#corpse husband x reader fluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddievanhammettmunson · 2 years

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Corpse husband with Eddie

Undead Eddie x female reader

Author’s note- I wanted to make the corpse bride with Eddie. BUT I always wanted corpse bride to end with victor and Emily getting married so that’s what I’ve done here. If this does well or if people want it I will make an esternate where the reader ends up with Steve. 4.6k words

Warnings- death and lots of it. Technically suicide. Not proofread.

Summary- when you’re set to marry the lovely Steve Harrington but you keep messing up your vows you go to the forest to clear your head. But you end up somewhere well….dead.

It was supposed to be a glorious day. A glorious day for a wedding rehearsal between you and your soon to be husband Steve Harrington. But somehow you knew it was doomed from the start. Hell you didn’t even know the guy outside of the rumors you’d heard about him in highschool. The wedding was arranged by both of your parents and neither of you got a say in it.

When you got to the wedding rehearsal however your nerves were somewhat calmed when you happened to meet your soon to be husband in the foyer while you were hiding from your parents. You were surprised that he was not only was he just as handsome as you remembered from highschool but he was nice. Well as nice as someone being married off by their parents can be.

He had been sweet and funny and all around charming and you actually were able to believe for a second that maybe a marriage with him wouldn’t be so bad. That was until your parents showed up again and forced you two to join the rehearsal.

The rehearsal hadn’t gotten very far. There you were standing at the altar and all you had to do was say your vows. “With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.”

Simple enough yet for some reason you managed to trip over and forget almost every word. Your parents were humiliated. Steve’s parents were furious. Suddenly the officiant stops the rehearsal and turns to you.

“This Wedding cannot happen. Not until you have learned your vows young lady.”

You stood there for a moment before turning and running out of the room without looking back. You refused to make eye contact with anybody in the room lest you feel their disappointment. Even when you hear Steve calling after you. You refuse to turn and face him.

You run out of the building and you run and run until you find yourself alone in the woods. You begin to walk very slowly. Muttering to yourself about how stupid you believe you are. You then twist the engagement ring on your finger and you begin to rehearse your vows.

“With this hand I will….I will…. Drown in sorrow? No no no. Okay with this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cups will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will…. Light your father on fire it seems Jesus Christ I can’t do this.” You stop and see a bench in the middle of a clearing in the forest. You remember this bench from high school. People used to come out here to do drug deals.

You take a seat on the bench and take a deep breath. When you open your eyes you decide to try saying your vows one more time. “With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.” You slam your hands down on the bench in triumph.

Standing from the bench you look at the little ring on your engagement finger and you sigh twirling it a bit. You begin to pace and speak to yourself.

“I just thought my life would have a greater purpose rather than getting married…not that I don’t wanna get married….” You sigh “i just thought it would be my decision. Just cause I’m getting married doesn’t mean I can’t find a greater purpose. Okay one more time for luck. With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.” You slide the ring off of your finger and put it on the bench.

As soon as the ring touches the table there’s a shift in the atmosphere. The forest is suddenly colder than before. The wind is blowing wildly and you can hear the snapping of branches in the distance.

Suddenly from the distance you see a bunch of crows swarming around a tree. And from that tree emerges a tall man. Or what appears to be a man. As he stalks towards you he whispers two words.

“I do”

You begin to run. Not caring about direction. Just needing an escape. As you run your met with branches and twists and turns and crows all around you.

You make it back In to town. You see the building for the wedding rehearsal and you think you’re safe. You take a deep breath and turn towards the building only to be met face to face with the man.

This is the first time you get to see him up close when you’re not running. You can see gashes along his face and body. Exposed bone poking through at his arms and legs. Flesh ripped away across his body. His skin was pale beyond comprehension. His eyes were wide and dark. And the worst part is you recognized him.

There wasn’t much time to comprehend anything before he spoke.

“May I kiss the bride?” He began to lean in and you wanted to scream. But as he leaned in you were swarmed by dozens of birds and suddenly everything started to fade away into the sounds around you. Then everything went black.

***

As you began to open your eyes you hear voices and murmuring surround you.

“Looks like we got a new arrival”

“I think she fainted on the way here”

“Lemme get closer i want to see her”

As you open your eyes you feel a boney hand on the back of your neck helping to support you. You blink your eyes a few times and try to adjust.

“Wh-what’s happened to me?” You ask as you sit up and take in your surroundings.

“Holy shit man! I think she’s breathing? Is-is she alive?”

Your eyes snap open very wide as you look around at the people helping you. You stand up and back up against a slimy vine filled wall.

There he was. Eddie Munson. The boy who died in the earth quake a year ago. Next to him? Billy Hargrove. The boy who died in the mall fire. Next to him was Barbra. The student who died due to being exposed to chemicals from that lab.

As you look around the room your met with the sights of the dead from all around Hawkins. People you used to know. And suddenly you had the dreaded thought.

“Am I dead?” You look around the room and nobody answers until you look to Eddie.

“Nope sweetheart. You’re all good. Alive and well and flesh and bone.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. But then you inhale sharply again. If you weren’t dead then where the hell were you. And why were you here?

As you look around the room you see Billy and a girl you used to know named heather. She takes a drink of something and toasts to Billy and then looks to you.

“To the newlyweds!” Her and Billy say together.

“N-newlyweds?” You say in confusion.

Eddie strides over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah sweetheart. You said your vows so perfectly.”

“I did? I did!” You turn around and begin to smash your head into the wall.

“WAKE UP!!!! WAKE UP!!!!!!”

As you slam your head into the wall you feel a hand on your shoulder so you turn around to see a tall boney man handing you a drink.

“Hello I’m Benny. I’m the head chef down here. I will be creating your weddin feast!”

You gasp and step back bumping into Eddie. Suddenly Eddie’s eye pops out and a little Maggot appears.

It looks to you and begins to speak. “Wedding feast! I’m starving!”

You attempt to move away from Eddie but everywhere you turn there are more dead people. People you used to know. Everything has you petrified until you back into a counter with a knife on the table. You grab hold of the knife and life it into the air.

“Everybody stop!”

The rooms freezes and turns to you.

“I need answers. What the hell is this place. How are you all here?”

Eddie laughs and steps towards you. “Well that’s kind of a long story.”

“A tragic tale it is. A tale of adventure, passion, and a murder most foul.” You turn towards the voice and see a man sitting at a table. You recognize him as the founder of Hawkins AV club. He used to date Miss Byers until he died tragically a few years back.

The room falls quiet as the man begins to tell the story.

“Well our boy was a freak. Known for miles around. When a mysterious man began to plague our town. He was plenty hideous and had a plan to hash. And our poor little boy got roped in fast. So when Eddie’s friends tried to help him he just couldn��t cope. So our mystery man came up with a plan to interlope. So the crew conjured up a plan to meet late at night. They told not a soul kept the whole thing tight. They were prepared to bring down the mystery man with a good old fight. He didn’t bring much just a shield and a spear. Waiting all night to fight the man. Then when the time came our boy was a hero. But with the last of his strength the mystery man summoned all his bats and had the boy eaten to death. Now when he opened his eyes he was dead as dust. His spear was missing and his heart was bust. So he made a vow lying under that sky that he’d wait for his true love to come set him free. Waiting for someone to ask for his hand. Then out of the blue comes this woman who vows forever to be by his side. And that’s the story of our corpse husband.”

As you process everything the man just told you. You feel two boney arms wrap their way around your waist and it makes you jump. And run away out of the room. You run all the way until you’re in the middle of a forest again. You recognize the forest as Hawkins but it’s different. It’s covered in vines and tentacles and it’s disgusting. But you run anyways. Until you reach that familiar bench. Your stop to take a breath and you turn around only to be met with Eddie once again.

You scream and jump back at the sight of him.

He hold his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He chuckles and steps forward.

“Look y/n I know this can be a lot to take. How about we just sit down on the bench and you can ask me whatever you want and I’ll tell you.”

You hesitate and then sit back on the bench.

“Okay. What is this place.”

“It’s called the upside down. It’s like Hawkins but full of creepy crawlers and nasty shit.”

“How are you all here? I mean you’re all dead.”

“I don’t know sweetheart. I wish I did.”

You sat there for a moment and took a deep breath.

“So we’re married?”

“Yupperoonie.”

“Look Eddie I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you and how you died. I really am. But I need to get home.”

“This is your home now y/n”

“Eddie you can’t be serious. I’m alive. I have a life. Family to get back to.”

“Well we can go say goodbye if you want?”

“You’d let me do that?”

“Sweetheart I’d let you do anything.”

“Well how do we get there?”

“We have to dig through the tree to get there. It’s pretty easy from our side since the tree is rotten. Getting back here to the upside down is the hard part. You’ll have to be quick so that the tree gate doesn’t close.”

Eddie stands and walks to a nearby tree where he starts ripping into it with his bare hands. Once the tree is opened he gestures for you to come over and he pretends like he’s holding the door open for you as he bows and allows you to crawl through the tree.

You come out on the other side in a normal looking Forrest near the bench you once knew. You debate on what you’re supposed to do. Deciding to tell Eddie to stay in the forest while you go say goodbye to your family when really you were going to seek out Steve and get his help.

“Eddie. I think you should stay here while I say goodbye to my family.”

“You’re probably right. I don’t think they’d be very approving of me….even if I were alive honestly.”

There’s a strange feeling of guilt in your chest when he says that. You remember him from High school and although you weren’t close you always knew him to be a nice person who happened to be a bit boisterous. If anything you found his lunch time antics entertaining.

“I’ll be back in a jif eddie.”

And with that you were off through the forest. You made your way to the Harrington estate and saw the light to Steve bedroom on. The only problem was his room was on the second floor. As you snuck around the house and looked for an entry point you stumbled upon the kitchen window where you see Mr and Mrs Harrington sat at the table having a discussion.

“I just don’t know what we’re going to do about that girl. Can’t even learn her vows.”

“You’re right. This isn’t good for our business deal.”

“Maybe we should just let Steve marry that Wheeler girl like he’d wanted.”

Upon hearing that your mind flashes to images of Nancy Wheeler and her relationship with the king Steve Harrington. Still you persist and move past the window making your way round the house to where you see some vines to grab to climb up to Steve’s room.

You carefully place your feet on the vines and begin your climb. When you reach the second floor you see Steve sitting on the edge of his bed and you can hear him on the phone.

“Yeah Nance…..I know….maybe she doesn’t want to marry me.”

He’s on the phone with Nancy? You watch as he continues to talk on the phone until you hear a loud SNAP of a branch coming from below you and suddenly you’re plummeting towards the ground.

You scream and close your eyes and brace yourself for the hard impact that doesn’t come. Instead you’re enveloped by two large arms that break your fall. You open your eyes to see Eddie holding you.

As you look up at him you realize he’s fuming. Absolutely angry beyond belief.

“Steve?”

“What?”

“Why are you at Steve Harringtons house?”

“W-well. Well he’s my fiancé.”

“But I’m your husband. And we’re leaving.”

Still in his arms he carries you back into the Forrest and through the tree to the upside down. When you get back into the upside down he sets you down and walks over to the bench and sits down and puts his face in his hands.

“And I thought this was all going so well.”

You walk up to him and place a hand on his shoulder.

“Look Eddie I’m sorry. But this just can’t happen.”

“Why not? It’s my eye isn’t it?”

“No your eye is lovely. But Eddie were just to different. I mean you’re dead.”

“You should have thought about that before you asked me to marry you.”

“Why can’t you understand it was a mistake Eddie!! I would never ask you to marry me!”

As soon as the words leave your mouth you feel instant regret as you watch Eddie slowly rise from the bench and wander off towards the town.

***

As Eddie wanders on his own he ponders his relationship with you. And the maggot in his eye pops out and slithers onto his shoulders. Eddie sits down against a wall and sighs.

“Maybe she’s better off with Mr I have a pulse. Maybe she’s right.”

“Oh that guys nothing compared to you Eddie.”

“But she’s right. I’m dead. She’s alive.”

“But did she say her vows to him?”

“Well no…. But she doesn’t leave me.”

“She just needs to see how special you can be Eddie.”

“If I touch a burning candle I can feel no pain

If you cut me with a knife it's still the same

And I know his heart is beating

And I know that I am dead

Yet the pain here that I feel

Try and tell me it's not real

It seems that I still have a tear to shed”

“Oh Eddie don’t worry she’ll come around and see the amazing man that you are.”

***

In the forest where Eddie left you, you gather some dead flowers into a bouquet and walk towards the town where you search for Eddie. You ask around to some of the dead people in town and they tell you that you can find Eddie in an old trailer on the other side of town. So that’s where you go.

When you get there you find him sitting on the porch strumming his guitar. You walk up quietly and set the bouquet on porch next to you.

“I’m sorry Eddie. I’m sorry I lied to you about seeing my family. It’s just-this day. Nothing has gone according to plan.”

He says nothing as he strums his guitar. Instead you pick up a guitar that was sitting next to him and that says “this machine slays dragons” and you begin to strum a tune similar to the one he’s strumming. And you continue to strum until you’re creating a beautiful medley together.

Eddie begins to get so into it that his boney hand detaches from his body and begins a riff all on its own and even hops onto your guitar and runs up your arm and around your shoulders. Making both you and him laugh.

“Sorry about the enthusiasm.”

“I like your enthusiasm Eddie.”

You grab the hand that’s on your shoulder and his empty wrist and you reattach the hand to his arm. When you should let it go you don’t. Instead your hand lingers there. You look into Eddie’s eyes and see him looking back at you. You clear your throat and look back down at the guitar.

“I really am sorry Eddie. I should have been honest with you.”

“Don’t worry about it y/n I get it. You’re dead and I’m alive.”

“If it’s any consolation Eddie I wouldn’t have any qualms about marrying you if you were alive.”

He laughs and sets the guitar down next to him.

“Now that I find hard to believe.”

“Really Eddie I mean it. I remember you from high school. How sweet you were to all the weird kids. How boisterous and brave you were. I mean you were amazing.”

“I was a freak.”

“Stop that. You’re not a freak Eddie. You’re awesome is what you are.”

“I’m dead is what I am.”

You’re about to say something when suddenly people are running past you and towards the forest. You stop one of them and ask them what’s going on.

“NEW ARRIVAL.”

Is all they yell at you before they continue on their way to the Forrest. When you get there everyone is excited and bustling around the way they were when you’d arrived. That’s when you see him. Tommy H. Steve’s ex best friend.

“Tommy!?” He turns to face you.

“Y/n? What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here! Tommy you’re dead? What happened?”

“Was drinking and driving and well bam now I’m here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah and I’m sorry to hear you and Steve didn’t work out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well didnt you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“He’s marrying Nancy Wheeler tomorrow.”

Your heart doesn’t break but your chest feels a twinge of disappointment to know that you’d gone missing for a day and instead of looking for you your fiancé just moves on to another girl.

“Time to pick up the pieces and move on I suppose right y/n.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and then turns to move about the room.

You begin to think on his words. He may be right. You’ve been in this place for almost a whole day and it seems like nobody even cares that you’re gone. And the one person who does care about you, you’ve treated like absolute garbage. You walk back off alone into the Forrest and to the bench you originally started at.

You sit down and examine the wedding band on your finger. That’s when you hear Eddie’s voice in the distance.

“Oh billy what am I supposed to do? She just walked off! Are all women like this?”

Billy laughs and puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Im afraid so man. I’m afraid so. But we’ve got something to talk about man.”

You nestle up against a tree and listen closely to their conversation.

“Let me tell him!” The magot says.

“Shhhhh. Well man there’s a problem with your marriage.”

“What?!”

“Well your vows are binding until death do you part.”

“Uh huh. So?”

“Well man. Death has already parted you. You’re dead and she’s alive. Can’t work.”

“Dude if she finds out she’ll leave! There has to be something we can do!”

“Don’t worry man there’s a way.”

“What is it?”

“We have to kill her!!!”

“WHAT?!”

“Y/n would have to give up the life she had forever. She would need to repeat her vows and drink the venom of the demobats.”

“But the venom of the demobats would kill her just like it did to me.”

“Exactly Eddie. She’d be dead with you.”

You’re taken aback and shocked as you peak around the tree. Eddie thinks on it for only a moment before dropping to his knees in the forest.

“I could never ask her to do that for me.” He says in a low and quiet voice.

You look at Eddie on the ground. You think back to him in highschool and how sweet he was, you think back to him catching you earlier and saving you. To holding his hand and playing the guitar with him. And decide to step out from behind the tree.

“You don’t have to.” You say quietly as you walk up to him and offer your hand for him to stand up. He looks up at you with tears in your eyes.

“Y/n if you do this…there’s no going back. Do you understand?”

As Billy says this and Eddie stands fully you wrap your hand around Eddie’s tighter and intertwine your fingers as you look at him.

“I do.”

***

You walk back into the town and gather all the dead.

“HELLO EVERYBODY. We’ve decided to do this thing properly. So father what you can and meet us at Hawkins high school!”

Everyone is overjoyed as they begin to prepare for the wedding. Benny starts on the cake, Billy and heather are on decorations. And Barbra is helping you with your wedding dress.

You go to the town and break the window of a shop covered in vines and you find an exquisite dress to wear. Barbra does your hair and before you know it you’re meeting back at the school.

***

At the school you walk into the gymnasium to see rows of the dead sitting and facing Eddie at the altar who is now wearing a suit. On a table nearby there’s a towering cake and a lot of food.

Billy stands next to Eddie as the officiant. In his hands he holds a cup which you can only assume to be the venom of a demobat inside. Once your presence is noticed the crowd starts singing “here comes the bride.”

You take that as your queue to begin walking down the isle. As you do you look to Eddie who is smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye.

You reach the altar and stand in front of Eddie.

“Hi” you mouth at him and he mouths it back. You giggle a little.

“Dearly beloved and departed we are gathered here today to join this woman and this corpse in marriage. Living first.”

You take a deep breath and raise your hand.

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows, your cup will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.”

“Now Eddie.”

“With this hand I will lift your sorrows, your cup will never empty for i will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine”

He places one of his own rings onto your finger. And you take off your wedding band and place it on his pinky.

You then take the cup from Billy and hold it in your hands as you look at Eddie. You go to take a sip but his hand flies to the top of your cup.

“Y/n” he whispers. “Are you sure about this?”

You take your own hand and bring it up to ciò his face.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You remove his hands from atop the cup and quickly take a swig of the venom. It burns as it goes down so badly that it makes you drop the cup from your hand as you begin to cough. Your coughing is so bad that you bend over and Eddie reaches out a hand to steady you. The pain only lasts for a moment as you collapse into his arms and see nothing but total darkness.

As you awaken you look up into Eddie big brown eyes and you reach out a now pale hand to cup his face. You realize you no longer have to breathe and you no longer have a heart beat you just feel cold.

You move to stand and he stands with you.

“You May now kiss the bride.”

Eddie looks at you for approval and you give him a slight nod before leaning in and sealing you marriage with a kiss. The crowd cheers and goes wild at the kiss and Eddie grabs you closer to him and dips you towards the floor. When he brings you back up and the two of you break from the kiss he rests his forehead against yours.

“Ready for eternity sweetheart?”

The end.

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inciting-chaos-series · 1 year

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The Night Shift: Chapter Four

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters are posted let me know! -Ghostiewvlf ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦

➢ Tag List: @valleys

➢Summary:

You work the night shift at a local dog kennel for boarding and daycare. You love the peace and quiet of the shift, but just when you get comfortable- a few break-ins happen around town, and upper management decides to place your quiet, brooding, shift lead on the schedule with you.

☽✧ Chapter Four: Fun & Games ✧☾

-Y/N POV-

After spending all day in labs and lectures you really were not on your A game for tonight's shift. You felt completely fried- mentally and physically. Walking across campus to and from your science and math courses and arriving on time when you had barely a five minute window between them had been exhausting, and the content in the classes left you wondering if you even had brain cells left.

If you had any energy left you would try to remember to not set your schedule this way for your last semester- though the way your feet dragged as you entered the building and clocked in had you realizing it was no use.

“Damn- long day?” Liz chuckled from behind the reception counter.

“So long…” Your voice sounded defeated as it left your mouth.

“Well, good news- most everyone was picked up from boarding today- we did have one drop off though…” Her voice wavered in uncertainty as you joined her behind the counter.

“Oh yeah? Who got dropped o-”

“Just the coolest little dude ever…”

You turned to the comically deep voiced interrupter and watched as Logan walked in from the adjoining break room with a small black Shetland puppy cradled in his arms.

“Oh my god!” You swooned over the dog and cautiously approached to pet him, earning a laugh from both Liz and your boss as the puppy struggled out of Logan’s hold and into yours.

“Suppose that will make your night a bit better huh?” Liz laughed out as she gathered her things to leave. “Also… Ryder wasn't picked up from daycare today. I emailed his owners and they requested to leave him here tonight, they're aware of the charges but still need to be billed, I left it open on the computer for you guys.”

“Is this the universe apologizing for my long day?” You laughed as the puppy licked incessantly at your face.

“Guess so…” Liz smiled and shrugged as she headed out, wishing you an easy night.

“So, if you had a rough day- I’m guessing you’ll want to finish up that invoice, since you’ve got some furry company…” Logan chuckled. “I suppose I can lend you my son and get started on dinners.” He rolled his eyes playfully.

“Oh so he’s your son now? Have you let his owners know- should I send them a quick update email while I’m at it?”

“Fuck off…” His laugh was much more sincere than you expected as he waved off your comment on his way to the back. You smiled to yourself and got settled at the computer to invoice Ryder’s owners and collect payment, keeping the small puppy in your lap as he absently chewed your hoodie strings.

---

“Do you drink coffee or tea?” He broke the silence between you as the dogs started to settle down from playing outside.

“Um, tea usually…” you laughed softly and gave him a questioning glance, “why do you ask?”

“I don’t know- thought I’d ask in case I stop and get us drinks again.” He shrugged as he grinned down at the puppy jumping at his ankles. He groaned dramatically as he sat on a rock and placed the small dog in his lap- chuckling as it immediately gnawed at his fingers. “Plus I don’t know much about you- and if we’re gonna work most nights together I should probably learn the basics.”

“Fair point.” You smiled and sat beside an exhausted looking Ryder a few feet from him. “That coffee was really good, especially for how cold it was.” You chuckled. “I usually get iced chais, so that wouldn't have been as ideal. What about you?”

“Well, glad I made that call then. Cause I get the same…” He chuckled. “I mean- usually I turn to- stronger drinks- but chai will suffice at work.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want any red wine stains on our clothes at work…” You teased as you pet the panting dog beside you.

“Of course not… totally unprofessional.” He laughed along and rolled his eyes.

“Well, if we're getting to know each other- umm…” you paused as you thought of good questions (that were at least somewhat professionally appropriate) to ask of your boss. “What made you get into animal care?”

“Hmm, well I’ve always wanted my own animal- but I’m not sure that my lifestyle or whatever would allow me to properly take care of one, or that I could handle it I guess… I started out just watching my friends' dogs or cats. Then I saw an opening here and figured it would be a nice place to work.” He shrugged and smiled before meeting your gaze. “What about you? I know you worked on the vet side for a while- and you were at an ER before this right?”

“That's… super cute? Sorry just- picturing you- deep voice and intimidating nature… as a pet sitter, it's strange to think about.” You laughed at the thought.

“I know… I don’t really look- or sound- the type huh?” He chuckled in agreement and you shook your head and smiled.

“But um- yeah I did. ER was really cool, I got to see a lot of interesting cases there… and working on the vet side here was nice since I still needed more experience for vet school, but both those jobs were really demanding, and I needed to cut back so I could focus more on finishing school- so this seemed perfect for me right now.”

“I'm glad…” he smiled sweetly, “-you’re smart and deserve to take the time you need to get your school stuff sorted. Especially if you have such a good plan.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan- I mean, who knows what I’ll really end up doing.” You scoffed softly. “I never really wanted to go to college or anything but my family pressured me into it, saying I could never make it as anything without it.”

“Well that's just- not true…” He scoffed loudly.

“No?”

“Definitely not. I mean, I basically raised myself- I was never close with my family- so I don’t really understand that perspective, but school never worked for me. I ended up dropping out pretty early…” he shrugged and turned his attention back to the puppy, now falling asleep in his lap. “I mean, it’s difficult dropping out so young and being like ‘I'm gonna make something of myself someday, I’m gonna do something big-’ but it’s definitely doable.With or without schooling.” His voice softened slightly as he spoke. You couldn’t help but stare at him, almost in awe, at how much he revealed.

“I’m sorry Logan. That sounds… awful- I’m sorry you went though that…” you paused, “-but thank you. I suppose you’re right, it is difficult for sure… making a name for yourself, or figuring out what to do in life. ” You weren't really sure how to respond to such a candid response.

“Eh, that's how life goes right?” He chuckled awkwardly, carefully picking up the sleeping puppy as he rose to his feet. “Spose we should let these guys back in, everyone seems tuckered out.”

“Yeah, suppose we should.” You carefully stood as well, hoping to not rile up the dogs again as you all made your way in for the night.

-Logan’s POV-

He stayed quiet as the two of you cleaned around the building, silently admonishing himself for his loose lips earlier. He had no idea why he’d shared so much, why talking with you made it so easy to share what seemed like all the most negative things about him. Maybe he was compensating- getting it all out in the open about how he was toxic to befriend so you’d turn tail sooner rather than later.

He couldn’t help the nagging feeling of relief though, having told you a bit about himself and getting such a kind response. You probably just felt awkward, or pitied him, after all. He shouldn’t make it a regular thing.

Eventually when you both had finished cleaning, you settled in at the front desk again. He was grateful when you pulled out your notebook and binder from your bag, knowing you would need quiet to do your homework and he couldn’t run his mouth any longer. He did find it a bit funny when you asked if he minded, of course he didn’t care if you got some homework done, especially with the awkward tension in the air now. He put on some soft lofi for you and scrolled on his phone as you worked. Every few minutes or so he’d sneak a glance at your papers, instantly regretting it as he was greeted with complex molecules, chemistry equations, and the pervasive fact that you were far more intelligent than he ever considered himself.

You huffed loudly, breaking the silence as you pushed your papers away and leaned back in the chair. He turned to give you a questioning glance.

“If you’re stuck on something- I hope you aren't going to ask me for help.” He chuckled. “Because if I lock eyes with your papers again my brain will melt.”

“No, no…” He bit down on the inside of his cheek as you laughed. “I’m finished. It’s not all correct, but I’m done.”

“Ah, well good… its aura is haunting the entire room.” He chuckled, cringing away as you put everything back in your bag.

“Yeah, believe me I know.” You pursed your lips and leaned back again. “You can put on regular music again if you want… Unless you brought your laptop?”

“Fuck, you remembered that I said that?” He groaned and hid his face in his hands.

“Sure do, so when you bringin it?”

“Hmmm…” he paused, humming suspiciously. “I don’t know I feel like- if I had some dirt on you, I might be more motivated to remember to bring it…” He insinuated with poorly feigned innocence.

“Wow, blackmail- that's bold.” You giggled, he merely winked in response, a sly grin across his lips. “I guess I’ll have to think of some dirt on me then…”

The rest of the night was fairly calm. He pulled up some games on the computer for you two to pass the time, and he continued to joke with you throughout the night until it was time to clock out.

“See you Thursday I guess…” He dramatically huffed as he walked with you to your cars.

“Are you pouting about the shifts you work alone now?” You laughed as you tossed your things into your car, he smiled and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, my two to three shifts I have alone are boring now…”

“Right, because you’re such a conversationalist…”

“Fuck off…” he chuckled before pausing as he did the same, “drive safe, text me when you get home…”

He again waited until you were safely out onto the road before pulling out and heading home himself. He took a longer route home this time, opting to stop and pick up some groceries on his way- not because it would keep his mind off you or from overthinking everything he said, it was only because his fridge and pantry were barren.

After arriving home and putting everything away, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as he saw you still hadn’t messaged him. He groaned and took a swig from a new bottle of wine he’d gotten and began typing.

Logan 🐺:

Did you make it home ok?

You:

Right, sorry… forgot lol yes I did

He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

You:

Were you worried? lol

Logan 🐺:

Well yeah you didn’t text me 😤

Sorry I care if my friends get home safe… sheesh

You:

Oh so were friends now? Lmao

He laughed as he sent back a barrage of offended gifs and memes. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been so eager to continue a conversation.

You:

Don't be butthurt haha, I just only ever see you at work is all

Logan 🐺:

Well you're so busy with school- otherwise we could hangout

You:

Hey don't blame me- you make my work schedule, you know what days I’m off 🤷‍♀️

Logan 🐺:

Fine… fair point…

Sunday?

You:

I’ll think about it…

He rolled his eyes and sent a few gifs of graves before tossing his phone aside and attempting to wipe the ridiculous smile off his face. He knew this was likely a mistake, but he didn’t really care right now, maybe it was time to make a new friend.

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st444rgirl-service · 1 year

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ — stargirl service! the ultimate dream service!

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 5 months

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PREY

PAIRING: Hunter!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Werewolf!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s blood on your hands again.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Intense gore, body horror, death, mutilation, weapons, firearms, knives, intended harm, violence, blood, descriptions of wounds, angst, fluff, protective!Simon, religious mentions, period time standards for men/women (1700s), etc.

A/N: The first of my reverse AUs is finally here! Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The tale of the Werewolf extends back to around 2100 BC. It was written in The Epic of Gilgamesh, scored into a clay tablet by hands long buried—a corpse forever still in the earth so deep, the bones have yet to be found by greedy eyes. Perhaps the oldest surviving story in human history, and there is still a passage that bleeds into stories hundreds of thousands of years later.

In such, Gilgamesh, a man on the search for immortality, rejects a woman for the reason of turning her previous husband into a wolf.

“You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf, now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks…”

And then, the tales spread, changed, through history and through spoken words of caution. Like water trickling from a well, down the shape of the wooden bucket delving deeper and deeper into a pit of age—of caution.

“The Beast of Gévaudan. Man-eater.” Through France

“He has a wolf-head, you know? Tall thing—short brown hair all over him.” Through Scotland

“Beware the man that changes shape under the full moon.” England.

Now, in the late seventeenth century, it all comes to a head. Even the people in 2100 BC knew that someone who changes into a wolf, or some bastard-like imitation of one, was very much real; it is very much an affliction that overtakes sense and reason. A curse.

Transferable down to the saliva of one entering your bloodstream.

You must never get within the beast’s sights.

—

There’s blood on your hands again.

Hunched over, your body quivers, and the bareness of your flesh in the moonlight is of little concern to you—trapped in a fetal position while the chilled wind howls.

Howls.

“Get out of my head.” Your fingers grasp at your scalp, pulling; ripping. A sob jaggedly slashes your throat open. “Please,” you rattle in a fast breath, the grass snapping as you writhe. “Get out of my head.”

It had happened once more, and you can’t remember any of it.

The forest is deathly still. No birds sing their songs—no breeze moves the long grass, patches trampled down around you as if a beast had staggered into the small clearing you’re lying in. Maybe it had. There are shadows that listen to your quiet panic, the low whines and gasping quivers of your throat; from behind the trees that speak in the way that only they could. The deep night creeps into you, and the moonlight bathing your flesh doesn’t push back the terror in your bloodstream.

Your body burns like you’ve broken every bone twice over, and judging by the blood stuck in between every line and dip of your skin, to anyone walking past, the analogy could be very real. Fingers flexing and bending, you try to force out the venom inside of your head with desperation befitting a dying dog, spine visible out of the skin of your back as you sob all the harder.

You tried to stop it—you had; you always do. But, just like every month when the full moon mocks you with its silver-hued face, it never works.

It never works.

Your eyes stare at nothing as you lay here, in this place of grass, blood, and bile, of corruption as deep as a vile sin of flesh. It came over you like a wave, fingers trapping your throat and bearing it to the caress of fangs. There were different names for it here, miles from your village and the terrified eyes that search the tree line; names coming from the hunters and their black deeds.

Shapeshifter.

Demon spawn.

Werewolf.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you shove the side of your head into the ground, pushing the torn earth away from the cuts of long claws. Tears flood the dirt until it’s wet and muddy, pushing the crimson stains on your skin away in long streaks. “It hurts, God, please, it hurts.”

The sound of your hysterics rises and falls in the stillness—the inactivity of fearful birds and beasts wondering if your fangs would rip from your gums and your claws would tear from your fingertips. Fur along your body the color of which leads to stories of their own spreading far and wide.

The White Wolf. The Specter of St. Francis’ Village. A hound from Hell.

More pale than snow, and sharper seen than a knife or blade through the black trees. Even if the memories of your shifts were fuzzy at best, there were flashes of those who’d seen your gargantuan form from the confines of their stone-cut homes. Those wide eyes. Yelling—screaming; sprays of blood as heads were separated from bodies—

“Stop!” You scream, your legs kicking out as your toes scrape the grass. “It’s not me! It’s not!”

There’s a call of alarm from deep within the woods, the flash of torches and bellow of hunting dogs. They’re running you down, you’d forgotten that in the depths of your breaking mind and body, and by the time your elongated limbs had set themselves back into a more human-like appearance, your spine cracking at every vertebrae, it had slipped your thoughts entirely. It always took you a long time to understand what had happened after…everything.

But even now, the shouts of the hunt are pointless to the visceral breaking of your consciousness, stuck between leaving bloodlust and knowledge of horror. There’s flesh in your teeth, and you wail before your fingers drag down your face, cupping over your ears. In the back of your skull, the panting of dogged breath echoes; running, blood, blood, blood. It’s a dance of fangs, of pale fur, staining every inch and flooding the back of your mouth. Drinking it down like water.

Flesh—lovely, disgusting, flesh rent and torn to the bone with smacking gums belonging to a square snout.

Who had you killed this time?

By the time the dogs had tracked your scent to your curled body, it was already too late.

“Here!” Male voices shift in and out on the backs of crows, hard and cruel. “It’s here!”

“Get the dogs on it!”

“It’s not me,” you mutter incessantly, not truly understanding what you’re saying as hounds burst through the bushes, all snapping teeth and slobbering tongues your eyes widen in an instant. Panting, your jaw clenches; long whines move your throat.

“What…?” Blinking quickly, the dogs surround you—having to be at least ten of them on their nimble legs and thin tails. Everything is distant to you; separated. A knife could be driven through your heart, and you wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later, bleeding out on the grass.

The hounds are afraid of you.

They dart forward and balk back, your scent driving them up a wall until rabid slobber drips from their maws. Torchlight pulls through the trees—quicker now, running. Fangs nick your shoulder and you yell, shoving up to your backside as the world swirls, shuffling away as the dogs snarl. Their eyes are red-huen. Drunk off fear and order.

Your head darts and shifts, blood dripping off your chin to travel down the flesh of your stomach and navel—so much crimson that the whites of your eyes are violent under the moon. Hands slipping over the wet grass, your face pulls and slackens in delirious confusion as you try to stand but fail. You cry out in sharp pain, and the dogs go wild in their kill circle, nearly attacking one another in anticipation.

You glance down and see the black crossbow bolt sticking out of your thigh.

The scent of wolfsbane in the air only then becomes clear to you, and the realization is slow. Wolfsbane—you’d been told about it by the village priest. It makes beasts of the night dumb and weak; minds unclear.

In a moment of clarity, the reason behind your incurable hysteria becomes clear.

Lungs heaving and eyes far-off, the hunting party bursts through to where you stay, and you look up in animalistic fear. Figures dip and slip into one another, faces becoming demons as the visages melt into twos and threes. You yell out, sniffling and sobbing, trying to back up until the hounds grapple onto your shoulder and rip a chuck out of your arm. Screaming, your hand moves back, shoving at its snout before hands staple themselves to your wrist.

“No!” You wail, injured leg dragging as you’re forced back into a heavy chest. Hot breath fans against your neck as multiple grips pull and touch you—shackling you down with rope and chains. Your throat screams itself raw, kicking and struggling futility. “Let go!”

You’re too weak—too drugged off wolfsbane and blood loss. Rotting teeth move across the canvas of a smeared painting, you can’t focus beyond the riot of your heart inside of your ribs.

Grubby hands snap under your chin, digging into your flesh as you cry, not able to move as the restraints are tightened. A silver muzzle is slapped over your jaw. Dark eyes shimmer as you rage—aggravating the bolt wound until fresh blood forms a puddle on the ground, which the dogs lick their lips at.

“Look at that,” a low, lust-filled voice eases out, and hands around your body tightening as you squirm, head spinning. Silver and wolfsbane. Your eyes snap to fight the sudden flood of fuzzy heaviness in your body. “Pretty little Hell-Beast, eh? Almost seems a bit strange to have the Spector be her. Think that hunter shot the right bitch?”

“Course,” another grunt, a hand grabs the top of your head, jerking it up as your head lulls along with the force. You can barely focus on the words being said. “He isn’t a fuckin’ twat. Killed a werewolf in the next village over, too. Heard he skinned the fucker and took its head for his mantlepiece—just like the vampire skull he wears.” A pause. The dogs are still barking—echoing out in the trees. You can’t feel your legs. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?!”

A shout is sent into trees as your panic breeds with the drug, eyelids drooping as your head is snapped and moved by your hair. Your buggy eyes don’t focus on the man until he steps into the torchlight, the crowd parting for him as the metal of your chains drags and clinks together.

It’s as if the very blackness of night takes human form.

The man, the Hunter, is tall—very tall. He looms like an aloof animal over most of the others here with his dark boots and his black hood, and yet, under the fabric, there is no whisper of his face.

Only the upper visage of a pure white skull, and two long, needle-pointed teeth where canines should be.

“Ghost,” one of the men laughs, groping at your bleeding thigh before you shriek, muffled from behind the muzzle, and weakly kicked out. “Good shot, Mate. Right in the meat of the thing. Gave a good trail for the hounds.”

Ghost blinks slowly, grunting under his breath as the large crossbow in his hands is shifted. He stays silent as your visible pulse hurries on as if you were a rabbit and not a wolf, watching from under the cover of his hood. The darkness of his clothes is blue in the moon—silver buttons down the length of a loose shirt and pants stuffed into boots. The hood is attached to a jacket, which itself extends down to his knees and sways lightly with every shift. The silent resting of weapons and tools is not lost to anyone.

Belt of filled vials and large knives; a firearm over his back, and two pistols hidden on either thigh. That crossbow was still in his hands.

Brown eyes openly dig into your soul, dead as a corpse, and your voice whines as your thigh is finally released with a laugh. Your vision blacks and comes back a moment later as you try to breathe from behind the muzzle, gasping. That skull on his face…you don’t like it. It scares you.

And the Hunter only continues to watch numbly as his wide shoulders stay stationary.

“Get the cage!” Someone roars, and you flinch, shrinking until a dog with short fur comes and nips at your ankles, the man holding you grinning sharply as you sob and shake.

“C’mon—expected more of a fight from you, Spector. Getting bullied by dogs, now? Ain’t that a twist of fate, then. Bet this devil’s whore can’t even walk with all that wolfsbane in ‘er, eh?”

A grumble of chuckles as the rattle of metal is in the distance. You grow more fearful, mind flashing to a burning stake and the trials you’d seen in village after village. No—no they can’t put you in a cage; they can’t put you on trial.

They’re going to make it hurt.

“Say we try it out.” A shadow comes closer and grabs you by the arm, ruthlessly shoving you to the ground. You cry out as your spine meets the earth, arms and legs kept under chains that tangle and screech in their metallic way. The rope that holds the muzzle pulls against your neck until you can’t breathe except in ragged wheezes.

“Go on,” they taunt, some holding back the rampaging dogs just to watch you flail and shimmy. Your face grows hot as you struggle to sit up—shaking so violently you can’t focus on anything but the quiver. “Put on a show for us, Beasty!”

Death would be better than this.

Tears hit the ground as the cage is finally brought into view, the men all groaning and annoyed that you hadn’t even attempted a forced shift or a desperate run into the trees.

Ghost’s fingers, you notice from the side of your blurring eye, tighten minutely around the body of his weapon. You do not doubt that he’s wondering if it would be easier to just put a bolt through your eye right now.

“Get it loaded up,” the Hunter’s voice is accented and gravel-like. As if rotting wood is being peeled back and scraped along gravel, he stares at you for a long moment and then glances at the dogs. “And get those fucking mutts under control.”

“Which one?” Is the low-blow joke, and the ruckus of loud amusement that follows makes you want to die.

It’s not your fault, how do you tell them that? It’s not your fault.

Your throat bobs in an attempt to speak, but you can’t move your jaw from behind the restraint of your face—held tight to you as the men come back over and grapple for you again. The priest was right, wolfsbane makes werewolves sluggish.

You can do nothing as you’re ruthlessly dropped into a silver cage, borrowed, no doubt, from the Vatican itself, and christened with holy water. But it was a funny thing, really, and the dark humor wasn’t lost to you even like this. There was nothing godly about this contraption.

Locked in, you shove yourself immediately into a corner and hunch over, grasping at your thigh as the bolt still leaks fluid in a long trail over the ground. The pain is so great in your head, that the physical agony is little—a bullet wound to a sliver.

Your temple slams into the metal, smacking into it as your eyes shove themselves closed.

Head hurts—hurts. I can’t think. Can’t think. It’s humming, my skull is breaking open.

Bile pools in the back of your throat, but the muzzle keeps it in, leaving you gagging as the cage is lifted with a grunt and carried by long poles; back to St. Francis' Village, no doubt, but you can’t…focus.

“Think you might ‘ave given her too much, then, Hunter,” one calls, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as the crowd follows after the panicking quarry. The large man only gives him a look from the side of his eye and the villager pulls away immediately, awkwardly chuckling before hurrying off after the others.

Brown eyes watch your bare body hunch and spasm, pupils wide as you’re carted off.

He’d been generous with the wolfsbane, truth be told. He’d expected you to be…Ghost’s dark brows pull in from behind his grim mask…he’d expected you to be different.

Humming under his breath, the Hunter watches the torches disappear into the trees and lets his gaze linger on you.

There was something…off.

Blinking, he turns, eyes studying the place where they’d found you with sharp attention that misses nothing—not even the birds that come back to settle into the trees again. Large boots shift through the grass, and as he’s re-settling the crossbow in his hands, his eyes find something glinting.

Watching, Ghost takes another step and brings his body to the item in the grass, hidden, before he kneels. Digging with large digits, the Hunter’s hands loop through the chain of a necklace, dragging it through the torn earth until he can gaze at it fully under the light of the moon.

Blinking in slight surprise, Ghost finds the body of a silver bullet hanging from the confines of a leather strap. Brown eyes shifting to look over his shoulder, the man listens to the cheers and merriment of the hunting party mutely. A simmering understanding brews in his gut. It’s only one that you could know from years of experience doing just as he had—hunting and being hunted in turn with a knowledge of all things dark and unholy.

It could never be easy, could it?

A low grunt later, the man sighs out a deep, “Fucking hell,” and moves to slowly stand, slinking back into the darkness.

—

They kept you in the cage and set it on display in the middle of town for days.

Shivering now from the cold more than the wolfsbane, you stay collapsed into yourself as people come past to poke and prod at you—even sticking knives into the slits of the cage and digging them into you like an animal until your flesh was marked and brutalized.

You don’t remember what it’s like to not be bloody.

The bolt wound was festering; infected. You dare not touch it, because the pain only makes you want to vomit, and if you do, you’ll most likely suffocate on your own bile before the trial ever happens.

Yet, on the fourth night of this, as your eyelids flutter and your body grows weaker, a shadow comes to visit.

“You weren’t born one.” It isn’t a question, but the sudden voice makes you startle.

Eyes locking onto Ghosts’, your mind flies with fear—thinking that perhaps there’s more abuse that you’ll be put through. But no…the man has no weapons on him tonight. Only a long knife at his belt. The mask stays.

You stare, unable to speak as your fingers twitch.

Grunting, Ghost’s head tilts, gaze moving up and down as you curl in tighter around yourself. A cold breeze rips through the square, and your eyes clench closed with breaking will. When you open them again, the Hunter is kneeling by the cage, and holding up something in his hand loosely.

“You going to behave if I take that muzzle off?” You nearly gasped at the hanging image of your necklace—a silver bullet on a leather strap; that dark and heavy thing usually kept around your neck. A reminder.

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, you nod quickly to his question, a desperate, pleading thing without the need to utter words. Please, you want to scream at him, take it off.

Ghost’s eyes are as dark as a mound of dirt, sharply intelligent and filled with an unflinching reality. He doesn’t care what you are, and he won’t until you speak to him and let him judge your character far before any courtroom can. The man knows what a lie is better than any priest.

“Good,” he says curtly, accent far more deep as he thinks, re-capturing the bullet in his palm and standing before he shuffles it into his pocket.

You can’t help the anxiety as Ghost moves forward, loping to the side of the cage with the side of his eyes on you incessantly. It’s obvious how his other hand lays limp on the hilt of his blade that, with only one wrong move, you’d feel the chill of the edge with no time at all.

But the temptation of getting this muzzle off was too good to ruin, and so, you stay as still as you’re able as crows call in the distance and the deadness of the town leaks into your blood.

Ghost moves his free hand and orders, blankly, “Closer.”

You hesitate, body tight before you drag your face closer to the bars, angling it parallel with the metal so the tight bind on the back can be taken up. The fear can be smelt the second your eyes have to break contact with his with the turn of your head—neither of you trusts the other.

Ghost hums under his breath at the sight of your broken body coming farther into the open light of the moon, the whites of your eyes all the more visible from under the slathering of blood and tears. He hadn’t been absent to witness the abuse you’d been put through, even if the coin from his successful hunt was feeding him at the inn, a small window allowed the tight view of your torment at the hands of the people you’d once lived around.

But the reality was that you’d killed people—scores of them—and yet the worst part of it was that he wasn’t sure if you even knew that.

It took four nights for him to break his only rule: never get involved after the job’s done.

But the hunch he had was too important to ignore.

Large fingers latch onto the knot at the base of your skull through the cage itself, Ghost grunting at the sight ahead of him. The rope had been gradually chafing over your flesh, peeling back hair and skin until only the bloody meat was left—Simon had to wonder if the people of this village even wanted you alive for the trial or not at this rate. You’d be dead by tomorrow if that infected bolt at your thigh wasn’t taken care of.

Despite himself, a part of his chest tightens at the sight of the thing sticking out of your leg, dripping a yellowish puss. It had been a good shot, and he had overcoated the bolt in wolfsbane.

Ghost hadn’t expected you to be so susceptible to it—most werewolves only got slower, but you…you seemed to have a stronger reaction. He files that fact away and tilts his masked face to the side.

Grasping at his blade, the sound of a knife being slipped out of a sheath makes you startle, jerking your head back and shoving away even as your muffed whine of pain falls out. Ghost momentarily readies himself for an attack, but the way you force your mangled body to the opposite corner has him grumbling out a hard, “Easy.”

The Hunter raises the blade, watching you with unblinking eyes. Your body shakes; panting. It was like calming a feral dog.

“You want the thing off or not? Have to cut it.” Once more, the man rises and walks over, boots almost silent over the small raised platform the cage had been set on like a trophy, you inside are comparable to the golden coins that greedy eyes touch and run their dirty hands over.

Your mind is a troubled thing as you watch this Hunter and his crude knife come closer, kneeling again, and motioning with two fingers to shift your head.

“Out ‘ere,” Ghost says, brown eyes not letting you guess anything about his true motives. “Don’t have time to fuck around. Guards’ll make a round soon and I’d rather not get caught wide-eyed.”

Your brows pull in, hands clenching and unclenching in your lap as goosebumps travel the length of every limb. You were tired—hungry and thirsty; there were open wounds that burned with infection and ones that were crusted over with dirt and grime. You can’t feel your toes, and the tips of your fingers have long since gone numb.

The thought of getting this muzzle off was like the promise of heaven being dangled in front of your nose. Your hesitation this time is far longer than the first, moonlight glinting off the visible blade in Ghost’s hand as he stares. That mask holds death.

The hood is gone from him—only that pale bone left and sewn into dark, dark, fabric. The sharpness of the teeth leaves your throat bobbing in a nervous swallow as your head carefully shifts to rest on the bars. Bending, you present the knot once more and try not to focus on the way Ghost’s attention is fully on your expanding lungs; the pulse that is seen through the meat of your neck.

But he says nothing before his fingers once more grasp the rope and the tip of the knife slips up. You don’t even feel it before the sudden slackening of the muzzle, and then the thing slips from your face before it slaps the bottom of the cage with a dull thump.

The first thing you do is vomit.

Spine pulling in, your body jerks as the bile that had been in the back of your throat rockets out, restrained hands slapping the ground as the acidic concoction leaks from between your torn lips. Face on fire, you choke and retch for what seems like minutes before you can finally breathe in the damp air—the innate shame and disgust rolling through as you cough raggedly.

It’s only after you’d forgotten the man kneeling outside that he seems to remind you of his presence with a grumble.

“Breathe. It’s no use if you can’t speak to me.”

A weak, quivering glare comes across your eyes, saliva dripping off your chin as your tongue moves to lick at your lips. But the brown gaze is as immovable as stone. Finding it pointless, your hands come up and delicately touch the base of your skull, only making you flinch when the fresh blood pools down and over your neck, licking at your shoulders. Tiny droplets fall to hit the metal one at a time.

Ghost’s fingers twitch as he puts the knife away.

“Who bit you?” You stare at him, hands falling before your wrists rub at the aggravated skin of your jaw. He shifts his head, voice slow but heavy. “Speak.”

“...I’m not a dog,” your voice is scratchy, hoarse. You send a small glance his way, mouth open and nostrils flaring in an attempt to bring in the oxygen you’d been lacking.

“Really?” A hidden eyebrow is slowly raised. “Hell, coulda fooled me.”

“Damn you,” you whisper, not meeting his gaze as you shuffle back. The crossbow bolt catches on one of the cage’s bars and you bite on your lip to stop the shrill yell that threatens to exit. Head moving, you lightly slam your skull into the wall in pain.

Breath hitched, you clench your trembling jaw tight.

“Speak or don’t,” Ghost grunts, and he makes a move to stand. “Your funeral.”

A spark of fear stabs you as he begins to shift, and you can’t explain why. Perhaps it was because it was the first conversation you can remember having lately that wasn’t one-sided or on the edge of a blade.

“W-wait,” you stutter, blinking through the blood. The Hunter doesn’t slow, and then he’s on his feet and fixing the gloves over his fingers, flexing his hands before his foot begins to pivot—

“Please, don’t go,” your voice is thin and pleading, echoing through the street. “I’ll answer your questions, any of them you want,” the sentence cracks through a dry throat, tears welling. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.”

Ghost had half of his body turned away before it went rigid; the side of his dead eyes flash to you, swirling with specs of moonlit silver. A hunter and a werewolf lock gazes, great beasts respectively brought together in seconds that seep into slow minutes of delicate need.

Knowledge and company. Understanding and a horrible fellowship.

The Hunter’s eyes twitch in their ever-narrow resting place, glancing away before he mutely moves back to where he was before.

He wastes no time.

“Who bloody bit you?”

You stifle a pathetic sigh of great relief, taking company with a man who had shot you not days before. Yet the ability to speak and be heard was a commodity that was dimming each and every day.

“It was already fully turned,” you speak quickly, tongue tripping. “A big wolf—a gray one with eyes like the sky.”

Ghost glares to the side. Gray? There were no contracts for gray werewolves with blue eyes in the area. Only you—only Specter. The next question is just as stiff.

“When?”

“Three years ago,” your lips move. “Only three years, I promise.” Brown eyes narrow slowly, fingers tapping the fabric of his pants once before he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Ghost’s jaw clenches, mind working through the hoops that need to be jumped.

To you, the questions might seem pointless, but to a hunter, they were important—very important. Werewolves who are born afflicted with this moon-drunkenness are different from those turned by a bite. Not only are shifts from turned werewolves more violent, more deadly, but they rarely know their own actions from that of the frenzy under their skin; those that are born as such are rarely out of control, unlike your faction.

The only question now was if Ghost could condemn you to death when it was obvious your human form was entirely different and you had no semblance of an idea of what was going on. Was it even his problem to care about? Even looking at you now, the man blinked away from cuts and inflicted injuries—the muzzle on the ground.

The blood and the bolt.

He’d known it had been a foolish play to bring all of those townsfolk with him on this hunt but he needed their knowledge of the terrain; he hadn’t passed through St. Francis’ before. At the time, Ghost hadn’t been averse to assistance as long as he got the job done in his own fashion: capture or kill, the contract had stated. Rarely was he known for capture.

Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was already wrong about this.

“Show me it,” the Hunter grunts, staring you down, a deep anticipation growing in his bones. He had to make sure you weren’t lying.

You lick your lips, face pulling with every twitch and sway of your form. The black at the edges of your vision was coming back, and you blinked quickly, chains dragging before you shifted your back with a quivering breath. The punctures were difficult to see through all of the gore, but Ghost made do as he grabbed at the waterskin at his waist and the rag hanging from his belt.

Flooding the fabric in the lukewarm water, he hums out a firm, “Don’t move. Cleanin’ it,” before you feel the press of the rag to your back.

Gasping lightly, you almost jerk away before the sensation becomes a nearly welcomed one—the drag and slight scrape of rough material. Your averted eyes dip lower, staring at nothing as your heart momentarily slows to a normal pace. Ghost cleans the areas where the swell of scar tissue is the most obvious, and, one by one, the violent groves spread out like a slash of paint over canvas. Along the left side of your waist, the blood gives way to a dented ‘v’ shape of healed punctures. Deep, dragging; a point to where your side was almost ripped away before it broke off swiftly.

Ghost’s dark eyes fight the need to widen, and that hidden blankness stays.

A great gray wolf with blue eyes…

His mask tilts, head shifting as his gaze moves slowly. Gloved fingers twitch to touch them, moving in an almost examining way that befits a surgeon and not a decapitator. Your breath is held in the back of your throat, but you sag nearly entirely into the bars of the cage, growing more unsteady by the second.

The scent of infection is so strong it makes your head burn, and you’re overtaken by it as Ghost’s presence suddenly disappears.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before you understand that you’re alone again, but when your limp neck finally turns to wonder where your silent captor is, you are greeted with nothing but moonlight. Blinking through the sludge behind your eyes, the sinking in your gut was stark and sudden—like a knife dragging itself from gullet to navel.

But all you offer is a light whine as more blood moves to cover the places where Ghost’s rag had just cleaned. You were scared of him, no doubt. A hunter through and through down to the vampiric skull on his face and the shroud of death at every inch of his form.

He’d shot you and drugged you with wolfsbane. Found your necklace.

So why had he talked to you?

Your head is too muddled for this, too delicate. Like the crimson under your nails, it dries and flakes off of your brain as the lack of distraction breeds stored agony. There wasn’t anything left to focus on besides the upcoming trial, your death, and the pain that doesn’t let you sleep except for now, on the brink of not rest but unconsciousness.

And at the sound of a key being slotted into the silver of your cage’s door, only then does your body slump with the weight of doom.

You don’t even feel the hand that grasps at your ankle.

—

The sway of the horse makes your teeth clatter with every clop of hooves.

Your conscience mostly comes and goes, only staying in thin seconds where you feel the press of clean bandages on your afflicted flesh and the tipping of warm broth into your mouth. Grass under your head.

Blankets being shuffled over your clothed body when you shiver.

When you’re finally able to speak, when the horse is moving along and hands keep your back stuck to a strong chest, it’s a low, garbled, “Ow.”

Ghost barely blinks down to your head as it slumps to the gait of his horse, glancing before his attention returns to the thin forest trail ahead of him. You’d made noises in your sleep often enough—this was no different except for the fact he felt your shoulders flex.

Slowing the horse with a pull on the reins, the dappled mare settles to a walk.

“You up, then?” Ghost hums, his hand around your waist tightening as you groan under your breath. “Good. Thought I was dragging a corpse—would have wasted my bandages.”

Your eyes shudder as they open into the light, having to focus on moving them before the sting of the sun makes them water. But you do, and then the confusion outweighs the numb stinging of tended wounds.

Head shifting, you look behind you slowly with wide eyes as the horse under both of you snorts.

Brown eyes watch you before a dark brow twitches upward. “What is it?”

You just blink, mouth slightly open.

“Where…am I?”

“Forest.” Ghost states matter-of-factly.

If you had the energy to glare, you would have. Seeing that nothing will get the man into a proper conversation—he was a brick wall even now—you look down at yourself and land on the scarred forearm that keeps you secure on the saddle. Ghost’s gloves were still on, but the sleeve of his dark shirt had ridden back to his upper forearm, and in the wake of pale skin, you find the black ink of all manner of warfare.

Werewolf skulls; vampire fangs and fire. The slash of inkish chains with skeletons.

Your lips thin, your senses slowly becoming your friend again as you stare at the snarling face of a needle-hewn wolf. Eyes tightening as the horse moves to the left, your body follows the reactive action before Ghost’s pressure tightens once more, visibly veins behind the pale flesh. You move on, seeing the thin tunic and pants over your body—feeling under that, the bind of wrappings with the scents of mashed yarrow leaves in the fabric.

They’d been re-applied recently, too.

“Stay still unless you want to re-open them,” Ghost utters, eyes scanning the trees for unseen threats. It was midday by now, the sun high above the trees watching the both of you on your trek to seemingly nowhere. “We’re far enough away, but I want more distance before I take the time to close them fully.”

“The trial,” your arm moves up, fingers grazing the side of your nose before it falls back down. Ghost can feel the air heat with unease. “The…the cage?”

“Trial was two days ago,” he draws, thighs shifting over the saddle. “Give or take.”

The confession isn’t as shocking now that you have woken up here, but the lack of remembrance on your part of that time startles you. It’s a blank slate—just like the aftermath of your shifts. You don’t like not knowing.

The next question comes out with a haggard cough, sweat dripping off your nose. “Why?”

“You’re going to tell me ‘bout the werewolf that made you,” the Hunter grunts. “And you can’t speak if you’re lit up like a pig on a spit. Took you the night we met in the square.”

Through it all, Ghost barely looks at you—always his attention keeps to the trees and the shadows that linger; seeming to listen. He knows more than anyone that they do.

The horse continues on, your pain surfaces again, and with a shuddering breath, you fall into a fitful sleep once more. The arm around your body tightens, and the warmth it lends is accented when Ghost’s shifting gaze glances at the top of your head. He wears an expression he can’t name yet.

When the throws of fever pull their curtains back for the last time, it shows you the slats of the attic above your head, wood polished and clean as the heat of fire moves over your body. Pulling a large inhalation of air into your lungs, you blink softly as if clearing away cobwebs with a broom—willing sense to return in the few seconds it had flown away.

The furs are warm.

In the village, you weren’t anyone of standing. A simple woman—unwed, and, thus, unimportant due to the era the world sees itself in. It wasn’t all bad…namely, it hid your affliction far longer than you could have hoped it did. You had a small piece of family land passed down to you on the edge of the village, and that was where you stayed. Nothing fancy; a hearth, a large, single-room property with a garden and a well. You were known to keep sheep, a fact that had caused perhaps a few hysterical chuckling fits when, every full moon, one or two went missing, but it gave you the ability to accumulate money and, more importantly, an alibi.

Who would suspect a werewolf to own sheep?

But this home already had a more detached feel to it—something removed. The air was sterile, somehow. Groaning, your face tightens before you rise to the palms of your hands, muscles quivering to keep the strength your stubbornness gives to them. Half-vertical, you turn and study the area.

Square, the four walls are stone with mortar and clay to keep the rounded blobs together. You’re on the ground floor, a staircase to the far right while the bed is stuck into the left corner; a nightstand sitting void of all except a single chamber-wick holding an unused candle. A sturdy table with one wooden chair, a stone fireplace set into the same wall the headboard is level with, and a large oak door.

There are runes written on it.

You can’t make sense of what they mean, but when you see them, your tiny-pupiled eyes slip to the rest, all placed at windows or near some point of entry—unassuming things until you realize why they were red in color.

Your shoulders tighten, and whatever bit of magic moves through your skin lets your nose pull to the scent of human blood.

You clear your throat and look away, licking your lips with a dry tongue. Moving your toes under the two bear furs that rest at your abdomen, you notice the lack of earth-shattering pain that accompanies it, and, shifting a hesitant hand, you grab the edge and push it back a bit farther.

Bandages with perfect ties meet you, void of any crimson staining.

Truth be told, you expected more of a Hunter’s home—skulls; trophies. The town always spoke of burnt bodies strung up on crosses that mark the property of those in this profession, a ward and a sign of grim hope. Vampires mostly, wasting away in the brutal sun. Others as well. Werewolf fur and witch bones shoved in blessed boxes.

This place is almost normal, you think, thighs shifting over the dip of the bed as your finger runs the white wrappings where the bolt should be. Your mind dares not go to how he got the thing out of you, and at the stretch of sutures, you take your curious grip off of it entirely.

Looking around once more, your brows furrowed tightly.

Where was the man? The hunter responsible for your current predicament? Ghost. With his vampire skull mask and his black attire—a hellhound with dark ink and intentions. More importantly…

Why were you still alive?

Your memories come back slowly as you stand, bare feet moving to the floor as the tunic over your upper half falls to your knees at the verticality of your spine. They creak a bit, the bones, at the ability to stand fully upwards and not be impaired by bars of silver. A strength seeps through you slowly.

In the deafening silence, you clear your throat tinily and lightly itch at the clean flesh at the back of your neck where the muzzle sat; rubbed raw now scabbed and healing with the spread of natural oil balms. Taking in a slow breath, you step forward with a heavy limp and watch the door, glancing at locked trunks and cupboards, eyes blinking. Your muscles ached, but the sting only served as a way to remind you that you were still here—living. Few in your position were granted second chances.

You’re about to study the runes at the door when you’re called to with the creak of the stairs in your left ear.

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Your head snaps over, blinking quickly.

Ghost carries the leather holders of his twin pistols in one hand, the bodies of the weapons in them hanging as he comes to ground level one step at a time. Brown eyes glance over through the confines of his skeletal face-covering as he walks to the table, placing down the items.

“Keeps the spirits out—smudge ‘em and the house gets haunted,” he grunts. “Rather not bleed myself again to get the runes copied.”

You stare in mild shock, sound sparking from the back of your throat. “...Right.”

Side-eyeing the markings, you shiver and step back from the door, silent as Ghost seems to focus on his task at hand—looking over his weapons.

Large hands running the metal and wood, the pistols in his grip shift as the drying light of the day streams in through the curtains of the windows. He touches them intimately, knowing every grove and dip until he tilts one and rubs away a slash of dirt from the barrel with his bare thumb.

You quickly turn awkward, looking down at yourself and the bareness of your lower legs. It wasn’t lost to you that the man was the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

“You shot me,” you grumble—not unlike someone who had a knife to their throat.

“Affirmative,” Ghost says nonchalantly. You get a slow, blank glance and nothing more.

“Have you drugged me?” You ask, heart speeding up. There wasn’t anywhere to go—not without an escape plan and with Ghost in front of you.

“Wolfsbane?” The Hunter shifts his thighs, boots moving over the hardwood. “Negative. Not yet.”

“Yet?” An attitude seeps in, lips thinning.

Ghost sighs under his breath, slipping the pistols back into their holsters. “Forgetting about how we met, Love?”

“No,” you huff. “Not really.”

“Perfect.” Eyelids pull down slightly. “Don’t.” Ghost nods his head to the table's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sit.”

“I told you I’m not a—” A sharp, numb look makes your snappy reply stall itself, and you stand there for more than a minute before you find the pointlessness of this.

You limp forward and sit in the chair.

Looping your arms around your waist, you glare to the side as your skin crawls at the unblinking eyes that stare. Ghost rolls his shoulders, tilting his head.

“What do you know about the werewolf that bit you beyond appearance?”

“Nothing,” you chuckle hopelessly, moving a finger in confusion. “I…I don’t know why you’re asking me about it—it’s not like I had a conversation with him.”

The Hunter blinks at your sudden confidence, unable to separate your form now from the one in the cage; blubbering ceaselessly in a grassy clearing. But lesser pains always bring out someone's true colors. As long as you told him what he needed to know.

Ghost explains with a sheen of dull annoyance. “Every turned werewolf holds a connection to the one that bit them. It’s pack mentality.” At your blank look, his brows pull in, the mask shifting. “You telling me you’ve never come back into contact?”

“...No?” Your lips dip. “For three years I’ve been by myself with this.”

Brown digs into your face, a small sheen of confusion slipping in to tighten them, around his biceps, Ghost’s fingers twitch.

You lick your lips, speaking up in the impending silence. “I don’t remember anything after I turn. Is that normal?”

“For you?” He mutters, still not taking his eyes off of you. “Yes.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going to happen,” you shrug. “But at the very least I want to try and understand why I’m like this.” You open and close your mouth for a moment. “Before you kill me, anyways.”

“If I wanted you dead,” Ghost grunts through a half-amused tilt of his head. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “...You would be.”

“‘Capture or kill,’” you huff. You’d seen the flyers; heard from word of mouth. “Right.” You sigh. “They’ll track you down, you know. They’re not going to just let you take me.”

“They won’t make it through the forest. Bastards would get lost on the trail.” The Hunter moves until he can grasp the waterskin from the counter, dragging it over with his hand. He tosses it to the main table in your direction after he comes back over, and you hesitantly reach forward and pull the top off. Ghost changes the subject back to his studies of your condition closely. Dark eyes slip down your front as your lips part to take up the liquid. “Before your shift, tell me what you see.”

Your throat bobs as you drink the water, thirsty as it soothes your dry mouth. You hum, but the inquiry makes your hair rise. Your arm wipes at your mouth as you lower the waterskin, a small thankfulness in your heart. “It’s less of what I see and more of what I hear and smell—blood; metal. River water. I…” Your chest tightens. “I feel my bones breaking and I hear howling mixing with whispers.”

“Whispers?” Ghost leans, eyes alighting with dim interest. “What’re they saying?”

“I try to block it out,” you whisper, not exactly answering. “Makes it go faster.”

A long nothingness ensues.

The impending night grows deeper, and then Ghost finally speaks again after you begin to shift with unease. He nods firmly, tilting his head as if it’s already been decided.

“Next full moon, you’re going to listen to them.”

Your horrified face snaps up. It’s a moment of stuttering before you force out a heavy, “What? No!”

He’s already turned, moving back over to the stairs and placing one foot on the steps.

“Ghost!” You yell, face devoid of blood.

He side-eyes you. “Go back to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

And then the same man who shot you in the thigh with little remorse disappears into the attic.

—

The Hunter was a strange beast.

The days the two of you spent together were mostly silent—left with tight stares and tense shoulders. Clipped sentences.

Ghost, for what it was worth, gave you space in this small house; as much as you could get. He kept himself up above while you stayed on ground level keeping yourself occupied. You’d gotten spare trousers and socks, a jacket, and the bed was practically yours with how your scent rolled off of it now. Yet, you had never been permitted to go outside.

You’d seen the land from the windows—careful of the runes, of course, and it wasn’t anything… ghastly. A vegetable garden, a single-stall stable with a dappled mare, and a beaten-down trail out the front.

No livestock.

No bodies.

It was only when you had become ever more curious about your lupine curse that you braved the stairs to the attic—one week into the impromptu stay. It’s funny due to the fact that Ghost had never said that you couldn’t go up there sooner.

You stand now in the flat room with a sloping roof and find the man making bullets. It’s a long table, parallel to the walls in the center of the room; dark and covered in all manner of books and tomes. Grimoires tied up and locked. Racks of weapons with markings and blessings tied to sheets of ribbon…it was something you’d never seen before.

Studying it now, the contents were a dark fascination.

Ghost fiddles with his silver shell, mixing in gunpowder into the hollowness. He doesn’t speak until you do, but he knows you’re there.

“Tell me more about werewolves,” you speak through the air, and he waits before answering. “The ones who are born with it.”

“Rare,” Ghost comments, and you’re stuck by how willing he is to tell you about this. He puts down his bullet and picks up another. “Harder to find, even harder to kill. Unlike you, they know what goes on when they’re running ‘round. Fuckin’ nightmare to pick up the pieces—bloodbath.” You thin your lips. “Not all of ‘em are murderous, but they’re unpredictable. Can’t help but make packs.”

“Instinct,” you murmur, coming a bit closer. Ghost pauses, looking at you before huffing in the form of a gruff ‘yes.’ Your wondering continues. “But why am I alone then?”

“That’s the question,” the hunter says slowly. “Need to figure out why.” Brown eyes slowly move to you. “‘Fore more people end up dead. Or turned.”

“Can I,” you stop at the table, standing opposite the man. “Can I turn people, too?”

“No,” is all you’re given. Ghost’s eyes glint. “And I’d rather you didn’t bite on me to try.”

Your face heats.

Your attention focuses for a while on how he works—prepares for something unseen. He’d said he’d kept you alive to help him find the one who bit you, but he’d also cleaned your infected injuries, bandaged you, and fed you. Kept you warm. Safe. It was far more than could be said about your village.

However, it was strange how Ghost’s stark muteness was something that you found in the darker hours, a small comfort. When the moon was coming in from the windows, and you hid from its rays as if being stalked down, he once found you sleeping under the bed on the floor because of it.

He never said anything, just offered you a silent hand and helped you back out with a slow blink and a tilt of his head.

There was a distrust, obviously, but there was also an unspoken nearness. No one would make any sense of it—you couldn’t either. It was like a wolf and a raven; something built on hesitence but necessity. You didn’t like Ghost’s mask or his brutalist profession of shooting his wolfsbane-coated bolts, and he didn’t like that once a month you turned into a rampaging werewolf.

Comparable things, really.

But even here, in this workshop in his attic, you saw the need for this—for hunters. If you couldn’t stop yourself, there came a time when you had to be stopped. Truth be told, you expected it to be a quick and final end. Maybe that was just a foolish hope.

A silver bullet would have always been your final song, you believed. Perhaps the very one that had once swung from around your neck; the one you’d never taken off until now.

But then, perhaps that would have been your own brutalist profession.

“Thank you,” you nod. Ghost pauses, fingers stained with gunpowder. He blinks at the bullet in his hand as you continue. “I know you don’t care about anything beyond your work, but if you hadn’t gotten me out of that cage they would have burned me alive. Skinned me.” Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have been kind. Job or not…thank you for getting me out of there.”

“I shot you,” he utters, voice gravel. Ghost seemed confused.

Your lips flick. “I never said I forgave you for that part.”

A smooth chuckle wafts out over the attic and your own softly mirrors. Your head tilts somewhat quizzically. “But, about that…did you mean to put so much wolfsbane on it?”

Ghost shakes his head, grumbling. A small sense of honesty leaks out. “...Expected you to be bigger.”

You blink, and then, a few seconds later, a loud snort echoes like a ringing bell.

The Hunter's unimpressed look only leads you to find him all the more enjoyable. “Shut it. Fuckin’ hell.”

A hand is waved from your party, dismissing the harsh snap. “Sorry, sorry.” You puff out amused air. “Spector not up to your expectations?”

Ghost nearly rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t mind your company, at the very least he knew he needed to keep an eye on you for any potentially forced shifts or hostile attitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find you so…different from your muzzled counterpart, your shared physical inhabitant.

He could almost call you endearing if he wasn’t so numb to the sight and scent of reality.

“Sightings were far between,” Ghost grunts. “Here-say. I took an educated guess—better to put something like you out of commission than drag my way out of a forest without legs.”

“No apology?” You try, tilting your head.

“None,” is the drawn response. “I don’t have regrets. You’re alive.”

Your fingers touch the outside of one of his journals, tracing the bumps and grooves of age and wear. You hum, but don’t reply. Most of your pains have been pushed back now, even if you still weren’t up to full strength. Food and rest helped, but the anxiety that perpetuated only lengthened the healing process.

When you can’t trust even yourself under the drunkenness of the moon, it only makes your fear of the sun worse. Everything made you afraid—most of all your mind; most of all, the future.

“Why do you want to find the werewolf that turned me?” You have to speak this, have to push. Your curiosity demands it.

Ghost puts the bullet down and grabs a rag from his belt, mask turning to look your way as he brushes off his hands. He pauses, looming with that gargantuan height—natural intimidation in the span of his chest and the trunk that makes up his front. You find yourself in his shadow as he rubs at his fingers with the rag, taking it away and slotting it back into his belt a moment later.

The man’s heat leaks into your body as he blinks over, glancing your form up and down in a single look; keeping a respectful distance but still making his attentions known.

He stares. “If it keeps biting people, there won’t be any villages left to take up contracts from.”

“Money?” You frown.

“Principle,” Ghost counters, chest rising and falling steadily. “There needs to be a middle ground. Too many feral werewolves, too few people. Cut off the head.”

“Ominous,” your form turns to his, itching at the back of your head again—the scabbing skin. “If what you said was true, how do you know the thing isn’t already dead? If it hasn’t tried to get to me, what was the point of making me?”

“Because you hadn’t left St. Francis’ by the time I put a bolt in you.” Ghost grumbles, rubbing a hand on his bicep, itching above the fabric of his tunic. He stretches with a grunt—and you see his shirt ride up and the pale skin underneath. You gawk for a moment at the length of scars and brutal muscle.

“Charming,” you dryly utter, stuttering in a brief second of pulling back your senses, but the Hunter continues on, ignoring you.

“That was where you were turned—your territory. You stayed because your leader is still close by waiting.” Legs shift, and all of a sudden, a body is over you, hands are on the base of your skull, pushing your own away as brown eyes dig into the injury you pick at.

Your breath hitches, tensing for a second as your spine straightens. You watch widely from the corner of your eye as Ghost runs a careful hand over the flesh. He puffs a breath, chest moving in a grunt that is both commonplace and expected, yet the brush of his chest to your shoulder is not.

You restrain a shiver, nostrils moving to the overwhelming swell of leather and gunpowder. Bone fragments; the tang of whiskey.

His skin as he runs a thumb over the edge of your wound.

“It’ll start cracking.” Ghost utters, and through his fabric, you feel the brush of speech. “Have to apply more balm. Stop messing with it unless you want stitches soon.”

It takes a moment more of his surgical study and a small clearing of your throat before you can speak. Your mind changes the subject for you.

“So…if my bite can’t turn anyone,” you breathe, nearly sagging as Ghost’s fingers catch in your hair, shifting it under his attention to get a better look. He listens, you know. He wasn’t good at talking, but he always listened. “Why did they muzzle me?”

For a brief instance, you think you feel the Hunter’s fingers jerk a tiny amount—some reactionary muscle twitch that leads your body to still.

Ghost can’t say why he did that, though perhaps it was the sudden flash of the injuries that he’d wrapped on the road back to his property that went over his eyelids. Or the cage—your pleading face aching for whatever small sliver of brutish company you can get.

The silver bullet that he still had in his pocket, attached to that leather cord. He knew the purpose; the intent. Just as he knew the scrape of scabbing under his fingertips.

“Control,” he grumbles, and it’s all he’ll say.

Your burning face is somewhat down-turned, letting him do as he must, study what he can. He hadn’t made any moves to endanger you, and besides the upcoming full moon, there was nothing here that screamed imminent danger. Danger as a general, yes, of course. You were a werewolf in a hunter’s home—it would always be…your eyes flutter when his fingertips drag over your scalp…it would always be danger….dangerous.

Ghost doesn’t think you notice it, but your eyes are drooping.

He watches after the slight shock wears off, a tiny smirk flickering the hidden skin of his lips after he realizes the reason. If you had a tail, he’d assume it would be moving in a soft arch by now.

The man was mildly amused at that, and before he moved away fully, he had to stop himself from uttering a sarcastic, ‘like that, then?’

He had to remind himself not to get attached to whatever…this was. He was using you as bait, as some key to his problem. Not a companion. The distance here had to be firm and heavy-handed.

“The balm is down in my packs,” he grunts, leaving just as his name implied before you had the chance to gather your bearings and the lack of caressing heat. You startle back to the attic room, eyes wide and face loose before Ghost’s retreating footsteps echo on the stairs. “Don’t bloody use it all, then.”

The front door opens and closes with a pull of weighted wood.

—

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, pacing alone in the middle of the night down in the living room

The full moon was tomorrow.

“I can’t do it,” you itch at the back of your head, peeling at the nearly healed flesh harshly. Your nails dig into the soft tissue, drilling like a knife. A bead of blood slips around your fingers, but it doesn't stop you.

It’s late—late enough to know that Ghost should be asleep by now. For days, the paranoia, just like always, builds until you are nearly as mute as your Hunter. No more curiously searching his attic; no more questions about his job or how he got into this business. Brown eyes had been lingering more as the days went by, this strange companionship growing. You knew, in his own way, he was…worried.

So silent, even he had been getting noticeably uneasy. Shifting legs and quick glances. Nights where you hid under the bed from the moon until lunch came around, Ghost speaking as easily as he could to try and coax you out to no avail. You, a feral dog with white-rimmed eyes.

At supper, only hours before this panicked pacing, you had told something to Ghost that made him double-take.

“If I can’t stop it…I need you to shoot me. In the head.”

He’d never answered, but his eyes seemed to get ever-sharper as the hours continued on. More tense. Ansty.

But…that was his job, wasn’t it?

“Can’t do it,” you murmur. Blood slips down your wrist. “It isn’t right—”

“Spector?” Ghost’s voice had become so familiar to you that the only thing that made your heart skyrocket was the sudden call of it. Your gasp is sharp from behind a panted breath, hand flinching away from the crater you were steadily digging in your skull. A long string of blood trails into the air as your fingers jerk away, and it’s only then that you notice the deep pangs of pain.

Your eyes shudder for a second as Ghost’s form makes it to ground level. He comes over slowly, attention staying on the way the moonlight makes the crimson stains glint from the dripping line seeping into the sleeve of your tunic. He blinks, and you both stand.

The man’s skeletal adornment was missing, though the fabric under remained. A loose sleep shirt and pants, stained by the rays of night.

“Let me see,” he sighs under his breath, a tiny rasp telling of the sleep he’d been awoken from.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter. He doesn’t seem to care, grabbing your wrist and pulling the limb away as his body takes up presence behind you.

“Was already awake,” Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing in hidden worry. You calm down a bit at that, one less problem to worry yourself about.

The Hunter, quietly, leaves for a second and grabs his pouch near the door. With a muffled command, he nods to the bed until you’re backing up and hitting the back of your knees off of it, sitting.

Ghost lights the candle on the nightstand and opens his belongings with stiff glances your way. He noticeably doesn’t ask why you’ve harmed yourself like this.

“I can’t,” you say it like a plea for help. “Ghost, I can’t do it again.”

Hands fiddle with clean bandages and take out his waterskin. The man douses a rag with the liquid and comes over, shifting onto the bed and lightly turning you so your back is to him—legs half hanging off.

The hard press of cold water makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip.

“It hurts,” you push out. Ghost knows you’re not talking about the newly opened wound.

“Breathe,” he says to you, seeing the way your sides expand with heavy lungs. Brown eyes flutter from the push of his large hand to the warmth of your shaking flesh. “Tell me about your home, yeah? Heard you lived in your own place.”

The question makes you double-take.

He’s asking me that? Here? Now? Hours away from perhaps another catastrophe?

Yet, you can’t help the slippage of your tongue as Ghost’s fingers rub into your scalp. The rag is lessened, and, soon, the material is rubbed gently over the sore itch of weeping skin. You fight a whimper and reply with an addled mind.

“It…it’s quiet. Calm. I always keep the candles going because I don’t like the dark.” Ghost works quietly and quickly.

“There,” he grunts, glancing at the flickering light of the candle he lit. He’d have to remember that. “And?”

“I kept sheep.”

He pauses, and, without meaning to, a soft scoff bounces off the confines of his chest. It catches your attention far better than a bullet could. Ghost shifts a needle and thread out of his gathering of items, taking away his limbs only for the short while it takes him to loop the two together.

“How many?” The masked man asks, amusement gone just as quickly as it had come.

“Only a handful,” you whisper. Your mouth opens and closes, glancing over your shoulder as the candle-light spills out over the room; casting shadows over Ghost’s face, catching on his long eyelashes. Those browns of his glint like tree trunks covered in dew.

“Please,” your words are muffled. Eyes wide and fearful, there isn’t anything that can console you on this. “You need to kill me.”

There was a dichotomy to you—a violent thing. You didn’t want to die, no, you feared it heavily, more than the moon, but the truth was that you couldn’t keep going through this. The unknowing. The breaking bones, the blinding pain. The understanding that nothing that you do can stop it.

“It hurts, Ghost,” your breath stutters. “More than taking off a limb, more than slicing yourself open and ripping out your intestines—it burns more than the light of the moon.”

The Hunter listens through all of it. He sits, he stares, and he hides the brimming sense of concern behind his dead eyes.

With a pulling of his eyebrows, Ghost’s free hand moves upwards and grabs your chin. Freezing, you study this phenomenon from over your shoulder, face on fire with eyes wide to the pale skin visible to your view. You hadn’t realized until now, but this was the most you’d seen of the man’s face.

You could make out the point of his crooked nose—the strength of his jaw under the form-fitting fabric. Cheekbones and the heaviness of his brows. Wisps of hair. He had eyes like a cat, you had to admit; something sly about them despite the numbness that seemed to extend bone-deep.

But his hands had been kind to you.

Firmly, Ghost’s fingers run your flesh, and he blinks softly before a low sound echoes in his throat. He pushes carefully on your jaw and shifts your head back forward so he can help you. When he lets go, your heart quivers in your breast

“I’m ‘ere,” he mutters, and you feel the first stitch enter the thin flesh of your head. You take down deep breaths, focusing on the scrape of his fingertips and not the point of the needle. Ghost can understand the fear of it—of pain. It’s instinct. He tilts his head and pushes out, “I can only ask for one full moon from you, yeah? No more. I just need one.”

“And if I can’t find the werewolf?” Your voice vibrates with emotion, staring down at your hands as Ghost’s chest brushes your spine. The scent of him was addling your brain; the rub and slide of his hands.

The Hunter’s jaw clenches softly. “...Then I let you go.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting, but anything from the time you’d gotten a bolt through the thigh was unknown territory, and, like a dog without a leash, you’d run into it. Your brows furrow, blood oozing down your neck before Ghost’s grip shifts to place the rag back again, swiping away firmly.

“Go?” He nods, but you can’t see it. “But what about the hunt?”

“I can manage.” The stitching pauses. The air is broken up nearly a full minute later. “You’re not evil.” Before they start up again as if nothing was uttered aloud.

The confession makes the sting in the back of your eyes start up again—a strong thing of confusion and vulnerability. Ghost continues his task, pulling together your skin one suture at a time until the injury is fully closed; clean.

“Chin,” he lowly states, and you allow him to tap your jaw, shifting it up so the wrappings can loop above your ear and over your forehead—securing them.

Even far after the blood has seeped through, the two of you stay.

—

Come morning, you already feel wrong.

Your body stays in bed, shaking—sweating. A large pain flairs in your chest over and over like a pulsing well in the earth, skin twitching with the spread of blood. Ghost sits beside the bed all the while, having dragged over his chair. He leans back into it, one arm over the side, hanging with the thing ever so often moving to rub at the back of his neck.

You don’t think he’s moved since he brought it over last night; since he got another candle to stick into the holder—push back the dark. To watch, to study, or just to stave off your rising anxiety is another question.

It’s only after the fourth time you try to rip at the stitches at the base of your skull that he finally grabs your hand and holds it silently. Now, his thumb moves over your knuckles—his gloves back on.

At noon, he tries to suggest eating.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks.

“No,” you say instantly, sweat dripping over your temple, your body partially buried under blankets. “No, I’ll just throw it up.”

Brown eyes glint. “Just one bite?”

Your mouth is already salivating—thoughts of wet flesh and blood in the forefront until you whine and shove your face into the pillow; panting heavily.

Whispers dance in the shell of your ears.

I’m here.

“Go away,” you whisper quickly to them.

Ghost pauses, hesitating. After a moment, his thighs tense with the action of movement, thinking you’re speaking to him. Something swirls in his chest, but he starts to stand nonetheless.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” Both of your hands latch onto the Hunter’s wrist, fear a needle stuck in your gaze. “No, not you. Stay, please.”

A silver cage covered in blood slides across Ghost’s slightly shocked look, but he only licks at the corner of his mouth and slowly leans back once more.

“Not going anywhere,” he says, accent dipping. “Tell me what you’re hearing, yeah?”

His hand slips back into yours, and he presses into your pulse softly, counting. The sun continues across the sky.

“I don’t like how it sounds,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s wrong.”

“Focus,” Ghost breathes, looming closer. His grip squeezes once. “It can’t hurt you.”

You shiver, eyes tightly closed as tears burn the back of your nose. “It’s howling.”

A suddenly gloveless hand spreads up your cheek, resting there and pushing back the sweat that pools. It’s calloused—scarred. You whine, head spinning.

I’m waiting.

Find me.

“I don’t want to,” you utter under your breath, words an amalgamation of slurring gasps.

“Spector,” Ghost calls, head moving closer. “Eh.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” your hurried panic is similar to a mind overdosing on wolfsbane. “Gotta go away—gotta get out—”

“Spec!” The Hunter’s quick bark makes your eyes pop open, and you lock instantly with brown orbs.

They’re tight, unblinking just as always. They offer just a few moments of clarity.

Ghost holds your head still while the rest of you shivers with cold sweats, you can hear the blood inside of his veins; his heart pumping. The scent of his skin was addicting to the point of memorization on the airwaves. You watch, gulping down breaths as your throat bobs.

Eyes dart you up and down, fingers spreading out to offer what little comfort he can. The man wonders if he’s completely in over his head.

Ghost pulls his face-covering up to his nose, and your heart skips beats at the sight of ravaged skin and stubble, scars spreading out like your own. Long ones, short ones, burn marks, and hyperpigmentation. He wasn’t pretty, but he was real.

Oh, he was real.

His grip on you strengthens until all you can focus on is him.

Ghost blinks, and you see his lips move. The gravel of his voice was never more clear. “Fucking hell, keep that head on, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here. I’ve got you.” He sighs out a low breath, thumb running your undereye as the small dribbles of tears begin to sneak out. Ghost murmurs. “I’ve bloody got you, alright? Let it happen—we can figure it out.”

He’d grown fond of you over the course of a month. You were curious; not pushingly so. Honest. Good. You’d been dealt a bitter hand, and damn him if his stone heart wasn’t stretched thin at the raw fear on your face. This wasn’t your fault, but he needed to find who turned you and stop them before it got any more out of control than it already was. If more unstable werewolves went running through the woods, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the territory alive.

“When you turn,” Ghost says as clearly as he’s able. “Go. Don’t fight it. I’ll find you.”

“Promise?” You ask, a weak flicker coming to your lips—eyes vulnerable.

Ghost nods once, and it’s all you need. “I’ll find you,” he repeats. “Doubt me?”

“No,” you ease, clearing your throat. “But…one more thing?”

“Anything,” the Hunter instantly says.

“Just don’t shoot me in the thigh again.”

When the claws start protruding from your nailbeds hours later, you’re bolting to the door with only one last glance at the Hunter and his half-pulled-up mask. Booted feet hitting the wood as he stands, he lets you go even as his thighs tense in a need to run after you. Patience was his beast to tame, but it seemed to have left him in the form of a woman disappearing into the tree line.

There is companionship in broken things.

Your body slips into the forest just as the creak of your bones begins to shift and bend. You fall into a heap, hearing the gargling of marrow under your skin like a call to sea. An urge grows to infect you; a feral need to run and hide. Biting back a shrill scream, a hoarse yell escapes instead—flesh rippling as your mouth opens, fangs breaking the supple mushiness of your gums as blood floods like a river.

Find me.

“Ghost,” you whisper, hands snapping to your head. “Ghost, please.”

Your bullet, you want your silver bullet.

A rabid scream rips from your throat, and back in the house, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists as he glares at the open door. He growls under his breath, eyes tightening in a certain type of anger that brews in his gut. The nights your shuffling woke his light slumber were more common than when you hadn’t, and every utterance was clearly heard to his ears. It had become a curse to him—how you’d met.

A regret was seeping in, a care, and now, as he forces himself to back up and head into the attic, Ghost clenches his jaw tightly. So unaffected by the horror of monsters, he was now at a loss of sense for this growth of feelings.

He wasn’t dull, he knew that some of the contracts he took marked him as a tool and not a person of stable mind. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and he would continue to do them for no other reason than they were the orders he was given.

But you had broken a piece of that off of him, somehow, someway, your face had seared itself into his retinas—speared him at the brutality that your community had treated you with. The muzzle. It was cruel, and while Ghost was precisely that, there was a limit.

He did his job, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his problem.

You became his job, and the one who turned you was an add-on. Maybe if he justified it to himself, he could understand his actions better.

But he was already sprinting to grab his gear when the first howl shattered the night.

—

A white beast prowls the forest.

It stands on two legs, but it isn’t human—isn’t natural. It’s taller than a grown man is; snout pulled back in a soundless snarl that puts dogs to shame with rows of teeth so sharp, they look like pale knives. Its feet—large, splayed—soundlessly skate the ground until clawed fingers slam to the earth.

A nose inhales the scent above the dirt, tongue lulling as a shaggy tail lays limp behind a curved spine. In between the erect ears, under the thick skull of the werewolf, the rolling bumps of a brain spark. A pull.

Find me.

Your eyes are tiny black dots—and they blink once before you rise once more. A great growl moves inside of your chest, the large collection of hair around your neck standing on end.

I’m waiting.

But there’s something that keeps you here—standing in the grass as the moon shines atop your head, your fur nearly glowing even with the stain of bloody injuries. The remains of clothes are about a meter away; only strips of what was.

Your gaze looks over your shoulder, and your gargantuan frame lumbers backward until you can stoop to them—nose once more sniffing with your arms reaching.

Your fingers twitch, blackened claws digging through the ground as a near purr echoes in your throat. The scythe-like additions card across the strips.

Gunpowder.

Leather.

Whiskey.

Something you can’t quite name, but feel drawn to despite the tightening noose at your throat. There was something there you can’t focus on…something that you need.

Your drooling jaws snap, saliva coating the fangs until they drip off one at a time to stain the grass. Body shifting, your head lowers until your wolf-ish visage rubs against the fabric, licking at the sides of your gums as delicate grumbles slip out of your mouth.

A far-off howl leaves your frame freezing.

Eyes slipping back into the feral-inhumanity of a wild animal, your body jolts up, gaze to the forest trees and the rustling of bushes. The swell of rain on the clouds is in the back of your nose, and the previous attraction to the ripped clothes is lost as simply as it had come.

You were being summoned.

Ears twitching, the entirety of your body refuses to move to the sound; tensed and ready to spring on anything that moves if only to let off the spike of anger at the lack of control. The pull grows stronger, and it feels like something is trying to drag you away into the wilds.

This was the sensation you were always trying to fight—the one that led to the aggression; the hunt. You knew that if you followed that howl, whatever was left of your human sense would be gone entirely before you could stop it.

Yet, this time, there’s a nagging need to find the owner, and you can’t remember why.

Your large head tilts, feet spaced as the curve of your spine grows more aggressive—hunching forward as you snarl at nothing, claws shaking as your fur is more bristly than sleek.

Like pure white spikes.

In the back of your head, a thin sliver of a memory slips in. Fingers on the back of your head, caressing calluses and dark, dark, eyes. Clean bandages and gentle touches.

I’ll find you.

If the side of your vision picked up the shadow shifting from far off into the trees, your curled lip never turned that way. If your nose twitched to the heavy weight of a man’s sweat, it never shifted to point as a mutt would to the rustling bush.

Your body bolts after the resounding echo of a wolf’s howl, and it’s no later that Ghost slips after your clawed prints to follow.

—

Crossbow in hand, the hunter’s mask gleams in the darkness, his pale eyes twinkling. Bending down, he glazes at the long pushing tracks of your form—seeing the spray of dirt to the side and the broken branches. Ghost blinks, shoulders tense before he swiftly stands and continues on. The firearms at his thighs lightly rattle, and the bolts in his crossbow are already laced with wolfsbane; silver tips smelt a week ago.

He passes a river with only a single glance at the tossed rocks from the bed, sloshing through the water as the bottoms of his pants get weighed down. Ghost’s mind is on one thing only: make sure this plan won’t get you killed.

The bolts aren’t for you—the silver bullets aren’t for you.

He grunts under his breath, the dark woods casting phantoms over the ground. The Hunter’s legs shift through tall grass, and he carries himself with the ingrained confidence a man of his station requires. If he were anything less than a monster himself, he would have died ages ago. Ghost shoots and lets others come up with the questions, but he could never be called dumb.

Seeing what fast glimpse he had of your shifted form after the last time, he was struck by how erratic it acted. Snapping head, twitching ears, and roving eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Ghost would have called it rabid.

Yet, your actions with his borrowed shirt were…body-stilling, to say the least about it. It had made his gut swirl.

“Give me a trail,” Ghost utters to himself, brown eyes still picking up the dash you’d taken. His agile feet splash through a puddle, the beginnings of raindrops hitting his head.

The man grabs at his hood and pulls it up stiffly, frowning under his mask.

Rain would wash away the tracks.

“C’mon, Love,” he grinds out, body hunched. “Leavin’ me to do the dirty work, eh?”

It’s too quiet—even a collection of minutes later of hard hiking, the trees barely move. There aren’t any birds; no animals beyond the black bodies of crows in the far-up branches, waiting, watching with obsidian eyes that don’t blink.

Ghost isn’t off-put, but the length of his strides gets far tinier, carefully stepping over twigs and rocks like a soldier at war. Then again, he was at war. And if he was caught unawares, there wouldn’t be a bullet to pull out of his side, but, instead, a chunk missing.

His ears were almost ringing from how hard he was focusing.

Brown eyes shift from one area to another, and then, suddenly as if a deer, he freezes.

Ghost’s body winds up, fingers twitching from the stark trigger discipline of his crossbow downward instantaneously. No one but him can explain what just happened, but he knows when he has to listen instead of act. Stuck in a clearing not unlike the place he’s first met you, his feet rest shoulder width apart and his eyes stare blankly into the trees ahead.

Your tracks end here.

From behind him, just as the large raindrops slap the side of his bone-ed visage, the small crack of a twig makes his ears twitch.

A low snarl sets his hair on end.

Looking over his shoulder, Ghost is met with the same color that he’d become so accustomed to in a full month completely blacked out. Void. Lifeless to anything besides rage and bloodlust.

Your white fur was infected with dirt, blood, and leaves—a mosaic of ferality ingrained into your body; pale fangs snapping. The beast slips through the treeline, slapping a veined hand into the soggy earth.

Ghost only watches, eyes a mystery.

His finger shifts over the trigger, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates.

The man looks into your glinting orbs, the dripping saliva on your lulling tongue as your esophagus pants for breath. One hesitation, he always knew, would mean death. One mess-up.

You’d asked him to end it, he shouldn’t feel remorse, guilt, perhaps—he was still human, despite his appearance, but remorse was deeper. It left wounds that were harder to lick clean again.

…So why isn’t he sending a bolt into your forehead?

Ghost remembers the times he’d found you under the bed, your shaking, and the way you hadn’t allowed him to change your bandages the first few weeks you’d stayed with him; didn’t want him to touch you. The nightmares and the small smile you’d gain when he’d spew his dark, sarcastic words as if this was a joke. How you’d always thank him under your breath for the food he’d give you, hunted by his own hand.

A silver cage. Crimson blood. The sight of your pleading eyes when you’d told him to shoot you.

Maybe the two of you were far more alike than he’d dare to admit. And he currently won’t, not even on his deathbed. Not even now.

Ghost watches, and he waits.

He can’t do it.

Your body slinks closer, stalking with the sound of anger, nearly rib-shaking in its volume. Ghost’s jaw clenches, and his body shifts to face yours head-on. At the sight of the crossbow, your snarl turns into an air-biting rage, saliva flying through the rain.

“Spector,” he keeps his voice low, even. The sight he’d seen as you smelled his clothes had to mean something. Ghost tilts his head, moving out a hand from the side of his weapon in an appeasement gesture. “I’m not going to shoot you. We have a job to complete…get those fangs away.”

He wonders if ordering you around will even work. You had told him before—you’re not a mutt. Ghost agrees. No mutt was the size of a fucking boulder.

The werewolf’s claws drag—goring the mud as if a pig to tear apart.

“Spector,” the Hunter tries again. But something’s different about his tone; he drops it, letting it pull on a softer string. “I’m here to end this. We’re here to end this.” He blinks and lowers the crossbow completely. “Breathe. The night can’t last forever.” A breeze whips the trees. “I made you a promise.”

There’s a second, he thinks, where he can see something shift in your gaze, pupils slightly widening above the deluge that wets down your fur into a sopping mess that hangs off muscle.

“That’s a girl,” Ghost grunts, taking a small step closer. “Never told you,” he utters, eyes locked with yours. He sees your nose twitch minutely. “But if we get this right, Spec, there’ll be no more painful shifts, hear me?”

Your dog-ish mouth is closed, hanging off every word as Ghost comes even closer.

“I kill this bastard,” the hunter breathes, gloved hand still outstretched, nearing closer to the near-silver of your form. “The moon’ll have no claim on you. She’ll let you off the leash, Little Wolf. You get to decide when it happens.”

He thinks he has you now, back to some state of recognition in the addled brain that tries to see him as prey; as competition. Ghost’s fingers are close enough to almost touch you, but just before he can brush his gloves over your wet fur, your mouth opens in a display of untamed challenge. Your growl is enough to make the man unconsciously reach for his pistol, and in the time it takes him to realize the fault of it, you’ve already rampaged forward with an unhinged jaw.

Ghost’s eyes widen, taking a quick step back.

Your legs push off, and you shove the hunter out of the way just before the fangs of an immense beast can clamp down on him, your own finding the shoulder of gray, thick fur.

Fighting as wolves do, Ghost only needs a moment to recover and get to his feet, though the sight in front of him can rival any that he’d seen before. His crossbow clatters a few feet away, sending the bolt off into the trees with a metallic ‘twang’.

The two werewolves roll around the pouring clearing, snapping teeth and rending claws drawing blood that’s deep enough to swim in to the green grass. White and gray meld together—blue eyes like a knife to Ghost’s chest when he takes it in from between the sound of tearing fur.

“Bloody fucking…” the man trails, staggering as his palms slap to the pistols at his side. He blinks, shouting in more of a bark than even a dog could imitate. “Spector!”

The wolves pull and rip the other to shreds, flesh torn and limbs grasping for purchase. Bodies are slammed to the ground before getting tossed to the side, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Ghost watches crimson stain your fur a pinkish-red.

He can’t get a good shot.

The werewolf that turned you sinks its claws into your sides, dragging them downwards as you yowl, eyes tiny with aggression before your jaws connect with its snout, biting down with more force than a horse’s hooves. The monster screams—a garbed thing of fangs and saliva.

Just as easily as it called you here to it, as it stalked your Hunter, it bashes your body back into the earth and takes you by the scruff of your neck. Eyes wide in that lupine way, you lock on Ghost’s profile before your body is lifted, and tossed away violently.

Spine slamming into a tree, you hear the cracking and bending of your bones in your ears just after you hear the sharp shout from the man in the clearing, body dropping to a heap into the grass and mud. Angled head flopping back and forth, black infests the edges of your vision, coughing up blood that seeps from between your gums and slips down the back of your esophagus. Fur and flesh are stuck at the base of your throat.

Whining, your limbs drag and pull futility, eyes flooded over with crimson and fogged by rain. A great roar worries the air, sending long shivers over your spine as you try to rise to your limbs, a five-fingered hand slamming you back down.

Just before the fangs can clamp your throat, two great booms burst through the forest.

The wolf atop you reels back, great bellow escaping its throat when you can finally drag your head to look over. This beast was clawing at its chest, shaking its large head in an arch to try and dispel the shock of having two silver bullets entering its back—the gray head snapped around to Ghost, who held his twin pistols aloft with eyes burning with anger from behind his mask. An avatar of vengeance; a bringer of death.

The orbs inside of your sockets widened, nose twitching wildly as you bleat a quick warning bark.

Blue-Eyes rises, body far larger than yours would ever grow to be—on two feet more powerful looking than a bricklayer many years into his craft; tall enough to reach to the sides of black-shingled homes and pull itself up. Ghost takes one look and growls under his breath, knowing there would be no time to reload the weapons in his hands.

So he drops them and pulls slowly at the cruel blade in his belt until the gleam winks in the low light like a curved smile. Setting it in his hands, the small flicker of a sharp smirk on his lips is lost to you.

Yet, there isn’t a chance for some brawl between two beasts—there’s only the flash of pale fur and the final crunch of a body hitting the ground.

You bury your fangs into the wolf’s neck; the one responsible for all of your pain and torment spanning years of isolation. You feel the body seize as it drops, the last remnants of a dying brain trying to fight the inevitable nothingness that ensues, and, you only hold on the harder, the bloodlust seeping back in with every drop of life pooling into your locked jaw.

Your throat releases tiny growls of pleasure, biting a bit to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of a chance that something living was walking away from this scene.

Ghost pauses, and in the back of his head, he knows he should stop you. Brown eyes see the animalistic sheen of enjoyment at a fresh kill, the way you pull at the flesh until chucks peel away from a gurgling wolf. Even when the thing is long dead and the rain still slaps the earth, you barely let go until you get a hold of the meat and tear with a backward jerk of your snout.

“Love,” the Hunter sheathes his knife, taking a step forward. The blood was pooling under your body. How many of those were treatable? He had to know. “Let me see what’s—”

The eyes that lock on him are not yours.

Up to your ears, the entirety of your face was awash with the stain of life, dripping off the whiskers at your cheeks; your chin.

Before he can utter another word, he finds himself on his back with a snapping snout right in front of his face, two dead eyes staring deeply into his own. Ghost sucks down a quick breath, hand snapping to the large wrist shoving down on his chest.

He pants out, gravel accent far more deep than it was before.

“Easy, Spector. Easy. Eh—focus on me.” Your tongue licks at your fangs, body shaking. Ghost pushes out, “That’s it, then. It’s over, yeah? You did it; let's pack it up and head back home.” He grunts. “Recon even dogs get cold in weather like this—the bed’s waiting. Get a nice fire going.”

Ghost sees your face move closer, and his hand minutely shifts to the vial of wolfsbane on his belt. It wouldn’t kill you, but it could put you out of commission until your body shifted back into its proper form. He could carry you back—that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

But he was worried about your injuries. Even now the droplets of blood roll off of you faster than the water can.

Too much.

Brown eyes crease, darting a look down.

“Fuck,” he growls, seeing the carnage and the open meat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you checked out—you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

He can see the conflict; the internal fight.

Your mouth moves with fast pants, claws stuttering over his gear futilely. You blink rapidly, shaking your large head in fast increments with small snarls.

“C’mon,” Ghost says slowly, fingers looping the vial. “Keep listening. Know my voice is utter shite, but only you can tell me it.”

Your head drops to his chest just as the wolfsbane is popped open, and, for whatever reason, Ghost pauses. He waits.

You take a long inhale of his gear—of the leather and the gunpowder, and just before the Hunter can dump the vial over your skin, the long blackish claw on your finger loops the bottom portion of the fabric under his bone attachment.

The man’s breath hitches as you let it rest along his nose bridge…holding it there as you drag your head upwards as if it were an impossible chore. Your mouth dribbles out gore to his cheeks, but the Hunter stares upwards into your eyes as they soften in a lupine way.

Inexplicably, you let out a bone-rattling sigh and slump into oblivion.

—

Come morning, you sleep under the spread of large fur blankets—clean bandages over your bare frame as the man has tended to you for hours. He mutters for you to slip your arms into a spare shirt after he finds your eyes open, not uncomfortable by your nakedness, though he wants you yourself to be at ease.

His brown eyes are creased, and you can’t remember what you’ve done.

You comply with small grunts and moans; more sore and cut up than you can recall ever feeling as a large tunic is slipped over your head by scarred hands.

Gunpowder.

“What did I—?”

“You finished the job,” he says, sparing you a glance as he shifts back with his eyes averting themselves from your visible legs. The sun seeps in through the windows. “It’s morning.”

You blink slowly, and the man eases you back down into the furs.

“I’m tired,” your voice yawns out—weak and brittle like the hope you’d had that this plan of his would work. Eyes half-closed, they blink at the hunter with a soft kind of care that you can’t remember showing before. Whatever pain medicine he’d given you, it was working. The underlying itch was still as strong as ever, though.

“Tired is good,” Ghost nods slowly, standing still until he crosses his arms and sets his feet. He’s in a fresh shirt and pants. There’s blood under his fingernails; traces smeared over his flesh. “Means you accomplished something.”

“Don’t think that’s entirely true,” you breathe. A pause. “...Why is your mask like that?”

It was half pulled up—showing off his lower jaw and the stubble. The scars that you already have memorized. Ghost shrugs, blinking those dead eyes of his.

“Ah,” he grumbles. “Forgot. Here.”

He reaches up and slips the thing off in one motion. Your loose brain takes a moment to realize the entire face you’re staring into, but the second it does, the image is engraved into your mind forever. You make a noise in the back of your throat.

“Better, Little Wolf?”

“W—” Your lips stutter, new sutures pulling tight. “Why would you…?”

“Hungry?” Ghost asks, quickly changing the subject. “Know you like that venison that I caught.”

“No,” you breathe. “No, I’m not…I’m tired, Ghost. My head hurts.”

A hand sweeps over your forehead, staying as you sag into it with a hum and a fluttering of your eyes.

“Bloodloss,” the Hunter murmurs. “Normal. Go back to sleep; take however long you need. I’ll be here.”

The bond between the two of you has strengthened to that of a silver rope.

“Stay,” you plead under your breath, already slipping back into nothingness with no promise to wake up again soon. “Hold me, Ghost?”

“Simon,” he grunts to only himself, knowing that the words are lost to you. Perhaps that makes him all the more eager to share it with you when you’re better. “Stay still.”

It wasn’t like you could protest.

The broad man slips in, shifting the furs until you’re covered back up and your forehead is to his chest—keeping himself closest to the door where the runes still sit in their bloody glory. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear them humming him a tune.

No song was better to him than the one of your breath at this very moment. Alive. Moving. There were many times in the night that he thought...hm.

“Better, then?” The dry tease slips out.

A kiss to the side of his mouth is what he gets in answer, and he doesn't say a peep more until he knows you’re back in the clutches of a dream—a good one, he knows, because he watches your expressions like a loyal guard dog would.

Ghost, Simon, rests his lips on the top of your head, and in a delicate murmur, eases, “You did good, Love.”

There was much to do, but for now, all he had to do was hold you a little bit tighter and let his stone heart beat a little bit faster.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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aouiaa · 1 month

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Reflect

Masterlist

— Synopsis: When all the leads dried up, Ellie is forced to accept the heart wrenching reality that she’s never gonna see you again. Until two years and half later, the unexpected happens. People don’t come back from the dead so, How did you?

SERIES WARNINGS: Tlou au + Heavy mentions of Death and death itself + Heavy mentions and depictions of violence + Flashbacks (Flashback with E + R are both 19 and in present 21) + Established relationship between (E + R) + Mentions and usage of weapons + Angst (with little comfort) + Mentions of sucidal behavior + Self-deprecation + Depictions of depression + Mentions of Anxiety + Mentions of PTSD + Mentions of grieving + Mentions of survivor’s guilt + Torture sequence + Mentions of blood + Descriptions of corpses + Mention of cannon game violence + Fighting sequences + Mention of stalking + Fluff + Light humor (MORE TO BE ADDED)

Pairings: Ellie Williams x Female! Reader

Total Word Count: 13.7k+ (Ongoing progress)

Maybe in another universe, we don’t spend time apart becoming two different souls, and instead one.

CHAPTERS

Chapter one — Tormentor

Chapter two — If I ever were to lose you

Chapter three — I’d surely lose myself

Chapter four (Finale) — Acceptance?

Series taglist: @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @woahshhh, @cinnamonmilf, @ellie-07063, @bready101, @mina-281, @san8ny, @teawithnosugar, @bubbles6813, @me-and-your-husband, @bbglmfao, @syrenada, @maenews, @diddiqueen, @hrtreuptakeinhibitor, @abbyspussyslurper, @elliewilliamsrealwifey, @onlinelesbo, @hsangel64, @blossomt0wer, @skylerwhitwyo, @mcqueeferson, @craz1er4you, @lia-winther, @isitadinosaur, @elliesbitchh, @natashasnoodle, @lillysbigwilly, @millinorrizz, @elliesswearjar, @clittor, @scintiale, @abbysleftbicepp, @ashreblogsnow, @vqxen, @zoehxnji, @a-little-bit-of-everybody, @tphmnv, @elliewilliamgfooc, @whenlostinthedarkness, @ellabssucker, @elliesexual, @moonsofartemiss

Ellie Only fics: @herelieskrisy, @mikellie, @slaysksmska, @mina-281, @teawithnosugar, @kitkatkittycat111

𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃: 3/31/24 — 22:01

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itsmepage · 4 months

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His Dead Bride

Musical! Beetlejuice x Plus size! Dead Bride! Reader || This fic took me 6 hours to write with no proofread so bj lovers I hope you eat this up like a buffet. (Also all characteristics of all ver of beetlejuice is Reference here, but mainly musical ver)

Summary: After the events with your ex-husband, you’ve believed you’ll never feel loved again Beetlejuice turn the tables for you

Fluff & Smut

Warnings: murder, murderer ex-husband, revenge, may or may not have corpse bride/Constance Hatchway vides, beetlejuice being a pervert,(maybe reader too), talk of flirting/sex, touchstarvation, talk of death/afterlife & life, oral(fem receiving), thick thighs kink, praise kink, swearing, meantions of demons, mentions of exorcism, kissing, nicknames, glorification of scaring people, & beetlejuice’s mommy issues

Art Credit -> @crazycometspecular on Tumblr & Tik Tok!!

Smut means mature rating!! You are responsible for what you consume!!

In your life, you couldn't find a single someone to love you: not a single one and you tried so very hard, and just when you thought you found the one, he betrayed you. On your wedding day; a day that was supposed to be so magical, so heartwarming, settling in on someone that you loved and he took away from you without a second thought all because he thought he could. He thought he was all big and powerful and that he just did what he wanted. Just because he wanted your riches? not. He was not going to get away with it. You made his nights restless: he did not go a single day without seeing your horrified face, the face you made when he killed you. But you didn’t there, once he committed suicide: you wasted no time getting exercised at the church you haunted for years. Now he was at the room of death for the dead in the netherworld. You got your sweet revenge, but at what cost? Your once beautiful and young face was gone, your wedding dress was ruined and you smelled of a dead raccoon. Your life ended with no one by your side. You died alone as you feared.

Now you sit in your once beautiful grown, now covered in must and dirt, and cry: physically feeling your heart break, your shed-up veil barely hiding your tears “What’s got you in a twist babes?” You heard a voice say. You looked up to see a man with the brightest yellows you’ve ever seen, his entire outfit was covered in green and black dirt, and his green hair spiked up to the sky. He looked like he’d been here for centuries; in a weird charming way. “Leave me be!” You requested turning your face away from the demon. “That bad huh? It is a human!? Do you need a bio-exorcist?? Because I’m good at that!” The demon said excitedly, speaking with his arms and sitting down next to you: smiling from ear to ear. So that the infamous Beetlejuice; you heard his name once or twice when you died. “The demon that can take away the living” is murder from what you understand. Other dead folk, practically begged you not to ask for his help, fortunately, for you; you were too angry and stubborn to let someone take revenge on your ex-husband. “Yes.” You simply answered him, “But I already took care of it.” You continued in your saddened state wiping away your tears. “Really!?” Beetle said in surprise, “What did you do? Did you kill him? Did he scream? Did you make him bleed?” He overly questioned with curiosity floating around you like an excited crow.

You’ve, kinda, of opened up to him, telling him how you got karma on your ex-husband. Beetlejuice was very impressed; he didn’t many new souls who went to instant haunting, so far they make their victims end themselves in life and after death. That was just the start of your relationship, he didn’t leave you alone ever since: and surprisingly, you didn’t hate it one bit. You like his rambling. The fact he was able to talk about anything for hours without stopping was lowkey impressive to you: that and all the power he has, making clones of himself, making a fire in his hands, and making anyone move with a simple wave of his fingertips. The many things people hated about him are what you love about him. You enjoyed his company very much: he was your reminder that just because you're dead Doesn’t mean you’ll end up alone. It brought you so much comfort and you found yourself clinging to him more and more every day, and it didn’t help that he flirted with you. Spending time with Beetlejuice made you realize what a prev he is, he respected your boundaries for the most part despite the fact he did one dip kiss to piss your dead husband off when the two of them just so happened to pass by the exorcist rooms. You slapped him for it, even though you love that he did that. He also firted how he loved your body type as if you were the goddness, Aphrodite. Yes they were inappropriate, comical, and yet still so sweet. You didn’t know how he did it but he did, sometimes you wish he’d get down on his knees and praise you rather than saying it. You imagine his hands holding down your thick thighs as you squirmed around his head, gently squeezing him.. God that image makes you see stars; but you wanted more than just his lust. You wanted his love, all of his love. You wanted him to hold your face as he kissed your tears away, you wanted to hold him, to dance with him, to scare people together, you wanted to marry him; and you wanted so badly to tell him that. But you were afraid. It wasn’t him you were scared of, nor the Netherworld, it was the fear of rejection. Never being able to talk to him again. It was stupid you knew that, you were past life to worry about something as silly as that but how can you not be afraid? Beetlejuice was the very few people that talked to you in the netherworld you didn’t want to lose that, you didn’t want to lose him over something as silly as that, so you’ve tried your best to keep to yourself which was somewhat tolerable when he was simply just talking to you, making you laugh, but today he invited you to help him get back at Lydia’s bully, his human friend upon her request; and you could never say no to him.

All three had a blast, from what started as a small inconvenience to the perpetrator to a general life-threatening scenario, safely assuming they wouldn’t be messing with her for a good while. You liked meeting her, she was a sparky teen with a great sense of style and you’ve enjoyed the friendship with her and Beetlejuice like a fun uncle with his rebel niece after thanking the two of you, she sent both of you on your way. “Boy, oh, boy! That was a lot of fun! Wasn’t it toots!?“ you smiled brightly at him, becoming so fond of the nicknames he gave you. You nodded your head, just deciding to let him ramble. “Oh, the look on their face!! Haha!! - and they screamed like a dying pigeon!“ he laughed thinking about and you just giggled along with him, taking a seat in an empty area of the Netherworld: you sighed with glee, just happy to be in Beetlejuice’s presence. He leans against the wall next to you, calming down from his laughter. “I love that kid, I would kill to do that again.“ he said sitting down on the ground while you sat next to him, wondering whatever pleasant memories came to his head. “How did you two meet?“ you asked him curiously, your hands being placed comfortably on your lap holding your bouquet of dead flowers. “Oh babes that’s a looonnnggg story..“ he exaggerated. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested in hearing.“ you’ve told him, encouraging him. “Well..“ he set up, his position being in the crisscross style. “It started when-“ He begin to yep again, making hand movements to help you put the imagery in your head, you’ve tried your best to best to listen but you loved seeing his facial expressions as he talk and what was joyful, cocky and settle, softly turned into sadness, loneliness as well as his green hair. It turned into a dark blue when he mentioned Junno. His mother. You quickly became concerned, he moved his knees to his chest, hugging them like a lost boy who needed love; and he did, he needed so much of it. “BJ, sweetie..“ you’ve placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He looked at you with baby bug eyes, a crimson blush on his cheeks at the small nickname you gave him. “Are- ...“ you paused. “What happened? Can you tell me? Please?“ You asked gently, asking him to open up to you, and he did. Beetlejuice opened up to you, talking about his mother Junno, how horrible she was, how he resented her, what happened to her, to him.. and yet how he still kinda misses her. “It’s stupid I know! But she was the most company I ever had here... I was pretty much back on my own... Until you showed up.“ he smiled gently at the mention of you. You’ve felt your deceased heart skip, if that was even possible, at such a simple action; and what turned a simple action into an affectionate gesture. He turned over at where you sat and hugged his arms around your legs as he rested his head on your lap his once blue hair turned pink. At least you know he’s not messing with you.

Your hands were in the air, not being sure what to do for a moment. Slowly, you place your bouquet to the side, slightly moving to other arm to his pink hair: to softly brush his tangled up hair he mumbled softly leaning in closer to encourage your action; wait.. was he purring? You’ve moved your hand to the back of his scalp and realized he was. Goodness gracious, he was just so damn cute, is this what demons warned you about? This big old cat? Your chest gets up and down slowly, controlling your breathing feeling a small heat to your core, making you realize how touchstarved you are. You were a little ashamed of yourself; here was Beetlejuice, he opened up to you, he was vulnerable and all you wanted to do was shove his face between your legs. Maybe you were the pervert, you tried to push it to the side, just being focused on his purring, and you scratched his scalp and rubbed his shoulders with your other hand. “You’re probably not gonna believe this toots..“ he said out of the blue, moving his body to kiss your stomach as if he was reading your mind and was trying to tease you. “I am..“ he kissed you again “.. completely..“ he gave another “..and thoroughly,“ and another “in love with you...“ he then kissed you on your upper thigh ignoring the fabric that was in the way of your skin. “I don’t I felt this way about anyone before.. well not in such a way...“ he confessed pressing his lips on your left thigh, simply just giving you pepper kisses and it was driving you crazy. Your breathing got heavier as he seemed he didn’t want to let go of you, showering you with his affection and you practically melted. No one, not even your ex-husband displayed this kind of love; you wanted to laugh at the irony. That a horrifying demon already treats you so much better than a living human on earth. You had to die, to win basic affection; that’s funny. But you couldn't laugh at that right now for Beetlejuice was clouding your thoughts. “Oh BJ..“ moaned softly, as he stopped to look at you making sure he heard right. “I feel the same..“you confessed your hands moving to his warm cheeks. “wait really...?“ he asked, sitting up slightly. “Yes! Of course!“ you laughed over how adorable he was. “I wouldn’t let have you kissed me like this if I didn’t..“ you assured him, playing with his flush-out hair. “does that mean I get to continue?“ he asked before he leaned back down to kiss you again. “Please..“ you whispered to him and that alone can turn him into a wild animal.

Beetle lifted your dirty wedding dress as he began to kiss your rotten skin, them being more harsh and slobbery than before, but he knew not to be too rough, he didn’t want to break you yet. “God, what was that asshole thinking?“ he said as he kiss you, knowing he was referring to your ex. “You’re..“he kissed your thigh “So..“ he placed another “..fucking..“ and another “gorgeous..“ he said placing a slobbery one on your inner thigh. “Jesus.. If you’re this breathtaking when you’re dead..“ he said moving his lips to the other thigh. “I can’t image what you looked like on Earth..“ he breathed, licking the right side of your inner thigh. “B-beetle..“ you moaned. He laughed at your action, planning to tease you more by grabbing your thigh and placing it over his head, licking only your upper thighs and not your aching lips. You look down to see: that his tongue isn’t shaped like a human’s, it resembles a fat worm, with stripes patterns. It felt cold against your dead skin, similar to the cold hand to death; it was such a nice contrast though, it sent shivers down your spine. Beetle went back over to the other thigh, his lips threatening to give you a hickey if that was even possible anymore if your ability to cum was even possible anymore, but you didn’t care. You’ve leaned back against the wall, not sure if can even take his teasing anymore, gripping the fabric on your dress as you couldn't hold back your whimpers. “I know you want it, baby..“ Beetlejuice breathed so close to your core. “You want it ssssoooo.. bbbadd..“ he growled. “All you have to do is say one word..“ he said “Just say it...“ he kissed you with his tongue “One little word.. just say it again,“ moaning when tasted your juices on your thigh. “one... more.. time.“ - “Please..” you breathed out, giving him what he wanted. You moaned in surprise when he dived straight into your womanhood, not caring what it may look like now. Beetle was working wonders on you, sucking and licking you up, you’ve instinctively placed both legs on his shoulders and gently squeezed his head while yanking on his hair. God he was right, you wanted it so bad. Your moans were loud and pornographic, it was possible if the entirety of Netherworld could hear you, but you were more than happy to scream it to the rooftops since you’ve finally found someone who loved you this much, and was making you feel this good: demon or not. “B-beetle.. Darling-“ you moan out, somehow feeling a knot in your stomach “S-sweethreat.. I think I’m gonna..“ he didn’t stop, making his pace faster as he kept her thighs on him, “G-god..! B..beetle!!“ you arched your back as you came on his tongue, squeezing his head as you did. Beetle helps you ride out your orgasm, licking you clean before he overstimulates you; that’s for another time.

“You sounded realllllyyy sexy babes..“ he said lifting your gown back down; your cheeks went warm when you saw your juices on his face before he wipe it away just to lick it off. “like a porn star..“ he continued as sat next to resting his head on your shoulder. “What a position to be in after eating someone out.“ you commented he just laughed, laying his head back on your lap, his legs taking up the rest of the bench you sat on, as you started to pat his hair again, allowing him to take your hand in his. It was rough but warm, he leaned it towards his mouth and gently kissed your knuckle before simply just holding it close to his chest. “Can I tell you a secret Beetle?” You whisper to him. “Hm?” Was all he could muster, relaxing in your touch. “That was the first that anyone has ever shown me love.“ you admitted to him. “What..!?“ he asked in general shock. “You mean the world was so blind, a dead guy had to be the one to eat you out and tell how beautiful you are?“ -“Apparently so!“ with your head cleared, you were finally able to laugh at the irony; he laughed along with you, gently rubbing his fingertips on your hand. “Well..“ he said. “If it makes you feel any better,“ he paused for a second. “me too.“ he admitted as well. “oh my dear,“ you said: brushing some hair off his face, leaning down close to his mouth; “That’s means I have to return the favor.“ you teased. “What you mean you have to!?“ Beetle joked as you smelled his breath which was similar to a morning one before you placed your lips on his, smiling ear to ear as you kissed him. Eventually, you’ve pulled away, not resting you smile as much he didn’t rest his. “Mine..“Beetlejuice breathed, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “Mine, dead bride.. all mine..“ he kissed you again, and you pulled him closer in the kiss: both of you being so happy to call someone your own. To never be alone again.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice #musical beetlejuice x reader #alex brightman #alex brightman beetlejuice x reader #fluff #smut #dead bride reader #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the animated series #beetlejuice the movie

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delcakoo · 2 years

Text

enha when you’re on your period * ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

requested by kuma <3 (i lost the ask woops)

❃ PAIRING ! enhypen x gn!reader

❃ GENRE ! cavity inducing fluff n’ some comedy

❃ WC ! 3.7k

❃ WARNINGS ! blood n’ periods ofc

a/n: for my lovely kuma who can’t read this until she’s back from her trip :( thank you for this adorable request and please enjoy all my period havers out there, ilysm we’re so strong!!

// LEE HEESEUNG !

bro is more prepared than you with the calendar app n’ everything

you’ll be on the couch minding your business

and he’ll just pop out of nowhere like, “babe, i just got a notification your period starts this week, do we have everything?”

first of all mr lee

why does he know this before you do

you’re not the uterus haver

second

aw. he is so cute :(

the only thing heeseung likes about this time of the month is that you start to get extra clingy

it makes him feel so special n’ loved <3

he’d be playing league like a nerd, also making sure to stay quiet since you’re napping only a few feet over on his bed

well at least, you were

all of a sudden he hears your whiny mumbling from behind him before you throw yourself onto his lap

mans is just smiling like an idiot, lifting his arms around your waist as you cling to him like a koala with your chin resting on his shoulder

“g’morning love, how’s your tummy?” he lazily kisses your head, eyes still glued to his laptop

“s’not morning,” you grumble, “i’m still sleepy.”

luckily, heeseung is very good at reading your random mood changes

he can tell whenever you’re getting grumpy and needy instantly

so with that he quickly abandons his screen, ignoring the fact he’d definitely get an ingame penalty for it

“okay, let’s go lay down then, yeah?”

the rest of the day consists of you and hee cuddling and watching every shitty movie you could find on netflix (there’s a lot of those) <3

there’s been a few times where you’ve sent your boyfriend on pad buying expeditions

and surprisingly, he seems to have done his research, bringing back just what you asked for every time despite the intimidating amounts of numbers and brands he had to scan through

“okay, so i got this one for when it’s heavier,” he says, pulling all sorts of boxes out of his grocery bag, “then these are just liners i thought would be good, then i got..”

okay, maybe he was a bit too excited and went overboard BUT

you were so proud of him!!

and very grateful, remember to give him lots of love as a thank you <3

one time he even got you a cute plushie that gave off heat when you clicked it’s stomach

you use it to this day :)

“this will make do for when i’m not here to kiss your cramps away,” he had giggled, presenting the bear to you proudly

all in all, just very casual and loving gamer boyfriend!!

but maybe don’t tell him you love his gamer side too much or else he will 100% try and convert you into a league player (gags)

// PARK JAY !

it’s been said a million times but it’s just the truth

husband material

absolutely ready. no matter if you’re two weeks early or two weeks late

he’s at your service

though when you first started dating he didn’t have any experience with periods at all

so the first few times it started he was a little

oblivious

“babe, you look like a corpse with that posture, c’mon let’s go out and do something,” he said teasingly

the speed in which your neck snapped towards him..

bro was scared for his life

you feel your eye twitch

“yah, which one of us has blood coming out of their uterus and cramps digging into their stomach?” you bark

he just 🧍🚶🏃💨

the next thing you know, your boyfriend has come back with takeout from your favorite restaurant as an apology, along with another bag full of snacks and candies

of course you reach for the snack bag first

only for it to be snatched away from you :(

“uh uh, dinner first babe.”

you feel like a scolded child as jay spoon feeds you every single bite

“but i’m full,” you whine, watching your boyfriend bring another scoop to your lips

“just one more for me, baby.”

you’d oblige, only for him to start getting another spoonful ready

“if it was my homemade cooking, you would’ve eaten more,” he’d brag to mostly himself

you let him believe what he wants 😒

(it’s true)

jay also keeps track of your supplies in the bathroom

as soon as you started dating this rich mf, not once have you ever paid for any pads or tampons again

if he notices something is getting low in your drawer, a whole new box of it will magically appear the next day

however

sometimes he does go a little overboard

“babe, you know i don’t need the same pads in all these different brands, right? it’s the same thing,”you giggle, observing your almost overflowing drawer of menstrual supplies.

he’d pout in defense, “yeah but this one had these cute animals on it, i thought you’d like it. and this one said it’s extra, exTRA absorbent or something.”

you snort, “what? they should all be absorbent, that’s the whole point, love.”

listen he’s trying

but but, give him some credit! this man catches on quick

soon he will demand you to let him know whenever your period starts so he can come over n’ happily take care of you

get ready to have 5 star meals for breakfast lunch n’ dinner, your chef boyfriend is on the job 👊👊💥💥

// SIM JAKE !

HE'S ON A MISSION

soon you will completely forget about the pounding stabs in your stomach! 🤬

jake just wants to see you smile n’ laugh like you always do around him

but when it’s well,

bloodfall week

he doesn’t get to see your pretty smile very often :(

so he’ll do anything he can to distract you and cheer you up!!

and by anything he means anything

literally you could ask him for a mini concert

and he’d be like “okay, let’s go! what song first?”

only moments ago you were sitting on the couch, contemplating life with a heating pad pressed to your stomach

but now you’re too busy watching your boyfriend dance to blessed cursed with music so loud even the neighbours can listen in to

cramps??? who’s that?

now you only know jake singing polaroid love to you in your living room :)

shit, he’ll even dance to billy poco just for you despite the pounding urge to plug his ears everytime the annoying melody turns on

anything’s worth hearing your laugh <3

so the first time you requested jake to pick up some sanitary napkins for you he was strangely.. enthusiastic

it’d go something like this:

you - 3:21: babe

you - 3:21: *1 attachment* if ur free can u pick up some more of these for me?

jakey <3 - 3:22: omg

you - 3:22: ???

jakey <3 - 3:22: sorry love, i’m just excited 😊 i’ll be there in 15 😘

you’re the definition of 😟🤨

what on earth is this man planning

pads are not that exciting in your opinion

and like usual you were right to be worried

bro shows up at your house with a whole care package and a pink ribbon n’ everything

“there is no way you made that,” you gasp, standing with crossed arms in the doorway to your apartment

he snickers, walking in and placing the gift bag on your counter

“okay, i did get some help from an employee at the store. she recommended to me a bunch of stuff you’d probably want,” he announces proudly.

you sigh in disbelief (even though you were secretly really thankful and wanted to give him a big kiss), “baby, i’m not dying. i just needed pads.”

“yeah but i wanted to make you feel better! periods don’t sound very.. pleasant.”

you snort

well, he wasn’t wrong

inside his little basket of goodies was basically everything you could ever need during the week

along with the pads you’d asked for there was a tub of ice cream, chocolates, a teddy bear, and a brand new heating pad

aaand best boyfriend award goes to sim jaehyun 😞😞

// PARK SUNGHOON

lord.. i’m so sorry for you dear

he’s so confident. for no good reason

you ask him to get some pads and he’s like YEAHH, ITS MY TIME TO SHINE

so you offer to show him a picture as reference, and he really goes “i don’t need some stupid picture babe. i knOw what i’m doing.”

then off he goes

waddling through your front door with a dumb, smug smirk on his face

you sigh, an anxious feeling stirring in your stomach

you’re just sat on your couch, thinking of all the things that he could do wrong

and just like that, your phone begins violently ringing only ten minutes later

“hoon?” you question with furrowed brows, holding the phone to your ear

he doesn’t greet you back, his stressed voice blasting through your eardrums, “since when did these things have wiNGs? why are they flying and why are there numbers everywhere?! this one says it’s 100% absorbent, but this one says it absorbs 10x it’s weight, what the fuck is better??”

you can’t help but let out a cackle

it’s so easy to imagine him just. 🧍 in the middle of the menstrual aisle

“okay calm down love, do you want the reference picture?”

his ego says no, absolutely not!

but sadly, if he wants to survive this mission, he has to admit to being clueless, sighing a reluctant yeah.. through the phone

so you rush over to your bathroom, still giggling through the phone

“babe, this isn’t funny,” sunghoon mutters, “all these middle aged women are staring at me, and they don’t look impressed.”

you just laugh harder, “well, i don’t know what you expected mr. period expert, i thought it was ‘your time to shine’?”

he just groans in embarrassment

to say the least, he learned his lesson

but now he’s absolutely prepared

in his notes app, he has a locked folder called “y/n grumpy week reminders”

you were extrEmely offended when you found out about it

you’re not thaaat grumpy on your period…

ok maybe a bit but still :(

you quickly forgave him for the name when he actually allowed you to go through the folder

bro has typed down everything like literally EVERYTHING

your favourite snacks had a pretty big section including your top three ice cream flavors, chip brands n’ candies

and of course in big bold letters he had the exact pads/tampons you used

he did not need a repeat of the first time 😕

sunghoon knows very well how bad your cramps can get, especially at night

so when you guys get ready to sleep, he purposely turns you around so he can throw an arm over your waist and rub comforting circles on your stomach until you fall asleep <3

it makes him feel like he’s really doing a good job taking care of you, which he is!!

but don’t tell him this or his ego will skyrocket. it’s already high up enough 😕

// KIM SUNOO !

having an older sister, sunoo isn’t really phased when your period comes, he’s fully prepared and used to it

it does make him pretty upset seeing you in pain though, and the fact that he can’t do much about it makes him sadder

so he resorts to doing little things with you in an attempt to cheer you up!!

you’ll just be curled up in bed with your boyfriend

when all of a sudden he ruins the peaceful atmosphere by jumping out and running over to the bathroom >:(

instantly you let out a whiny grunt, searching desperately for his warmth once again

“sun, what’re you doing?” you complain

he suddenly prances back in with a pile of random shit in his arms, smiling cheerfully

“i brought face masks! and there’s some other face products i wanna try out, then i wanna paint your nails!”

what were you expecting dating the skin care king

at first you were a bit unsure since well, with your cramps you just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep

but after some more convincing

you realised the fun distraction was helping much more than trying to sleep

an hour went by with you and your boyfriend taking pictures and laughing at each other in bright green face masks

the selfies you took were chefs kiss as usual, queue the new matching instagram pfps <3

then while you waited for the masks to dry, you painted each others nails purple and blue (yes, you convinced sunoo to have matching nails with you 🫶)

by the end of the night you’ve almost completely forgotten about the cramps digging into you ✊

whenever you ask sunoo to buy you menstrual supplies he’s just the biggest sweetheart

the most enthusiastic “sure!!” you can imagine paired with that pure smile of his 💔

mr perfect is also the most educated out of all of them

“wings or no wings? should i get multiple sizes? also, i’ll get some underwear liners too just in case~”

he’s not embarrassed at all with his basket full of items for you, when ladies stare at him in the store he just offers a smile n’ waves 😭

and and, right after leaving the store he’ll go to your favorite ice cream place and bring you back a whole sundae of your choice!!

10/10 sunshine boyfriend. highly recommend

// YANG JUNGWON !

ultimate caregiver

won hates being mushy okay

but period week is a whole different conversation

if you tell him you’re having cramps he WILL appear at your door five minutes later with open arms

he’ll give you a greeting smooch before tackling you to the couch like a real cat

his favourite thing to do is make you sit in his lap n’ reach his hand around your waist to gently massage your tummy

every once in a while the peaceful silence is interrupted with a quick ‘love you’ right in your ear along with a peck

those moments are really healing for him y’know

as the leader he’s pretty much constantly stressed and busy but when he can just sit down with you and. breath

it makes him so happy even though he hates the fact you’re hurting :(

throughout the day he’ll always be checking on you

“want me to reheat this?” he inquires, gesturing to the heating pad on your stomach

“jagi, let me give you a massage.”

“should i run you a bath? i can add some bubbles!”

wonnie also has a sister, so he’s a bit more experienced than the other members

he claimed that he was an expert on getting pads/tampons because his sister would always force him to get some whenever he went out

so you put some faith in the boy and sent him a picture of what you need

but but HE WANTS TO BE 100% SURE so when he gets to the store he’ll literally put you on facetime with speaker and everything

“okay got it, and should i get the ones with wings? okay, and how about these underwear liners, they’re on sale?”

like he does not care at ALL even if the other pedestrians are all 👁👄👁 at the sound of your casual pad conversation in the middle of the store

all he cares about is you and getting everything right, very efficient boy

one time you were sleeping over with him at the dorm and well

mother nature decided to surprise you <3

the millisecond you woke up you knew something was wrong

yeah

the red waterfall had fallen a few days earlier than anticipated

meanwhile your boyfriend was in dreamland mere centimetres away from you

“shit, shit, shit,” you murmured, carefully looking under the covers to see a giant patch of red right on your sleeping shorts and jungwon’s bedsheet

to say you were freaking out pretty bad would be an understatement

would if he’s grossed out?? will he be disgusted?

with the softest movements possible, you do your best to creep out of bed without awakening the boy next to you

but jungwon, being the light sleeper he is woke up to the mere sound of the blankets ruffling

“jagi?” he rasps, rubbing his eyes

your head whips around, looking down at your bloodstained shorts, “close your eyes!”

it was too late, you cringed as you witness jungwon’s eyes widen, quickly sitting up

“what- your shorts- are you okay?”

you quickly cover the patch of red, “i’m so sorry won, i didn’t know it would be starting, i swear-”

he interrupts with a shake of his head, “jagi, it’s totally natural, don’t apologise,” he states, already hopping out of bed to pull his bedsheets off, “go clean up, i’ll throw these in the wash and make you some breakfast, hm?”

you were a bit flabbergasted, just watching him carry his stained bedsheets out the door

perhaps it was the bare minimum, but for you his comforting and calmness was extremely appreciated

by the time you’re done cleaning yourself up and changing into a pair of jungwon’s shorts, your boyfriend has finished making waffles and eggs

when he sees you he runs over to pull you in for a kiss, “g’morning! want to go on a movie marathon today? oh- i can also pick up some supplies for you if you need,” he offers happily

at that moment you just feel your heart burst in love and adoration

wonnie supremacy, please give him lots of cuddles n’ kisses to show your appreciation!

// NISHIMURA RIKI !

here’s your one chance to be free from his constant playfighting and teasing

when it’s that time of the month niki has learned teasing you is not the way to go if he wants to wake up tomorrow

he found this out the hard way when you first started dating

“yah,” the boy playfully pushed your side, making you groan in pain, “i thought i'm your boyfriend, why aren’t you giving me attention? you’re just staring off into space with that weird grumpy face. y’know, you’re going to get wrinkles just like jay hyung- ow!”

then you proceeded to chew him out on how much you’re suffering and he’s just 🧍

new side to him unlocked

niki is usually not one to be very clingy, in fact, he’d say you’re usually the one clinging on to him

but on your period suddenly he’s following you around like a lost puppy

he will wrap his arms around your waist and waddle around with you in his embrace

and while he’d usually say something stupid about your height or call you a midget, instead he just plants kisses on the top of your head and asks how your tummy’s feeling :(

another example being when you want his attention

usually when you come over to him being all needy he’ll grow this stupidly smug smirk and be like “wow. you’re so obsessed with me” (lovingly) 🙄

but now he’ll just smile warmly n’ pull you in for a comforting hug with some stomach rubs if you want

“you should watch me beat heeseung hyung in smash bros, it’ll distract you from the pain~”

“babe, come sit,” he pats his lap, making grabby hands in your direction, “i’ll hug your cramps away~”

and oh god

the first time you asked niki to get you some pads he ALMOST let his excitement show through his face

he was nervous yes

but it also made him proud that you could depend on him y’know

it made him feel manly!! like you really needed him and he could take care of you!! :)

even when he’s at the store he’d be all giddy and excited

though when he actually sees the full rows of colorful, intimidating products he just 😊… 😟

yes, you texted him the brand and everything but there were thoUSANDs of different ones by that brand in specific

but it’s too late now

niki is too determined to impress you and show how good a boyfriend he is

he will not bother you again

and even though he has sisters he was a bit embarrassed, so instead bro goes to ask some random clerk

“hi, my partner asked me to get these but i’m a bit uh- lost, could i get some help?” he shows the clerk the text you sent him, fidgeting with his hoodie string nervously

“ah of course sir! right this way,” the employee replies, already setting off down the aisle

“we have lots of different options, honestly these ones are really good because they’re very comfortable and longlasting, but these ones are very popular because..”

the clerk ends up describing literally every single box there with detail and the whole time your poor boyfriend is just nodding in utter confusion

at this point he was even more lost than before, if they were all so amAZING like this lady said, how was he supposed to pick just one?

a lightbulb appears above his head

“and that’ll be sixty eight dollars and seventy cents, please.”

niki gulps, looking down at his basket filled to the brim with literally just pads

when he got back.. oh boy

“are you fucking kidding me? what is all that?!” you exclaim, watching your boyfriend walk over with two whole grocery bags in his hands

“uh, in my defense this lady was a really good salesperson and well..”

when he opened the bag for you to look inside while murmuring the amount he spent, you nearly fainted right there, immediately scolding him

“that’s it, you’re officially banned from going shopping for me.”

“what!? babe, please! give me another chance, next time i’ll only get one i swear, seriously!”

okAy he wasn’t lying

next time niki actually did do a good job and got ONE pad box instead of ten, you were so proud <3

and he even brought some snacks back along the way!!

biggest softie ever right here, just give him some time to learn pls 😭

if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ feedback is always appreciated and motivating for me to keep writing!

perm taglist: @duolingofanaccount @strawberry-sunset-skies @scented-morker @koshinene @boowoowho @sultrybaby @yunjinlvrr @lov3niki @yujiecho @dekusgirl @l1lac-dreamer

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rottenroyalebooks · 2 years

Text

My Girlfriend is a Witch

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Witch!Reader

Warnings: None! Maybe a sware or two.

Genre: Real Person Fic, Fluff

A/N: This has been in my drafts for quite some time so here is a quick little Corpse Husband Fic. I havent written on here in so long due to my life crumbling under my feet. I have done a lot of research for this but I am NOT 100% sure of everything just yet. I’m not apart of Paganism myself, but I respect everyone that is!

***

“Y/N, you did not just walk into this apartment with another Crystal.” The tone of her boyfriend made her freeze as she walked into the apartment, an all too familiar plastic bag hanging from from her elbow and her face morphed into an innocent smile.

“No... not another Crystal.” She shuffled into the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter top so she could remove the items from her bag and place the plastic bag in the bag full of bags that the two keep under the sink.

“Let me guess, herbs?” Corpse asked, approaching his girlfriend with a small smirk on his face.

She shook her head, “Nope.”

“Candles?”

“Negative, ghost rider.”

“Please tell me it’s not incents again, last time you cleansed the apartment I sneezed like crazy for a week.” His pleading eyes made Y/N laugh in delight.

The pair have been dating for two years and have lived together for five months. The transition of living on his own to living full time with his spiritual witchy girlfriend had been kind of difficult. He wasn’t aware about how serious she was about her craft, so when he opened one of her boxes and found some kind of rodent bones in a small clear container, saying he was surprised would have been an understatement

Though as they started to get used to the new arrangement, he was able to learn a thing or two about what she does and how she lived. Kind of like how she just loved bringing home a new Crystal almost every time she stepped out the apartment. It was getting overwhelming at this point.

Y/N smiled up at him and pulled a small black velvet pouch out of the bag, “Okay, I lied, it is a crystal but it’s not what you think! I had something made for you!”

He rose an eyebrow and he smirked, “Oh yeah?” He held out the palm of his hand and smiled as she placed the pouch down gently.

He opened the pouch and carefully removed a black sleek ring from the pouch and his eyes lit up, “A ring? This is a crystal?” He asked and she nodded, excitement in her eyes.

“I know playing with your rings helps with your anxiety and Hematite, this ring, is supposed to help deflect negative energies in stressful situations.” She explained and put her hand into her pocket, pulling out one of his other rings that he thought he had misplaced a few weeks prior.

“I didn’t know your ring size and if I asked it would have ruined the surprise so I took one of yours to bring to Maggie.”

He chuckled, sliding the ring on his left ring finger, “I love it, thank you.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest.

“Aren’t you playing Among Us with your friends today?” She asked as she took a glimpse at the time.

He looked at the clock on the oven as well, sighing as he placed his chin on the top of Y/N’s head, “I do. Are you going back out?” He asked letting her go and watching as she went back to the bag.

“Nope! I got a new Tarot deck while I was there because my old deck vanished. I need to break it in and cleanse the cards. I might try to communicate with Aphrodite or Hades, but they really liked my old deck so I am not sure if they’ll react well to this new one.” She rambled as she crumbled up the empty bag and placed it under the sink.

“Be careful.” He said as he turned around and made his way to his recording room.

***

As the third game came to an end, a few of his friends were taking the time to talk with their streams, Corpse wasn’t streaming he was just there for his friends. He was talking with Sean, who was also not streaming at the time.

“Oh! Corpse! I found your girlfriend’s Instagram account! I didn’t know she was into Witchcraft.” Rae’s voice piped up as her little astronaut came running over to the two.

Corpse smiled at his computer monitor, even though they couldn’t see him, “Yeah she’s Pagan, I believe.” He said glancing over at the girl in question who had wandered into his streaming room, noise cancelling headphones on and Tarot Deck in hand. Her tounge was poking out from in between her lips as she concentrated on her reading.

“Her profile is so aesthetically pleasing! Can I follow her?”

He let out a small chuckle, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, just be wary if you ask her for a tarot reading; the cards can be quite cutthroat. She’s still doing research as to who her spirit guide could be, but whoever they are, absolutely brutal.” He shivered at the memory of when Y/N gave him a reading around when they first started dating, let’s just say it didn’t go too well.

“You seem to know a lot about this stuff.” Sykunno said and the others agreed.

“I just listen when she talks about it, because she enjoys it and it makes her happy.” He glanced over at the girl one more time as her phone lit up next to her.

“I followed her.”

“Me too!” Sean said and he laughed, “She bought you a ring? Dude she is so adorable.”

“Rae what’s her username?” Sykunno asked.

“I’ll text it to you.” Corpse said, grabbing his phone from the desk and glancing over at her once again; her eyes were still glued to the cards almost frozen in place.

"What else does she like to do?" Lily's voice popped up, he hummed lightly.

"Well she loves crystals and has been looking into palm reading, there's a shop nearby that she's been visiting recently and now my apartment is being taken over by crystals and incense." Everyone laughed at that.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

#writers of tumblr #fanfiction #rottenroyalebooks #rottenwrites #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband #Corpse Husband #corpse fic #sean mcloughlin #youtubers #corpse husband fanfiction

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inciting-chaos-series · 2 years

Text

The Night Shift Masterpost

☽✧ The Night Shift ✧☾

➢Author: Ghostiewvlfpack & JTheGhost

➢ Rating: Mature

➢ Pairings: Corpse X reader | Corpse X y/n

➢ Warnings: Crude Humor | Suicidal Jokes/Ideation | Drinking | Smoking |

➢Summary:

☽✧ Chapter Links ✧☾

1☾ A Change Of Plans 2☾ Hesitancy 3☾ Musically In Tune 4☾ Fun & Games 5☾

➢ Links:

✦ Fics Masterlist ✦ AO3 ✦ Wattpad ✦ Art ✦

✦ Requests Masterpost & Guidelines ✦ Request Trope List ✦ 。:゜:.*∵✧∵ ☽ Submit A Request ☾∵✧∵*:.゜: 。

#The Night Shift Masterpost #TNS #corpse husband #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #romance #slow burn #coworkers to lovers #fanfiction #fanfic #mutual pining #fluff #angst #The Night Shift #Ghostie Howls #J Writes

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fritz-federleicht · 1 year

Note

HOLA!!! <3

i really love how you write corpse and i was wondering if you can pls write a corpse x reader where corpse and the reader are on stream (they have their face cam on) playing truth or dare. so corpse dares the reader to shout out to the world how much they love him. so the reader hipsters in his ear and says “I love u” (basically insinuating that corpse is their world).

I don’t know if that made sense but yea😭☹️

Truth or dare?/ Corpse Husband x reader

Notes: I hope you meant it that way

Words: 485

FLUFF

Imagine Corpse streams with camera

--------------------------------------------

"Truth or dare Y/N?" Your boyfriend asks you.

"I don't know." You consider. "Dare!"

"All right. You have to..." Corpse runs a hand through his disheveled hair and looks at the chat. He's looking for a good task you have to do.

'Make her eat a spoonful of butter.'

'Have her post something embarrassing on Twitter.'

He doesn't like the ideas. He continues to stare at the chat until something good occurs to him. He looks up at you. His face brightens. A smile appears on his lips.

"What do I have to do? Tell me!" You straighten up and look at him expectantly. His smile widens even more.

You look at the camera. "Guys, what kind of idea did you give him?" "Okay Y/N." You turn back to Corpse as you hear his deep voice. "Are you ready for your task?"

You nod. "You can still switch to Truth. Last chance." He offers. You shake your head. "Now tell me. What do I have to do."

Corpse grins like a little kid when he gets his birthday presents. "You have to," He pauses. "Say how much you love me on stream."

You look at him, confused. Say how much you love him? That's your job? Your boyfriend wants you to say how much you love him on stream?

"You want me to say how much I love you?" Corpse nods. "Really? That's my job?"

"Yes. That's all I ask of you." Replies Corpse.

"It's a task I'm happy to perform, isn't it?" You straighten up in your chair and close your eyes.

"Corpse, my dearest Corpse. I love you more than anything. Even when we met in the stream of Sykkuno, I knew I would love you for the rest of my life." You open your eyes and look deep into his eyes. "You help me through bad times and always manage to put a smile on my face."

You reach for his hand, lean forward and whisper in his ear "I will love you forever."

Corpse cheeks turn red. "You're so sweet Y/N. I love you." Corpse leans in, puts his hand to your cheek and kisses you.

As you pull away from each other, you smile broadly. Then you remember that the whole thing happened in front of the audience.

You look at the chat.

'These two are so cute!

'I can't do this anymore.'

'I hope I'll be so happy too!'

You smile and read all the comments carefully.

"Hey Y/N. Can you hear me?" Corpse puts his hand on your knee and circles it with his thumb.

You look up from the screen. "Yeah yeah. I hear you."

"Shall we do something else now?" You nod.

You agree to react to a few videos. Corpse hand lies on your thigh all the time.

#corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband x female reader #corpse husband one shot #corpse husband #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x you

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soullessdianthus · 1 year

Text

Soft!Bo Sinclair X Reader | Headcanons | PART 2

<< PART 1

Author's note: Due to your positive responses to the first part - here's the sequel of our murderous husband! Thank you very much for all the reblogs and notes <3

Warnings: mostly fluff, canon typical violence, tiny bit of Stockholm Syndrome?, NSFW under the cut

Word count: 1.6k woops

First days after your arrival in Ambrose, you were following Bo like a ghost, a shadow - since the dawn until the sunset you were alongside him

Bo had to keep an eye on you, see if you wouldn't try anything foolish, so he told you to come with him

But deep down he was almost sure you wouldn't dare to leave the abandoned city, you were a smart girl after all and he was your saviour

When you finally gained a bit of his trust he let you stay inside the house while he worked in the garage or outside the Ambrose

In the second case, he would tell Vincent to watch over you, from a distance of course, his brother would be quick to eliminate any occurring problems

Then, after Bo had completly fallen for you and his heart softened (don't tell this anyone), he wouldn't mind you going with him, staying in the family house or walking around the town - without anyone looking after you

At this point he was sure of your commitment to him

You were gratefull for his care and kind words

Mornings of those days when he wouldn't have to go to work was your favourite part of the day

You'd lay in bed longer than usual, entangled in the lengths of yours limbs

Each night Bo would try to hold you as close as possible - by being a big spoon, craddling you with his arm into his embrace

But when he chooses to sleep on his back, he would keep one of his palms on your thighs

Just to feel you near him

When he seriously has to wake up and start preparing for the work day, he takes a short glimpeses now and then at your sleeping form, sunk between the sheets, spreaded where he used to lay during the night

Bo appreciates when you make him coffee in the morning

And breakfast

During your first weeks in Ambrose he was overwhelmingly trying to shield you from his brothers or "the workshops" (with your friends' corpses still there)

Bo was extremly mean towards Vincent (nothing new), because he kept staring at you akwardly, not understanding why are you still alive

And even if you and all the Sinclair boys met in one place, Bo would instantly place his hand over your shoulder or on your back to underline you're his

As the time passed by, he became more handsy - by keeping his hand on your back (upper and lower), hips or waist

Bo loves to keep you close, so he can feel your scent, touch your hair or soft skin - which is a complete opposite of his coarse, mechanic hands, in his opinion at least, you long for his touch

He'd appreciate if you cook for him, he finds it really sexy

After some time he takes you outiside the town - for a simple car ride kind of date, dinner in the city nearby or a picnic near the lake

Just to be alone with you

If any foolish "tourists" came into the town, you'd stay in the house for your own sake - that's what Bo and Lester suggested to keep you safe

But that one time, while you were slicing the vegetables for dinner, minding your own buisness, someone intruded the house in the hill, almost breaking the doors - a member of a local motorcycle club, his leather vest revealing everything

"Who the hell are you?" you asked, grip tightening around the kitchen knife you held "You shouldn't be here."

The man was already partially covered in blood, probably one of his friends, he kept staring at you, something vile sparkling in his eyes

"Get out, he won't like your presence" you stated, slowly backing away as the intruder walked towards you

"You're with 'em?"

Within a brief moment he was painfully squezzing your wrists, wrestling you until you tripped and fell down

He was trying to take away the knife from you, but you kept struggling under the attacker

During the scuffle you managed to stab him once in his arm - shallow, but always something

"Fucking bitch!" he yelled when he couldn't rip the weapon out of your grip

But those were his last words ever spoken, before a bullet of a rifle put a hole in his upper back

The blood splashed over your cheek and his agonizing body fell to the side

You saw Bo pointing his gun to the dead man's corpse from the door's threshold as he stepped inside the house

"Stupid sonbitch" Bo hissed through his teeth, before pulling the trigger again, making sure the intruder is stone cold dead

You crawled to the side to get as far from the body as you could

Barely keeping up with the scenery, a kitchen knife was still inside of your palm

"Come 'ere, sugar" Bo instructed you, helping you up from the floor

Mechanic gently grabbed your arm and took a quick glimpse over your frame - to see if you had any wounds, if the dead motherfucker hurt you

Oh, only if the biker was alive, Bo would make him regret every single second spent in Ambrose

Then he caught your jaw, just beneath the chin, tilting the face of his lover to the sides, looking frantically for a wound "You alright?"

You nodded and his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you into his heated chest

You dropped the knife to the floor

"You did real good, sweetheart. I'm sorry"

Bo let out a loud breath, his lips pressing against the tip of your head, man's body turning with you around, creating a space between you and the corpse

"Hey! Ya were supposed to keep them OUT THE HOUSE, fuckin' freak"

Only when he yelled just above your head, you realised Vincet was in the room too, taking care of the bloody mess

"For fuck's sake"

"Bo... It's over"

His gaze softened as your voice sounded like a milk and honey, whilist your body shuddered in his embrace

"Go upstairs and wait for me, okay? We're gonna take care of it"

"Are you sure?" your eyes asked him non verbally - the wrinkles on his forehead beacame even more distinct in that setting

"Off you go, girl"

Later that night Bo's head was pressed tightly to your chest, your arms drawing him closer, soft fingers gently rubbing his occiput

Listetning to the heartbeat of yours helped him fall asleep, especially after such... troubles

The heartbeat he could have lost that night in a matter of second

And it scared him to death for the first time in ages

NSFW

Bo would dirty talk to you, only to see you blush and be all flustered

If you're rather a shy person and topic of intimacy makes you embarassed - he'd be in heaven, that man has a corruption kink you cannot prove me otherwise

He wouldn't talk dirty in a deregatory way though, just to mess with you and your shyness

"Ya keep putting those lil' skirts like you wanna me to look under them. Would ya like that, huh?"

"Gone all quiet now? You'd never dare to be this silent in the bedroom, sweetheart"

Beauregard enjoys taking the time to prepare you for the lovemaking - make out session, slowly undressing you and himself, his big hands tracingevery inch of your body? God, yes!

In a bedroom? Definitely a soft type of dom

Experienced or not, Bo would guide you through it all taking a lead between you two

He'd appreciate picking positions when he can see your face - all the emotions and pleasure spasm being visible

A traditional missionary (with your legs close to the chest) or a cowgirl are his top fucking tier (also pinball wizard)

Bo loves when you ride him - slow, sensual sways or rapid, wild bucking, doesn't matter to him as long as he can devour your sweet, little noises of pleasure

It helps him to relax after a long day at work

And the view of your tits just in front of him? He loves your soft, warm flesh bouncing before his hungry gaze

He might lick or suck them

During such intimate moments he places a trail of kissed along your skin - face, neck, spine, stomach, breasts, thighs... EVERYWHERE

Lots of praise mixed with dirty talk

"Takin' mah cock so well, darlin'. Doin' real fine"

"Like that? Like when I stuff your pussy full?"

"Jesus, such a good girl, all wet and warm for me"

You even manage to pull some grunts and moans from him, occasionally, but hey - it finally happens, it's very intimate for him, as it shows his vulnerability (look at the attachment below, you won't regret it) 👀

"Gonna make you feel real good"

Bo won't admit it, but he likes when you pull his hair

When the white light and tickling pressure hits you like a truck and you grasp onto his strong arms and curls - he loves it, absoluetly doesn't mind if you pull to hard or if you scratch him with your nails

"Go on, sugar, show me how much you love this"

Sometimes he would eat you up like a champ - your body squirming between the sheets, eyes watering with pleasure, thighs shaking uncontrollably

Bo is more of a reciver in that case, but he does just fine in the reverse role

When you're both done, he invites you into his embrace - his strong arms entangeling around your back, gently rubbing the curves of your body

He'd offer you a glass of water (such gentleman) or a quick shower

Oh, how he loves to take a shower or a bath with you

Bo would be willing for a round two after you caught your breath, but it all depends on you - if you still had enough strenght for that kind of fun

If not, both of you would try to fall asleep in the embrace of the lover

I'm gonna drop the link for his "noises" 👀 God bless you @bosinclairz <3

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #headcanons

175 notes · View notes

rmoonstoner · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 2023

***

Theme:

4 - Incubus Sex (Monster fucker)

***

Warnings:

18+, darkish setting (surviving zombie apocalypse), angst, fluff, smut, vampires (oppressive dominate species and blood drinking is mentioned a lot), a monster with a hero complex (Stephen coming to save you), monster fucker smut, sex with monster style Stephen, oral (sucking tentacles), tentacle sex, p in v sex, cream pie, oral, size kink, vibrating tentacles, anal play, double penetration, come shower

***

Pairing:

Doctor Stephen Strange x Fem!Mystic!Reader

(Past relationship mentioned)

Watcher/Eldritch Being Doctor Stephen Strange Supreme x Fem!Mystic!Reader

(Current relationship)

***

Please note:

Writing this made me both cry and very horny. I love writing about evil monster men that get redemption and now act like soft and gentle golden retrievers.

I did not have a proofreader.

***

Summary:

Your husband died a long time ago, during the outbreak. There was never a cure found, but a vaccine was made with Doctor Morbius's blood. Unfortunately, instead of a world of humans being eaten by zombies, it's now a world of humans being eaten by vampires. You're one of the few uninfected left, and a terrible fate is heading your way.

Until a familiar looking man comes to make a bargain with you, offering you salvation, but at the cost of leaving your universe forever.

***

Surviving this horrible hellscape was tough, but you managed to do it just fine, all by yourself, without your husband's help. Zombies had rolled through, covering half of the earth in just under a month. The great Doctor Morbius had discovered a vaccine to stop the spread of the virus, but that still meant people would be turning into monsters. Instead of zombies, they'd be vampires. Still, it was better than turning into a mindless decomposing corpse, so what did your people have to lose?

It had been years since that incident, and you had been lucky enough to avoid being bitten by a zombie, and contracting the virus. You were also lucky enough that you didn't turn into a vampire when you got the vaccine, but it did seem to stop allowing you to age. Apparently your blood was unique, and you wouldn't have been able to turn into a zombie either, if bitten.

You made a lot of money by selling your blood weekly at the local blood bank, and soon the vampiric citizens of New York were paying you top dollar for your blood. You were also an avid pot smoker, and that contributed to the price that your blood was worth.

But still, you missed your husband dearly, wishing he never died during the pandemic. You dreamt of him almost every night and when you didn't, you dreamt of your own death in so many horrifying and gruesome ways.

You grew tired as the weeks passed into months, and then into years. The people buying your blood started asking you to come in twice a week, to deal with the high demand, then three. You knew if you didn't, you'd be hunted down and forced to do it against your will. It was bad enough that the vampires kept harassing you to breed with other uninfected humans, just so they could have more livestock.

You sat at home, watching television and seeing a commercial about the company that marketed your blood. They advertised it like it was various soft drink brands, with yours being a luxury item like fine alcohol once was. You scowled and leaned back against your bed. You felt so fucking tired recently. You just wanted to hide away and not be bothered by anyone anymore.

You wanted your husband back so fucking badly.

You didn't want to be used as food any more, and since you stopped ageing, that was just going to be your life now.

Forever.

Eventually, you knew they'd stop being so nice in asking you to pick a partner and reproduce. You almost would have rather died when the zombies showed up. You sighed and laid down, closing your eyes and trying to think of a plan to get away.

***

A man dressed in an expensive suit greeted you with a wide smile and twinkling blue eyes. His hair was combed and gold back, just the way you liked it, and his goatee was freshly trimmed, allowing you to see his full and luscious lips.

It was your husband.

"Hello again, my dear. I am pleased you've come for another visit." He said smoothly as he produced a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He made them float all around you, with them morphing into glowing butterflies and bubbles.

"Hello, Stephen… I… I can't remember why I came here." You said softly, almost remembering that you were dreaming, when he chuckled. Stephen spread his arms out and engulfed you in an embrace. He felt warm and safe The next moment, he was dancing with you in a large empty ballroom. He leaned in close to your ear and whispered sweetly.

"Does it really matter? We both know what's going to happen."

He spun you around and the scenery changed to a backdrop of stars. The floor was gone, leaving you both alone in the vastness of space as you kept dancing with him. It didn't feel scary, far from it. Your heart was pounding, stomach full of butterflies as he gazed into your eyes.

Gods, you missed this.

You missed him.

"No, I guess it does not." You murmured back. He drew you close and stuck his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply as his hands smoothed up your sides.

"It does not. What matters, is that you're here, safe, with me." He husked and nipped your ear lobe. You moaned as he kissed down your neck to your shoulder.

"Yes. I'm safe. With you." You softly replied as his kisses became needy and his hands got more adventurous. You felt him grab at your ass and push you up close to him so you could feel his desire for you. You whined at the hardness of his body while you grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.

He groaned, his free hand gliding up your back and into your hair. Stephen gripped your locks and pulled your head back as he placed open mouthed kisses and licks to your skin. Stephen hummed and dragged his teeth along your most sensitive areas, effectively turning your legs to jelly and making it hard to stand. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing your face into his shoulder and groaned as he started to suck on your skin.

You could hear a deep rumbling noise coming from him, a gentle sounding growl as his hand moved from your ass and he pushed you backwards. You landed on something soft as kept his mouth on you, moving down your chest.

"This dress needs to go." He rumbled, and in an instant your dress was gone. He took his time with you, sucking purple marks into your skin at every sensitive spot you had along the way. You gripped his hair, whimpering and squirming for him as he gave each breast a good squeeze and a tantalizing lick to both nipples.

He moved down, bringing a hand to your wet pussy and slid a finger along your seam. You keened for him and lifted your hips, trying to encourage him to put it inside.

"Stephen… More, please?"

"I'll give you more, baby, but first, I need you to wake up and answer the door." He murmured softly and kissed your head.

"What? Why?"

"Because the real thing is so much better, don't you think? Now, wake up!"

***

You heard knocking at your door, and you huffed and rolled out of bed. It was still early, around 3:00am. Who the fuck would be bugging you at this hour? You really hoped it wasn't the security guard, coming to ask you if you had any spare bags of blood in your freezer again. You sighed and got up, going to answer the door, and finding no one there.

"What the fuck? Stop with your stupid games, and just come in already." You snapped and waited a moment as air rushed past you and towards the curtains in the living room. You closed and locked the door. After, you turned towards your freezer and grabbed a pack of blood.

"For fuck's sake, Carl. You don't have to do the super speed ghostly bullshit. I used to be married to the spookiest man alive, so cut the crap. If you wanted a bag of blood, you could have just asked-" You stopped talking when you turned around to see a tall dark figure looking out your window.

That did not look like Carl at all.

Carl was a short, round man with the best sense of humor. He looked and acted exactly like Danny Devito. It was really a shame he was a vampire.

But this guy…

This guy was not Carl.

This guy was over six foot tall, and was quite slender. Most of him was covered by a long black cloak with a very pointy collar. It threw you off, because it reminded you of your long dead love.

"Thank you for inviting me in." His voice was raspy, and you placed the bag of blood onto your counter as you processed the sound of his voice. He sounded strikingly familiar, but people had been known to fuck around and tease you for your past.

Fucking vampires.

"Look, buddy. I don't know who you think you are, but this is private property. I don't take kindly to pranks." You said firmly as you grabbed a knife and held it calmly. The man turned to look at you, his yellow eyes twinkling as he chuckled softly.

"Knives aren't going to hurt me. Not ones made of Earthen Steel, anyways." He said as he took a slow step towards you. You found the knife was no longer in your hand, and now back in the block again. In its place was your favorite flower.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your body trembling in fear. You hadn't seen actual magic in a long time, and it frightened you.

"I'm here to remove you from this world." He continued with a sly smile. His voice was sounding more and more like Stephen's, and the simple magic trick was hitting you hard in the chest, like a knife.

"Okay, that's a fucking threat, isn't it?" Your voice cracked as if you tried not to cry.

"No, it's not. I'm not here to kill you, darling. I'm here to liberate you. No harm shall come to you, if you come with me. I want to keep you safe." He calmly replied as he lifted his hand in the air, showing off the strappy leather and cloth of his bracers, and flicked his wrist. The bag of blood in front of you floated up into the air, and to the open freezer, then the door shut with a gentle thud. For some reason, the tone in his voice was calming you down fairly quickly.

"What? What does that even mean?" You asked.

"Silly girl. I feel great sadness within you. You miss your husband dearly, and wish he didn't die. You also wish to join him, but know he'd never want you to end your life to be with him. You wish to leave this world behind, but you don't want to die, correct?" His baritone voice was silky smooth, and you could feel your body react to it. Your skin was heating up at the way he was looking at you, hunger clearly evident in his amber eyes. It was still too dark to see his face very well.

"How… How did you know that?" Your voice cracked again, and he stepped into the light of the kitchen. You gasped when you recognized his face, your chest tightening as you tried to stay calm.

It was your husband, but that was impossible. He died a long time ago, and you missed him so much.

"I've been watching you, my dear. I've seen what you've been through, and managed to do here. While at first, I thought it was a noble sacrifice. You, willing to make such a commitment for your people to keep them alive, but your people quickly took you for granted and started asking too much of you. They have forgotten who you belong to."

"I don't belong to anyone, except Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, and he is dead." You remarked as a tear rolled down your face.

"Oh, I know. I've seen your entire life. The past, present, and all the future possibilities. I was very shocked to find you were linked to my variant. How very fitting, though, that one of me should hoarde such a beautiful and powerful magical energy source." He said and he leaned against the counter, flashing that signature trademark smirk your husband always wore.

"But you're not my husband, are you?" You asked, but he chuckled and changed the subject.

"That big pharmaceutical company that sells your blood… I am concerned for your well being. They want to breed you against your will, and feed off of your children the moment they come out of you. I find that disgusting." The pale man leaned lazily around your apartment and frowned. He turned back to you and pressed his hands against the counter. He didn't have any scars on his hands like your husband did. He quickly conjured up some documents and slid them towards you, and you looked down at them.

They were papers that showed the blood bank was going to acquire you as an object, with you losing your independence and autonomy. You would lose the right to choose what you did with your life. Even the plans for the next fifty years were clearly laid out a schedule for you to remain constantly pregnant with various sperm donors. You grimaced and shoved the papers off the counter in disgust.

"That's no life for a beautiful immortal such as yourself. I can offer you so much more. Something better, something brighter. A chance to do more with your life, instead of being a glorified cow. I won't ask for much in return, except to feed from you once a month, and for you to assist me while I watch over the Multiverse." The doctor explained as he conjured up a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"That sounds too good to be true. I have a hard time trusting vampires. Let alone ones that look exactly like my dead husband."

"I'm not the same kind of vampire, my dear." He laughed as he shrugged off his cloak and it wandered off to look out the window. It was different than the one you were used to seeing on him, which now belonged to Spider-Man.

"But you're… I watched you die, Stephen. Before they came out with the vampire vaccine." You pointed out. Again he snickered and poured some wine in both glasses.

"I am a variant of your dead doctor. I am an Eldritch being, not a vampire. I've absorbed so much magic, that my body has changed. I'm more like… A demonic God now, but I'm not evil." The doctor handed you a glass and he sat down on one of the barstools you had.

"How's that anything like a vampire?" You asked

"Do you know what an incubus is?"

"Yes… Wait… Oh my God."

"Ah, there we go. It's finally sinking in, isn't it?"

"So, you feed off of sex?"

"Yes, but also no. I need to eat, and I don't eat food much these days. What I do enjoy consuming, is raw energy or magic, which you are just dripping with, my dear. I can smell you all the way across the Multiverse."

"So… Does that mean… I have to…"

"Nothing. You just let me drain some of your magic, and I don't even have to touch you."

"Forgive me, Doctor, but I'm really confused."

"What's there to be confused about? You let me feed off your magic, and I take you away from this universe where they want much worse out of you. If not, you can stay here. It is your choice."

"But you mentioned you are like an incubus?"

"Oh, yes. That. If you allowed me to make love to you, I'd be sharing my powers with you, without the adverse effects that I suffer. But, I'm not going to ask that of you, since that might be cruel, given your-"

"Okay. Fine. Deal. Take me away. I don't want to be here any more. This place sucks, and you're hot." Uou said, and he looked very surprised.

"What?"

"You heard me, old man. Take me away, and you can incu my pussy as much as you want. I don't care that you're not my Stephen."

The doctor's face melted into a wicked smile and he raised his glass in a toast. You grabbed the other glass and tinked it against his, then had a sip of the wine. The liquid didn't taste at all like wine, so you coughed as you set the glass down.

"What was that? That wasn't red wine!"

You were panicking, because it tasted exactly like antifreeze with blood in it.

"No. It wasn't. It is my blood." He said calmly, his smirk growing wider. Your eyes went wide, and you made a disgusted face.

"Ugh, why? I'm not a fucking vampire. Blood doesn't taste good to me. Why does it taste like antifreeze?"

"Haha. My dear, I'm an abomination of nature and magic that exists outside of time and space. I shouldn't exist at all, yet I do. I exist, and I watch over all universes. In all of my years of witnessing millions of realities grow and perish, I have never once seen someone that should be up with me in the Watcher's area. Not even any of my variants. You don't belong down here, and you don't belong in any other universe."

"Okay, but that's not explaining exactly why you just tried to pass your blood off as wine."

"I need you to have some of my essence in you, otherwise the process will be painful. If you won't drink the blood, we have other ways to make the transfer."

"You've done this before?"

"Yes, but also, no." He said in that annoyingly self assured tone of his. Apparently this Stephen was much the same as yours once was.

"I'm starting to hate that phrase." You muttered and he chuckled as he stood up and conjured up a viewing orb, showing a woman with red hair.

The orb cycled through hundreds of ways that she died, with over half of them being accompanied by a younger looking and cleanly shaven version of Strange. You covered your mouth at the horrible ways she perished, and you felt tears forming when you saw his sorrowful reaction each time.

You knew the woman in question. Your Stephen had once been engaged to the one in this world, but they broke up swiftly after his accident. You had replaced her as the love of his life, until the day he died from being bitten by Christine. This variant of Stephen could sense your sorrow, and he placed a hand to your shoulder.

"I tried to save her, many times. I wasn't as wise back then, as I am now."

"Then you did end up saving her?"

"No. I destroyed my world for her, and when I did save her, she rejected the horrible creature I had become. I frightened her so much, she died again, and the look on her face told me I needed to stop. So, I did. I stopped. I became a Watcher, and I learned many new skills. I got over her, moved on, then I finally figured out how I can stop a Nexus event quite easily, without tearing a reality apart and corrupting it." He explained as he showed you on the orb what he really looked like. You crouched down and looked at his demonic form, sighing as you felt your heart ache for him.

"You're the only person I've ever done this to. I am hoping this time, you'll be better prepared, and there will be less complications down the line."

"This time?"

"Yes. Fear not, for I won't make the same mistakes I did last time. I've figured out that it's just easier to remove a person from a universe altogether, before their Nexus event can occur to kill them, instead of trying to stop the event by any other means. Then, I just simply don't return them to that universe. They will exist outside of their time and space."

"... You've done this before, and I died? But I'm… I am supposed to be immortal."

"You weren't the first go around. I figured changing your fate, and having Doctor Morbius be able to get his vaccine out would work much better. You see, I am able to twist time in any universe. I can look into the future, but when I do, I actually live through it, before deciding to go back. It's a standard feature on most Doctor Stranges."

"So is being frustratingly cryptic. How did I die?"

"The first time? My dear… I've seen thousands of possible futures for you."

"Ugh, tell me the first time that you actually had to interfere."

"Oh, well, I'd rather not. It was really quite gruesome. That's why I showed you the paperwork. That's exactly what happened to you. In fact, they are due in just a few hours to come and collect you. I turned the clock back, and now I am here to take you away. This world doesn't have anyone capable of coming to find you once I remove you from it."

You sat there quietly and fidgeted with your hands as you glanced at the door and then back at him. You thought back to the many dreams you kept having, and how they all involved your death, or this man. Most recently, they had become very dark and debauched fantasies of him fucking you in various ways, and less about you dying. When given the choice of being stuck here as a glorified farm animal, or going with another variant of your dearly departed husband to see the wonders of the Multiverse, you definitely were choosing the doctor.

Besides, even after seeing what he looked like in the orb compared to how his form was now… Both were very tempting. It was even more tempting he was a variant of your dead lover. You felt your face grow hotter as you thought about those very sexual dreams. Yes, that would be a much better future for you.

"Take me now. I trust you." You finally said while reaching out to grab his hand. His face softened, eye turning that soft baby blue you missed, and he gave you a warm smile, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"Good. Do you need to bring anything?"

"No."

***

The place he brought you to was very Strange, pun intended. It was a building in the middle of what looked to be a cluster of bright twinkling lights in outer space.

"That looks like home, the Sanctum Sanctorum…" You said softly, and Stephen placed a hand to your lower back

"It is. I've replicated it perfectly to be my home, with much needed improvements." He whispered into your ear as his hand moved just slightly lower.

"It's way more beautiful than the one I've seen "

"Ah, yes, well… Better materials do go a long way. I've used a lot of rare metals and wood from across the Multiverse. Let me show you the inside."

***

He showed off the entire place, and as the tour progressed, you started to feel off. It wasn't in a bad way, but you found that you felt hot.

Down there.

He was just as much of a talker as your husband was, full of both useful and useless facts. You noticed the artifacts he had were very much different then the ones your Stephen had in his Sanctum, and he enjoyed telling you about any item you pointed at. He was nice about it, much nicer than your husband was. This one kept checking to see if you knew what things were, before offering the information up. He finally brought you to a large room that looked like an old English pub inside, and he sat you down at the bar, with him going behind it.

"I'm sure you'd like some real alcohol, now. I can assure you I have the finest you'll ever find anywhere." He declared happily while grabbing a fancy bottle of Kree Whiskey in one hand, and very elegant looking Asgardian Wine in the other.

"Sure. I want a slushed Bellini with raspberries in it."

He stared at you for a long moment, then slowly put both bottles down.

"You want prosecco?"

"Uh, well, no. I mostly just want a fancy, tangy peach and raspberry slushie, with booze in it."

"Ah, so may I put a different kind of alcohol in it?"

"Sure, why not? Give me something strong." You said firmly, and he went about making you a drink the old fashioned way, without magic.

"So, tell me more about this deal." You asked. He handed you the drink and you took it, smelling it and taking a sip. It tasted exactly how Stephen used to make them and you felt a pang of guilt as you sat here with some copy of your spouse.

"I need an assistant. Not a secretary type, but a partner to help me with overseeing and managing the Multiverse. My friend can only do so much by himself, and he's not allowed to interfere with any of the worlds he watches, but I am, and so are any I bring up here." He casually explained while pouring himself some of the wine.

"There are others here?"

"Just you, me, and Uatu. Uatu has his own area. You'll know him when you see him. Really big bald head, hates my jokes…" Stephen chuckled. The sound was like music to your ears.

"Tell me about you being an Incubus. I remember those dreams. Was that actually you, or was it my brain processing the world around me, because I miss my husband?"

"Oh, that was me."

"Go on."

"There's not much to tell, I'm afraid. I can feed in various ways. I can drain the life force from someone and leave a husk behind. I could straight up devour the entire being, leaving nothing left, or… Or I could use the pleasures of the flesh, and not harm the person I am feeding off of." He sounded quite honest, and that's when you realized you had already been having sex with this man, but in your dreams.

Those overly vivid and realistic dreams that left your panties soaked when you woke up.

A sinful throb beat between your thighs at the thought, and you gave him a playful grin as you reached out and placed your hand on his.

"Oh… Well I don't think I want to be a husk, or eaten. You know, unless my pussy is the one being drained and eaten." You said in a sultry voice. His eyes flashed a dark amber.

"I'd rather fill you up after I eat you."

"Don't threaten me with a good time." You drank the rest of the Bellini and made a pleased sigh.

"My dear, I don't make threats anymore. I just do it."

"Then stop talking already, and show me what you can do."

Stephen grinned wickedly and snapped his fingers. Everything was replaced by a nicer looking version of your old bedroom that you used to share with Stephen in the Sanctum. You gasped as he pushed you down to the bed and kissed you passionately.

You moaned into his mouth as your tongues danced, and his hands tore your clothes away from your body, almost violently. His hands grabbed at your hips as he chuckled and banished his clothing away. Stephen was nudging himself between your legs, when you put a hand to his chest and stopped him. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Wait…"

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked, a look of hurt flashing through his eyes.

"No… But I want to see you for what you really are when we do this." You said and his face fell into surprise.

"I don't think you'd like that very much." He finally said, his mouth turning into a doubtful frown.

"I saw you in the orb. You don't scare me."

"I only showed you the tamest part of my true form." He muttered bitterly. You reached up and grabbed his face, bringing him down so you were nose to nose.

"I loved my husband with all of my heart. I was devastated when he died. I know you are not him, but I still feel that same connection of love in your presence, like he never left me…" You begged him as you kissed his lips gently.

"But-"

"Please, Stephen?" Again you begged, kissing his cheek and along his neck. He groaned and reared back to look at you.

"Alright. I will show you. I'll understand if you wish to leave. I can put you somewhere nice that I know you'll like and-"

"Stephen. Shut the fuck up and show me what you look like."

He huffed and nodded while his skin darkened slowly. Bit by bit, it became a deep ashy purple, with a sheen of glittery red on it. His eyes went back to being that slitted, dark sunset orange, and he started to grow several multicolored eyes on his forehead and the side of his face. Large horns protruded from his head, and his cloak melted into his back, becoming large leathery wings.

But the most striking thing about him, were all the fucking tentacles.

"You hate it, don't you?" He asked, his voice laced with shame.

"You're beautiful." You breathed back and smiled brightly at him.

"What? No, that's not… I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. That's amazing… Are they… Dangerous?" You asked as you sat up and reached out to grab one of his tentacles. The one you tried to touch, recoiled away from you.

"Sometimes, if I need them to be."

"May I… May I touch it? Please?"

"If that is what you want." He sounded very unsure as the appendage unfurled and rested on your palm. You stared at it and reached up to touch it with your other hand.

It was soft, and not at all slimey, like you thought it would be. Your fingers gently ran over the length of what you could reach. The skin there felt a bit rough, but the underside with the suckers was soft, and very much felt like…

"Oh… Careful now. If you keep that up, I won't be able to stop myself."

You felt your face heat right up at the statement. You looked at his main two eyes as you stroked around each sucker, watching him twitch and grunt. You grinned at him, and decided to see what he would do if you licked it. The impulse was too much to hold on to, and you leaned forward, eyes still locked with his, and gave the girthy appendage a long lick. Stephen groaned, all of his eyes closing halfway as he watched you suck the tip into your mouth.

"Fuck…"

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling every little circle, dip, curve, and edge. He groaned and leaned forward, caging you in with both hands as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I've never… No one has touched me like this before…" He growled, his voice beginning to warp and sound more like the deep echoing of Eldritch voices you used to hear when your husband cast spells. Your heart fluttered, and your pussy throbbed from the nostalgia.

You took him deeper into your mouth, tongue rolling over his skin as you reached out and grabbed another tentacle. He curled that one around your wrist as you gave it a gentle squeeze, drawing forth another deep moan from him. Your hand left the one at your mouth, going to grab yet another, but this time you placed it between your legs.

He almost wanted to ask what you were doing, when you leaned back and pulled on him. He moved with you, hovering over your body as you spread your legs for him. Stephen hummed as he looked down, another deep rumbling noise emanating from him while he watched you rub him against your wet entrance.

"You're so wet…"

Stephen twitched, but he didn't dare prod you with it. The tentacles that weren't on your body were coiling in anticipation as you took the one in your mouth out with a loud slurp. You gave him a sultry look and placed the wet appendage to your breast.

"Don't be scared, Stephen. I am not as fragile as you'd think." You said, and pressed him against your breast, squeezing softly to encourage him to move it by himself. Your hand pushed the tip of his other tentacle to your clit and you rubbed it in circles. He let out multiple groans and purring noises.

"It's hard not to be, my dear. I could snap you in half with just a thought."

"You sound like my husband." You teased him in a breathy whisper, hands still trying to encourage him to touch you.

"I am your husband…" He groaned and before you could register what he had said, or the meaning behind it, he brought a few more tentacles down to touch you experimentally. You felt two of them curl around your ankles, slowly spreading them farther apart as the one on your breast squeezed and wrapped the tip around your nipple.

"Ohhh… Stephen… Just like that." You murmured softly as one of the suckers melded over your nipple, perfectly covering it, before it started to pulse. Another one curled around your other breast, giving it the same attention and working them in a good rhythm. You whined and pushed your hips up while rubbing him against your clit. More tentacles crept out, one wrapping around your other wrist, snaking its way up your arm and cupping your chin. Stephen leaned down, almost close enough to kiss.

"You're so soft… And warm…" Stephen hummed as he coiled more and more of his tentacles up and around your limbs and torso. He brought a large hand to your back, pulling you closer as he looked into your eyes.

He saw how they shined for him, even half lidded as he slowly pushed into your pussy. Your breathing quickened as he pushed deeper and deeper, slowly pushing the thicker parts in, while the tip slipped back out to curl over your clit. You keened and he kissed you, groaning into your mouth as he slithered all over you.

"Stephen…" You breathed his name, causing him to grunt as a tentacle slowly snaked up your leg and cupped your ass. You felt more, pulling and tugging at your cheeks, with one going to catch the slick that dripped from your pussy, before probing your backdoor.

"Sweet girl… Fuck… How are you this wet?"

"Because of you, Stephen. Because it's you." You murmured back as you felt him move, sliding his thick muscle in more, stretching you wider as another one slipped inside to find your gspot. It felt amazing, feeling two of them writhe inside of you.

"May I… May I put one in your ass?" He growled while rubbing your tight ring of muscle.

"Please." You answered softly. Your hands came up to his face again, fingers gliding up to his horns. He let out another deep sounding growl and shut his eyes.

You felt your asshole slowly being dipped into, then with a sudden sensation of liquid being applied, he pushed in easily. Your head went back as you gasped and panted, feeling three tentacles wiggling inside of you.

"Fuck… You're something else, you know that right? Anyone else would be terrified right now…"

"Th-that's what my h-husband used to saaay- Oh fuck! W-when he used sex magic on meee..." You sassed back as you licked his cheek.

"Shit… What… What sort of things did he used to do to you?" Stephen asked, his mind already spinning a million images as to what his variant did to you.

"Sensory intensifying spells, lubricating spells, g-ghostly touches, mag-gic vibratory aids…" You started to list some things off, and when you mentioned the last one, you suddenly felt intense vibrations coming from each one of his limbs.

"Oh… Gods… Fuck… That feels so g-good!" Your breath came out rushed as he pushed in deeper with all three of them. The way he throbbed and pulsed was amazing, like a designer toy made just to make you come. You felt so full, and it was glorious.

"So pretty… So divine… How could such a beautiful angel like you, let a monster like me do this to you…? You dirty little thing… Fuck…" Stephen husked and slowly put more pressure on each of your sweet spots. You yelped and thrashed, feeling your pussy clench the closer you got to your release.

"I bet you let him double team you with himself, yeah?" He asked, his voice rough and deep as he started to thrust his tentacles in and out of you.

"Y-yes!" You whined back, feeling yourself get to the edge, but not quite able to jump off yet.

"Did you let him fuck you raw, and come inside you?" He asked, and again you whined.

So close…

"Fuck, yeah…"

"How about the multiple arms spell?" He asked as a tentacle slowly wrapped around your throat.

"Yeah… That was always a favorite of mine…" You sighed when he rubbed your cheek. That sigh quickly turned into a debauched moan as he jerked your body flush against his and started to fuck into you faster, the tentacles rubbing you just right.

"Fuck… You feel so wet… Your walls are clenching so tightly around me. I want to see you come." Stephen licked his lips as he turned the vibrations up.

You howled and felt your nerves snap, and you shook violently in his grasp as you came hard. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he grunted in pleasure as he fucked you through your orgasm. Stephen rumbled and leaned in, forehead pressed to yours as he watched you writhe and moan. The tentacles in your cunt slowed in their movements, and he slowly pulled them from your dripping hole. You stared at him as he brought them up to his mouth, his very long tongue coming out to lick your juices off of them.

"Fuck, that's hot…" You breathed as you tried to catch your breath. He glanced at you and grinned.

"Naughty girl…" Stephen hummed and slowly moved your legs, bringing your feet up high into the air as he positioned himself between them. You glanced down and gasped, eyes going wide like saucers when you saw just how big his cock was.

"Do you like what you see?" His voice was raspy as he made that purring sound. You shivered and stared at his dick. It was dark red, the bulbous head almost a royal purple as it oozed precome. He had thick veins running all over it, and it looked like he was ribbed!

"Do you think it'll fit? I can make it smaller, more the size you're used to." Stephen asked in that teasing tone you missed so much.

How dare he think you couldn't handle that monster of a cock after he just had two thick tentacles in there!

"I can take it."

"Are you certain? I'll ruin you for anyone else."

"I don't want anyone else. I want you. Now please, Stephen, shut your big mouth and fuck me already!"

"So much confidence… That's hot…" Stephen remarked as he brought you closer, resting the large head of cock on your seam. He gently rubbed you, teasing you as he spread your lips with the tips of his tentacles. With a grunt and a gentle push, he nudged the head of his cock into you. You gasped, feeling him push inside, his girth stretching you far more than his tentacles had.

"Shit… Sssooo… So b-big…" Your voice cracked as he shoved in deeper while he carefully watched your reaction. You began to pant and squirm, fingers digging in harder into the meat of his shoulders

"I can stop if-"

"No! Don't stop!"

You struggled to breathe as he pulled you closer, pushing his throbbing member in as deeply as he could. You whined as you felt his hips kiss yours, his cock bottoming out and pulsing. You felt his heavy balls resting flush against your ass.

"You're doing so well, my little minx. You've taken every last inch of me. Can you feel me deep inside of you? Can feel it throbbing, just for you?" He waited for a moment, allowing you to adjust and get used to his size as he cupped your face and kissed your forehead.

"Oh… Gods, y-yes… You feel so good…"

"As do you…" Stephen murmured back, then started whispering a spell into your ear. You felt pleasure tingle all over your body, nerves sparking with fire. Your eyes rolled back, back arching as he began to move his hips.

"Gods be damned… You feel absolutely heavenly…" Stephen growled as his tentacles squeezed and slithered all over your body. He sighed as he sped up, his hips slapping away at yours as he fucked you hard.

"St-stephen!" You called his name and tugged him closer to kiss him. He groaned and stuck his long tongue into your mouth, it sliding around and down your throat. You made small grunting noises as you breathed through your nose, the sensations overwhelming you, and you came.

He pinned you to the bed and pressed you down, his hips fucking up into your tight cavern over and over, sending your senses into overdrive as he pulled another orgasm from your body so quickly after the last. You would have screamed if he wasn't tongue fucking your mouth.

Your nipples suddenly surged with pleasure, and then the suckers on your clit started to send harsh vibrations to it. You gurgled and shook, feeling him draw yet another orgasm from your body. You felt his cock pulse and throb along with every tentacle he had wrapped around you. The one in your ass was purposely pushing against the thin wall between it and his cock, making your eyes roll back as you drooled excessively.

'I'm going to fill you so full…'

You heard his voice in your mind, and all you could do was take his harsh thrusts as he moved in and out of your holes.

You felt his cock throb, and a moment later, he was growling as you felt him spurt the first rope into you. You moaned, feeling more and more fill your womb directly, his come forcing its way out from the side of his cock, and dripping down your ass cheeks.

His come was so warm, and it sent tingles of pleasure through you as you felt the tentacle in your ass begin to fill you like his cock did. You felt warm and sticky, all the other limbs releasing gobs of come all over you. You felt him draw his tongue from your mouth, and he watched as you twitched and thrashed from overstimulation.

His hips slowed down, and then he finally stopped moving altogether, just resting inside of you as he rolled over with you in his arms. You laid on his chest, panting and huffing as his wings slowly wrapped around you, covering you in a warm embrace.

"Stephen..?" You gently asked as you stroked his chest.

"Yes?"

"I missed this so much…" You softly murmured. You felt him kiss the top of your head.

"And I missed you more." He replied as he stroked your shoulder and back with a few tentacles. He had one hand on your ass, the other holding your left hand, his thumb slowly stroking the wedding band that your husband had given to you. You hadn't taken it off since he died.

"Stephen..?" You asked again.

"Yeah?"

"Did you absorb my husband?" You suddenly asked. You felt him still and his hand gripped yours a bit tighter. You heard him swallow, and he took a deep breath.

"Would you be upset if I said yes?" His voice trembled as did his hands. You looked down and noticed the one you were holding had deep dark lines etched into skin.

"No." You sighed happily and nuzzled your face into his chest.

"Then yes."

"Okay. I thought so. I love you." You cooed and kissed his shoulder. He sighed back and held you a bit tighter.

"I love you, too, my dear. Thank you for waiting for me."

"Thank you for coming back to me."

***

@jumpdingus @ashreblogsnow

Tags:

#doctor strange smut #doctor stephen strange smut #doctor strange supreme smut #eldritch monster #incubus strange #watcher strange #stephen strange smut #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x fem!reader #doctor stephen strange x you #doctor stephen strange x fem!reader #doctor stephen strange x female reader #monster fucker #doctor strange #18+ fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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