missed you so much," you whispered back the tears flowing freely now that you've felt as you savour the warmth of his touch and the comforting scent of his cologne.

He pulled back, soft brushes of his fingers wiping your tears, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to capture the essence of the time that had passed. "I missed you too, so dearly..." he admitted as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, a rare vulnerability in his gaze.

this was the most emotion you'd seen from him, even when you said goodbye he kept a smile on his face

he's holding you so delicately, as if you were going to fade away if he applied just a bit more pressure

he's surprised by the children, but he instantly warms up to the idea!

he's remained a pursuer of beauty even after graduation, sponsoring artists while he makes a living through hunting and his film critique

he was taking a break in the family villa for old times sake, but it's almost as if the universe planned it all along

he's very affectionate with you, even more so than before, which you didn't even know was possible

always a warm hand on your waist, an occasional peck on your cheek, and every once in a while he'll feel the urge to pull you in for a hug

he tries to do everything for you so you don't even have to lift a finger, breakfast in bed, waking the children, even cooking and cleaning

he loves spending time with the twins!! teaching the two of them how to hunt and explore the forest safely

he'll show them pretty plants, and interesting fungi, all while explaining what properties they might have and whether or not they're poisonous

the twins are so fascinated by everything, their excitement and energy are seemingly endless

and who's a father to deny his children? he spoils them rotten

he also loves showing the kids a certain idol he's supported...

as well as films of vil!! occasionally talking over the movie to express how perfect a scene is or how flawless his acting is

and when the twins get to meet the vil schoenheit, they're beyond thrilled

asking questions, throwing compliments, all directed towards vil, but they're quiet the moment he tells them to shush

uncle vil loves talking to his niece and nephew, but only when they're... calm

uncle epel also loves popping by and giving the twins some apples so they'll get proper nutrition!

really, you'll have to step in to prevent your kids from being spoiled rotten

but you'll indulge Rook for a while, he's just blissfully happy with his family after all

"Are these...?" he began, his voice trailing off as he looked at the children with a mix of awe and wonder.

"Ours," you answered, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you delicately wiped away the tears that had welled up in your eyes. "Meet Ayato and Ayaka."

The hunter knelt down to their eye level, his usual face softening into a loving. "Ayato, Ayaka," he said, his voice gentle, "It's so nice to meet you. I'm your father."

The children exchanged glances before Ayaka stepped forward. "Hello father!" she exclaimed, throwing her tiny arms around him.

Ayato, the quieter one, followed suit with a nod, a shy smile on his face.

The hunter embraced them both, a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes. "Such angels... Mon amour what a blessing you've granted me...," he sighed as he held them close.

Atsuki (惇貴) with 惇 meaning "sincerity, loyalty" and 貴 meaning "precious, valuable, honourable"　

your son had curly hair with the softest shade of light green, and piercing golden eyes with slits that reminded you of reptiles

you named your son after the chivalrous values his father had devoted his life to

he's a rather loud and excitable child, always forgetting to control his volume when he gets too emotional

doesn't really get along with other kids, but it doesn't affect him much, he's just happy to have his mama with him

if he's done something wrong, you don't even need to yell at him really, most of the time he's already holding back tears at the thought of disappointing you

very into sports and is also really good at several sports, he's earned a couple of medals and trophies already

he's not the best at magic, and you're also not too sure how his dark fae blood affects that, but he's still pretty good at making progress

he really is just a good kid who tries hard at everything and tries to make the right decisions, but he's quick to get disappointed when things don't go his way, and suddenly you're faced with a very familiar and endearing puppy dog face

so a lot of times, you'll just have to pull him in a hug, and remind him things almost never go the way we plan, and it's okay to accept defeat and learn from it

but there's nothing he's more motivated about than learning more about his dad, who in his mind, is an honourable, talented knight straight from the fairytales who devotes his life to protecting the people important to him

so much so, that you'll find him swinging around the toy sword you got him for training

he'll also start putting even more effort into learning magic, wanting to connect to his amazing papa in a way

and then on one night, you're not sure what triggered it, but he's incredibly emotional and crying about how he can't help you and you're always taking care of him and he just wants to have his dad in his life and it's all so unfair why his mama is alone and-

he starts emitting bright light, so bright you can't keep your eyes open, but you reach to hold him in your arms

when you no longer feel the bright light, you tentatively open your eyes, only to find yourself standing in the dark, spacious throne room of Briar Valley

and standing there, right next to the throne, was your knight in shining armour

Standing next to the grand throne, was your knight in shining armour, Sebek. He, along with Silver, stood in positions of defence, but the moment his eyes met yours, the mask of composure crumbled, and he rushed toward you with an urgency that mirrored the longing that had lingered in his heart during your separation.

He enveloped you in a fierce embrace, his arms securing you but also gentle to not hurt you with his armour.

"I thought... I thought I lost you," Sebek's voice was a shaky whisper against your ear, his grip on you tightening as if trying to confirm that you were indeed real.

"I'm here, Sebek. I found my way back," you reassured him, feeling the softness of his hair against your cheek.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he admitted, his words a whispered admission of the fears he had harboured, pressing his forehead gently to yours.

he's a mess the instant he sees you, and he melts completely when you're finally in his arms

malleus and silver are also immensely happy that you're back, calling lilia to join the family reunion

Sebek's pretty overwhelmed with your presence on its own, so silver and lilia have given him a gentle push to actually function and introduce himself to Atsuki

he's grown to be less awkward with his affection, and particularly with how long you've been away, he doesn't hold back too much

his hands are always inching closer to touch you, his forehead resting on your shoulder every once in a while, it's all really endearing

but his parenting style is a bit awkward

Atsuki really admires him, but that also makes him ever so slightly afraid of him

meanwhile, Sebek is nervous because he doesn't want to do anything that ruins the image of a perfect knight for his son

so they're a bit awkward, but with you as the middle person they can get along pretty well!

they bond over training, with Sebek teaching him sword fighting (with you reminding him not to push him too hard)

Atsuki also really enjoys sparing with uncle silver, who always lets him him, but Atsuki just wants him to fight for real, so it's just silver being "this is real??"

uncle malleus taking him out for gargoyle studies (Sebek is jealous lmao)

and of course, uncle lilia who cooks extremely nutritious meals that always end with Atsuki puppy dog eying you to save him

sebek's family is also very very happy to have you two!!

grandpa baul grumbles around a lot, but he keeps note of Atsuki's favourite foods to prepare them when he visits

also comments on his sword fighting and stance when he feels like it

mom and dad also adore you guys!! mrs. zigvolt loves giving you gifts and talking about sebek when he was younger haha

all in all, sebek's so incredibly grateful you could come back to him, and though he's still awkward with his affection sometimes, he'll never stop trying his best to love the both of you

Atsuki's eyes widened as he took in the sight of his father, the mythical figure he had only heard tales of until now.

Sebek's gaze shifted from you to Atsuki, and his breath caught. His eyes softened as he knelt down to be at eye level with the child who was undeniably his son. "Hello," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of joy and uncertainty. "I... I'm your father."

Atsuki's eyes flickered with a mixture of awe and excitement. "Papa?" he questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sebek nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to gently cup Atsuki's face. "Yes, little one. I'm your papa."

The room seemed to hold its breath as father and son locked eyes for the first time. Atsuki, still processing the enormity of the moment, broke into a wide, joyful smile. "Papa!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Sebek's arms.

Sebek, overwhelmed with emotion, held Atsuki close, a mix of laughter and tears escaping him. "I've missed so much, haven't I?" he murmured, his heart swelling with love for the son he never imagined to exist.

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3 ✧Masterlist

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#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #twisted wonderland trey #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland rook #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twisted wonderland sebek

1K notes · View notes

hurthermore · 2 months

Text

»»------► 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹 (18+)

▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 (18+) 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷 ▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸 (18+) ▻ 𝙱𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟺 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Word Count: 𝟸.𝟹𝚔

Warnings: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙼!𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗), 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢)

A/N: 𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜? 𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝… 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚘𝚘? 𝙻𝚖𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚐?

Where were you?

Alastor could only feel his chest pang unpleasantly as he walked back into the room he shared with you; ready to serve you a delightful breakfast in bed before he entered the now empty space. Calling out your name, he waited to see if you were still present, but he couldn’t feel you nearby. Snapping the tray of food away, he shadow warped down into the lobby of the hotel.

As he reappeared himself into the existence of physicality, Alastor tried to sense your presence, but it was inevitable, he could not feel you here either. Unknowingly allowing his eye to twitch, Alastor looked over the contents of the lobby before his red, almost glowing eyes fixated onto the drunken cat demon behind the bar.

“Husker, my good man!” He warped in front of the bar; attempting to faze the bartender, but failing as his worry showcased as it laced with his charismatic static voice. Smiling ominously toward the pet he had on a leash, Husker slumped up from the bar counter, clearly filled with alcohol poisoning. “Have you seen my darling little lady? I can’t seem to find her!”

The owned soul deadpanned at the Radio Demon, blinking slowly as he slumped back into the countertop before pointing his index finger towards the front doors of the hotel.

With furrowed eyebrows, Alastor shadow warped immediately through the crack of the doors; standing in the outdoors of hell, he commanded every shadow in his arsenal to search every part of hell for you.

Where were you?

Humming, you walked down the streets of hell alone; something you hadn’t done since arriving at the Hazbin Hotel. You had forgotten how oddly peaceful it was hearing the screams of hundreds; it was something you had blocked out due to your total enamorment with Alastor whenever he took you anywhere.

With your hands behind your back and your chest pushed out, you glanced at your figure as you passed a window. You had adapted to a new style now, still keeping it skimpy and slutty; just how you liked it. Alastor would sometimes chastise you for wearing those particular items like the grumpy old man he was, but you knew deep down he loved seeing you in such revealing clothing.

But he wanted to be the only one to see you dressed in such ways.

Pouting your lips, you inspected each shop that you passed by as you attempted to find a place that sold something you thought Alastor would like. For a while now, you had been considering giving Alastor a gift of your very own for everything he had ever done for you, but he would only state, “You’re all the gift I need, darling.” With that cheesy grin of his that sent butterflies to swarm your stomach. Regardless, you wanted to do something for him for a change. And because of the fact he would never allow you to buy anything for him whilst you were physically with him, you had to resort to literally sneaking out as if you were some type of hostage.

Continuing to search, you accidentally bumped into a tall hellhound. Recoiling from the collision, you attempted to apologise; but the hellhound only gripped your wrist before growling at you.

Before you could register the facial features of the hellish creature, a large black appendage wrapped around its head, tightening in an instant with such force that its head was crushed open; mimicking a pumpkin that had been smashed against the floor.

Except there was more blood and brains over… Pumpkin innards.

Wiping your hand against your clothes as you grimaced at the part of brain that had landed on your fingers, clawed hands gripped onto your shoulders from behind you. Smiling as you recognised the size of the hands, you turned around before wrapping your arms around the red dressed demon. “Oh, Alastor! You rescued lil ol’ me? You’re so sweet!” You jumped, placing a barrage of kisses on his cheek.

You had forgotten what you were even doing outside by yourself as you held onto the man you were absolutely head over heels for.

Alastor closed his eyes as he held you back, basking in the attention you were enacting onto him; loving every second. “Are you hurt?” He asked you once you stopped your assault on his cheek.

Looking up at him, you shook your head. Alastor only hummed before he stroked the side of your face with his clawed fingers. “You had me worried, darling.” He almost mumbled; something that he hardly ever did. “You shouldn’t leave the hotel without me.”

You could only feel bad as you remembered how you had snuck out of the hotel to buy him a gift. But in the reality of your mind, it was Alastors own fault as to why you had to go out alone to buy him a gift in the first place; if he had just allowed you to buy a gift whilst you were with him, you wouldn’t have needed to resort to ditching him.

“I only wanted to get you a gift, Ally.” You pouted as you used that ridiculous nickname for him that he oddly found rather endearing. But he knew you; knew you would use that nickname to try to soften him up, indicating you knew you had done something wrong.

Gazing into your eyes, Alastor only smiled with evil intent as he stroked the back of his fingers against your cheek. “If you’re so insistent on giving me a gift darling,” He whispered into your ear, tickling the skin beneath; making you shudder. “Then get on your knees.” Alastor instructed. His posture leaned away from you, making him seem more heightened as he looked deep into your eyes.

Looking around, you squeezed your thighs together. “We’re in public, Al.” You whimpered as Alastor just stared at you; his gaze telling you to obey his request. Fiddling your fingers together, you slowly began to enact his demand, falling to your knees as the palm of your hands held onto the front of his clothed thighs.

You could hear, feel, people stop in the street to stare at you as you knelt before the man you loved; their voices all prattling about what you were doing as they watched. Alastors grin stretched into sinister territory as he looked down at you, his hand stroking the crown of your head as if you were some pet before he gripped your skull, pressing your cheek against his hardening and pulsing clothed cock.

“This is your punishment for leaving me when I had gone out of my way to cook you breakfast, darling. You can be a good little lady and take it, can’t you?”

God, yes you could; the current position you were in had your emotions alternating constantly. The whole ordeal was extremely hot, but you never thought Alastor was the type for voyeurism; would it be something he would actually do? Or would he end up transporting you into somewhere private? Forcing your cheek to rub against his constrained cock, your whole face flustered up as your thighs trembled.

There was no way he would see this through; you knew he wouldn’t.

“Put them pretty lips around my cock, darling.”

Trembling, you looked into his eyes to see if he was serious; if he was adamant on doing this in public. All you could see was pure excitement in his red oculi. Looking down at his pelvis, you could see the large outline of his hard cock. Gulping ever so slightly, your delicate fingertips gripped onto the button of his suit pants, undoing it before you pulled his zip down.

Suddenly, Alastor pushed you back, your vision going black before you blinked, finding yourself in your now shared room. Still on the floor, your back flushed against the structure of the end of your shared bed before Alastor materialised in front of you.

You smirked as you knew he didn’t have it in him to fuck you in the public eye of hells population. He would always fuck you within the confines of your shared privacy.

Still on your knees, Alastor pulled you from your thoughts, grabbing your head with both clawed hands, threading his fingers through your hair before he forced his thick and heavy cock down the beginnings of your throat; going past your uvula and into your windpipe. Gagging with choked coughs as he kept his cock deep within your oesophagus, you looked at his pelvis to witness that his full length wasn’t even fully within your mouth as you tried to control your gag reflex. Calming your shocked lungs, you allowed them to fill with oxygen as you breathed through your nose.

“Such a good little lady. So good; all for me.” Alastor moaned as he pulled his length away slowly, allowing your tongue to feel every little bend and vein of his fat sex before he slammed it even further into the depths of your throat until your nose pushed against his tufts of fluff that laid against his pelvis.

Tears welled into your visual organs as your mouth was filled to the brim with Alastor and only Alastor. Looking up with half lidded eyes, Your boyfriend's focus was purely on your face; watching how blown out your expression was as he stuffed you orally.

Your fingertips pierced through his suit pants and into the flesh of his skin as he pulled away, only to rhythmically force his cock in and out of your throat. You could feel your brain begin to stupify itself from the eroticism of Alastors actions and the lack of oxygen that your body was used to. Moaning at the entire situation, the mixture of your drool and Alastors precum seeped from the corners of your mouth as he violated you in ways that had your cunt throbbing in pleasure; wishing it was the hole he was fucking instead of your mouth.

As if hearing your request, you felt a slippery appendage begin to curl up the form of your body, and without looking, you knew it was one of Alastor’s tentacles; you were well acquainted with it after all.

Feeling the appendage roll up to your chest, you felt it wrap around the stretch of your top before tearing the piece of cloth off your body with a rip that could hardly be heard over the sound of Alastors cock squelching in and out of your mouth along with his heavy breaths. Trying to squeeze your legs together to give yourself some friction and therefore relief, more tentacles appeared as they enveloped your thighs, pulling them further apart with force.

Your throat rumbled, causing Alastor to almost stumble as his cock still fucked your pretty lips; the drool becoming so bad that it slathered all over your face whilst also dripping all over your now bared breasts. You felt so overwhelmed as Alastor pummelled his cock into your mouth; his multiple tentacles squeezing and prodding your chest and thighs before one particular appendage began to try to fuck itself within your core; failing due to the lingerie that covered your wet and puffy sex. As if frustrated, the appendage pushed against your underwear as it seemed so desperate to fill you up, only to rip through it, essentially fucking your lingerie into you as it forced its thick and squishy length into your cunt.

Rolling your eyes back, you could hear Alastor groan as your attempt to scream at the intrusion only forced vibrating sensations to tickle his cock in your throat. “You were made for me, weren’t you darling?” Alastor struggled to mumble through his fucked out expression as he forced another tentacle to invade your cunt; both of them moving at their own individual speeds, making your sex feel filled out in every single crevice within. The ministrations of everything made you go limp as the pleasure and overwhelming sensations made your brain slump into one of a dumb whore.

Alastor conjured more tentacles to hold your neck and waist to prevent your almost limp body from falling over, he slammed his cock harder and harder into your overly excessive drooling mouth as his cock began to tense and pulse.

The tentacle around your waist tightened as the tip slid down to your core; you could feel the appendage move rapidly from the two tentacles that filled your cunt so much that it forced your lower stomach to bulge out with every prod and thrust. Your eyes tightened as the appendage finally found your clit, only to press onto it with such force that your thighs began to twitch as your peak instantly lit up.

Tightening your grip on Alastors thighs, your screams were silenced by his cock as the sensations against your clit; being pressed with such harshness forced your entire womb to build up, your clit throbbing erratically before your cunt squirted fluids onto the floor. As your core spilled out your juices, Alastors cock stilled deep within your larynx once more before his cock throbbed as he squirted his own orgasm down your throat and into your stomach.

As everything calmed down, Alastors black appendages slipped away from your cunt and into the abyss of nothingness; an excessive amount of your natural lubrication spilled onto the floor below you.

Pulling his cock from your mouth, remnants of Alastors cum spread into the cavern of your mouth, yet you used your tongue to drink back his seed into your stomach.

Placing his hands underneath your arms, Alastor pulled you up and sat you on the bed, glazing his fingers over the mess of your hair that had stuck onto your forehead before kissing the crown of your skull.

“You will always be my favourite gift, darling.”

»»------► 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@lunaramune

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #x reader #hazbin hotel

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 month

Text

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔

🕊️a whore's farytale masterlist🕊️

summary - the town's beauty (you) finds herself bargaining her life for her fathers, will the cursed beasts go easy on her? or figure out that she's the one who can break their curse?

warning - smut, monster-fucking, choking, blood play, oral, creampie, name calling, being restrained, biting, refused orgasm/edging, foursome (sorta), being passed around, swearing, death, forced voyeurism, obsessive man, grabbing, groping, trapped, held hostage, slight angst.

18+ only please, the gifs I use aren't mine, header created by me.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The story began with three brothers, they were the same in personality but so different in looks. But the universe had other plans for the pompous Princes, the night of their party was the night a certain witch decided to teach them a lesson, one that would not only make their personalities the same, but also their looks. The sound of music and chatter could be heard from outside the castle with how loud it was. Ari, Logan and Geralt– the Princes, are dressed exceptionally well. Only the finest of clothing fits their bulky forms, expensive jewels decorate their body. Ari and Geralt both have their hair tied back in a slick ponytail, one longer than the other. A silky silver matches Geralt’s light gray suit, while Ari wears a silky blue, matching his darker blue suit. Logan has his hair slicked back, although slightly messier with a few strands falling in front of his face, the look doesn’t make him any less handsome. He wears a silky black suit, the colour looking almost devilish on him.

The brothers split from one another, Ari strides toward a beautiful blonde, twirling her as he pulls her toward the dance floor. Logan stalks off to the bar, glaring at anyone that gets in his way and Geralt heads toward a group of women, already flaunting themselves at him. The party is wild as the guests enjoy themselves, none aware of the storm brewing outside. An old woman trembles as she stands before the large doors, her wrinkled hands shake as she knocks, the sound echoing throughout the room, stopping the party momentarily. The three brothers turn, looking at the door and then to each other, a scowl on their faces, wondering who dares interrupt their party. Logan head tips back as the alcohol slides down his throat before he slams the glass down, his other two brothers express their deepest apologies. All three head towards the door, it may seem a bit extreme, but the three never go anywhere without each other. The only thing that they didn’t do together was share a woman.

Ari’s hands wrap around the handles, flinging the door open and they scowl down at the ugly old lady before them. “What do you want?” The men stand there, their bulky builds taking up the whole doorway.

“P–Please, may I come in for some shelter?” The old woman shivers, her nimble hands trembling and she clutches three roses. She offers them to the three princes, “I offer these roses for your kindness.” Her lips quiver, the cold seeming to get to her.

Logan scoffs. “God, no. Find somewhere else you wretched old hag.” The other two nod, not hiding their disgust. A shriek escapes their lips as suddenly the ugly hag magically shifts into a beautiful woman. “What the…”

Her face is set in stone, a harsh glare in her eyes. “Despicable. You’d think Princes like yourselves would be kinder. But, alas you have failed the test.”

“What? What test? You are welcome to come in, Miss.” Geralt stumbles, shamelessly checking out the Enchantress. Her lip curls as though she can see the dirty thoughts swirling around in his mind.

Her head tilts, the three roses suddenly being encased in three glass domes, the beautiful flowers floating in the centre. “No. For the curse to be broken, you will have to find someone that will want you, all of you.”

Ari scoffs. “Please. We can have anyone want us, are you blind?”

The Enchantress smirks. “What I mean is for them to want all of you in your true forms.” Suddenly magic swirls around the men and their bodies begin to grow and shred, thick luscious fur replacing flesh. Sharp claws replace nicely kept fingernails, eyes turning a bright golden-yellow. Growls begin to fill the air as canines spurt from their gums, replacing their human teeth. The usual men now beasts stood at eight-feet, towering over the witch and before they could strike, she disappeared. Her words rang in their head. ‘If you do not find someone who truly wants you before the last petal falls, you will be stuck as beasts forever.’

Years pass and nearby in a small village, a beautiful young woman named Y/n-Belle hurries through the town. You greeted people as you passed by, a warm smile resting upon your lips. You hurried over to your favourite store, which happened to be the bookstore, a giant grin appears as you push the door open and stumble through, the excitement vibrating throughout your whole body. Y/n-Belle was a very strange, but smart woman, you were the only one in town that got excited about books and reading, causing you to become an outcast and lonely within the people. But you didn’t mind, you were quite content with living in your fantasies.

The bookstore owner heads over to you, a smile on his face as he hands you one of your favourites. A book that you’ve read a thousand of times, yet would never tire of reading it. You smile, a dreamy look appearing on your face as you peer down at the book, your soft hands grabbing it gently, fingers stroking the cover. “This is my favourite! Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise…” You pause, your imagination flashing before your eyes as you play out the words in the book. You blink, coming back into reality and you give the man a smile. “Oh, thank you very much!”

You spin, your blue and white dress swishing around you. You rush outside, the book already opened and your eyes flickering over the words as you walk. Your head was stuck in the book, not noticing the town's most handsome hunter heading straight for you. “Y/n-Belle!” You were hoping that if you ignored him that he would go away, but that did not seem to be the case. He stopped in front of you, nearly causing you to topple over. Gaston chuckles, “the whole town’s talking about you! It’s not right for a woman to read,” He shakes his head, chuckling as if the thought alone was funny. Yet, you had somehow figured that he’s never picked up a book in his life, his small mind proving that the more he talks. “It’s about time you got your nose out of those books and paid attention to more important things— like me!” He boasts, puffing his chest out like he is the most desirable thing to live and breathe. Truthfully, none of the men in your village caught your fancy. You were more into, well… Beasts.

You desperately try to get away without being rude, not in the mood to deal with a petulant child. You could see your escape, but as you opened your mouth to leave. Gaston’s “friend” joined, beginning to insult your father without much of a hello. Your brows furrowed and your lips pursed. “My father is not crazy! He’s a genius, but you are too stupid to realise that!” You blow up, letting your anger consume you without thinking properly. An explosion interrupts the men from responding, the sound coming from your cottage where your father is currently working on something. Without much thought, you take off running.

You arrive at the cottage, finding your father. Gaston’s words replay in your head, you sit on top of a barrel that is in your front yard. “They think I’m odd, Papa.” You play with your fingers, picking some dirt from underneath your fingernails.

“Don’t worry, Y/n-Belle. My inventions are going to change everything for us. We won’t have to live in this little town forever.” He says with a giant smile, one that used to give you hope to his dreams. But they slowly begin to dwindle as his inventions haven’t gotten any better, but you don’t want to ruin his dreams by voicing your concerns. You watch as he mounts your horse, Philippe, setting off for the fair with his new invention. “Goodbye, Y/n-Belle! Don’t worry about what others say, you will go places!”

Maybe you did still have hope, especially when he gives you another one of his smiles and a wave. You return it, watching as he goes. “Goodbye! Good luck, I believe in you, father!”

Still at the cottage, you don’t know that your father got lost on his way and the events following would eventually lead you to your future, whether it be good or bad. But it would definitely be strange, and full of twists and turns.

You sit inside, your head in your book again. Even though you had read it many times, it would still be your favourite. You are pulled out of your fantasy world as you hear a knock at the door. You get up, slowly opening it and sighing as you see Gaston on the other side. “Gaston! What a… pleasant surprise!” You force a tiring smile on your lips.

Gaston strolls in, taking his shoes off, exposing his dirty and very used socks. He takes a seat at the head of the table, placing his dirty feet on top of your favourite book, causing it to become dirty. A scowl appears upon your face at the disrespect of this man. “Y/n-Belle! There’s not a woman in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes. Do you know why? Because I want to marry you!”

You huff silently, knowing that the only way you could get out of this is if you politely decline and make it seem as though you weren’t worthy of him. “Gaston, I’m speechless!” You gnaw on your bottom lip, hating that this disgusting pig of a man won’t leave you alone. “I’m sorry, but… but…” You swallow, knowing you will have to force these words out. “I just don’t deserve you!” You force back scrunching your nose in disgust, watching as humiliation falls upon his face.

Without a word he stumbles out, hastily putting on his shoes causing him to trip, slipping into some mud. You peeked out, placing a hand over your lips to cover the giggle that threatened to escape past them, watching as the villagers gathered around, hoping to see some sort of wedding or at least a celebration. Only to witness their friend and fellow villager fall into some mud, causing Gaston to feel even more humiliated than before. You’d hope that would at least knock his ego down a few pegs.

You waited until everyone had disappeared from your home before rushing out to feed the chickens. You hear something causing your head to whip around and you find your horse, Philippe, alone without your father. You head over to him, checking for something, anything. “Philippe! What are you doing here? Where’s Papa?!” He whines anxiously and you immediately rush to the house to grab your cloak before running back to him and climbing onto his back. You feel frightened as you think of all the possibilities of what could’ve happened to your father. This feeling pushes you to return to the mysterious forest, allowing you to find a castle that looks like it has been abandoned for many years.

You try and steady, Philippe, brows furrowing when you spot something on the ground. With swift movements, you dismount your horse and move toward the object. A soft gasp passes your lips as you recognise your father’s hat. Without a second thought, you hurry toward the gloomy castle, pushing past the heavy doors and deciding to wander the vast deserted corridors. Your main focus was to find your father, no care of what may happen to you. “Papa? Are you here? It’s Y/n-Belle!” You were met with silence, you continued your search not knowing of the objects that are alive because of the curse within the castle walls.

You stumble along as you finally discover your father locked away in a cell. You gasp, having to kneel as the only opening was at feet level. “Papa! We have to get you out of here!” Suddenly you felt as though you were being watched.

“What’re you doing here?”

“You shouldn’t be in our castle, Little one.”

“Leave now!”

Your eyes widen when you hear three different voices coming from within the shadows. “Please, let my father go! Take me instead!”

There was a scoff filled with curiosity from the shadows. “You would take his place?”

“S–step into the light please…” You asked. Your expression morphed as you stared horrified at three huge, ugly Beasts– well, they weren’t ugly… But you wouldn’t let them know that between your thighs you felt yourself clench around nothing. You gulped, you didn’t want to be anywhere near these monsters, but you agreed to take your father’s place. “I–” You swallow the saliva that gets stuck in your throat. “I would. I will take his place.” Your words left no room for argument, you were putting your foot down. You didn’t know that you signed up for forever with the three Beasts.

As the words left your lips, one of the Beasts grabbed your father from his cell and dragged him throughout the castle, once outside he was thrown into a carriage that would take him home. The other two begin to walk, causing you to follow behind nervously. The third joining immediately, you let your eyes wander. Taking everything in, it felt like one of those books you always had your nose buried in.

Your voice cuts through the silence, sounding as though it echoes through the dark halls. “D–do you three have names?” As I don’t want to continue calling you Beasts in my head, you think the last bit to yourself. Knowing it would be rude of you to voice out loud.

“Ari.”

“Logan.”

“Geralt.”

They growl out, hardened eyes landing on your tiny form. Ari steps toward you, towering over you as you shiver, your eyes wide and you try to shrink into yourself. “Our castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like…”

Geralt cuts in. “Except the West Wing.”

You stare back, innocently asking. “What’s in the West Wing?”

Their bodies tense and they glare as Logan growls out. “It’s forbidden!” Geralt opens a door to your new bedroom and pushes you in.

“You will join us for dinner. That’s not a request.” Ari stares you down, stopping you from protesting. They shut the door and stalk off, separating to different parts of the castle. You lie down on the bed, burying your face into the pillows. You knew you would never escape this prison, nor would you ever see your father again. Maybe you should’ve married Gaston, at least then you wouldn’t be stuck with Beasts.

The disgusting truth though was how much you weren’t disgusted by their forms. Their behaviour. It was definitely something out of those books you read, just less romantic and more animalistic. You huff, shaking your head of those thoughts. You will in no way let them find out about this. It was something different than other women would fantasie about and you didn’t want those… FREAKS! To judge you.

You refused to go to dinner when the time came, knowing you wouldn’t be able to contain yourself if you stayed in the same room as them for too long. Oh, how your father would be disgraced by the woman you’ve become. You had grown bored and hungry and had decided to wander the castle in hopes of finding the kitchen. With quiet footsteps, you exited your room and tiptoed down the halls, peaking your head around corners and stopping whenever you heard the slightest of noises.

You were no fool, the Beasts had been mad when you refused to dine with them and if one of them were to find you wandering the halls in search of food. Well you fear you may become theirs instead. Though, you wouldn’t mind them… No, you couldn’t let your thoughts wander for too long.

A small squeal passes your lips when you finally stumble upon the kitchen, happily making your way over to the fridge before a voice interrupts, causing your heart to drop into your stomach.

“You know… If you had come to dinner. You wouldn’t be so hungry now.” The voice was deep, a growl slipping through with each word. You spin, eyes wide as they land on Logan, how had you missed such a big figure? You squeak, not knowing what to reply with. Logan raises a furry brow, “Cat got your tongue, Little one?” He moves fast, now towering over you. “Or should I say Beast?”

Your thighs press together, a whimper slipping past your lips and your wide eyes stare up at him. “I–I…” Stupid, why the hell would you try to speak when you’re in this position? Your voice would give you away, you daft bimbo. You scowl at yourself, how could you be so dumb when you were the only one to read in your village? You gulp as he leans in with a smirk. You don’t know that their senses had heightened with their transformation, you had practically given yourself away since you broke into their castle.

“Hmm? No words?” Your hunger forgotten and replaced with something else. You notice how his hand, though actually a paw, comes up, a lit cigar between his clawed fingers, bringing it to his lips, puffing on it as he stares into your eyes watching as you follow his movements. “Ya know, my brothers are angry with the fact you ignored their invitation.”

Your eyes roll and you scoff. “Well, excuse me for not wanting to dine with those that are keeping me hostage.” His brow raises again, not expecting so many words to pass your lips. You gulp, where the hell did that come from?

“Huh, so you do say more than four words.” He leans closer if that was even possible, “Better watch your tone with me, Little one or else I’m gonna have to do something about it.” With those words, he disappears and you whimper. Fantastic, the only pair of knickers you have on you and they are completely drenched. You wouldn’t be surprised if the other two could smell you wherever they were.

You shakily prepare a small meal, hurriedly eating it so you don’t have another run in. When you finish, you swear you hear someone speak. But looking around, you find no one. Your brows furrow, are you finally going insane? You begin to get up when you hear it again.

“Excuse me, Miss.” You look around again, what the hell? “Down here, Miss.” You look down and let out a small squeak of surprise, there stands before you a small clock that seems alive? He blinks up at you, a smile on his face? “Hello. I am Cogsworth. I am sorry for frightening you.”

“I–it’s f–fine.” You clear your throat. “It’s fine. You didn’t frighten me, just a bit startled is all.” You try to smile, “Have you been here this whole time?” You hoped he hadn’t, you wouldn’t want to know what an object thought of the previous events.

Cogsworth shakes his head. “No, Miss. Master Logan ordered that I escort you back to your quarters. He doesn’t want you wandering about… In your condition.” His eyes squint, as though he understands yet how could you know he would? You had no clue that the alive object was once a person.

“Oh, okay.” You stand, smoothing down your dress about to follow but you stop. “Actually, Cogsworth. Would you mind giving me a tour of the castle, please?”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as though he was hesitating before he nods. “Okay, follow me. Miss.” You spend most of your night getting acquainted with your new home before you stop underneath a dark staircase. Noticing how Cogsworth seems to want to hurry past it without acknowledging it.

“What’s up there?” Your curiousity seeps through your words.

Cogsworth practically shakes as he answers. “Nothing, absolutely nothing of interest at all in the West Wing.” Your interest piqued as you heard West Wing. You watch as he’s too busy focusing on ensuring the two of you don’t get caught, especially near this staircase. Allowing you to escape unnoticed, racing up the staircase and into a long hallway lined with broken mirrors.

“Well… That’s bad luck for many, many years.” You wet your lips as you cautiously opened the doors at the end of the corridor. You enter the dank, filthy room strewn with broken furniture, torn curtains and grey, gnawed bones. Your eyes wide, taking it all in before they land on the only living object or should you say objects. There behind a glass dome were three shimmering roses. Entranced, Y/n–Belle lifted the cover and reached out to touch one soft, pink petal. You were so entranced that you did not hear Ari enter the room.

“I warned you never to come here!” He advanced on you. “GET OUT! GET OUT!” Your daze had been broken, desire now replaced with fear. You became terrified of his rage, causing you to turn and run. You run out of the room, down the stairs and past Cogsworth and a candle? You didn’t have time to stop, you needed to leave. Not even your lust for your fantasy to come true could stop you. Your feet had taken control of your body.

“Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here another minute!” You flee, finding your horse and taking off. You gallop through the snow until you are met with a pack of fierce, hungry wolves. Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as you don’t know whether to scream or breathe. Through your terror, you forgot about the horse you sat upon. He reared, causing you to fall to the ground, tumbling into the snow below. They were advancing on Philippe, so with quick movements, you found a large stick and defended your horse.

“Stay back!” You swing, swiping at them. Hoping and praying that they would leave. Their attention moved from your horse and you would’ve sighed of relief but instead you choked up, the wolves had now turned on you. Their canines bared as they snarl. Oh no, no no no. You thought, brows furrowing as worry fills you. Well, at least they are no longer after Philippe.

You shriek as they pounce, about to rip you apart until suddenly a large paw pulls the animals off of you. It was Ari and you notice Logan and Geralt standing behind him. Anger evident on their faces, you knew it was directed towards you for leaving and now nearly getting yourself killed. You struggle to your feet, stumbling into a pair of arms as all you can do is watch the wolves turn and strike Ari and Logan, fierce growls filling the cold air. The wolves were no match for the two, being torn off and flung as a ferocious howl escapes the Beasts, surprising the wolves before they flee into the night.

Logan grunts while Ari stumbles, collapsing into the snow. Wounded. The brothers attention now focused on him, Geralt’s hold loosening and this could’ve been your chance to escape. But what did you have at home? And when you looked at the fallen Beast, you knew you couldn’t leave him. Even though he had his brothers. Logan and Geralt pull Ari up, arms wrapped around him as he leaned against them. He was not the fighter of the two and not even he knew why he didn’t let Geralt fight in his place.

The Beasts barely spare you a glance, they began to walk away, expecting you to get on your horse and leave. But you didn’t move, with a heavy heart you watched them walk from you. Did your chance slip through your fingers? Philippe nudges you, looking at you with those big eyes and you sigh. He nudges you again, gesturing you to look and when you do, your mouth opens. The three Beasts had stopped, as if they were waiting for you and without a second thought. You grabbed your horse and raced toward them, offering your horse for Ari to rest on and to get to the castle faster so you could tend to his wounds.

Back at the castle, you cleaned Ari’s wound. “Thank you… For saving my life even though you didn’t have to.” You whisper, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “I… I hope you can forgive me for running.” You look up from his wound to his face, not knowing the feeling he feels when you look at him like that.

His paw covers your hand, “There’s nothing to forgive, Beauty. I’m the one who should apologise for scaring you.” You shake your head, his gaze gets distracted by the way your hair frames your face and how the light of the sunrise hits your skin, causing you to glow. “Do you think I’m okay enough to walk for a bit? I have something I want to show you.”

Your brows furrow, looking between his wound and him. His face makes it hard for you to say no, but you also didn’t want him to hurt himself by moving too much. You look up again, being met with puppy dog eyes which makes it harder to resist when he’s not exactly human looking. “...Okay! Okay, but only for a little bit. I don’t want you hurting yourself and ruining all of my work.” You assist him as you help him up, allowing his arm to wrap around you. Which is quite difficult seeing as there is a massive height and size difference. Oh god, you begin to think what else is huge… How would you be able to possibly fit it inside of you? You shake your head, ridding yourself of those thoughts, hoping that the Beast wouldn’t catch on.

Ari leads you through the halls before stopping upon two large doors. He leans forward, opening them and you both walk inside. Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. “Oh my god!” You look around, a gasp escaping your lips. “This is so beautiful! I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!”

Ari had smiled a real smile for the first time since he was a child. “Then it is yours.” You look at him in disbelief, you could’ve dropped to your knees right then and there.

…

Okay, so you did. You fell right to your knees, not caring that they scraped against the carpet or that a squeak of desire left you as you finally gave into your desire. Ari stared wide-eyed down at you, his mouth wide open as shock filled him. He was not expecting that, if he had known all it would take was giving you their library, he would’ve done that from the beginning. “What… What are you doing?”

Your eyes widen, finally reality hits. “Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!” You go to stand, but his paw stops you, keeping you in place. You could feel your knickers dampen. Not the same ones, they had mysteriously gone missing when you went to shower before tending to Ari. But you were thankful to whoever laid out new clothes for you.

“I didn’t say you had to get up. I just have never seen someone drop to their knees so fast.” He felt himself harden, his cursed body did come with an added bonus. He was now much larger than his human self, he wasn’t small before. But now it was monstrous.

You watched with wide and lust filled eyes as his pants expanded, stretching to the point it looked as though the seams would break. “Can… Can I?” You gesture to his bulge, looking up at him with large, doe eyes.

“Fuck.” He nods, growling. “Go ahead, Beauty.” His golden-yellow eyes stare down at you, canines digging into his bottom lip as you press your hand against the bulge, feeling it, squeezing it. Your hand is tiny compared to him, causing a whimper to slip from your lips and a growl from his. “You gonna play with it or suck it?” He growls, frustrated. You squeeze your thighs together, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling them down. You let out a moan as his member springs free. Nearly slapping you in the face with how big it is.

You lean forward hesitantly, kissing his weeping tip before bringing it into your mouth and sucking. Your eyes slip closed as you moan around it, it felt so perfect against your tongue. It was a struggle to get the whole tip in your mouth, right now you could only get a small bit in. But you were going to make this work, you didn’t know when another opportunity like this would present itself. Ari watched from above as you struggled to fit him inside, groaning at the sight.

Your tongue flicked over the slit, collecting the pre-cum that leaks out. You let out a whimper as you slowly move further down his cock, taking more of him inside of your mouth. You can feel yourself dripping onto the floor with how wet you are. Ari’s paw slams down on a nearby bookshelf, his growls fill the room, echoing throughout the castle. You rest your hands on his furry thighs, gripping them as you force more of him in, mouth stretched as wide as it can, sucking him in. One hand moves to the rest you can’t fit in, no matter how much you try and force it to. You wrap it around the base, twisting and jerking while your head bobs up and down, tongue swirling and tracing his veins, causing more sounds to escape the Beast.

You don’t notice the two brothers that hide in the shadows, watching you suck off their brother. They felt themselves become filled with hope and desire, knowing you were the one that would break their curse. Ari grips your head, holding you down as he cums down your throat, watching it overflow and drip from the sides of your mouth, trying to swallow everything desperately like the good girl you are. When he pulls his cock free from your mouth, all three Beasts take a sharp breath at how good you looked covered in cum, your eyes glazed over with a need to be fucked.

After the events in the library, everything began to change. Throughout the month, you would find yourself suddenly pushed up against a wall, lips attached to any exposed flesh, hands beneath your dress or groping your breasts. You were so sexually frustrated, the Beasts would rile you up only to leave you wanting more. They would never let you cum, they weren’t even trying to get themselves off. You began to spend your time with them, always sitting on one of their laps, never straying far. If one found you reading or even just simply existing. You’d suddenly be under them, at some point you had cried, begging them to fuck you.

That evening you were sitting on Geralt’s lap, your lip pulled between your teeth as he gently grinds you down on his bulge. Stopping whenever he felt you were too close. Logan lounged across from you, a cigar dangling carelessly between his smirking lips as his dark eyes watched you. Your gaze was pulled from Logan when Ari leant behind him on the chair. “Are you happy, Y/n–Belle?”

You hum, a bit dazed and distracted by the tingles zapping between your thighs. “Yes. I am very happy, I only wish I could see my father and know he made it home safe. I miss him very much.”

Ari hummed in response, turning as if he’s searching for something. Geralt continues his torture on you, making your head fall back as you near your orgasm again, whining when he stops, taking it away. “There is a way.” You blink, trying to focus on what Ari is saying. He moves toward you, handing you a magic mirror. In it, you see your father being locked away as the town gathered around, lit torches in their hands as they chant about killing the Beasts and saving you. An unhappy look crosses your face as you see Gaston leading it. “If you need, you may go if you like.” The Beasts didn’t want you to leave.

You shake your head, “There is no point. There is a group already heading this way, it would be stupid of me to leave now.” Stupid Gaston always ruining your peace. Why was the man so adamant on marrying you? You stand, “I am going outside for a bit of fresh air, is that okay?” You could not think straight when in the same room as them, it was like all common sense flew out the window and the only thing you wanted was for them to use you.

Ari nods, Logan and Geralt scowl when they hear about people coming to their castle. Geralt had seen the look on your face when seeing that man appear in the mirror, a plan forms and he decides to share it with his brothers. Who wouldn’t love a live show?

Your coat flows around you as you exit the castle, cold air immediately hitting you. You wander over to the blooming rose bushes, gently brushing your fingers over the petals. A sudden squeal escapes you as someone grabs you, putting their arms around you and whispering into your ear. “Hello, MY Y/n–Belle. So far from home, why not come back, huh? Come back and I’ll forgive you, Y/n–Belle, come back and we can marry.” Gaston’s voice caused unwanted shivers to roll through you, his was not the voice you wanted to hear nor the arms you wanted around you.

“I will never marry you! Why can’t you get that through your thick head?!” You struggle against his grip, teeth clenched as your words come out rough. “You have gone mad, Gaston!”

Gaston grinned evilly, “Good thing I don’t care, Y/n–Belle. Once I have killed the Beasts, you will be MINE.” You watched as the villagers tore through the castle’s doors, the sound of shouts and a fight breaking out can be heard over the howling wind. “Come. You shall take me to the Beasts, so that I can rid of them and claim you as my own.” His grip on your arm is bruising, dragging you past everyone and up the stairs. You didn’t know why he had chosen this direction, the castle was huge, there was no way he’d be able to find them so quickly… Unless he had been watching, waiting.

“Ah huh! The Beasts! You are not as terrifying as her lunatic of a father said you were!” He pulls you closer to him, three sets of growls ripple through the air as they watch your face become pained. “I shall kill you at last, so that I can claim Y/n–Belle as my own.”

“There’s three of us and one of you. What makes you think you can take us?” Geralt growls, his eyes firmly set on Gaston’s. You shivered, you didn’t know whether it was from fear or horniness. You felt yourself throb and nodded to yourself, definitely the latter. “I suggest you let go of our HoneyBelle.”

Gaston chuckles, pulling a gun from. Well you don’t exactly know where? It was definitely not in his hand or anywhere really when he grabbed you. “This. I am the best hunter there is. I shall have all three of your heads mounted on my wall by morning.” It was a wonder how his head never exploded from how big his ego was. It was almost as big as well… Your mind began to drift again and you had to shake your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts, it wasn’t the time.

The Beasts smirked, they had learnt to read your body well. Their Little one, Beauty and HoneyBelle was thinking inappropriately at an unfortunate time. You had come out of your daze in time to notice the designs on the wall come to life. Like a snake, the marble vines slithered across the floor and wrapped around Gaston’s leg. “What is this?!” He tries shaking his leg, letting go of you from the distraction. You squeak as arms pull you toward them, you look up to see Ari before he places you behind him. Gaston snarls, seeing you had gotten away. “You freaks! You think you can defeat me?! I AM THE GREAT GASTON!” He roared, but he was no match for a Beast's roar.

Having shrunk into himself as Logan roared back, it allowed the vine to pull him into a room that was conveniently set up. It dragged him over to a chair placed in the middle of the room, the arms had strangely been taken off. Gaston was harshly placed down onto the chair, the vines wrapping around him and the seat, securing the angered hunter. “I will escape this foolishness and take Y/n–Belle as my own!” He struggles against the vines grip.

The three Beasts stalk into the room, pulling you gently, but possessively along. Logan pulls you to stand in front of them, from Gaston’s perspective. You looked so tiny before them, you didn’t even look that tiny next to him and he was the tallest in the village. The Beasts towered over you, looking menacing to everyone but you.

“You will see who she belongs to. Won’t he, Little one?” Your thighs press together, feeling yourself throb between them and you nod. “Take off your dress.” Your hands move shakily as you lift your dress over your head and gently toss it to your side, Gaston’s eyes widen as he finally gets to see what he’s been wishing for. Maybe the Beasts are going to let him have a taste before he kills them. He smirks at that thought, becoming cocky once more. Logan moves toward you, staring at the hunter as he grasps your breast, squeezing it before rubbing your hardened nipples. “You see this? See how she reacts to our touch?” He growls, everyone in the room watches as you whimper, eyes watering and thighs pressed tightly together.

“Why don’t you go and lay on his lap, Little one.” He tells you, “On your stomach, no touching.” He glares at Gaston as he says the last part. Knowing in some way that the hunter would try and possibly slip through those vines like the slippery git he is. Logan’s paw hits your arse, pushing you forward with a slap. You squeal, timidly walking over to the bounded man, laying across his lap, the vines seem to welcome you instead of digging into you.

You bite your lip as you watch the Beasts stalk forward, coming closer. You whimper as Ari kneels between your legs and Geralt stands above your head. Logan stands directly in the middle, staring down Gaston who greedily stares down at you, his mouth opens and everyone knows he’s about to say something, but a vine slithers up and covers it before he can speak. Wrapping itself around until he’s gagged and bound.

“Such a pretty sight, Beauty. Are you ready to cum after all of this waiting? Hmm? We know we’ve been depriving you of it.” You moan at his words, not being able to respond or place your head down because you were too focused on the giant bulge in front of you. You throb at the sight, you could never get over how large they were.

“It seems she can’t reply at the moment, Ari. Our girl is a bit dumbstruck.” Geralt tilts his head, looking at Gaston. “Whores, you understand right?” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as his gaze turns back to you. “Why don’t you take my cock out, HoneyBelle. Show this human what you prefer.” You whine, squirming in Gaston’s lap as you reach your hands out quickly, the Beasts chuckle at how desperate you are.

You had only seen Ari’s cock, none of the other Beasts would give you the pleasure to see theirs. It felt like such a punishment when you could feel them, but you weren’t allowed to see. When you saw Ari’s you thought he was the biggest that you’ve ever seen, obviously you were wrong. Geralt seemed to at least be an inch longer, maybe more. Your eyes flickered over to Logan’s clothed cock, wondering if he was bigger than these two.

Geralt moves your head back to him, your mouth falls open as he guides his member inside, forcing it in unlike Ari. Speaking of, the other Beast dives between your thighs, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense pleasure that shoots through you. Your moans vibrate around Geralt’s member, causing him to tilt his head back and let out a roar. He holds your head in place as he begins to thrust back and forth, fucking your mouth like it’s his own personal fleshlight. You drool from being used, allowing him to thrust in and out easier.

Ari palms your arse and thighs, holding you close as he devours your sweet cunt. His tongue thrusts in and out of your glistening hole before switching to lick and suck your puffy clit, taking the little bead between his sharp canines. A giant grin appears on his face as your squeals can be heard around his brother’s cock, your squirms become frantic and your toes curl. He laps your sweet juices up, knowing he would never let you go after having tasted you.

Gaston grunts, becoming disgusted with himself as he hardens at the sight, his growing bulge pushes against your stomach. Twitching as you continue to squirm against him. Logan’s glare sharpens as he notices.

“Stop.” Everything ceases and you whine, tongue hanging out of your mouth, eyes crossed and cunt tingling as you wonder why the pleasure had been stopped. He waves his paw, gesturing for you to be pulled up. You squeal as Ari pulls you up, his large bulge presses into your back, quite close to your shoulders with how tall he was. “Are you getting off on our Little one?” The growl echoes throughout the room and goes straight to your cunt.

Logan pulls you from Ari’s hold, holding your hip with one paw while the other pulls his pants down, releasing his thickened member. You feel it slap against your body and jolt, a gasp escaping you. You had a guess that he definitely was the biggest between the three. He grasps his throbbing member in his hold, stroking it as he directs his leaking tip against your sopping cunt. Logan holds eye contact with the defenseless hunter as he thrusts into you, stretching your walls wide. Your head falls back into his chest, no sounds escape your opened mouth as you are speechless. You swear you could see colours with how delicious the stretch felt, you had never felt so full before.

The Beasts and the hunter gulp as they see the bulge appear on your stomach, it slowly disappears as Logan pulls out slowly only to thrust back in. Your arms flail about as you try and find something to grip onto, your hands grab onto his biceps, arms and fur as he begins to pound into you. Growls fill the room as Logan picks up his brutal pace, slamming in and out of you like a wild animal. His grip on your hips tighten, canines bared as he lowers his head down to your exposed neck.

“Logan!” His brother’s eyes widen as they go to stop him, but it’s too late. Logan latches onto your neck, sinking his canines into your flesh and growling as your warm blood seeps into his mouth. Your eyes roll back as your cunt clenched tightly around the Beast. Your back arches, nails digging into his flesh as you scream, cumming around him repeatedly.

“Logan!” A different shout comes through. Not his brother’s, but yours. You cry his name as he continues to pull orgasms from your small body, fucking into you harder and faster until he pulls away from your neck and roars, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his thick, angry tip and coat your walls. Filling your tiny cunt to the brim, possibly even making its way into your stomach before it drips out, coating your thighs white. He suddenly feels weakened as he pulls out of you, he stumbles back and falls. Ari catches you as they stare at their brother wide-eyed.

“The curse! It must be the curse!” The brother’s exclaim, looking at each other before looking at you with wide grins.

“Are you ready for more, Beauty?” You nod rapidly, already feeling desire take over as you think about these Beasts using you again. He pulls you over to the hunter, pressing you into the side of the chair, your breasts pushing into Gaston’s face, back arching as Ari grips onto you and you grip the chair tightly as he guides his throbbing member into your used cunt, his eyes roll back at the feel of how tight you are. “Fuck, Beauty. So perfect for us.” He leans forward, flattening his tongue against your wounded neck, licking up your blood before sinking his teeth in as he begins to pound into you, pushing you into the desperate man. Gaston is forced to suffer as your bare breasts press into him whilst you get fucked by another man. Ari towers over you, covering your whimpering form. His cock slides in and out of your fluttering hole with sharp thrusts, already feeling his end nearing. He slides his paw to your stomach, pressing on the bulge before continuing to travel down to your puffy clit and plays with it.

You jerk, mouth falling open as your walls tighten around him and your juices flow out, coating him as you cum, your toes curl and your moans fill the room. Ari follows quickly behind, stuffing his cock deep inside of you as he lets go with a roar, filling you with his cum alongside his brother’s. You feel your stomach filling from a weird angle, as he slides out of you, you look down to see your stomach bulging a tiny bit. You whimper, your cunt pulsates as you move toward Geralt, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desperate to be filled again. Not noticing Ari slumping against the wall, his body draining.

Geralt growls, gripping your throat between his clawed fingers. “You want more, HoneyBelle?” You nod, pouting. Your eyes glazed over. “What a slut you are.” He tuts, “I want to test something out first.” His golden-yellow eyes narrow as he slides his cock deep into your used cunt with one quick thrust. Watching your eyes roll back for possibly the twentieth time that night, he was surprised they hadn’t gotten stuck. He stills and you whine, clutching him, your hips move as you bounce yourself up and down his cock. His grip around your throat tightens. “I want you to watch, HoneyBelle.” You pout, looking at him before he turns your attention to poor defenseless Gaston.

Your eyes widen as you watch the vines slowly remove themselves from his body, you clutch Geralt tightly as Gaston blinks, he slowly stands and with a vicious growl, he pulls out a dagger and launches himself towards the two of you. Your cunt tightens around the Beast and with wide eyes you watch as Geralt swipes his paw that isn’t gripping your throat, his claws dig deeply into the hunters throat, large slashes appear as Gaston’s body drops. His face permanently set in a shocked expression. You whimper, feeling yourself drip around Geralt’s member.

You blink, looking innocently at his face as he smirks. “Just what I thought. You are a very nasty whore, HoneyBelle.” You clench around him, the paw that is marked with Gaston’s blood comes up and grips your face while the other moves down to hold onto your thighs. You felt so dirty, but in a good way. You don’t notice him moving you over to a wall, the vines from before slither over, wrapping around your wrists and ankles as they hold you open for all to see. Geralt grins, sliding his bloody paw down your body, leaving a trail of blood that mixes with your own. “I’m going to fuck you now, HoneyBelle. So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Hard.” With his last word, the Beast begins to pound into you, splitting you open.

You scream and moan, your nails digging into your palms. You can’t help but struggle against the vines, wanting, NEEDING, something to hold onto. Your head hits the wall as your half–lidded eyes watch Geralt ruin you, fucking you like the wild Beast he is. His golden-yellow eyes never leave yours. Not until he leans forward and digs his canines into the very same spot Logan and Ari did, reveling in the taste of your blood, the feel of it flowing into him, dripping down his chin.

The feeling of his cock splitting you open and his canines ripping through your flesh cause your vision to go white as you cum, squirting all over the Beast. Your arousal coats him, dripping down his thick member. Geralt growls, slamming into you harder and faster, his head now out from your neck, eyes watching you before he buries himself inside of you. Cumming deep into you, his gaze flickers down and he watches as your stomach bulges a bit more from being filled by three different types of cum. He grins, slowly thrusting as he emptied himself inside of you before pulling out and falling to the ground like his brother’s.

The vines don’t pull away, you hang against the wall. Your eyes flutter as your mind is dazed. You swear you see gold swirling around the three Beasts bodies, causing your brows to furrow as you try and blink away the cloudiness. You were saddened that in place of your Beasts were normal human men… You broke their curse.

The three brother’s groan, slowly dragging themselves up from the floor. Their eyes scan each other before looking down at themselves, seeing their human selves. “Finally. The curse has been broken and I am no longer bound as a Beast.” You whimper, causing their eyes to shoot toward you.

Ari moves over, hands skimming your soft body. “Hello, Beauty.” You frown.

They were handsome, you weren’t blind. All three of them looked different to each other and their animal form. Ari with medium length brown hair and pretty blue eyes, a bushy beard covering some of his face. Logan with short dark brown hair that somehow had styled small horns on top and hardened blue eyes, a slight beard covering his face. Then there’s Geralt, different from the two with his long white hair and golden eyes, a five o’clock shadow rests on his face. You stared at the brothers. They were gorgeous for humans, somewhat god-like but deep down, you desired the Beasts within them. Somehow, it made them… More.

Geralt smirks at his work. “I am not going to lie, I will miss being a Beast.” Logan grunts at his brother’s words. The vines finally unravel from your wrists and ankles, allowing Ari to catch you and carry you over to the bed.

You would later learn that the men wouldn’t stay just men, the Beast still lived within, especially when they tasted your sweet blood before the curse was broken.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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vidduality · 4 months

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SPOILERS for Episode 6 of the Avatar Live Action series

AKA why this episode makes me SO grateful for this adaptation (re: the Zuko flashbacks and the Agni Kai).

----

Wow.

I admit, I was really worried at the idea that Zuko might potentially fight back in the Agni Kai against his father in the live action. I expected to HATE it, and it's certainly a bold change, but it fits in SO WELL with why Zuko is the way that he is (and why he works so hard to push down his empathy whenever Aang tries to reason with him).

The Agni Kai - Zuko obviously did NOT want to fight his father. He still tried to apologize and beg for mercy, but in the end he was just too terrified of his father to disobey a direct order.

But when Ozai left him an opening to see what he'd do with it, Zuko couldn't bring himself to actually land a blow that might burn him. Making his lack of ruthlessness the weakness that Ozai ends up mutilating him for - even straight up telling Zuko that compassion is weakness and then demonstrating by holding his own child down and lighting him on fire - adds a layer of depth that only enhances the original scene (and in another stroke of genius, we see Ozai nearly in tears himself. He's convincing himself of this lesson as well as Zuko, which was likely passed down to him by his own father). Honestly, this to me is even more heartbreaking than Ozai burning him for refusing to stand and fight. Zuko did everything his father asked and he still failed, because his family has distorted what it means to be honorable and believes Zuko's capacity for mercy to be a shameful weakness unbecoming of an heir to the throne.

The 41st Division - And here come the waterworks. Assigning the very people Zuko was hurt so severely for trying to save to his ship as it's being cast out of the fire nation (presumably forever, with the Avatar not having been seen in 100 years) is SUCH a brilliant addition. His crew resents Zuko for being stuck on this impossible mission with this bratty, angry child. And Zuko is too ashamed of his "weakness" to explain why they were assigned to him.

I can totally see Zuko's hurt at their lack of respect making him even more angry (especially after everything he went through to save them from being sacrificed), and his seemingly irrational anger at them just continuing to make them resent him more in a neverending feedback loop of anger and disrespect that's been growing and festering for 3 years.

Which makes the scene at the end when Zuko's crew finally learns about how he saved their lives (as well as why he's obsessed with the avatar, why he's banished, what his scar means and why he's trying so very hard to rid himself of empathy, even if he can never quite manage it when it counts) so much more impactful. I SOBBED when the 41st Division stood at attention and showed him their utmost respect and loyalty, possibly for the first time since they've been on that ship. Zuko's soft "what's going on?" at finally being honored by his crew is just imprinted on my brain.

The seed of the idea that his compassion may NOT actually be what was shameful about his banishment afterall can finally begin to take root.

I just, damn, I love this episode so much.

#zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla live action #atla spoilers #atla netflix #fire lord ozai #avatar live action #avatar netflix #avatar spoilers #41st division #agni kai #avatar #i hope they survived #i need them to be there to see what zuko becomes #and they can spread the word to the fire nation #about who deserves their loyalty #meta #natla #atla

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sprout-fics · 10 months

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Poly TF141 x Omega! Reader Headcanons

(Poly TF14 x F! Omega Reader)

(Part Eleven: Pack Bonds)

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Hidden designations, Alpha! John Price, Alpha! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Beta! Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Omega! John 'Soap' MacTavish, Omega F! Reader, Group dynamics, Poly TF141, Slow burn, Courting rituals, Cuddling, Mating cycles/In heat, Brat! John 'Soap' Mactavish, Character studies, Polyamory

Masterlist

In the soft light of morning, Johnny tells you of his mates

You ask him about them, while you’re tucked into his chest, his hand ceaselessly kneading little circles into the knob of your spine, body warm and heavy, entirely satisfied from the night before and blissfully comfortable against him

He does, he tells you about the three other men on the team, about his cherished mates

Gaz is gentle, sweet, takes his time with you, and despite the tenderness of it coupling with him is no less of an intense affair. Gaz has the unique talent to know exactly what the other’s triggers are, to adapt and change tactics easily. He’s desperate to please, and it’s by far his most endearing trait

His stamina is by far his most dangerous trait, and you squirm with a warm flush as Soap recounts how Gaz fucked him stupid for the better part of half an hour with a steady, firm set of his hips, smiling wickedly down at the Scot as Johnny slowly lost his bravado and entered into something beyond wordlessness

Gaz is happier bottoming than topping, and between the three of them it’s an easy thing to accomplish. He reacts differently to each partner. For Soap it’s teasing, playful, two comrades wrestling and tousling and yanking at each other to reveal tender flesh on which to suck blighting bruises. They gasp and heave, palming at each other in the showers, quick kisses and bites stolen behind the bleachers of the track, hands slapping on each other’s asses in flirtatious teasing as they pass each other in the hall

For Price, Gaz is good, lovely, eyes shining with adoration as his captain indulges in him so sweetly, so reverently Gaz seems to be left dopey with it for days after. Price can be either achingly gentle or will make his sergeant hiccup and grip the sheets, shaking his head when Price offers to slow or stop. Price was Gaz’s first, and Gaz harbors a soft affection for him in a way he doesn’t with the others

For Ghost, Gaz is tender, hands himself willingly to the other Brit, knows the weakness in Ghost’s soul as his own. His sympathetic nature allows Ghost to mold him into the thing he desires, knowing he’ll be treated well in turn. While Soap will tease and banter and ensure Ghost manhandles him into the sheets, Gaz will coax Ghost instead, will talk him tenderly into something resembling docility, a vulnerability that is rare for a man so haunted by his past. Yet Gaz is acutely aware of of the power, the intensity and enrapturing force of the lieutenant, trusting him wholly but never failing to be stupefied by the aftershocks for days after

Price- Soap shivers pleasantly when he speaks of Price- is a lethal mix of firm, authoritative possessiveness and overwhelming attention. The captain knows exactly what he wants, and he knows how to obtain it willingly from his partners. The man has the blessing of experience, and he displays it in the way he knows to wreck the others, presses them into docility and complete surrender while lavishing devastating praise onto them

While Ghost affectionately indulges in Soap’s antics, Price knows how to make Soap behave, beg for him in wordless little cries. If the recruits and other soldiers on base see Soap oddly well-mannered for a few days afterwards, well, Soap will never outwardly admit who is responsible

They take care of their captain, knows when the burden of duty weighs too heavy on his shoulders. It’s Gaz, more often than not, who is the balm to the scars Price carries, is receptive and cathartic in his sweet embraces of the older man. Soap has on several occasions walked past Price’s room during a rough week to hear the smoky sigh of Price’s voice saying “Good. Good boy, Kyle.”

Price’s rut is more controlled than Simon’s, but no less possessive. The man is a beast during his cycle, growling while also gingerly hushing Soap or Gaz (sometimes even both) into the mattress below as his hips slap mercilessly against them. There’s a double edged sword to the captain that’s caught between tenderness and control, a desperate desire to defend and protect that sometimes has his growl a low, threatening vibration should either sergeant attempt to leave his bed

(You squirm a little at that, wondering if Price might ever let you experience that himself)

Price rarely bottoms, preferring instead to be the deliverer of sinful devastation to his mates, but he isn’t opposed to it. It’s a rare thing, but Price will allow one of his boys to fuck him open, but will continue to growl a sensous mixture of authority and praise at them all the while

Soap tells you that even though he and the others are allowed the rare treat of topping Price, it still somehow feels like they’re still under his grasp the whole time.

Soap smiles dreamily when he speaks of Ghost, and you tease him for it, for looking like an infatuated schoolboy dreaming of his first love. Yet when he rolls his eyes you bump your nose under his jaw, scenting him and listening to him huff happily

Ghost appears at the textbook definition of an alpha. Towering, strong, packed with rigid muscle. He commands attention with his presence, has a violence in him that models him as the ultimate killer. He’s the kind of alpha you were terrified of as a younger omega, the kind that feels as if he’ll take and take, man-handle you into submission and snarl at anyone who dares challenge him. Territorial, overwhelming, dangerous

Johnny thought much the same of Ghost when they first met, was playful and pleasant in front of his LT as he tried to hide the anxiety that pulsed just beneath the surface, fearful of the alpha fulfilling the stereotype of aggressive alphas trying to take what they think they’re entitled to.

Yet Ghost was the first one to figure out Johnny’s true designation, and when he did he was softly spoken, reassuring, disarmingly sympathetic in a way that nestled into Soap’s heart. He had developed a crush on the alpha soon after, one that formed into a casual request for aid during his heats, which Ghost was happy to fulfill. Eventually their casual relationship evolved into something so much more, and though the road wasn’t easy, Johnny now knows Ghost is his, and that he will always be Ghost’s.

The rest came later, the intersection with Gaz and Price that blossomed into what it is now. Ghost and Price had history together, similar to Soap and Gaz’s boyish tumbling in bed, and yet so very different. It means Ghost trusts his mates wholly and completely, and the team knows that the gift of such trust from Simon is a sacred, almost religious thing to earn

It also means Ghost is extremely attentive to his partners. Like Price, there is an alpha edge to him that isn’t easy to shake, has him trying to gentle his partners in bed, render them docile and fisting the sheets with pleasure. Soap says it scratches Simon’s hindbrain to know his partners are intensely satisfied, and that coupling with Ghost is hardly ever less than a whirlwind of sensation and need, something that rarely fails to leave him breathless, face down in the pillows, body heavy with multiple orgasms

“Fuckin’ beast, him.” Johnny grumbles, as if he’s reluctant to admit it, as if he’s challenged Ghost with his bratty attitude and been handled into submission every time

Ghost is typically the one to assist Johnny with his heats, and by this point knows Johnny well enough to read every minute motion and gesture from the omega. Though Ghost won’t say it out loud, the man is deeply possessive over his mates, proves himself capable as a provider in not only protecting them, but offering whatever they need for their cycles. He’s the model of a loving mate, even if you have to endure the edge of brooding silence and whiplash sarcasm that comes with him

(You know this is what Johnny loves the most about him)

On the infrequent occasions that the four of them end up in bed together, the presence of two alphas is rarely an issue. Price and Ghost trust each other enough to not be territorial, as they are mates as well. The two play off each other’s strengths, are a force combined between them

It’s rare, but clashes do threaten to happen sometimes, things based entirely in instinct and fueled by the rush of hormones present only in heat or rut. If Simon growls at Price for touching Soap or Gaz during his rut, the more experienced alpha knows how to soothe Simon’s possessive temper into something a little less base

In turn, should Price ever bare his teeth or posture at Ghost in challenge, Gaz and Soap know how to act as intermediaries between the two, talking them down until peace is made once more

It’s rare, but it does sometimes happen, and is fairly inevitable with two alphas on the same team, even if they are mates. However, no amount of alpha territoriality or instinct is enough to break the bonds between the pack, and though there are disagreements, petty conflicts, the four of them have long ago agreed that there’s nobody else for them

And then there’s you

And you can’t help but ask yourself: “How do I fit into all this?”

“Wherever you need to.” Soap replies softly, bracing his forehead with yours, the two of you still tangled in his sheets. “You’re part of the pack, hen. Wherever you fit is where you are welcome. We’ll make it work.”

You smile, kiss him for that, and you taste his returning grin on your lips as he rolls over and reaches for you once more.

Taglist:

(Please have an 18+ or similar age disclaimer in your bio to be tagged in this fic)

@alicesfracturedmirror @emrzennn @scatter-mind001 @josieguts @angryvengeful @ramadiiiisme @mutuallimbenclosure @waves-against-a-cliff @sunnynomoar @miyabilicious @piratesfromspace @sofasoap @soapskneebrace @writeforfandoms @waltzthegenderfluidpan @ghosts-goldendoodle @cherrycoloredfunk86 @lostagoodcigar @tbrfic @appleschloss @tizylish @misshoneypaper @kkinky @reaper-chan666 @kenma-izhu @shinebright2000 @zalyluvvs @neoarchipelago @essencse @dankest-farrik @mirthlxss @bi-witch-bxtch @tallmanlover @vinithechocolatevampire @blackcat9091 @tiredmetalenthusiast @tizylish @miyabilicious @secretliteradite @ghosts-goldendoodle @angryvengeful @miraclesabound @lostagoodcigar @wolfyland07 @beebeechaos @kait-is-always-late @rv3rblog @cr3ampuffed @lazyninjaphilosopher @capawtine @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @whynotbad @fake-id-69 @mememe7147 @thriving-n-jiving @urfavsunkissedleo

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#call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 #poly tf141 #omegaverse call of duty #cod omegaverse #tf 141 x reader #my writing #my fic #x reader

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thelastofhyde · 1 year

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i. the likeability paradox.

pairing. joel miller x fem!reader

synopsis. joel miller is not a man who strives to be liked, with a chip on his shoulder and a scowl on his face, until his world is flipped on its axis when the pretty young thing living under bill and frank's roof, with an irritatingly unwavering smile and the literal sun shinning out her ass, says those five damned words: i don't like you, joel.

warnings. no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, slow burn ( i have several oneshots planned for this couple ), unrequited love ( except you will never catch joel miller admitting he feels anything beyond grief, hunger and exhaustion ), pining, poor communication no communication, no seriously joel is down bad it's actually disgusting and highkey 🚩toxic🚩 but luckily red is your favourite colour, sunshine!reader, grumpy!joel aka canon joel, kinda perv!joel ( if you squint ), implied queer!tess, undefined age gap ( reader implied late-20s ), descriptions of canon-typical violence, smut ( oral- f receiving, fingering, degradation, panty stealing, hair pulling, dirty talk, dubcon due to intoxication, joel kinda gives her a wedgie at some point and honestly i don’t know what i was hoping to achieve with that, discussions of a lacklustre sex-life pre-apocalypse ). reader is a) hinted at being shorter than joel but it’s not central to the plot and b) described as lithe but the meaning intended is graceful, not thin!

word count. 12.9k

hyde’s input. half-way through, the regret of choosing to write this from joel's pov started to settle in but lmao i was too far in to not commit to the bit. don't come at me for the fact the timeline or events may not seem plausible with canon, i just wanna write this silly little depraved fic about joel in peace :( anyway, enjoy my first attempt at writing for tlou, forming a prayer circle rn in hopes that this doesn't flop because i will cry and you will hear about it

taglist. @kayleezra @newavenger + add yourself to the taglist here !

read on ao3 ! ( capitalization available )

distaste is not new in the life of joel miller.

in particular, one that is loaded, aimed and fired directly at him. he is not a likeable guy, often by choice and rarely by accident. the years of pain from a bleeding wound have now scarred over into nothing but an empty shell of the man that once was, from a world that no longer is, and he’s tried little to fill himself back up.

if anything, he’s made himself more empty.

rid himself of feelings, that which saves him the weakness of appearing sympathetic. discarded the need for luxuries, for which he’d scarcely cared for prior to his world ending. lay to rest what was left of the optimist inside him, leaving behind the danger of hope for it to rot with the rest of the infected.

an apocalyptic world brings out all sides of man that one would never dare to engage with in normal civilisation. joel learned swiftly that he was built to endure, quick to evolve and adapt to the new world order. the man who once worked his hardest to keep the peace among his neighbours, smiling that little bit wider on days he’d catch them scowling to themselves in hopes of brightening one part of their day for even a simple moment, would be at odds with the man who wears a heavy layer of enjoyment when met with the scowling glances and the hushed voices, all the watch out for that miller guys passed between cowardly members of fedra and the keep away from mr. miller's lawns spoken harshly from mother to child becoming music to his failing ears.

this plague of fear-driven dislike keeps him alone, how he likes to be, no one to lose and nothing to be taken. somewhere along the years the idea of safety in numbers has morphed into an illusion, something people say and never truly mean, to distract themselves from a reality more bitter than a snowstorm: in times of survival, people become dead-weight.

“so that’s all i am to ya, huh? dead-fucking-weight?” his brother’s voice still echoes in that damned space he calls a home, weeks or months or years since the day he’d departed for something else, somewhere else, leaving joel to do what joel does best: endure.

somehow, silence was easier than telling the man he’d taught to tie a shoelace, to shave his beard, to tune a guitar that he was the dead-weight, doomed to drag all those who remained too close down into his pit of despair.

she was an exception, his tess, buried 5-feet-under in her own swell of darkness, nothing but the tips of her fingers stretched out above her head to feel the sun upon her skin and keep her from going that last foot deeper. they’d made a home for themselves in one another, one where he keeps them fed, and she keeps them safe, and neither of them keeps the place clean.

she never asks for more, and he never offers it, both content to survive without the weight of affection smothering them. contrary to the belief of any misfortunate soul who’s encountered the pair within the quarantine zone, she is the one who holds the leash, tugging joel along close by her heel and keeping him from wandering off into the wild to surrender himself to a feral lifestyle.

which lands him here, sat at a table playing happy family, each time he dares to snark out a few words being met with the sharp kick of tess’ foot against his shin.

“... and then,” frank struggles over a cough, so excited in his story-telling that he fails to separate taking a breath from taking a sip of his wine. with a roll of eyes and a disapproving grunt, bill’s no more than two seconds away from clapping down on his back, urging the other man’s wind-pipes to unblock and welcome back airflow. “otis dragged his muddied self over the whole house. we were finding paw-prints for days!”

joel’s unamused, too keen to think of what a nuisance that would be. as if incapable of feeling the buzzing energy of disinterest, the german shepherd drops its head further up his lap, begging for a morsel of anything that sits atop the table.

“which means i was cleaning paw-prints for days.” bill, the only one at the table besides himself who wears the looks of a cynic, grumbles out before shovelling what remains on his plate into his mouth.

frank is quick to shush him.

“i’m sorry, again, bill,” he doesn’t mean to break eye-contact from the mutt at his thigh, but the voice calls to him like a siren calls to a ship in the night, like a flame dances and seduces a moth into its brightly burning touch of death, a spotlight in the dark which promises- or threatens- more light to come. “i’d no clue there was a storm coming till we were already a good few miles away, and there was nowhere to take cover to wait it out.”

there you sit, parallel to him.

the sun rests lower in the sky as time carries you all into the late noon, its rays a beacon of light bursting out just behind your head, painting you in the glow of the golden hour and staining a mockery of a halo above you. it hurts his eyes, this brightness that you so easily bask in, forcing him to squint and deepen the frown on his face.

you catch him with his sights on you, at some point, and the smile you meet his scowl with has him cursing at the sun, and the moon, and every star that sits between.

the threat of a great war looms in the air as you rush to rise up and help clear the table of the remnants left behind- none of which joel can account for, mouth to keen and body too starved to skip out on enjoying the mundane luxury of a fresh, home-cooked meal. the battle ends swiftly as you surrender to bill’s hardened stare, and frank’s disapproving head-shakes, and tess’ own plan of action to simply force you down back into the seat you’d been sat in- the one you always sit in.

“you, sit. no one should have to clean up the food they made.”

they get no fight out of him when they insist he’d done enough catching the so-called food.

silence casts its shadow over the table, dampening the light and painting you both in a mockery of greyed tones- truthfully, it is the disappearance of the sun hind a large cloud that causes such a thing.

being alone, with you, is something joel’s never mastered. the affliction of your presence is so much greater when there’s no one else to balance out your natural shine- the kind that has his head spinning and his cock aching-, no one but him.

were he not a sick bastard, he’d try harder to not make you sad.

something bumps his hands, ripping him out of his moral self-condemnation. the dog meets his gaze, eyes a widened mess of puppy-dog pleading that punctuates its existence with an impatient whine.

just like your owner, he finds himself thinking and not saying- never saying-, yet to find your bark.

the ball’s a sticky mess of slobber and dirt, and joel touches it all the same, throwing it up in the air once, then twice, before tossing it across the yard. he’s slumped back in his chair by the time he registers the dog’s departure, a ball of dark fluff bouncing its way across the garden, and all the man can think is fuck, he’ll be feeling the effect of that throw on his shoulder come the morning.

the pain is not enough to stop him from tossing the ball again, and once more, and then yet again, sending the dog in a never ending loop of chase, grab, retrieve- a parallel to his life of wake, survive, sleep.

“he likes you,” you never leave things the way he wishes them to be, bursting his bubble with the vocal reminder of your presence.

as if on queue, prompted by your addressing of it, the dog drops its interest in joel, and the ball, and the chasing, tail wagging uncontrollably by the time it reaches your side. standing on its hind legs, it collapses the front of itself into your waiting lap, and joel watches how you wrap your arms so easily around something that could cause you harm.

to envy a creature that licks it own shit off its ass is a new low for joel.

“thinkin’ he might like ya more, sol.” the nickname rolls off his tongue with ease, the safer option than uttering your name, a vice and virtue he’s only permitted himself in idealistic fantasies that play out in his own troubled thoughts.

“most people do,” whether you mean to make it seem like you’re degrading his very existence or not, he’s unsure, but it rouses a chuckle out of him.

he takes note of how you don’t protest the name he’s branded you with, not like how you’d fought tooth and nail against it every other visit he and tess have made.

“you’ve got a whole load in common, you know? i think that’s got something to do with his fascination-”

“how the hell’s a man like me got somethin’ in common with a four-legged mutt?” there he goes again, making that smile slip down your cheeks with a simple use of his voice. it helps as much as it hurts, frown loosening up and eyes no longer strained beneath the bright shine of your visceral optimism.

“well, you’re both... hairy,” he restrains himself from reacting, washing down a laugh with the help of the dregs of wine that lay collecting at the bottom of his glass. he’s let his appearance grow more rugged over the past few months and your noticing of this brings an unwanted warmth to his aching bones. “and have the most kickass women in your lives to stop you from dying.”

he’s interested to know what life would be like under your protection.

discovering the answer brings the threat of pain, and loss, and an openness to vulnerability he can not afford himself, so he takes the safer option: “‘s easy stayin’ safe when you live in this fantasy land. doubt your mutt’d last any longer than a day out in reality.”

with you as its protector.

he doesn’t say it and, still, it somehow hovers in the space between you both, a heavy, syrupy implication that slips down your throats and threatens to suffocate you. he watches you choke on it, coughing on his cruelty and feigning it to be a simple clearing of your throat. your eyes glue themselves on the dog, delicate fingers smoothing over the well-groomed hairs down its back.

survival has turned him into a man who knows when to seize an opportunity, and this is one he takes with both hands, basking in the simplicity of staring, watching, observing you without the crime of being caught.

but i could keep you safe.

he toys with the danger of uttering such a thing aloud. it’s not the first time he’s thought it. truthfully, he’s unsure when it first nestled its way into his mind.

his memory, which ails him more than it aids him these past years, would have him believe it was way before the dog had even appeared, back when it was just bill, frank and you. a few whiskeys in and a campfire lit for you all to gather for warmth around- why you’d all chosen to sit out in the gardens on a winter’s night joel remains unsure of to this day-, it was frank who’d prompted the question. “where were you all when... this started?” tess went first, braver than most people he knows, sharing stories of a version of herself he’ll never meet.

he never imagined her working in a bank.

bill, with reluctance, took the next step, keeping his account factual and to the point. “was shit-faced drunk and getting my stomach pumped.” he’d been quick to skim over the story of the young nurse who’d guided him to safety out the hospital, losing her own life in exchange for his survival. she was barely out of school. “i knew her dad, bit of an asshole, but boy, was he proud of his baby for graduating.” frank couldn’t let him swim too deep in his thoughts, afraid a current of guilt would trap him and drown him in the depths of it, and so he raised his own voice and began his tale.

joel had always been a good listener. being a single parent to a teenage girl required him to be, or so... she would have had him believe, nights at the table set for two spent listening to the playground he-said-she-said gossip. years later and he at last prefers things this way, a rare gem of safety found in the act of saying nothing and hearing everything- that his hearing will allow. all this to say, he’d tried his best to pay attention to frank’s impassioned retelling of his heroic misadventures that had lead him to the unintentional arms of bill.

but you weren’t smiling.

he watched you, you watched the dancing flames, face stoic and drained of that natural shine his eyes had only just started to be able to gaze upon without the threat of being blinded by such light.

the desire crept up on him like a tiger to it’s prey, hiding in the far off bushes until the opportunity to strike presented itself and the feeling lunged for joel’s back, gripping him in its claws and piercing his ribcage with its gnashing teeth. with each bite, it plagued him with the delusions of a wandering mind, imagination left free to run laps around his head with visions of you from another life, another time, another set of people gathered round a dining table. he’d wanted to hear about the ones you’d lost, and comfort you with all the things he hated hearing (“you’ll keep ‘em alive, in spirit and memory!” “those we remember never truly die!”). he’d needed to bend a knee and swear a vow to be the one to stand between you and death, to fight for your survival on your behalf. ‘could keep you safe. there, then, the thought did cross his mind.

he’d washed it down with a swig of lukewarm, flat beer.

“-could fix it, you know. i’m good with my hands.”

he almost chokes on his own breath.

i'm good with my hands, it swims in circles round his mind, replaying and echoing off the walls of his skull. and he knows- oh, how he knows- that he’ll be replaying it in those moments of solitude for the next few nights, weeks, months- however long it may take till he forgets the way such thought-provoking words sound on your lips.

“what?” the question leaves him harsher than he intends, drawing an enemy line between you both with the foul sound of it. in the corner of his eye, he swears he sees you flinch backwards, physically recoiling from the disdain-filled bullet he fires in your direction.

the mutt in your lap retreats, hackles rising as it turns to face joel once more.

he sees it, in the dog’s brutal protectiveness over you, this similarity you claim exists.

“your watch, it’s broken.”

“hadn’t noticed,” he’s retreating into his own space now, mentally and physically, scraping the legs of his chair against the ground as his mind works to strengthen those walls that threaten to crumble so often in your presence. “don’t need ya to fix it.”

you pull a face, brows furrowing and lips pouting. confusion.

“don’t you want to know the time?” you ask, as if time could ever be relevant in a rotten world where down is up, and up is down, and joel miller is not the overprotective father to the most delicate creature the god he’d stopped believing in had gifted him, just to force him to watch as life snatched her away.

“i don’t keep it for the time.”

you smile, and this one’s a killer, piercing straight through the cages of his ribs to carve itself into his withered heart.

the german shepherd relaxes with the rebrightening of your aura, shaking out the tension from its body before sauntering its way back over to joel, ball in mouth and tail wagging excitedly, as if it hadn’t just contemplated having its first taste of human flesh.

he’s throwing the toy in a matter of minutes, enjoying the repeated run and retrieve game, and the renewed silence that comes along with it. nature sings its tune with rustling leaves, cawing crows, and pounding paws. it’s almost so easy to leave your offer, your words, his broken watch in the rearview mirror of this otherwise pleasant afterno-

“ooh, so there’s a story to tell!” you’re blinding him with your excitement, lithe limbs leaning forward in your own chair in an attempt to reach closer, table between you be damned. “i’ve never heard any of the joel miller backstory, this should be-”

“i get that likin’ everyone is your thing, but would’ya give it a rest?”

nature falls silent.

skies grow dull.

you juggle sadness.

there’s a crash that comes from within the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of tess’ sailor mouth, cursing whichever delicate dish she’s broken into smithereens with the help of her accident prone hands. the dog’s lain itself down upon the grass, ball between it’s paws as it begins to bite, and chew, and break it under the pressure of its canines.

joel wonders what the mutt’s practicing for.

“sure,” then, with the return of your voice, all sounds resume, harmony upon planet earth once more. only, the gates have been shut in his face and joel finds himself forced to watch as everything unfolds from the outside, an unwelcome visitor forced out into exile with the fungal freaks and the inhumane. “but you’re wrong. i don’t like everyone.”

“‘s that so.” his eyes roll. the hole he’s dug for himself sinks deeper, casting you higher up on the pedestal joel will always be wiling to place you on.

“yeah,” you’ve risen out your chair, gifting him the view of how the fabric of your dress dances above your knee, a final twist of the knife in his heart that he lets you pierce his flesh with each time he surrenders himself to your existence. “i don’t like you, joel.”

the hours come and go, but your words linger like a bad tattoo, shamefully engraved into his skin and banning him to a life of noticing the horrendous thing each time he passes by his own reflection.

we’re staying, for tonight. tess had called the shots, and he’s been learning not to argue when she gives him one of her stern looks, biting down on the comments he’d wanted to make of the dangers of being out of the qz for too long, which would likely earn him nothing but a shrug and the reminder that they both were off duty the following day

the nights are beginning to grow darker as winter grows nearer, leading bill and frank- mostly frank- to excuse themselves to bed, bidding the two visitors with a final reminder to make themselves comfortable in whichever room they can find. if only joel could remember which door leads to yours.

the two women in his life remain awakened, passing a bottle of wine between each other as you both converse back and forth, catching each other up on one another’s life, satiating that craving for mundane gossip.

tess recounts the scandal of the poor boy who’d been caught sleeping with a fedra agent’s wife, you whisper that frank and bill had been fighting again recently. the memory of being ambushed by raiders- now dead raiders- comes to life once more with the help of tess’ voice, while the promise to uncover what exactly bill and frank were hiding from you as of late is sealed in your words.

at some point, he lays himself to rest atop the couch, legs stretched out and arms crossed over his chest, ignoring the squeeze of the fabric over his forearms as the too-small flannel struggles to contain the muscles forged by the need to survive. at another point, he’s lulled to sleep by the lullaby of your mingling voices, a safety blanket draping itself over his tired body and enveloping him in the comforts of having that which he struggles to care so little for, so near him once more.

-n’t tell me you’re a virgin.

the words are muffled as the man slips back into consciousness, a frown coming to rest on his forehead as he battles against the demons urging him awake, the nightmarish memories of car crashes, and soldiers, and so much red chasing him away from the sleep he longs for so badly.

a protest rings true in his head and his ears.

was gonna say. knew you were young, but not that young.

it’s the sound of your laughter that awakens him fully, saving him from the tortures of his own mind.

“god, no! me and my ex, we... a few times. it was alright, i guess. i just, yeah, there’s not much to miss.”

he’s unwilling, unable to reopen his eyes, curling in on himself as he rolls over onto his side. a groan slips past his lips, one he’s hoping tess and you will dismiss as nothing more than the sleep-filled rambles of a dreaming man.

neither of you make any acknowledgement of him.

“not much to miss?! sweet christ, you’re breaking my fuckin’ heart.” he’s learnt over time the common traits of a drunken tess. each word becoming an exclamation, curses becoming more frequent, and that irritating habit she’s picked up of imitating his own accent. there’s no need to bother opening his eyes, joel’s already sure he’ll find his companion with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “i’d give up a hand for some head!”

you must do something, pull a face or shake your head, for the sound of tess’ renewed shock fills the room. he wonders, as the sound bounces off the walls, how late into the night it’s grown.

late enough that the cicadas singing outside the window are now accompanied by the hoots of an owl.

“you’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

“it bores me!”

“it bores you!?”

the couch beneath joel creaks as he shifts once more, turning his back on you both as the ability to contain his laughter grows harder with each word you exchange and each gasp tess gives. the last thing he needs is to be caught eavesdropping on your sex life like some dirty old pervert.

the crueler part of his mind replays your voice, i don’t like you, and the knife twists in his guts this time.

you like tess. love her, even. it’s been that way since the first time you’d met the duo, eyes giving one look over the woman before the smile on your face grew even wider, voice as sweet as honey sighing out finally someone with a pair of boobs, i’m bored of the sight of my own. joel’d gotten caught up in the thought of how he’d never tire of such a sight that he’d failed to acknowledge your greeting towards him, catching just the moment you drew your outstretched hand back to your side and offered him an understanding smile.

maybe that was the moment you decided you didn’t like him.

“must not have been doin’ ya right,” the bottle of southern comfort is working its wonders on the older woman, accent growing further and further from its true nature with each glass she nurses. joel hears the faint sound of ice smacking against glass and knows it must be yours. you’ve always struggled with liquors, slipping as many ice cubes as you can manage into a glass in hopes that they’ll eventually melt and water the alcohol down. it’s oddly endearing, you think no one has noticed. “this fella of yours.”

joel has no right to despise the idea of you and some fella.

he does so, regardless.

“well,” he imagines the shape of your meek smile and the way you shrug your shoulders. “we were each others firsts.”

“that’s no excuse! trust i left mine cryin’ into her pillow the first time i went down.” tess and he have a silent agreement to never speak of the nights joel would take refuge on their beaten-up couch while tess indulges herself between someone’s thighs in the bedroom. no discussing the sounds she pulls from her concubines, no addressing the wet patches left behind to stain their shared sheets, and definitely no speaking on how his hand winds up stained in his own cum.

you scoff and follow it up with a saccharine laced giggle, so sweet its bound to rot your teeth if you even attempt to hold it in. “what, are you offering your services?”

this he likes less than the image of you with some fella, the thought of having to lay upon a mattress on which tess had raised you to heaven while he once again remained locked out in the dark leaving his skin crawling with unwarranted rage.

“‘as sure as i am that you’re sweet all over, ‘fraid to tell you i like my women a little older than you.”

he knows he should do the same, should lust after those women his own age who shoot him carnal looks in the streets of the qz. it should be skin his own age that he longs to taste, and eyes who’ve seen as much as his own he wants to stare into, and lips as cruel as the ones he owns that he fights off the urges to kiss. but he can’t, and he won’t.

and you’re the one to blame.

you, with the glow of a thousand suns. you, with the hands that tend to flowers instead of corpses. you, with the gentle nature he’d have to spend the rest of his days fighting off every other living thing just to protect.

his own self being the first he’d need fight.

joel wonders what he’d missed in his hours- if it had even been so long- of rest, how the playground gossiping dissipated into reminiscing the pleasures of supple flesh and the sins of unfulfilling lovers. sleep steals him away once more before he can find the answers.

the next time he awakens, he’s drowning in a plight of cruel memories, a cold and brutal ocean of faces, places, and traces of the ephemeral sentiment of happiness he’d possessed once upon a time, back when the price of letting one’s guard down was not so high.

he’s learnt, with time, that losing her comes in waves. some small, meaningless little things, that ripple joel’s surface and coast gently over his dirt ridden skin. others, tsunamis. big, angry, all imposing. they’re born in ground-shaking explosions of grief, building speed, and height, and weight the closer they grow to crashing over him.

amidst the passing of time, he’s tried to keep himself busy in his awakened hours, to keep his mind occupied and avoid thinking about her too much. but the waves always come back, no matter how hard he tries to fight them or swim away from them. they catch him off guard, crashing over him when he least expects it. in the middle of a raid, lost in thought and standing ten inches deep in grime, blood, infected, and suddenly the weight of her absence will hit him like a ton of bricks.

the currents grow more violent whenever he closes his eyes.

this evening, it had been a minuscule wave, yet it’s damage still leaves him with sweat slicked skin. he reenters the land of the living choking on his own fear and shooting up-right, hardly registering his surroundings till his feet hit solid ground. the gentle, barely-there croon of a sinatra record punctuates the room alongside the dim glow of a lightbulb which flickers with the threat of expiring and leaving naught but the moonlight to wash over the dark of the night. across from him is tess, nursing a half-emptied cup against her chest and wearing tired eyes. snoring comes from below him, where joel finds he’s a mere foot away from having stepped upon the sleeping dog, curled in on itself and laying soundly by his side.

you take up no space of this room.

neither the dog nor the drunk pay him any mind as he pushes up onto his creaking knees, stretching out his limbs in a fight to undo the tension in his aching bod. languid steps carry him out into the hall, where he freezes under the self-questioning of where he’s going.

there are three answer to this: where he should, where he could, and where he would.

he should find himself a bedroom, perhaps be ostentatious enough to rid himself of those stale clothes and let the warmth of running water wash away the sins he’d committed throughout the day. a good night’s sleep, atop a mattress where springs do not dig into his back and the sheets are clean as could be, it would do him good.

he could head towards the kitchen, quench that thirst that he’s awoken with, cottonmouth and a headache to go with it too. perhaps he’ll find himself something to eat, indulge in the luxury of readily available food just this once, he’s sure frank wouldn’t mind. bill definitely would, but that’s not something he’ll need care about when he’s miles out and heading back to the qz.

he would try find you, open whichever door it is that leads into the haven that must be your bedroom. he imagines its clean, and organised, and smells of some syrupy lavender that is bound to nauseate him as he smothers his face into your bedsheets, eyes shut, and mind relaxed, the threat of those violent waves no concern to him as he anchors himself with an arm around your warm skin. skin he’s never felt, yet he stands firm in his belief it must be the most soothing thing to touch, as gentle and inviting as the heart it keeps safe within it.

i don’t like you, joel.

those words stop him from trying.

he tells himself it’s for the best.

with a mind of their own, his legs have made the choice for him and deliver him outside the opening to the kitchen. he swallows down a gulp of his own saliva at the prospect of a glass of water. the door’s already half-opened, and joel nearly thanks christ for it as the fear of waking anyone with the squeaking of the handle is eliminated. the darkness of the night encompasses the room, even with the moon’s shine reflecting off every surface it touches: the counters, the knife stand, the metal drawer handles, the refrigerator.

the refrigerator.

it’s open, a blue light shining out of it and illuminating anything it its proximity. a subtle beeping noise rings from it, and suddenly joel’s back in his thirties, dead-beat yet well-intentioned brother stealing the food off his own plate as he beckons his pre-teen daughter back into the kitchen.

keep leavin’ this open and it’s a job you’ll be gettin’ this summer, not a dog.

she never lived long enough to get either.

he catches something move beneath the artificial light. cautious at first, it’s all the more startling to find the object of his ire and the embodiment of his desire stood leaning back against the countertop, a glass full of orange liquid pressed to a mouth that parts and welcomes in the sugary sweet delight.

“why aren’t ya sleepin’?” the words rasp out his throat, catching and scratching on the parts of him that still yearn for something to wet his tongue with.

beneath the light, you shrug, “could ask you the same thing, texas.”

he curses tess for teaching you such a nickname.

he curses himself more for the way you saying it twists up his insides.

you’re teasing him, smile a little looser and eyes less focused than he’s used to seeing. whether you’re tipsy or simply delirious with exhaustion, joel remains unaware.

he grunts, daring to take a few steps further into the kitchen. the door behind him closes over and give the illusion of the space becoming smaller, tighter, more compact.

“i asked first.” you laugh, at him. full on chest-rumbling, hand over your belly, head thrown back- so abruptly it nearly crashes against the corner of the opened cabinet door. the corner of his mouth is curling upwards before he can catch himself. he hopes the refrigerator light shows less of him than it shows of you, bare legs, and messed hair, and pointed nipples all on display for his undeserving eyes. “‘s so funny, huh?”

“nothing, nothing,” he successfully fights off the urge to follow the drop of orange juice that spills down the side of your mouth, over your chin, down your neck, disappearing beneath the collar of your dress. perhaps he is not as successful as he believes. “just never heard the joel miller say something so childish. you’ve usually got your panties all in a bunch if someone so much as looks at you for too long.”

you make way as he inches closer, sliding yourself over to rest against the island counter. a fragrance of things he can’t quite pinpoint, but enjoys nonetheless, wafts in his face as he travels down the path to the sink. uncouth and unbothered, joel opens the tap and cups his hands beneath the stream of water.

“you know there’s a cupboard full of glasses right next to you, right?” you call out behind him as the man brings water to his dry lips, splashing and just about guiding his head beneath the stream. the thirst does not budge. he hums an acknowledgement of you, yet continues with his method.

by the time he switches the water off, you’ve made yourself busy, back facing him while you work at something atop the counter, a consistent chop-chop-chop filling the silence that settles between you both.

“i’m making soup,” you state, like there’s nothing quite more logical you could be doing at whatever-o’clock in the morning it is. “make sure you take some with you when you leave. tess said she’s been fighting off a cold the past few days, need you to keep her warm and fed for me.”

would you do the same for him, if you knew he’d been the one to catch that damned cold in the first place? four days of just about coughing up his lungs, and not a single soul- not even his tess- had offered soup, nor warmth, nor sympathy. he’d not needed it, until now, when he hears you gifting it to someone else.

i don’t like you, joel.

of course you would do the same. not because you care, nor because doing otherwise would way heavy on your conscious, but because you’re nice. nice in a way he’ll never be, has never been. patient, welcoming, comforting, warm. all words that spring to mind when one thinks of you. they violently oppose the closed-off, angry, dark cloud that had rolled in years ago and casted it’s shadow over joel’s entire persona.

he straightens his back, weight shifting from one foot to another as he contemplates you from behind. the sway of your dress as you move has him in a trance, beckoning him closer before he can even realise he’s taken a step. his hands drip water onto the floor in a rhythm, and the record player sings in the distance as a reminder of tess, and your sweet out-of-tune humming fills the empty kitchen with a brightness greater than the moon, but that’s not what joel hears.

i don’t like you, joel.

over and over, you taunt him without even trying, nailing the words into his head and heart, impaling him with your sweet condemnation. you’re not the first to say it, to his face or otherwise, yet you’re the first to evoke such a reaction out of him, to leave a lasting impression hours after you’d declared such a thing.

and, suddenly, joel’s angry. at you, at himself, at the sound of that damned knife in your hand slicing down onto the chopping board. the fog of his ire blurs his vision, rendering him to move blindly through the night.

only when he finds himself looming over you from behind does his vision clear.

a hand meets the curve of your hip and you gasp, leaving joel to wonder if it’s because the shock of his cold, damp touch or, simply, because it’s his touch. without a thought spared, he firms his grip, fingers squeezing tight enough he feels your flesh bulge between each one, a bruising promise joel gifts you.

you may leave your marks emotionally, but joel’s will always be physical.

“why,” he pulls in a breath, loading up the will to keep his voice a low rumble, a quiet disturbance in the night for no ears but your own to hear. “don’t ya like me?”

if not for the pause in your practiced movements, knife stilling midway through slicing a carrot, he’d believe you’re unaffected by his proximity. “why do you care?”

he scoffs, “i don’t.”

“hmm,” this hum is far less delightful than the way you’d been following along to whatever melody tess was playing in the living room. “sure sounds like you do.”

“yeah, well, i don’t,” he insists, and he swears he almost feels the way it only digs deeper the hole he’s created for himself.

joel knows he cares. it’s been burning at his skin and itching on his mind since the moment you’d welcomed yourself to a little bit of unfiltered honesty, dropping the perfectly poised and eternally polite mask you’d worn since the moment he’d first met you, an attitude he loathes as much as he anticipates surrounding himself with it each time he’s tugged along for the trek to bill and frank’s.

what joel doesn’t know is why he cares. there’s nothing to be desired about him, no traits to respect and certainly no looks to admire. he’s near crafted his entire being in a way that makes sure of this, the more undesirable his presence is, the less likely he is to be approached, be it by other people or fate itself.

maybe there was a part of him that had wrongfully imagined you being the exception.

instead, you’re stood barefoot in the latest of hours, knife working away the vegetables in front of you, dress sticking to skin beneath his damp hand, and you don’t like him.

not one bit.

joel grabs at your hips harder, his free hand curling round the shape of your left forearm. his feet shuffle forwards, until there comes a point where one would struggle to make out where you end and he begins. his chest pressed to your back, his muscular legs trapping your soft thighs, his forehead digging into the side of your head so intensely it threatens to shatter both your craniums and leave nothing but dust made by bones blown into smithereens.

he inhales, and finds you don’t smell of lavender.

“for the record,” he watches your movements over your shoulder, entranced with the back and forth sawing of the knife through unidentified vegetables. ‘s like how i sliced that raider’s throat, he thinks, and instantly regrets it. no part of him should ever be compared to you. “i don’t like ya either.”

he’s lying through his teeth, hoping you don’t notice.

the knife never ceases its movement. back and forth, back and forth. chop, chop, chop. blurs of greens, and oranges, and more greens cover the counter before you. it’s oddly soothing, this repeated and unbroken pattern, reminding joel of times he’d found comfort in the mundaneness of cooking a meal after an emotionally exhausting day. perhaps, this has the same affect on you, a momentary lifejacket to keep yourself afloat amongst the waves that haunt you awake.

the hand on your forearm travels, mind of its own, drawing up the shape of your shoulder with featherlight touches that contradict the way his nails dig deeper into the the skin you hide beneath the waistline of your dress.

“that’s not news,” you must think he’s blind to the hitch in your breath when his fingers slip over your pulse-point.

it’s his turn to respond with a hum.

“you only like yourself,” words more untrue have never been spoken before the man who’s every moment is spent drowning in his loses. his wandering touch halts. “a little selfish, if you ask me. but, that’s just what i think.”

this strikes a nerve. fury commands his hand into a fist and fingers find themselves tangled in the tresses of your hair. the realisation of how surprisingly soft it feels barely finishes registering when he’s pulling on it, dragging your head along with, till it lays flat on his puffing chest and your eyes stare up at him. “d’ya know what i think?”

even upside down, your beauty is striking.

“no, unlike you i don’t care what you think about-” joel tugs on your hair once more.

“i think you’re a brat. a silly little girl who thinks she can smile and get away with murder.” you could. he’d forgive you as you soak your hands in the blood you draw from him. knife in the heart, bullet through the brain, bat to the face, he’d slip away easily from this life if only to have you smile as he goes.

“you’re hurting me,” you whine, joel growls.

animalistic, beastly, a rabid animal sinking its claws into its defenceless prey. his gaze dances over your features, catching himself before he can sink deep into your captivating eyes, tracing the shape of your mouth, slipping down the peaks of your collarbones.

your dress- red, a colour joel miller will no longer associate with bleeding wounds and stained weapons- sits tight on your chest, squeezing the swell of your chest beneath the fabric, and gives away all your secrets.

“you like it,” he speaks in awe, unable to pull his eyes off the two stiff buds that poke against the red fabric.

“no, i don’-” dampness follows wherever his hand goes, fleeting as he makes the journey around your waist and up your side, crawling higher and higher to where he can feel your heart beating from within your chest. “joel.”

he retightens his grip on your hair, aiding you with the way your curve your spine and force yourself deeper into his uncaring, ungentle, enamoured touch. whoever joel had been in a past life must have moved mountains or performed miracles to grant him the luck to be holding you this way, the fingers he’d gifted with nothing but the cocking of guns and the feel of his own pulsating lust now expertly tweaking at one of your stiff nipples, all thoughts of the fabric scratching at your sensitive skin dissipating into the abyss as he realises you’re enjoying the pain.

“heard ya, earlier, in the living room,” at the time, he’d been mortified to be overhearing such intimate words between you and tess. the blood that insists on rushing to his crotch now wants you to know, to hear the admission of guilt be spoken from his own mouth. “ talkin’ bout your past.”

he doesn’t specify.

he doesn’t need to.

you give away your shock with parted lips, widened eyes, frozen eyelashes, pupils staring up at him like a wounded fawn he’s about to take his first bite out of and, hopefully, it won’t be the last one.

“tess turned you down,” the hand on your chest switches sides, donning your other breast with some much needed attention. his hand must still carry residue of the water, for you gasp and shut your eyes in the shock of his touch, your own fingers shooting up to scratch at his wrist. near convinced you mean to push him away, the pressure against his hand that pushes deeper into his unholy affection has him realising otherwise. “i wouldn’t.”

you say nothing. joel pulls harder.

“too bad i’m-” you cut yourself off as he presses himself closer to you, your poor hips bound to awaken with bruises from the counter he’s got you pressed against. with a distance so small he can hear your teeth grind, joel watches you like a hawk. the twitch in your brow, the flutter of your eyelids, the bobbing of your throat as you silence what he imagines would be an otherworldly kind of moan, a whine he’d let kiss his ears and wind up poisoning himself with the torture of it replaying in his head each waking moment till he kicks the bucket, once and for all. the want to see you fall apart evolves into a need. “too bad i’m not offering you the chance.”

joel miller is a hot blooded man, at his core, weak to emotions and vulnerable to the warmths of flesh. with notches on his bedpost and a tally of lives beneath his belt, he sees little wrong with taking what he needs.

“who said anything about an offer?”

the descent to the floor is far from graceful, with bitten back groans of pain as clicking noises resound throughout the room while his joints bend and break in an effort to get him where he needs to be, where he’s needed to be for far longer than merely this exchange on kitchen grounds: on his knees for you.

a part of him would prefer it if you weren’t wielding a butchers knife.

the other part wishes you were facing him, eyes full of that repressed anger, hatred and discontent you likely harbour for him as you point the blade down at him and threaten to paint the floors with his blood. you’ve yet to do that, and so he takes it as his queue to progress.

smoothing his hands up your legs, he admires the landscapes of your body from this angle, with legs longer than any tree in the amazonian jungle and curves with peaks that resemble the mountains of the himalayas. arriving at the top of your knees, the hem of your dress both welcomes and conceals his touch, inviting him into the wonderful world it hides beneath it yet denying him the privilege of feasting his eyes on your paradise, an island of safety amongst the open ocean of his mind.

your breathing is measured, precise, too rhythmical to be natural, the subconscious action now turned into a practiced routine you mean to maintain nonchalance with. perhaps you’re yet to realise that, while he may remain indifferent to those that surround him, joel knows how to read people. and, right now, you’re a whole novel of lust, awaiting for someone to open up your pages and drink in every lyrical prose you promise to tell.

joel finds purchase mid-way up your thighs, hands sliding around to the front of them to grip the buttery smooth skin and ground himself in the reality he kneels before.

you breathe in, you breathe out.

one knee buckles, ever so slightly, the weight of you collapsing into his welcoming hold. he revels in the feeling of supporting you, in every meaning of the word, thumbs not even waiting on a command from his consciousness to begin soothing your tingling skin with a gentle back and forth movement to match the knife in your hand.

inhale, exhale.

your legs straighten once more, a hand of his winds its way back out from under your skirt and shoots up to grab your free one, dragging it down his pits of desire.

“hold,” he’s parched all over again, mouth drier than the texan wastelands on a hot summer’s day. all he can do to survive is peel up that infuriatingly soft, red fabric of your dress, skin unveiling itself to his hunger struck eyes. with the skirt bunched up, he shoves it into your awaiting palms, pinning your hand against your own waist. “don’t move.”

where he expects protest, he receives more breathing.

lace covers your skin, a delicate shade of a colour his eyes can’t quite distinguish in the dark of the night. one flicker of his sight to the very core of your body and he notices it, that tell-tale sign that you’re enjoying this little display of attention, despite what your measured breaths may have him believe. a wet patch, your wetness. the stickiest, sweetest of honeys that only a woman like you can possess, and a man like him should never bare himself witness to.

curiosity gets the better of him- one day, joel hopes, this will get him killed- and his touch is reaching for the lacy fabric, fingers curling themselves in the waistband of your panties and the fabric that covers your right asscheek before curling his hand into a fist, tugging upwards.

in and out, shaky breathing comes from above.

the lace pulls tight on your delicate skin, no choice but to nestle itself in the slit of your cunt as two pretty soaked lips peak out from each side. a heady smell he can only begin to describe as stiflingly sweet, tongue-tingling tanginess hits his nose. he makes sure to take a deep breath, letting the blood rush straight to his head- the one that sits packed uncomfortably in his tightened trousers.

delectable as sin, you keen back into his fist, back curving ever so slightly. there’s a tremor in the hold you have on the fabric of your dress. joel basks in the visual affect he’s beginning to have on you, no need to doubt if the fabric of your underwear rubs at your likely aching clit. he wonders if the sting of the lace digging into your skin hurts. he thinks it must hurt.

his fist curls tighter, pulls higher.

“ah,” at last, a ripple in your surface. though you still wield a knife, the carrot you’d been failing to chop rolls off the counter and onto the floor, lost somewhere in joel’s peripheral vision.

“shut up,” he grunts, like it doesn’t make his balls throb to hear you whine. “people are tryin’ to sleep.”

you scoff, and for a moment you seem to have rediscovered your composure. “tess is drunk as a sailor, and the old men could sleep through nuclear warfare.”

“‘s that an invitation to see how loud i can get ya,” he’s still caught in the way you mold against the lace, slickened skin carrying a reflection of the moonlight. this, he thinks, is what all them poets were writing about in their prose of love and beauty. “or a challenge?”

“it’s an invitation to stop lecturing me on volume control,-” you catch yourself, he realises, right before you can gift him some nickname a sweet girl like you would never use. asshole, dickhead, bastard, he’s heard them all and, still, he wants them on your tongue, in his mouth, condemning him for all the brutish, oafish ways he masks his obsession for you.

as coquettish as it may be, painting a picture worthy of a front-page on some playboy magazine, the sight of lace becomes a nuisance he no longer holds the patience for. so he strips you of it, hand moving to pull the garment down, down, down the length of you, till it hits your ankles. he awaits no movement of your own, taking it upon himself to lift each of your feet individually out the leg-holes.

it’s merely impulse that has him shoving the soiled lace into his back pocket, though he’s sure he’ll make use of them on lonely nights.

“you’re drippin’” his proclamation is ego-driven, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in the full sight of your bare heat. the view is a little obscured from behind you, but with the right amount of tilting of your hips at a certain angle and the widening of your legs, he’s bound to sit front row and centre for your private show. “‘s actually a little pathetic, sweetheart. is it cause ya like it when men get mean wit’ ya?”

he can imagine the way you’d roll your eyes at his words, and it has him thinking about how you’d look with your eyes rolling back for different reasons, reasons he’s about to gift you.

but first, he curls one hand around your ankle and tugs the limb along as far as he wants it. much better, he now faces no blockage in the path up to your slit, freely letting his wandering hands ascend to his newfound heaven. perhaps he’ll revisit the life of gospel, if you promise to be the altar he prays before.

cool fingers to warm skin, you swallow a gasp a little too late for joel to not notice as he drags the tips of his middle finger up the length of your slit. soft, puffy lips part for him, until he presses against that special button that’s bound to turn on your engines.

rolling his finger over your clit a few times, he refamiliarises himself with the female anatomy, with your anatomy, memorising each soft bump and meaty lump he finds along the way.

it happens so sudden, and unwillingly, the way his mind switches to thinking of tess. he wonders what exactly it is she does to those poor things she sends home on shaky legs, where she even begins to touch them. joel imagines she makes use of what she has and starts with her fingers.

so he does the same.

working over your slippery wetness, he coats the tip of his middle finger with it, till he finds what he’s been searching for: the gateways to your heaven, your entrance. he breaches your walls with that single digit and somehow that’s enough to have you squeezing around him so tightly he wonders if blood still manages to flow to his digit.

two, three, four pumps of his hand and he’s introducing his pointer finger too, pressing them both into you to witness the ways you mould around this wider stretch, the lips of your cunt a pair of cushions his knuckles collide against each time he fucks his fingers in.

“so now you shut up. ‘s the matter, huh?” he’s contradicting himself and he doesn’t even care, too busy focusing on curling his fingers inside you, delighting in the feel of that spongy tissue they press against. “am i too borin’ for ya?”

“you’re the most infuriating man i’ve ever- oh!”

a tongue meets skin.

the knife clatters onto the counter.

you lurch forward.

his hand pulls you back.

“tess was right, ya know?” he can still taste you on his tongue, nothing more than a simple lick over your slit and your salty pleasure already seeps deep into his veins, staining his very being with the memory of his new favourite flavour. he pulls his fingers out, slipping them up to your clit. three little taps to the pulsing bud- tap, tap, tap- and he’s slipping them into his mouth, tongue working overtime to clean up every last drop of you that coats him. “that boy of yours wasn’t doin’ ya right.”

the common sense that screams at him to not feel envy over some ex-lover, someone who was likely barely even an adult at the time and no longer appears to be around, is no match for the green eyed beast that commands him to tell you, without using words, that he can do better- touch you better, protect you better, fuck you better, if you’d just let him.

‘could keep ya satisfied.

that’s a new thought, one he’s never needed before yet never wanted more, a burning ache to be worthy of your trust, affection, lust. he’ll never forget the first time he thinks it, mouth salivating at the sight of you.

“is this the part you say some cheesy line straight out a porno? what ya need is a man, a man like me!” the softness of your giggle is still sharp enough to cut through the tension, god it’s never sounded sweet, and joel finds himself freely smiling into the darkness, yet still too stubborn to laugh at the deep voice you attempt to imitate him with.

“well, was you who said it,” his mouth finds it’s way back onto your soaked heat, taking his time to work his tongue up the length of it, his saliva mixing itself in a nasty cocktail with your wetness. he imagines the air is cold against your skin, and that you like it, memory of those hardened nipples hidden beneath the fabric of your dress. “but if ya insist.”

diving in head first had always been his style, from his first lover to his last, and to now, knees aching on the kitchen floor. the tip of his tongue dances round your clit, tantalising you to grind your hips to the rhythm of his sinful touches.

licking into you, he’s reminded how much he enjoys that swelling in the chest that only comes from bringing another pleasure.

he’d not been a perfect lover, far from it, but he’d liked to believe at one point he’d been trained by only experience that comes with age, years of touching wrong and kissing badly to learn the right ways to make those he shared a bed- or a counter, or a backseat, or a club bathroom- with see angelic white as they writhed and squirmed under his touch. you’re lucky to have him now, matured by past lovers and broadened by age, with all the knowledge he needs to open your eyes to how a man pleasures, kisses, loves.

he’s out of practice, sure, with recent years adding notches to his belt that were merely frantic, unexpected, barely undressed run-ins with strangers, in strange places, cock barely getting a moments affection before he’d be spilling his seed and tucking it, limp, back into the confines of his trousers and locking it away beneath a zip.

what a perfect excuse you are, for joel to remaster the arts of lust.

it’s messy, wet dripping down his chin and staining itself into the stubble of his growing facial hair. it’s noisy, his mouth openly groaning depraved joy into your warmth as you sing him a song of sweet euphoria, slowly building towards that crescendo on the horizon. it’s animalistic, barely human as he revokes all earthly needs such as rest, and food, and socialising, his mind, and soul, and heart, and cock all screaming in unison to spend whatever days he shall possess on his knees before you.

and all the while you writhe and wriggle, some times running away from him touch, other times rutting so far back into him that you threaten to suffocate him somewhere between your warm thighs, and sugar sweet cunt, and the two well-rounded globes of your ass.

his only saving grace is that he can’t see you.

hearing your pretty whines, and hand-muffled moans, and heavy intakes of breath is enough to curse him for the rest of his waking days, condemned to wander the wastelands of earth knowing the noises you make on the brinks of pleasure, with a touch-starved man satiating his hunger for flesh and blood with the sugary sins of your soaked cunt.

burrowing deeper into you, his consciousness rips through the fog of his lust to curse out his perversions as the tip of his hooked nose bumps against the puckered entrance of your ass. it does nothing to stop him tearing his tongue away from your clit, flattened as he drags it over the expanse of your cunt, and over your taint, and up the crack of your behind.

“n- ah,” you can’t deny him while sounding so eager for more, the tip of his tongue now circling your back entrance, mimicking the treatment previously given to your little pearl. “no, don’t, not there.”

next time, he thinks, we’ll try that next time.

sights returned to his previous desires, he works to rip every sigh, and every whine, and every dirty little song you’ll grace him with. the sound of whatever record tess has put on in the other room becomes a safety blanket, dousing you both in the warm protection of not being overheard.

and, then, he does it, he makes the ultimate mistake.

his eyes flicker to the left and he finds himself faced with the stove that sits within bill and frank’s- and, by an extension he does not enjoy to remember, your- kitchen. there’s little that’s remarkable about the appliance, just your standard, everyday oven that he’s sure you’ve spent countless hours cooking up those comforting meals he’s come to anticipate each time tess tells him they’re due a visit.

except, the oven door is made of glass.

glass which now paints the most pornographic masterpiece for no eyes but his own. you, with hands gripping the island’s counter like your life depends on it, and the skirt of that goddamn dress he’s envied all evening for the way it got to rest against the warmth of your thighs now bunched up in your tight grip, and your head thrown back, curving your spine in a way that has him wondering about the other ways he’d be able to bend and break you beneath his touch.

and then there’s him, down on his knees like a devotee laying himself down to worship his goddess, face burrowed in the space between your legs, mouth devouring you from behind with the help of his hands, the same ones that had strangled a man less than a day before and reigned fire down on countless others for years, that now grip the meat of your thighs to pull you back onto him, fucking his tongue into your sopping heat.

the image will haunt him more than the face of any man he’s killed.

“d’ya touch yourself, sol?” you don’t answer him, but that’s okay. in a sweet change of pace, joel miller’s perfectly fine with talking enough for the both of you. “yeah, bet ya do. late at night, right? once you’re all alone in bed. ya seem like the kind who can make herself scream.”

you back into him, smothering him under the weigh of your body. becoming his holy grail, he drinks from you like it’s the key to eternal life, and what a way of living this would be, time disregarded as nothing but meaningless while your bodies melt together in the heat of passion.

fucking his fingers back inside, he becomes frantic beneath the need to make you cry, fall completely apart with only his hands to hold you together. “let me do the honours this time though.”

you don’t scream, can’t scream, hand over mouth muffling whatever profanities and theatrical proclamations he rips from within you with the stroke of his agile tongue, the only muscle of his that’s yet to develop aches and pains. he imagines that will no longer ring true once he awakens past sunrise.

he’s unsure how much longer he works his tongue over you, slipping and sliding through the liquid pleasure, but it ends with fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him away and tilting his head up.

you’ve never looked more holy, moon casting it’s shine around you, eyes glossed with unshed tears, lips parted and swollen from the pressure your own teeth had bitten down on them with. your expression, he can’t quite read. not sad, not happy, not mad.

your eyes catch on something, abandoning his own for something closer to the floor, to which he follows and finds exactly what you’re staring at: the evidently dark patch that now stains the front of his jeans.

the discomfort of trekking back to the qz will now be tenfolds worse in the stains of his own pleasure.

“joel...” his name is nearly a beg, a prayer, an invitation. hand still in his hair, you tug, pulling him upwards off the ground. legs open wider and back arches deeper, a seductive sight that your body pleas for him with.

he swallows a groan, knees alleviated at last from the floor, and presses himself against you once more. strong arms crush you in an embrace, pulling you back into him as his head slips to rest against your shoulder. he’s capricious with the way he lets himself litter a few wet kisses over your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“that,” you grind back into him, a torturer who takes his aged body as her victim and toys with his barely recovered cock, the cum in his trousers sticking uncomfortably to his skin. he pulls tighter on your body, grounding himself in the weight of it against his own to find the sanity to finish his sentence. “shouldn’t have happened.”

joel hopes no one awakens as he slams the door on the way out of the kitchen.

people once spoke of how the only certainties in life were death and taxes but, nowadays, the words don’t ring as true and the guarantee of life with taxes has morphed into something else entirely; a reality where death and time go hand in hand. as sure as tomorrow will arrive, death will come too, eventually. not today, however, and joel miller finds himself stood throwing a ball back and forth for a dog.

it chases and retrieves, trailing it’s happy self all the way back to him only to spit the ball down at his feet, siting and waiting to repeat the process once more. there’d been a time where this is all he’d wanted: white picket fence, dog in the yard, home-cooked meals filling a house with warmth.

that dream seems so far away now, even as he stands within it.

he cracks his back, huffing out a groan. “no, not again. my back’s fucked as it is, buddy,” with no one around to witness, joel lets himself crouch down onto his knees- both popping obnoxiously as he does so- and rakes his hand over the german shepherd’s head. it whines and makes an attempt to nudge the ball against him, protesting in the only way it can. a scratch to the ear does the trick to distract the animal, to which it tilts its head and forces itself deeper into his blunt nails. “not so bad, are ya? huh?” never in a million years did joel think he’d be talking to a dog when him and tess had set out for their routinely visit to the bill and frank’s. never would he have thought that would be the least shocking event to unfold on this trip.

he hears you before he sees you.

“you planning to make your knees familiar with every surface of this place, texas?”

he tries to rise, he truly does, but the four-legged foe he’d been petting mere seconds ago betrays him the instant it catches sight of you, charging past him and knocking him over in the process, ass to floor and head to sky.

the world above is a storm of greys, clouds swallowing one another with a looming threat of danger on the horizon and not a lick of the sun’s warmth seems to make its way through.

so instead, it sends you.

peering over him from above, hair a tangled mess, eyes a wreck of under-bags and sleepless tears, the collar of your jumper lowered just enough at this angle that he can see a tease of cleavage, you radiate a brightness like no other, more dangerous to his naked eyes than uv ray could ever be. he’s squinting again, frown etching itself on his forehead with the threat of becoming permanent soon. a few more years and his face will be nothing but frown lines and crows feet. at the very least, he considers, i’ve survived long enough to wrinkle.

the smile above him is worth a million laugh lines, a kindness laced within it that matches perfectly with the hand you hold out. when he does nothing but stare at it, you wriggle your fingers, enticing him to take a hold. he does most of the work, truthfully, but you play a part in pulling him back to his feet. upright once more, he can’t help but bask in the way he’s able to physically look down on you.

“thanks for tiring him out,” you’re the first to talk. you’re always the first to talk, and he curses you for it. “won’t need to walk him as far tonight.”

a queasy feeling overtakes him at the thought of you walking the dog alone at night, nothing but the moon to light your way. he’ll need to remember to tire the dog out next time he visits. “no problem, thanks... for feeding tess and i.”

“no worries!” you’re so kind, so good, smiling at him with a cheerful chirp in your voice. he can’t wrap his head around how you can bring yourself to treat him this way. “oh, actually, that’s why i came out here, i was looking for tess-” of course you were, when would you ever be looking for him? “hold on!”

you shoot off back inside so quickly that otis just reaches the doorway by the time you return. with an idle pet to his head as you pass by, joel once again sees, in the way such little affection can have the dog so elated, that resemblance between them you’d spoke of. in your hands, you carry an array of containers full of food- soup- each filled to the brim.

“i wanted to give you these, before you guys leave,” you’re explaining yourself, and joel wonders if it’s nerves that bring you to need constant babbling to fill any gaps of silence. he can’t imagine how he could make you nervous and therefore that thought is quick to be discarded. “i know the journey up here and back can be long, consider them a token of my appreciation towards you both for-”

“why don’t ya like me?” he cuts you off.

pathetic, he knows, but he can not stop himself, a deer caught in the headlights of your brightly burning, too-good-to-be-true, too-pure-to-be-fake personality.

you show no signs of hearing him, smile unwavering as you continue to hold out the boxes to him, “there should be enough to last you a few days, if you watch your proportions.”

it’s too much for him to handle- the food, the smiles, the sweetly glistening eyes-, and joel just has to know, needs an answer before the heat of his confusion consumes him entirely in its flames and leaves nothing but his smoking remains.

so he tries again, louder.

“why don’t ya like me?”

“and i’d probably say you’re best to heat it up, especially for tess,” you ignore him, again, lips stretching what can only be described as uncomfortably wider. “winter is sure coming in faster than last year, isn’t it?”

he grabs at your arm, fingers curling round the swell of your bicep as he speaks through gritted teeth, "answer me." like a frightened dog backed into a corner, he bares his teeth and yells his bark.

"for someone who doesn't care,” you try his patience, knowingly or not, and his grip tightens. you don’t flinch, welcoming the sting of his blunt and bitten nails against your flesh. “you sure do talk about my opinion a lot."

"answer the damn question, girl.”

“or, what?” you’ve got him there, he’ll admit, holding no real plan as to how to punish your silence. “you gonna give me the same treatment as last night?”

had he known you’d be so unabashed to mention the events on the kitchen floor so flippantly, as casually as one would speak about the weather, he’d never have dared to get on his knees. truthfully, he’d not given things a second thought, disregarding the later for the now, living in the moment with caution thrown to the wind over what the morning would bring. perhaps he’d hoped you’d been intoxicated enough to dismiss the memory as a nightmare, maybe he’d wished you’d keep away from him to free him of the volatile grip you have on his soul.

instead, you stand tall, proud, eyes fiercely staring back at his own as you challenge him to retaliate, mock you with none of those saccharine smiles you hide harsh tones behind.

joel says nothing.

“how about this, let’s make a deal, like the ones you and bill make.” inching closer, crowding in on his space and forcing him to take note of the smell of freshly cleaned clothes mixed in with your own fragrance. clean, warm, inviting, scents he’d never given meaning to before now. “you get me something, i’ll tell you what you want to know.”

he grunts out a response, hands meeting his hips as he juts out one knee, the shifting of weight between feet a perfect distraction to the rising tension in his worn-out jeans. “what d’ya want? ‘cause if it’s somethin’ like a gun, think again. i ain’t messing with none of bill’s strange politics on you havin’-”

“a dress.”

“a dress?” the statement has him quirking his brow, burning questions swimming in the depths of his eyes as he stares back at you.

“yes, and don’t look at me like that!” it’s hypocritical, he believes, for you to berate him for the looks he sends you when all you do is cast stones his way with your gaze yet shake him to his very core each time you smile. “i need a new one, my favourite one got ruined whilst making soup.”

unaware he’d even began to lean closer, joel’s quick to recoil, as if your words are bullets and his skin the target you hit on the bullseye every time.

“joel!” his name resonates from somewhere in the house.

neither of you dare to break eye contact. again, his name is yelled. this time, he manages to identify tess as the owner of the voice. habits have him used to running to her whenever she calls, but habits have never been caught between the choice of tess or you.

his feet remain glued to the ground.

tess yells once more and, though you speak up, you don’t dare look away. “think you might be needed inside, macho man. your missus is calling.”

“she ain’t my-”

“you two just gonna stand and stare at each other all day, or will you help a woman out already?” tess enters the scene somewhere behind you, a blur of her familiar shape standing out the front door.

only when your head spins and he no longer finds himself lost in the black of your eyes does joel take her in completely, hair clearly damp and complexion a little paled by her hungover body. in her arms, she struggles with the weight of a folded table. you approach first, he follows, his two hands aiding in carrying it out into the front yard as you retighten your grip on the boxes of soup in your arms.

“i should probably,” laying the containers down on the now unfolded table, you fidget with the sleeves in your hands, eyes downcast with something he can only read as guilt. he decides he much prefers the fire they hold when you berate him. “go check on the food, before it burns.”

you’re in the door and out his sight before he can so much as ask you to stay.

tess and him hit the road by noon. earlier than predicted, later than he’d wished for. the bite of cold already marks the air, despite the sun heating the world with its rays. he walks a little ahead, feigning ignorance to the repeated coughing coming from tess and racking his brain for answers.

answers to why he’d never noticed how hoarse she’d been sounding till you pointed it out. answers to what awaited them both upon returning to the qz. answers to when will be their next chance to visit the safe haven bill’s created. answers to why you don’t like him.

i don’t like you, joel.

it motivates him to walk quicker, faster, racing to put as much distance between himself and that damn kitchen floor, miles upon miles not enough to rid him of the dull ache in his knees that goes hand in hand with the throb within his too-tight-jeans. if he were alone, he’d break out in a sprint. but tess is here, he’s not alone, and home will simply have to wait on the passing of time to drag him back to it.

till then, he needs to find a dress.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller oneshot #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut

3K notes · View notes

nariism · 7 months

Text

ink to paper — k. ayato

mutual/oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."

synopsis. yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @kruinka and @ph-xntasy / @yuellii 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

You've cut his apples into petit rabbits today.

The ink at the end of Ayato's brush has soaked through his page at least three times since he started scribing, big globs of black ruining what could have been a beautiful sequence. And the culprits for distracting him taunt him with their little red ears.

In fact, they've been sitting for so long that the flesh of the fruit is starting to brown. How long has he been unproductively glancing up and down between his paper and his breakfast?

He had told you that they were in season as a passing comment the last time he saw you—nothing more than a throwaway line to make conversation. Yet here you are, showing up at his table with a tray of his usual breakfast and something extra. Something hand-crafted and too cute for him to even fathom putting into his mouth.

It seemed that you had a special place in your memory for him. He could bring up the smallest wish and it would show up on his desk the next day.

It was your job to know him inside and out, after all. Your sole duty as his scheduler. Even so, you made time to do things outside of your job description if only to please him. You always looked so happy to see him, too. He's starting to wonder if you have a crush on him.

He glances at his clock. While he is busy with work, what harm would a few minutes do if he were to be a little distracted?

Kamisato Ayato cannot cook.

He remembers fondly the only time he had ever demonstrated his kitchen skills to you. After unpacking his favourite tempura from Uyuu restaurant, he proceeded to line the shrimp up on a plate and decorate it.

You found humour in his apparent lack of expertise in the kitchen, chalking it up to his spoiled upbringing. He hadn't believed you then, thinking that you were being too harsh as well as too distracted by the melody of your laugh to bother dwelling on it. But now he's here, trying to do something as simple as cutting apples and failing miserably.

What spurred him on to do this in the first place is beyond him. Maybe he thought that the smile on your face when you saw his efforts would be worth all the trouble, or perhaps he was seeking your approval since he admired your ever-growing list of skills.

From servant to sparring partner to cook to personal scheduler, you were quickly making yourself a regular part of his day. He envied your adaptability, having little opportunity as a noble to try.

He figured this would be a chance to start. To learn, if it were to make you happy or proud.

Oh dear. Who knew cutting apples was such a daunting task?

Ayato thought this would be simple—cut some apples into cute shapes, make you smile, perhaps keep you around a bit longer to discuss it than you would usually stay. (Lately, he's been craving to hear your voice more and more.)

But this blade is tiny, unlike his hefty sword. It's too nimble for his fingers, and he's sure he has nicked himself at least a dozen times by now.

If you were here, you'd probably scold him for being so careless. And you'd set aside time in your busy day to help him, he's sure. It's in your nature to be kind which makes him miss you all the more.

Just as he's about to give up and call it quits, the door slides open.

Archons. He's been so engrossed in his woes that he had forgotten it was almost time for your scheduled meeting to go over his other plans for the week.

The scraps of peel and sloppily shaped apple slices are so incriminating that he doesn't even bother hiding it. You both stare at each other from across the table, completely unblinking and still.

"Um..." You strain out, clearly attempting to hide your amusement. "Hello."

He coughs awkwardly, placing down the paring knife and trying to uphold as much dignity as he possibly can.

"Hello," he greets, unable to meet your gaze anymore. "My apologies. Our meeting slipped my mind."

You gently pluck a rabbit from the plate, rotating it around in your fingers to get a better look. They're sloppy, for sure, with jagged edges and tiny slits where you know his knife slipped. And they don't even resemble anything remotely close to rabbits in the first place, more like blocky V-shaped thingamabobs.

You glance up and down between the rabbit and the man behind it, who looks strangely flustered considering his usually calm temperament.

"Don't look at me that way," he says quietly, wooden end of the blade gently knocking against the table as he deflates.

"Are these... bunnies?" You ask him in bewilderment.

"They are... supposed to be rabbits, yes."

Complete silence fills the room until Ayato feels as if he can't breathe. Coupled with the way your eyes are scrutinizing his attempts, he wants nothing more than to melt away.

And then you laugh. You can't stop laughing, it seems. Doubled over onto the table and fighting for air between giggles.

He can't help the softening of his expression, the warmth in his chest. If this is all it took to get you to smile like that, then who cares how embarrassing it is that he can't even cut fruit correctly?

You round the table, plopping down next to him. Oh no. He can't control his racing heart when you're leaning in so close to him, so close that he can feel the rumble of your laughter in his own body.

With your shoulders pressed together, body resting comfortably against his, you take the blade and slice of apple from his hands.

"I'll show you how," you offer. He watches intently as you make the first shallow slits through the peel, then gently slide the knife across the top. Too busy admiring your skillful hands, he almost instantly blurts out:

"Can you please show me again?"

You look at him funny, brows pinched but a smile still seeping across your face. You show him another time, expertly cutting another slice. And another. And another.

Unconsciously, or perhaps following the quiet voice in his heart, his head falls atop yours. You sink into him, allowing him to rest against you without complaint.

"Hm, am I your personal comforter now?"

"I suppose you are."

"You know, if you actually pay attention you might be able to make your own breakfast."

"Mm..." He hums when your hands don't stop moving despite your words. Instead, you laugh again. And again, there's the ever familiar thrum of his heart.

"Oh, dear Commissioner. What would you do without me?"

Yes, he thinks. What would he do without you?

Well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. He's far too busy to keep track of it all on top of his other work. And he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

He would rather you keep him company anyway, bunnies and all.

#— whispers in the wind: 1k event ✉️#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin x gn reader #kamisato ayato #ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #genshin ayato #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #ayato x gender neutral reader #ayato x gn reader #genshin fic #genshin drabbles

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wordsbyrian · 7 months

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Polyglot: The Early Days - Barca Femeni x Reader

Summary: Another Polyglot fic. Spanish is in italics.

A/N: This was supposed to be done like almost 2 weeks ago but I got sick and started it over a ton of times. Enjoy.

There’s a chance that this could go down as the beginning to the end of your career as a professional footballer. And the sad thing is that you haven’t even played a single game yet.

You’ll end up as just another rising star who faded into obscurity like Freddy Adu or Kleberson.

And if you quit, or god forbid completely fail, you have nothing to return to, having been told in no uncertain terms by your parents to not bother coming back.

You’re basically on your own.

Even more so today because while the rest of the B team is traveling to play their next match against Athletic, you’ve been chosen to stay behind and train with the full team.

That’s obviously a great thing but you had just gotten used to being around your teammates basically 24 hours a day and to be the only one called to train with the first team this time is a little nerve-wrecking.

But you do your best to push it all the way down as you walk into the building and towards the locker room. On your way there you run into Patri who is just as full of energy as every other time you’ve seen her.

“Buenas tardes, Y/N,” she practically shouts in your ear as she slings an arm over your shoulder. “I have a good feeling about training today, so let's get to it, si?”

You barely get a chance to greet her back or nod your agreement before the midfielder is practically dragging you through the halls and into the locker room.

Since you’re walking in with one of the human embodiments of a hurricane there’s no way for you to enter silently and unnoticed. In fact, your entrance is the exact opposite of that with the way the door all but slams open and Patri announces both of your presences as additions to the chaos.

Shaking your head, you move away from the slightly older player and to the corner where you normally get changed, mumbling polite greetings to everyone as you pass them.

Like always you make quick work of getting changed and head out to the field, not wanting to get caught up in the shenanigans you can see forming on the other side of the room.

That ends up being your best decision of the day because seconds before Lluis starts going over the training plan for the day Mapi, Leila and Jenni come rushing out of the locker room with lots of faux innocence plastered on their faces.

For the most part, training goes well. You do struggle at times with the pace you're being expected to move at but as time passes you adapt to it.

There’s also the slight issue of whatever is going on with the older defenders arguing over you in a mix of Spanish and Catalin when they think you aren’t paying attention (impossible when you hear your name like 6 times) but Melanie solves that quickly by whisper shouting something about English-speaking abilities and Lluis already having told Ana-Maria to do something yesterday.

A mystery to be solved later, or not at all if you get your way.

Your big misstep comes at the end of practice during the full-sided scrimmage.

You had let yourself get pulled out of position by Caro one too many times while your team was attacking and it comes back to bite you in the ass when a loose ball comes rolling towards the both of you. You manage to get there before the Norwegian but you make it at the same time as Patri who basically trucks you straight into the earth.

“Holy shit,” you groan as you get back to your feet and sprint to get back into position.

Your quick recovery works out in your favor, you get back fast enough to provide help defense to Pere who has Kheira caught in the corner.

Kheira does her best to try and get around the two of you but a lucky toe poke from Pere frees the ball just enough for you to clear it downfield. You get it far enough that Lluis seems to decide that there’s no point in continuing play and chooses to end training for the day.

After a quick huddle, you head back into the locker room with the rest of the team. And despite the exhaustion that everyone seems to be facing, the noise level is almost identical to the way it was before practice.

You still don’t allow yourself to get sucked into the chaos rushing through your shower and getting changed but just as you go to leave, you’re stopped by Ana-Maria.

“Hey,” she says in English, “team bonding tonight at Paños’ house.”

“I can’t, I have homework.”

The Swiss woman just shakes her at you, “Bring it with you, Mapi and I will pick you up in a few hours.”

“You can try but I’m not gonna come with you.”

Spoiler alert: you do end up at the goalkeeper's house, sitting in a corner with your laptop and textbooks while the others are spread out across the living room.

You’re currently bent over your laptop and like 8 books on Stanley Kubrick trying to explain how Full Metal Jacket is the perfect example of his greatness as a director.

For most of the night, you’ve been very successfully using your headphones to ignore whatever is going on around you. Something that’s very hard to do when you’re being pelted in the back of the head by paper balls.

“Fucking hell,” you shout, ripping them off your head and turning around, “Can you cut that out?”

You’re greeted by the sight of Leila and Patri pointing guilty at each other.

Sighing deeply you turn back to your laptop only to find it being held hostage by Lieke, who’s standing across from you.

“Come eat.”

“I’m not finished,” you say, reaching across the table in an attempt to grab it back.

“You can take a break for 30 minutes to eat something,” she says, “It won’t kill you. There’s pizza in the living room.”

“It will kill me, give me back my laptop.”

“Go eat.”

“No.”

A hard stare, “Go eat.”

“No,” you say again,” And if you’re not gonna give my laptop back, that’s fine. I’ll just do my math homework instead.”

“Oh no you don’t. Ana, come get your kid!”

“Woah, firstly, I’m not her kid," you tell her, "I’m no one’s kid. And secondly, I didn’t want to come anyway so just let me do my work in argh!”

You find yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder and based on how high up you are, it can only be Ana-Maria.

“This isn’t fair.”

You don’t get a response as Ana carries you through Paños’ apartment and drops you on a couch next to Alexia.

“Stay,” she says before dropping a plate into your lap. “Eat.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Most dogs don’t need to be told to eat, you do.” You stare blankly at her. “Eat.”

You open your mouth to continue protesting but as you do a slice of pizza is shoved into your mouth.

The glare doesn’t leave your face as you slowly chew, much to the amusement of the older women.

“Pobrecita, being forced to sit and eat free food that isn’t cooked en masse like it is at la Masia,” Alexia says to the team in Spanish as she throws an arm over your shoulder.

“She’s probably just hangry, it happens to my little sister sometimes,” Patri suggests, “but she’s 11 not 16 like grumpy over there.”

“La nene is only 16,” Vicky asks.

“Si.”

“No wonder she’s so grouchy,” Leila says, “It’s probably past her bedtime.”

You let the team continue talking about you as you eat your pizza (because you might’ve actually been hangry, not that you would admit it). It’s also a conversation mostly about nothing so you don’t feel the need to say anything.

Until you hear someone ask Ana to ask you something.

“Y/N, Jenni wants to know if,” you cut her off.

“Chicas, sabéis que hablo español, si? Like pretty fluently.”

The room goes silent.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say before turning to Lieke, “Can I have my laptop back now?”

Maybe you’re not as on your own as you thought.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader

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bonny-kookoo · 7 months

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Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Jimin

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Cream] 2/2

You're just so sweet, he can't help himself.

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past trauma, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though, just hybrid things (scenting, grooming, biting, licking, scruffing, and more), hurt & comfort

Length: 1.7k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: I hate this chapter so much.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

When you come out of the shower, you don't bother with clothes- even the towel around you feels too much, any fabric covering you suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. And it's not like you've got something to hide either- he's gonna see you naked at some point anyways.

So you simply throw yourself back into bed, hair still dry since you only wanted to really rinse off the sweat from the night's fever- making Jungkook playfully smack your leg. "Don't throw yourself around like that." He scolds, but you just roll over and sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Did you have fun?" He asks, and you know he can probably still smell your pathetic attempt at trying to release some of the tension building up for you.

It failed- you've passed the threshold, you're no longer able to really.. get off yourself anymore. And it's frustrating.

"No.." you mumble, as he gets up presumably to shower too. He's not leaving you- you trust in that, and from the sounds of it in the bathroom, you're right too- he's just cleaning up, he's still gonna stay.

What you don't expect however is for him to emerge from the bathroom fully nude.

He's entirely unbothered by it, sitting down comfortably on the bed while you're short-circuiting. "We don't have to do anything, you know that, right?" He offers, and you nod after a moment.

"I just feel like.. I don't know." You huff, throwing yourself onto your back in frustration. "It's.. too fast." You explain. "It's.. all the.. thrill will be gone."

"You're worried I won't be interested in you after this?" He wonders, and you shrug, before nodding towards the ceiling. "That's bullshit." He says.

"You say that now cause you're horny." You huff, crossing your arms, cat tail swishing over the bed.

"Nop, still flaccid." He jokes boldly, making you sit up in a scandalized manner, causing him to laugh loudly, eyes sparkling in their crescent shape, cheeks round. "Listen.. things simply work differently for you and me." He explains. "We're not human. We're not Jimin or Yoongi." He offers, and you look down at his knees to not accidentally stare at his junk. "And I'm not like whatever you think I'll be like."

"Prove it then." You challenge, making him smile boyishly. "I'm not joking!" You scold, and he laughs, nodding.

"I know." He agrees. "And that makes me happy." He tells you, making you smile warmly as well.

Because he's right. He's already not what you thought he'd be like.

And it causes your confidence to rise enough for you to move, shed your towel to present yourself bare as well, simply to offer him the same as he offers you.

Yourself. Unfiltered.

And despite the fact that right now, he could do anything he wants with you-

He just reaches out to hug you, and hold you.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

It's funny how he adapts to your rather.. unconventional heat.

He's not interested in sex, because you're not either- you're more so needy for physical comfort, having him close, nesting with him, and occasionally playing around, his hand catching your fluffy tail but never too hard to hurt.

Jimin and Yoongi probably think you're currently soiling the sheets with sweat, and you are- the dog hybrid gently caring for you whenever your body falls into a fever from the confused hormones inside you raging wildly. He'll hold you, open the window so you can cool off a bit, and helps you wash as soon as your temperature regulates again.

And it's clear to you now that, while he's not gaining any sexual gratification from this, he's still satisfying a need of his own.

Because you want him. You like him. You trust him.

You don't fear him, no matter what he does.

He can growl, he can be loud, he can be wild, manhandle you around or playfight over who gets more blanket- you don't ever become scared of him. There's not a single second where you jump back from him, no instinct in your bones to shy back away from him at any point.

You're currently purring, rolling around in nothing but a shirt and panties, while he wears even less, only his underwear covering his most private parts.

Right now, even though you're not actually actively trying to mate, Jungkook would not let neither his owner, nor Jimin anywhere near you. You need to be protected right now, and that's his job- one he takes very seriously.

Especially now that you're both no longer talking at all, no words needed as he runs his hands over your skin, simply offering romantic affection with no underlying goals in mind. And you clearly enjoy it, holding onto his hand as it runs over your cheek, nuzzling into his touch as he moves to hold you again.

He worries, a little. Your waves of fever have become worse and worse every time they happen- and he wonders if he might have to go against his instincts after all, and get help from the other two humans in the neighbouring house.

He doesn't want you to suffer- and if he can't help you, he needs to find someone who can.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

You’re shed your shirt you wore earlier, leaving him will full access to your bare body- the only thing the two of you are wearing being standard underwear.

He was definitely right about you owning the probably most cute and yet arousing underwear he could’ve imagined- lace rimmed panties decorated by a little bow and sparkling little charm in the middle. And he also has to admit that your bed is extremely comfortable- already making him a little excited about how to ruin the sheets one day if you’re up for that at any point in the future.

But right now, none of his or your touch has any sexual intentions at all. There’s no heat in your affections- just the need to be close, just the desire to be offered something physical.

You’re slowly easing out of your panicked state too, body apparently deciding that he’s no longer any kind of threat or danger- in fact, you’re actively seeking him now, clinging to him, hands kneading on his body occasionally, while he himself has become a little more bold as well, moving to pull you closer to him, face hiding in the crook of your neck where your scent is strongest. “How’re you feeling?” He asks quietly, and you instantly start to purr at the sound of his voice alone, causing him to laugh.

“I don’t.. Want this to end yet..” You mumble, pulling his arm over your waist to hold you- something he happily does, hand on the small of your pack feeling your soft skin.

“Doesn’t have to.” He shrugs, opening his eyes to look at you. “We can cuddle like this whenever you want.” He offers, and at that, your tail curls, legs caging his in.

“Whenever I want?” You ask, and he smiles, nodding. “What if I always want to?” You wonder. “As soon as you come home from work.. Or when we go to bed.. What if I wanna sleep in the same bed every night?” You demand, and he can’t help but laugh.

“I guess we can swap around every now and then.” He offers. “You can sleep in my bed over at Yoongi’s with me.. And I can sleep here in your bed with you from time to time..” He explains, and you nod.

“But you need more pillows.” You instantly argue. “You almost have none.” You huff, rolling a little onto your back now, his hand reaching out to squeeze one of your tits playfully, making you laugh and turn over entirely to hide from him.

But that’s not how it works for him, as he instantly takes the invitation to sit up and pull you back towards him, playfully biting at your neck, making you laugh loudly as you try and wiggle out of his grip. But he’s got a good hold on you-

And you also don’t really want to get away from him either.

“How about we take a nice long bath now?” He wonders into your neck. “Put the sheets in the wash, put on some clothes. I bet you Jimin is probably worried about you by now.” He tells you, and you shrug.

“He’s got Yoongi.” You huff. “And I got you now.” You turn to look over your shoulder at him. “And you’ll only need me, right?” You ask, and he smiles.

“Of course.” He agrees. “What else could I need other than a true princess?”

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“There you are!” Jimin beams, instantly hugging you- making you cringe slightly, though you don’t actively pull away from him. “Everything okay now? Are you sure?” He rambles, while Yoongi puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder to calm him down.

“She’s fine, a little drowsy.” Jungkook teases, making your tail swipe from side to side. It’s clear to everyone that you’ve bonded over the almost week you’ve spent together- something having clicked into place it seems like, as you jump towards the kitchen with Jungkook in tow closing the fridge just to scold you playfully for ‘acting like you own the place’.

“She’s.. Really happy.” Jimin hums almost to himself, Yoongi patting his back gently.

“Not a bad thing.” He shrugs. “Get used to it. After all, looks like we’ll have to adjust the housing situation soon.”

“Why?” Jimin asks, almost offended.

“I mean-” Yoongi says, before looking towards the kitchen where you’re currently busy jumping behind Jungkook with your hands on his shoulders while he puts a pot on the stove. “-I personally would like to not accidentally listen in on whatever they’re up to in the future.” He laughs, making Jimin blush a deep red, never having thought about that.

“Oh.” He simply says-

Feeling a bit odd at the realization of slowly having to let you go. ♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x you

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mediamatinees · 1 month

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Smackdown Pen vs Reel Chapter Eight: The End of an Era with "Always and Forever, Lara Jean"

I don’t think there’s any need for a content warning on this post. There’s discussions of unsupportive/uninvolved parents, but they’re brief. Otherwise, enjoy! Spoilers for Always and Forever, Lara Jean ahead! Most of us adults can remember that transitional time in our lives when we were leaving the sheltered yet emotionally turbulent life of childhood for the socially exhausting existence of…

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cupids-chamber · 8 months

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— “ ADORE ME ” Commissioned by @mewpangxin Gender neutral reader / Suggestive / Fluff Commission me_

His eyes were focused on the instrument at hand, his gloved hand holding the bow of the violin, as he played some random tune you couldn't quite recall— yet it soothed your restless mind; the melody was familiar and comforting... You watch him with focus, your gaze fixated on his figure—on him—and you don't fail to notice the way his cheeks are dusted with a soft cherry red, his lips furrowed in a soft tipsy smile—he's probably a bit embarrassed by how out of place he felt—not that he entirely minded being a subject on display for you, rather he's overjoyed to be your muse.. and having your attention solely on him.

His gaze flickered to the sketchbook placed on your lap, as you fiddled with the pencil in your hand, absentmindedly nibbling on the end of the pencil, as you thought of what part to start drawing next—he mumbled something you couldn't quite make out—and his ears a bright shade of pink, you didn't bother questioning him about what he said, too lost in your work.

He felt himself grow a bit more embarrassed, as the minutes passed—his temperature rising as he watched you sketch him. It got more and more difficult to stay still in one place; You failed to notice how he started playing the violin a bit faster than before, his movements pace-y, as he averted his gaze and attention to something of less importance in order to regain his composure.

You drew quite a few references, and he could hear the soft sound of pages turning, and then you asked him to readjust his position—He couldn't hear you, or maybe his mind was blank of thought at that moment and the next thing he felt was your cold soft hands on him, as you helped reposition him—he felt his breath hitch as you fixed the position of his arms—and.. he almost forgot how to breath—as your cold hands touch his back, fixing his posture and he froze... He felt himself grow warmer under the intensity of your gaze—his face grow hotter than before, a droplet of sweat dripping down his forehead.

He remained as still as he possibly could be—at least in this state—He was lost in thought, he could barely hear your voice over his own mind—He snapped out of his trance when he heard your laugh—the soft sound of your chuckling—were you laughing at him?—His face grew redder as he watched you, "Stop laughing", he watched as your giggles grew all bit louder.

He then walked towards you, bending down to match your height—his face now a few mere inches away from yours, and you felt his gloved hand on your chin—pulling you closer, his lips practically touching yours, "Hey, look at me.. Muses are meant to be adored and looked at, are they not?.. So, go ahead and adore me."

| Masterlist | Kofi | Join Taglist

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originalaccountname · 11 months

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Mori Ougai’s belief as the boss is [...] “The boss stands on top of the organization, and at the same time, be the slave of all.” For the sake of the organization, the boss must always take the “logical optimal solution.” That is the duty of the boss. [...] “Therefore, no matter how much your heart aches, you have to ignore your personal feelings.”

Kafka Asagiri, for the BSD exhibition

On Mori and regret.

This man acts based on his perceived "optimal solution". It means relying on cold logic, detached from (his own and others') emotions. In that way, he fits right in as one of the smart characters of BSD, contrasting for example Dazai's way of working with/around people's feelings, and Fyodor's way of manipulating and twisting those feelings into monsters.

Mori remains cold, logical, distant, efficient. It meant disregarding Yosano's and the soldiers' deteriorating mental health during the war because the concept of an army that cannot be wiped out was too good. It meant following Natsume's plan and taking the old boss' place himself to fix Yokohama's underground and protect the city and its people. It also meant disposing of Mimic by sacrificing Oda in order to get the special ability business permit, despite (and perhaps because of) Dazai's attachment to the man.

The thing is, humans are not logical creatures, and will inevitably encounter conflicting emotions.

(does this look like the face of a man without regrets to you?)

Mori in Dark Era tried to pass on to Dazai his practice of putting aside his own feelings for the sake of choosing the most efficient solution that will benefit the group. It backfired spectacularly, so much so even, that Mori regrets it to this day.

For the BSD exhibition, Asagiri wrote some individual character commentaries, all very interesting insights into their characters and the writing intentions. For Mori, here's what he wrote:

“He who fell out of the optimal solution” Mori Ougai’s belief as the boss is described in the novel “Dark Era” and “Dazai, Chuuya, Fifteen”. That is “The boss stands on top of the organization, and at the same time, be the slave of all.” For the sake of the organization, the boss must always take the “logical optimal solution.” That is the duty of the boss. There is an unspoken additional point to it. “Therefore, no matter how much your heart aches, you have to ignore your personal feelings.” We can catch a glimpse of that in this scene. [the ADA-PM alliance meeting] Mori’s expressions after “Burnt it.” and “Like what you did to your predecessor”, gave us a glimpse of his true feelings that were made sacrifices for the sake of the “logical optimal solution”. (By the way, it goes without saying that Dazai is inducing Mori’s thoughts by words that will make him regret the past. It is to make him decide to form an “alliance”.) source and translation: Popopretty

(notice the inclusion of Hirotsu in this scene. Remember that later, Hirotsu suggests that Dazai knows why Mori did what he did to overthrow the old boss, which, in my opinion, is both a proof of Dazai's support in Mori's goal, and a reminder to uphold it.)

One of my favourite parts of the Dark Era light novel is a small scene during the epilogue that was not adapted into the anime. This is two weeks after Dazai defected:

To quote Asagiri again, "Therefore, no matter how much your heart aches, you have to ignore your personal feelings." Mori is conflicted about the outcome of the Mimic incident. He holds in his hands the Silver Oracle he himself gave to Oda, and reflects on its purpose: to "help the man mentioned above without hesitation in the face of any and all trials". Didn't he fail to do just that with Oda? Didn't he set him up and sent him to his doom? Didn't he abandon him to his trial?

But he rationalizes the events by saying he got the permit they so badly needed. No matter if he sacrificed one of his men. No matter if he drove Dazai away. He accomplished his priceless goal. It was a total success.

And yet, he poorly folds a paper airplane with the very Silver Oracle he gave Oda, throws it, watches it crash immediately, and mourns the loss of his right-hand man, without ever moving on.

But we have a direct example of Mori expressing regret.

The perception that Mori in BEAST is a completely different character than Mori is in canon, when that perception doesn't extend to any other character from that universe, rubs me the wrong way. The characters in BEAST are very similar to their canon selves, with some core traits getting a new twist. They are all one or two major life changes away from becoming these versions of themselves. As far as we know, Mori's only life-altering event was being forcefully removed from the Port Mafia by Dazai, and secretly put in charge of Atsushi's old orphanage.

Mori unambiguously made that orphanage a better place, as stated by Atsushi himself. BEAST!Mori is a lot softer, vulnerable and honest. That Mori offers to be a father to Atsushi while he heals. He also expresses regret in not being able to help Dazai when he was in his care.

I think it's very interesting, especially when knowing that Asagiri wrote both BEAST and Fifteen at the same time for the Dead Apple movie, because in Fifteen we have this:

The beginning of the first chapter of Fifteen is a gold mine. It is narrated from Mori's point of view, the man of logic and calculations, and yet it is full of doubt. He is alone and struggling to fix everything with so many people against him. But, throughout this scene about grasping at the Port Mafia's power, there is also this secondary thought being woven in, of Mori having started to actually care for Dazai.

The teenager is scary to him, smart enough to be a threat should he decide to be done with all this and turn against him, and yet, he immediately (and with a hint of sadness) finds that Dazai reminds him of himself. This lonely, lonely man found a kindred spirit, bright enough to grasp any situation in seconds and prone to using an uncomfortable obsession to divert and keep you guessing his true intentions. Mori entered Mentor Mode™ then. He taught Dazai his ways, he shared his struggles and thought process, he fought tooth and nail to keep him alive.

So when he asked Dazai why he wanted to die, it was with the concern of someone who has started to care. It was with the mind of someone who is trying to prevent the worst by fixing the problem at its source.

(translation: Reneray)

But it's also that self-projection/ability to relate that made him drive Dazai away, when he pushed too hard and forced Dazai to adhere to his optimal solution philosophy. Because Dazai cannot separate himself from his attachments, could not ignore his emotions like Mori does, and chose Oda over Mori's logic. From Dazai's point of view, that was betrayal. Mori and him were accomplices!

Dazai planted the idea that Mori was afraid of him taking over as boss, and Mori seems to agree with that thought (would it be because he feared for his life, or for Dazai's ability to replace him?) Yet, for a man afraid of his closest subordinate backstabbing him, he seems to be hanging on quite hard to the possibility of Dazai coming back, leaving his seat open to this day, inviting him back twice in the same arc, and...

(yeah I used this picture at the start too. "I hAvE nO rEgReTs" he says)

Mori may try to convince himself he feels no regrets and no guilt over his own actions by weighting gains and losses objectively, but he still hurts and has a very hard time moving on. He's human despite his best efforts, prone to mistakes and doubts. He's lonely and wishes to impart his knowledge onto others. His cold logic has both helped him in fixing the city, and alienated him from some of the people he most cared about.

In a similar vein, should the ADA employee transfer be of topic again, and should Mori clash with Yosano again, I wish we get to see some similar conflicting emotions in Mori between the usefulness of Yosano's ability, and Yosano herself as a person. The war was 14 years ago, that's a long time, and I want to believe that counts for something.

#there carrot i finished it 4 u #i can't be normal about mori and i've been having Many Thoughts about him #i needed that out of my system and lost the plot twice so uh. I hope this reads somewhat fine.#i could have started on twelve different tangents i have SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT MORI #i love mori i'm not even going to excuse or justify myself read the post #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd meta #bsd mori #bsd mori ougai #bsd beast #bsd beast spoilers #apparently i talk sometimes #what does it mean about him trying to get yosano back all these years later now that she's a grown-up with the means to oppose him?#is it only about her ability? or did 14 years of hardships made him reflect in any way at all?#food for thought (while we wait to see if that plotline gets cancelled or goes anywhere interesting)

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imyourbratzdoll · 8 months

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𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕

🕊️a whore's fairytale masterlist🕊️

summary - being the granddaughter of the witch that tried to eat hansel and gretel wasn't fun, especially when they come back to seek revenge.

warning - smut, dubcon, swearing, spitting kink, spit roasted, threesome, kidnapping, mentions of death and eating children, mentions of attempted abandonment, oral sex, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Steve Hansel and Nick Gretel (their parents were hoping for a girl) made a pact years ago to never enter the woods again, not after that fateful day of crossing paths with the witch. When they were kids, their mother had unfortunately passed away, causing their father to find solace in the arms of another. They remembered the wedding clearly, how their hearts nearly beat out of their small chests as their father remarried the woman who would bring hell to their small family.

The hatred that leaked from their stepmother’s flesh could only be noticed by them; their father too blind with heartbreak to even notice. At their age, they were too young to understand why their father would remarry if he wasn’t in love with the woman. But as they grew older, bypassing the trauma they experienced. They began to realise their father was trying to fill a void with the first woman that passed.

The one thing you should never do in a fairytale is trust the stepmother, the boys learnt this the hard way. Their family wasn’t the wealthiest, having to survive off the small crumbs that they could find or gather. They trusted the woman when she had said that she found some food they could harvest not too far from their home. Steve being the smartest out of the two, made sure to fill his pockets with some rocks, nodding toward his brother Nick before they followed, creating a small path along the way so they wouldn’t get lost. Their stepmother left after distracting them long enough, ensuring that she could finally get rid of the two extra mouths to feed.

But the boys didn’t worry as the older of the two, gripped his brother’s hand and led him back home. Following the small rocks, and once they stepped foot out of the dreadful woods, they were greeted by their father who had been worried sick. As a small child, you’d think nothing of this, but as their father wrapped the two into a warm, loving hug. Steve looked over his shoulder, resting his chin on his father and smirked at the fuming woman, her lip sneered upwards as she realised her plan had failed.

Her second attempt had somewhat succeeded; she lured the boys back out with the promise of more food. Steve having not collected any rocks that week, grabbed his leftover bread and decided to use that as their way back home. Yet, he had forgotten that they were not the only hungry creatures living in the woods. As a child when you get lost, you become scared and you don’t know what to do, you expect for an adult to come and save you because how could a child do that for themselves? They weren’t built to protect themselves, they had adults for that, adults to learn from so that they could carry on protecting when they got older. The boys were terrified, but Steve wouldn’t show it because it was then that he realised he would be the one protecting his brother from now.

Hands gripped tight, they wondered through the woods hoping to find their way back home until a small shout came from Nick’s mouth, Steve’s head whips around and his eyes widen when he sees a house made completely of gingerbread, decorated with the finest lollies, he could feel his mouth water and before he could stop his brother. Nick dropped his hand and took off running toward the delicious looking house. His mouth already opened as he began to nibble on a pillar, his stomach filling immediately. Steve caught up with him and slowly begin to eat as well, what harm could this do? They were kids, living in a poor home with barely any food to keep their stomach from rumbling every five seconds.

This was where the real horror began, an ugly old woman slammed open the door, screaming at them before she dragged the boys inside. Again, another promises them food, as if there were a giant sign on their head signalling, they needed it. Steve’s eyes darted around the home, connecting with those of a girl’s, her eyes wide and lips pouted. He wondered if the two were related or if she was also kept prisoner as the wicked old witch shoved the boys inside a small cell. She kept mumbling on about filling them up and eating them, causing the boys to try, and come up with a plan to get out of there.

The witch called upon the youngest, telling him to help her with the oven door. The young girl watched from the corner, observing, and ignoring as the eldest boy tried to get her attention. Her grandmother wouldn’t like that, she wanted the young girl to continue studying their witchcraft, wanting her to continue their legacy if anything ever happened to her. She watched as the oven door managed to open, and her grandmother turned toward her, something that she shouldn’t have done as it distracted her from the boy beside her.

“Y/–” The witch is cut off, a scream leaving her as Nick pushes her fat body into the oven. The girl too shocked to move, she felt her body freezing up instead of rushing over to help. Nick stumbles towards his older brother, yanking the cell open and running with him as they escape. Steve turns his head, eyes connecting with the young girls, he gulped as her face slowly morphed into an evil look, her eyes narrowed and dark, with a promise that she will one day become strong enough and find those that killed her grandmother.

As the boys ran for their lives, twists, and turns, narrowly missing the trees and bushes. They somehow managed to exit the woods and head toward their home where their father was, again worried sick for them. He pulled the boys into his arms, holding them tight and listened as they went on about their stepmother and then the witch. None of the boys noticed that the stepmother never made it back, getting lost herself and the father was glad that his boys were home again. Steve and Nick looked at each other and that day they made a pact to never step foot in those woods again.

That pact was broken as the now men wandered into the woods. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t step foot into these woods again?” Nick sneered, not being able to ignore the chills that spread through his body at the thought. He gripped the sword tight, one that matched his brothers.

“Father is old, Nick. We are barely passing by as it is, and we need the food. You know that for us to be here again, it is our last resort.” Steve tried getting his brother to understand, he didn’t want to be in these woods either. Not after the look that young girl gave him, after that day he had managed to get the town in on searching for her, of course some believed there was a witch in the woods as their own children have gone missing. But they had all come up empty, which left him to think that they were related. It would explain the look she gave him as they ran out of there.

After that day, the brothers became a bit darker, smarter. Their minds had twisted, no longer sweet and innocent. Nick grunted, kicking a rock that got in his way and watched as it flew across the ground. “I know, but. It feels…” He paused, not knowing what word to use to describe the feeling.

“I feel it too.” Nick felt somewhat relieved that his brother could feel what he felt too, but he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “Come on, we better get going before dark.” Steve ushered his brother forward, heading in a direction opposite the one that caused their trauma. They took cautious steps as they wandered through the woods, managing to gather some food and kill some animals.

Nick hit his brother’s arm; eyes wide as he gestures to a house in the middle of nowhere. A replica to the one many years ago. Steve can feel rage build inside him as he stares, wishing the place would burn down. “That can’t be the same one. We went another way!” Nick exclaims, horror filling his bones.

Steve launches forward, his feet stomping against the dirt and leaves as he heads toward the house. Nick stumbles along, trying to stop his brother even though he feels the same rage deep inside. They both release a breath as they stop in front of the door, the sweet scent of gingerbread filling their senses. Before Steve can knock, the door flings open, and their mouth falls open.

You stand there, your hair perfectly wild and your long black dress falls gracefully while hugging your figure. Your eyes are sharp as you glare at the two men, it was as though they couldn’t breathe. You were so beautiful, practically glowing as you stared them down. “Who do you think you are trespassing onto my property?!” You growl, starring up at the men as they tower over you. You could feel it in your bones, they felt familiar, as if you knew them from somewhere.

Steve’s eyes widen more than before, your eyes. He had seen those eyes before, his brows furrowed, and the rage continued to build as he connected the dots. You had grown, it wasn’t hard for him to remember those eyes. They had haunted him for years, striking fear deep inside him and his brother. “You! You’re the little girl!” He fumed, only to be held back by his brother as he tries to step forward.

Your eyes widen slightly as you begin to remember who they are. The men that made you an orphan, causing you to watch as your grandmother cooked. “Oh!” And like that, ever so subtly. Your demeanour changes, a soft smile replacing the frown, your eyes lighten and your back straightens. “You’re the boys that saved me! Come in! Come in!” You usher them in, sneering and coiling on the inside as those words slip from your lips. This was the only way you could get revenge, a life for a life. “I’m just preparing myself some dinner if you two would like to join!”

Steve and Nick cautiously follow you inside, looking around. “It’s not children, is it?” Nick lets out a small ‘ow’ while rubbing his head when Steve whacks him, giving him a ‘what the hell’ look. Your soft laugh causes them to slightly relax, thinking you might be different.

On the inside, your laugh is cruel, wicked. You couldn’t wait to watch the brothers burn, finally getting the satisfaction after all these years. “Of course not, why would I eat children?” You bat your lashes innocently at him, smirking inside as he blushes. It was now or never, you needed this. “Could you please help me?” You pout, knowing you have the youngest brother in your palm. “I–I’m too weak to open the door… And I usually end up hurting myself.” It was a long shot, maybe they’d connect the dots, maybe they wouldn’t but you were so close.

Nick nods, beginning to head over. A sense of Deja-vu hits him but he ignores it, you seemed so cute and innocent. What harm could someone as tiny as you do? Steve watches, his stomach twists, trying to tell him something and out of the two brothers he listens. You seemed distracted, only watching Nick so he decides to move slow, sneaking behind you.

You noticed too late, a gasp falls from your lips as Steve grabs hold of you, locking your arms behind your back, pressing against his front. “Let go of me!” You struggle against his hold, sneering at them. “I swear to god if you don’t let me go, I’ll make you regret this!” You yelp as Steve tugs on your arms harshly, pushing you toward your large wooden table.

Nick blinks, looking between you and the oven before letting out a gasp. “Oh my god! It was going to happen again?!” Steve rolls his eyes, gesturing his brother to come help. Nick quickly stumbles forward, taking over for his brother while Steve walks into your line of vision. He crouches down, looking into your eyes while he reaches forward and tucks a fall piece of hair behind your ear.

“Did you really think we’d be stupid enough to fall for that a second time…” Steve looks at Nick before shaking his head, looking back down at you. “Okay, maybe one of us wasn’t stupid enough.” He ignores the small ‘hey’ as he gives you a smirk. “What should we do with you, huh?”

“Let me go!” You sneer, glaring daggers at the man. Nick groans as you push back against him, accidentally grinding against his bulge. You gasp, eyes widening. “You pervert!” You thrash around, your movements not helping the man behind you.

Steve grins as he realises what he’s going to do to you. He reaches forward and grips your chin, tilting your head back enough that it begins to strain your neck. He leans forward, keeping eye contact. “We’re going to have some fun with you, little witch.” The force of his hand causes your mouth to open slightly and your walls clench around nothing as Steve spits into it. Never once has a mere human made you react like this.

You must have zoned out because when you blink, the brothers had swapped positions. Maybe you could taunt one, distract him long enough. You breathe, focusing on the one before you, letting your magic swirl around and enter him. You let out a giggle, “Nick Gretel… Oh, your parents must have–” Your cut off and your eyes widen as a hard but soft object enters your mouth, causing you to choke and gag as it hits the back of your throat. Your eyes move down and widen more as you realise what has entered, you can feel yourself dampen at how big and thick he is.

“Oops, what was that, little witch?” Nick groans, feeling your lips tighten around his throbbing member, your tongue flicking instinctively around his swollen tip. “Shit, I think she’s enjoying this, brother.”

Steve hums, having rolled your dress above your hips while you were distracted and swiping a finger through your glistening folds. “Of course, she is, she’s a slut. Isn’t that right, little witch? You were just desperate for attention.” You whimper around Nick, causing him to let out a groan and jerk his hips. Thrusting deeper into your warm, wet mouth. “You just want to be stuffed, huh? Have us use both your holes, fuck you until you’re dumb. Fill you with our cum, making you want and beg for more.” His words cause your eyes to roll back, your thighs becoming slicker at the thought. Steve smiles, nodding. “Just like I thought.”

He stands, palming his throbbing cock before he releases it. A groan falls from his lips and shoots through to your core as his strokes the thick base. The older brother guides his mushroom tip through your lips, gathering your juices before he pushes in. “Oh fuck… She’s so tight.” Steve grunts, his eyes fluttering as he thrusts deeper, his cock being hugged by your delicious walls. His hands grip your hips as you squeeze him, your moans vibrate around Nick’s cock, and he shouts.

“Fuck! I’m not going to last if she keeps doing that!” Nick holds the back of your head; his head falls forward as he slowly fucks your face. He watches as his cock slides in and out of your mouth, drool slipping out the sides of your mouth, only the whites of your eyes visible. “Such a good little witch, taking me so well.”

Steve thrusts into you hard and fast, holding you down. He groans as his hands move from your hips to your plump cheeks that jiggle with each thrust, he grips them, pulling them apart and squeezing them. “Fuck, who knew a witch could be so pretty. Not like the other one we met.” Steve makes a dig at your dead grandmother, causing anger to build inside of you only to be replaced with pleasure. You tense before slowly relaxing in their hold, sucking desperately on Nick’s cock while his older brother splits you open.

The feel of their pulsing veins, sliding in and out of your holes, their scents invading your senses cause you to become dizzy. You have never felt something so intense before and in response your walls clench and unclench around Steve like crazy, sucking him in deeper, allowing him to hit the spots that are far out of your reach. You moan, tingles erupt throughout your body as Nick buries his cock into the back of your throat and releases, filling your mouth with his cum.

You swallow as he pulls out, slouching into the chair behind him as he watches his brother destroy you with hazy eyes. “O–oh!” You bury your face into the wooden table, hands flying forward and gripping the edge tightly, causing your knuckles to whiten.

Steve growls, leaning forward and towering over you. His hand moves from your arse to the back of your head and pushes it harder into the surface. “You like that, slut? Such a weak fucking witch.” You whimper, tightening around him as your vision becomes white and your juices coat his thick member. Steve groans, continuing to thrust before coating your walls with his cum. Like his brother, he gently pulls out and sinks into the chair behind him, half-lidded eyes watch as your cunt clenches and unclenches around nothing and his cum leaks from your tight hole.

Your chest moves up and down as you breathe, trying to push away the left-over pleasure that runs through your body, you slowly move and fix your dress before lifting your hands. As magic begins to swirl around you and the room, you prepare to get rid of these men once and for all. “This is for my grandmother.”

The brothers ignore the shivers that roll through their body at how chilling your voice is, they look at each other knowing that they will have to do something and fast before the magic can hit them completely.

Steve being the closet decides to distract you while his brother grabs something from his pocket, while your attention remains on Steve, you don’t seem to notice the other sneaking up behind you. You’d think you would learn after last time, but of course, you thought you were strong enough. Your eyes widen when you are suddenly grabbed and before you can even think of using your magic, a cloth is placed on your mouth causing your eyes to become droopy. “You should’ve just been a good little witch…” You hear one of them before you go completely limp.

As they head back in the direction of their home, with you in their arms. You would later learn when you awoke that you should never wait to strike revenge, especially as a witch.

thank you for reading!

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