Reconnect (myg x reader)
Pairing: Idol!Min Yoongi x black!wedding designer!female! Reader
Word Count: 6K+
Warnings: fluff, established relationship, mentions of secret relationship, mentions of a wedding(but not Yoongi and the reader’s), reader and Yoongi are engaged, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), unprotected sex(please speak to your partners before engaging in this), vaginal sex, squirting, creampies, riding, doggy style, mating press/missionary, oral(f receiving), soft dom Yoongi(he’s super soft and vocal but also goes kind of rough😊), rough sex, multiple orgasms(f and m receiving), brief aftercare and mentions of amazing aftercare, reader has goddess locs(color and length not specified), reader also has that Wendy’s Strawberry Lemonade kitty, reader also also has nipple piercings, reader got a fat ass because who doesn’t appreciate a nice booty?
A/N: Hi! This is my second time uploading something. I’ve had this story in my drafts for a while. I had been writing it using she/her pronouns so I’ve been spending the past few days to change those to you/yours. If I missed any, I’m sorry but please let me know so I can make the story more cohesive. Reader is black but their skin color isn’t really described but I believe I referred to their nipples being dark so that’s it. My next post with either be a GreekMythology!Jimin or a Gamer!Jungkook. The Jimin story is actually really long so I think I’ll turn it into a small series but I’ll post the 1st chapter sometime next week. Thanks again for reading! Criticism is greatly accepted and I hope my black and melanated girlies feel good reading this! Have a good day.
~
“I’m sorry, baby. I know I said we’d have dinner but we have to do some last minute recording.”
You tried not to sound disappointed when you replied. “That’s okay. I understand.” And you truly did. You knew how important his job was and that it would be a priority of his.
You just wished that it didn’t take so much of his time. You understood that his music was his life and that it was his dream career. All of his hard work had led up to being able to do what he does now; to make music and inspire the millions of fans that listened. You were so proud of him. Seeing him live his dream filled you with a different kind of pride and emotion. He was happy and that’s all you ever wanted for him.
Still, you missed him. You two had barely spent any time together the past month while he’s been preparing for their new album. He’d come home long after you’d fallen asleep and he’d sleep into the afternoon, just to rise and immediately get ready to go again. You couldn’t even have breakfast together like you used to. You could barely even start a conversation before he was cutting you off with a kiss and rushing out of the door.
While you had your own career of designing wedding dresses, you still had so much free time on your hands. You had already designed your newest collection and it was currently in production to be created. You’ve even made multiple visits to a few stores and they were running amazingly. There was only so long you could bury yourself in work before your heart began yearning for Yoongi’s companionship.
“I promise when this is finished, we’ll go on a trip. Just you and me.”
That made you smile. You and Yoongi have traveled a lot together over the years; Bora Bora, Italy, The Maldives—and each experience had been just as memorable and romantic as the last. He proposed to you in Italy at the Orange Gardens. It was such a magical moment. Just thinking about it made you want to cry. The entire trip was just absolutely perfect; from taking a gondola ride on the gorgeous waters to the 5 Star hotel they stayed in for 3 days and 2 nights, all the way to the candlelit dinner where he got down on one knee. You remember it fondly.
While the promise of a trip together didn’t fix your loneliness now, it gave you something to look forward to.
You couldn’t fight the smile in your voice. “Okay.” Your eyes went over to the stove where dinner was cooking. You had just finished searing some steaks that were finishing up in the oven. There was no point of putting them away for him to eat later. They wouldn’t be as flavorful or tender.
“Hey, is it okay if I bring you some dinner? I know you haven’t eaten yet.” Your tone shifted to one of slight teasing but you knew you were right. His pause of silence was proof enough.
“You don’t have to do that, baby.”
“I want to though. I made steak and I’ll feel better knowing you’ve eaten. I won’t stay long or distract you.” Just knowing he had a home cooked meal would make you happy. You would nag him constantly about drinking too much coffee and eating take out. It came from a place of love, however and Yoongi never minded. He loved having someone so attentive to his health when he’d blatantly ignore it. It showed you cared. Also, he secretly loved being babied by you. He’d never admit it out loud or to his friends but you knew. There was nothing better than coming home, a bath prepared for him to soothe his sore muscles, a meal on the table, and cuddling into your soft breasts while your rubbed his back—always being careful with his shoulder.
Your already nurturing nature and tendency to baby Yoongi increased tenfold once he got surgery. You barely let him leave the bed, even following him to the bathroom to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. A little bit stifling but he was so grateful to you. You always took care of him.
“Then that sounds great. I’ll leave my door open for you. I love you, baby.”
“I love you too. See you soon.”
With a giddy pep in your step, you finished cooking dinner, packaging it nicely in cute Tupperware before putting it in a bag. You had already showered and your clothes were fine but you wondered if you should put on something different. While Yoongi thought you looked good in anything, you still liked to look pretty for him; wearing dresses and heels whenever you went out, keeping your nails and toes done, and making appointments to get waxed every month. Self care was important to you. It not only made you feel good about yourself but it was also something you just liked to do for your husband.
Deciding to change your clothes, you slipped on a t shirt maxi dress that hugged and showed off all of your curves, along with some short open toed shoes to show off your freshly painted white toes. It was simple but still dressy and feminine, just your style.
Checking your hair once more in the mirror and smearing on some lip gloss, you grabbed the bag of food and your keys before exiting your home.
~
HYBE Studios was a pretty moderate drive from your apartment. The reason for that is to keep crazy fans from ever finding it. Once the company realized other idols were having their homes broken into, there was a decision to move all of the boys about 30 minutes from the company in a luxury gated neighborhood. You had to admit, you missed your old apartment you shared with Yoongi since that was their first place together but you also couldn’t complain about the walk in closet and the jacuzzi bathtub.
You greeted the security guard in front of the car garage, him lifting the block to the garage. After parking close to the company cars that were often used to transport the boys during RunBTS, you exited your car and made your way through the side door to the lobby.
You nodded at the secretary, everyone already knowing who you were and letting you pass with no issue.
Yoongi’s studio was on the 8th floor at the end of the hall. Namjoon’s was just a short distance away as well.
Once you reached his door, you entered the pin code on the keypad. Besides a few staff members and the boys, you were one of the few with the password to his studio. He just preferred silence and no disruptions so the code was only used during emergencies or whenever you or the boys came to visit. There was also a group chat for everyone with his code, adorably named ‘The Plastics’, courtesy of Taehyung. If they ever needed to come to his studio, they’d send a text beforehand so he’d know to expect them.
The beep sounded and you opened the door, smiling at the sight of your husband who was cutely leaned over on his right palm as his eyes scanned the production screen for his music. You didn’t get most of it but you always found it adorable when he’d try to explain. He’d get so invested in telling you how reverb and delay could either make or break a song that he’d never see how endearingly you’d stare at him. And he’d always get surprised when you’d lunge to bite his cheek.
“You are just too adorable! I have to bite you!”
His headphones were around his neck so he turned at the sound of his door opened, a smile immediately rising to his face at the sight of you. He removed his headphones, standing to greet you.
You could barely put the food down before his hands were around you waist, pulling you in for a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck, cuddling into his body as you inhaled his cologne and the gentle scent of his favorite body wash.
He pulled away a little to press a few pecks to your forehead. “Hi baby.” His deep, slightly tired voice sent shivers down you spine. It was almost like his regular voice was just his morning voice constantly and out of all of the little things you loved about him, his voice was towards the top of your list—right after his newly grown out hair, his hands, and that little habit of him slurping whenever he’d explain things.
You inhaled a deep breath, basking in the affection. “Hi.”
You two just held each other for a moment, locked in an embrace and not wanting to let go. This was your special kind of intimacy, just not speaking or moving, simply holding one another.
Yoongi considered himself a pretty private person. A little ironic considering he was a world famous idol who’s whole job was being put in the spotlight. However, when it came to his personal relationships, he did his best to keep that as private as possible. Just imagine the uproar when people found out he was engaged. You had been hidden from the public eye for 3 straight years before you got engaged. How? One part extreme luck, the other part moving quietly. Your relationship started off with you meeting for the first time at a staff member’s wedding. You had designed her dress and she was so amazed and in love with how you created her dream dress that she insisted you come to her wedding. Always happy to see people overjoyed with your work and excited to see your design in action, of course you agreed. Coincidentally, you were sat pretty close to the table the boys were at. When you recognized them, you softly smiled and introduced yourself, expressing how you were a fan and how many women said they were using BTS songs as their wedding songs. Yoongi was drawn in instantly, your gentle voice and sparkling eyes as you talked about your clients drew him in. He could tell you were passionate about your career, just like he was.
After exchanging numbers while the bride and groom were cutting the cake, you two mainly texted and called each other in your free time. It took about 4 months for you to go on their first date since Yoongi had to go to America for promotions. He thought you’d lose interest since he traveled and couldn’t take you on a proper date but you never minded. You liked talking to Yoongi and found yourself developing feelings for him. He was trying and effort was one of your biggest green flags for a partner. A little distance wasn’t that big of a deal to you. Of course, you wanted to be able to be close to him and hold his hand and maybe even kiss but you knew what you were signing up for when you started talking.
Once Yoongi went on break, he started dedicating a lot of time to you; dates, inviting you to his place for dinner and wine, and learning more about you. He didn’t think you would get along so well. Talking on the phone was vastly different than being in each other’s physical presence but you had melded together like the pieces of a puzzle. You were so gentle and compassionate, always looking after him and giving him affection he hasn’t gotten in years. You were perfect for him and vice versa.
Your eyes slowly blinked up at him, just taking in his handsome features. You could spot the bags under his eyes, feeling a little sad that he was running himself ragged.
“You look tired. Have you slept since his morning?”
He hummed. “I took a little nap around lunch. The new couch came in.” You turned a little to look at the new addition to his studio. Before, he just had a small leather couch, moreso for decoration than comfort. Once he got a bigger studio, he upgraded his furniture but kept that couch. After some prodding from you, he ordered a new and more comfortable couch—one that could become a pull out bed for those overnights at the studio.
“It looks great.” It was a dark grey color, wide and stretched enough to fully support 2 people if you wanted to spoon on it.
“Yeah. I just didn’t think it would take that long to get it in the door. Namjoon almost knocked over my synthesizer.” He said that with a shake of his head. You giggled, imagining the tall and clumsy man scrambling to pick up the keyboard.
“I can only imagine. I brought food. You should eat it before it gets cold. I should go.” You tried pulling away from him only for him to tighten his grip on your waist. You let out an “oof” as your face met the hard planes of his chest. All that physical therapy and time in the gym had really bulked him up. While you loved his body regardless, you definitely weren’t complaining about the extra muscle. He was filling out this black shirt just fine.
He nuzzled his nose in your neck, inhaling your favorite perfume that you’ve worn since he met your. It was one of his favorite scents. His hands rubbed up and down your back, feeling all over the material of your dress.
“No, stay. Eat with me.”
Yoongi could be very affectionate and straightforward when he wanted to be, normally when you were alone. He’d never show this side in public. Not because he was ashamed of his love for your, far from that. He just preferred to keep their intimate moments private. Maybe a little kiss here and there and some hand holding but moments like this were for you only.
Your manicured fingers went to his nape, scratching at the hair there. “I don’t want to distract you.”
“You’re not.” He pulled back to look you in eyes. “I want you to eat with me. I feel bad we couldn’t have dinner at home.” And he did. He knew his job demanded a lot of his time and attention and even if you understood that, it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about leaving you alone all the time. He knew you could entertain yourself and had your own life outside of him but he still felt bad not being able to spend as much time with you as he wanted. He missed you just as much. While he loved his job, nothing beat coming home to your warmth and affection. To be honest, he was getting a little touch starved.
He led you over to the couch, waiting for your to sit before going to the mini fridge in his studio.
“Do you want juice?” He asked as he pulled out a couple of drinks. He always kept some of your favorites in his mini fridge just in case. You didn’t drink caffeine or really any alcohol, water and juices were your favorites.
You nodded your head, beginning to take out the Tupperware containers. They were still nice and hot. He placed a juice down on the table, along with an energy drink. You frowned at that, leaning forward to pick it up.
“You need to drink water. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those coffee cups on your desk.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed but couldn’t hide his smile. You were too good to him. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t deserve you. Taking the energy drink from you, he went back to the fridge to grab a water instead.
Ignoring the smug smile on your face, he sat next to you, waiting for you to open all of the containers. The smell was delicious, making his stomach growl.
Your handed him some chopsticks and a few napkins before sliding the steak over to him. “Here. Try it.”
You ate in silence, him using his chopsticks to place some pieces of steak and vegetables in your bowl. You smiled, the cute ways Yoongi showed he cared always making your heart warm. Fans knew he was more subtle in showing he cared and that wasn’t any different than him in private. You had to learn that his love language was acts of service but in a more quiet way.
After you finished eating, he helped clean up the containers, giving you some wipes to clean your hands and the table.
He let out of a groan as he sat back down on the couch, belly full and fully ready for a nap. But he knew he had to get back to work and that meant you had to leave.
“Thanks, baby. It was delicious.” His hand came to rest on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin. You hummed, placing your hand on top of his.
“Of course. I’m happy you liked it.” You both rested for a moment before you began moving. “I should go. You have work to do.”
You barely made it to your feet before he was tugging you back down on his lap. A surprised yelp came from your lips at the sudden movement, ass meeting his thighs when you landed. He situated you so that you straddled his hips, his hands immediately going to your ass.
“Baby….” You pouted, feeling a little shy all of a sudden. You were normally the one who initiated physical affection so for Yoongi to do it so roughly surprised you. You weren’t complaining, however. The way his eyes were hooded over and how he looked up at you with that dark endearment made your belly tingle. You knew where this was going.
“Stay.” His left hand pressed your body down so your chest squished against his. “You come here in this dress and my favorite shoes…”
You adjusted yourself to wrap your arms around his neck. “I hardly wear these.”
He shrugged. “I love anything you wear. You look so sexy.” His hand traveled up your dress, moving it up your ass so he could grope full handfuls of the fat. While Yoongi appreciated all parts of your body, your ass was his favorite. Genetics, exercise and a little bit of happy weight had all accumulated into jiggly ass he loved to squeeze and slap. When you met, you were pretty thin but in shape nonetheless. Fans speculated that you gained ‘happy relationship weight’ since Yoongi treats you right. Whatever the reason, he thanks the higher power every day for it.
You could feel the heat beginning to spark between you, along with Yoongi’s growing boner pressing against your panties. Now that you thought about it, it’s been a little while since you’ve been intimate. You and Yoongi have barely had any time for quickies, let alone a full session of sex. And you two could go for hours if you wanted. On the day of your engagement, you barely left the hotel room because you couldn’t keep your hands off him. How could you? He was your fiancé. Mmm, that word just got you hot and bothered.
Your hands ran up his neck and into his hair, scratching at his scalp. The low hum of contentment that came from him spurred you on. You brought your faces closer together, lips hovering before you trapped him in a kiss. He hummed again, lifting his head to kiss you deeper, hands still squeezing at your ass.
Your kiss grew more heady, both of your hands massaging each other and trying to stroke any piece of skin you could. Yoongi began pushing against you to make your roll your hips against him. His cock could probably cut glass from how hard he was. You always got him excited with barely doing anything. To be honest, he started getting hard the moment you entered the room. Just your presence got him feeling almost immediately horny.
And it was the same for you. Your cunt had began getting wet the moment Yoongi turned around in his chair. He just looked so comfortable and effortlessly sexy and the way his muscles strained against that shirt made your imagination run wild.
You pulled away to inhale a deep breath. “Yoongi….please…”
His lazy smirk sent a rush straight to your already wet pussy. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.”
God he was such a tease but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it.
“I need you.”
That was all he needed before he moved to flip you onto your back. You bounced against the soft couch cushions, barely getting your bearings before he was back on you, pressing his lips to yours.
His large hands traveled up your dress, lifting it over your belly and breasts. He leaned back to get a look, letting out a groan at the absolute beauty under him.
Your chest was heaving from just a little kissing, your goddess locks spread out under you, glossed lips plump and ready for more. You were so gorgeous and he made sure to let you know.
You squirmed under the compliment, feeling giddy and a bit bashful. You always received compliments and the occasional catcall and while you accepted the respectful ones gracefully, none of those ever mattered to you. Yoongi’s praise and compliments put you on cloud 9 and you really believed him.
His hands traveled up your body to your breasts, eyes catching something under your bra. He pulled the annoying piece of fabric down and if he could get any harder, he probably would.
“Fuck. You’re wearing your piercings? Did you come here to try and kill me?” The little diamonds sparkled under the light. He remembers buying the jewelry for your birthday last year. He also remembers sucking the sensitive nipples until you were crying just an hour later.
You giggled, biting your lip. “Of course not.”
His smirk widened. “You little sneak.” His hands went to grope at the soft flesh, a sigh falling from your lips. His thumbs ran lightly over the stiff peaks, pulling more sighs and little squeaks from your lips. Your nipples had gotten so much more sensitive after piercings. Yoongi couldn’t be too rough on them when you first got them, being careful of your healing process. He could barely touch them without you gasping in the slight pain from healing. Of course, he never complained, understanding your pain so he just stopped touching them. He just didn’t think it would test his control so much; seeing you walk around without a shirt sometimes, the already silky and delectable breasts looking more appetizing from the little barbells. Months had passed along with many maintenance appointments before you announced that they could be touched without pain. With the pain gone, your sensitivity skyrocketed and with Yoongi’s skilled tongue beginning their assault, your pleasure had been taken to a new level.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and his mouth open to lick over your nipple. You let out a moan as his tongue swirled all around your piercing. He switched to the next one, giving it the same treatment.
The heat between your legs was becoming too much, your panties beginning to feel uncomfortable from how they were sticking to you.
“Yoongi….” You whined. His eyes lifted to lock on your flustered face, lips parted as puffs of air came through them, your eyes desperate and pleading for anything. Everything.
Reluctantly pulling away from your nipples, he helped you pull the dress from your body, tossing it somewhere in the room. Neither of you cared.
He kissed from your breasts to your tummy until he reached the apex of your thick thighs. You immediately dropped them open, revealing yourself to him. He groaned at your desperation but also at the sight of your soaked underwear. The thong barely covered anything, the baby blue fabric now dark from your arousal. It was practically leaking from you, the bottom of your ass shining. Kissing over the stretch marks that streaked down the inside of your thighs, he whispered words of praise to you.
“Fuck baby. You’re so fucking wet.” He couldn’t help himself, surging forward to suck on your clit through your panties. A shiver racked your body, your hands coming down to bury in his hair. The friction wasn’t as good with your panties still keeping his tongue from making direct contact with your clit but it was something. And it felt so good.
Your hips jerked against his face, trying to get more. His hands dug into the meat of your thighs, holding them open as his tongue licked at your clit.
More moans fell from your lips, pleasure causing your vision to go blurry. You felt so close already and he’s barely done anything. Blame it on you not having a proper orgasm for weeks. Your hands just didn’t feel the same and Yoongi had thrown out all of your vibrators once you two started having sex.
“You won’t need these anymore. All your orgasms should come from me.”
Now you were remembering why he threw them out in the first place. Only he could rip pleasure and orgasms from your body in seconds, playing your body like a piano.
Your hand came down your body, tapping against his forehead. He pulled away slightly, eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. You really only stopped him when you were shaking in overstimulation and he knew you hadn’t even cum yet so why were you stopping him?
When he pulled back, you grabbed onto your panties, pulling them aside to reveal your fat and dripping pussy to him.
How the hell did he get so lucky? Did he save orphans in his past life or something? Not only had he managed to put a ring on a kind, generous, and absolutely amazing person who treated him like a King and opened up the deepest parts of him, he also managed to snag a submissive, slutty, and needy woman who could ride his cock for hours and bend in ways he’s only dreamed of.
There was no way.
Eyes darkening in lust, he dove back in to capture your clit, licking at it more furiously than before. The heat from his mouth made that pressure build in your lower belly, your toes curling from their position in the air. Your loud moans only pushed him further, shoving 2 fingers in your tight heat. Your slick walls gripped his fingers so tightly that he could barely move them.
“Y-Yoongi! I’m gonna-“
He curled his fingers up, pulling away from your clit to lean up close to your face, his breath hitting your cheeks. “You gonna cum? You’re such a good girl.” He pressed some kisses to your open mouth, fingers thrusting in and out of your in a superhuman pace, veins and muscles in his arms shifting and bulging from the exertion.
When your orgasm crashed, you swore all of your senses except touch disappeared. You couldn’t hear and your vision blurred from the tears that had welled in your eyes. But Yoongi didn’t stop.
Your hand flew down to grab at his wrist, back arching as he continued his assault, helping you ride the huge wave.
He pulled his lip between his teeth. You were so sexy.
Once you came down, he slowly pulled his fingers from your, the digits glistening in your release. He sucked them into his mouth, moaning at the taste. He just couldn’t get enough.
Now he wanted more. Standing from the couch, he pulled off his own shirt and pants, taking his briefs with them. His hard cock slapped against his stomach, red at the tip and practically pulsing.
You bit your lip, thighs squeezing together as your pussy throbbed. Fuck you were so wet.
He flopped back on the couch, patting his lap. “Come ride this cock, baby.”
Not needing to be told twice, you crawled over into his lap, taking your bra and ruined panties off on the way.
His hands gripped your ass once you were straddled on his hips. You could feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing on your ass and it filled you with excitement.
Reaching your hand back, you gripped his cock, pumping it a few times. He groaned, head falling back against the couch at your touch.
Delivering a sharp slap to your ass, he growled, “stop teasing.”
His deep and demanding voice sent shivers down your spine. Never one to disobey, you lifted your hips, lining up his cock with your entrance. You rubbed the tip over your opening to gather some of your wetness before you slowly began sinking down on him.
A moan came from both of you as his thick cock began splitting you open. Your walls were squeezing him so tight that he felt like he could cum right there but he refrained. He wasn’t even all the way inside yet.
Your mouth was dropped open as his cock stretched you open, head tossed back and eyes closed as you basked in the feeling. Each ridge and vein was pressing against you in the most delicious way, the slight curve pressing against that spot deep inside of you. You felt like you could cum again just like this.
Once your ass met his thighs, you both let out sighs. Not only from pleasure but from being able to be close like this. This is what you needed; this closeness, this union, this intimacy. Sex was so much more to you than just getting off. It bonded you and brought you closer than ever, love spilling over and intertwining your hearts and souls.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in for a sweeter and more sensual kiss.
“I love you…” you whispered against his lips.
“I love you too.”
Your hips began rolling against him, slowly at first to get accumulated to the stretch. He assisted you with one hand on your ass and one on your hip.
Before long, you began raising your hips, falling back down on his lap. The low clapping sounds spurring you on.
Yoongi groaned against your lips. “That’s it, baby. Faster.” With another sharp slap to your ass that made you moan, you bounced faster. Your ass jiggled each time it connected with his thighs and a part of him wished he could see it but the blissed out look on your face was too good to pass up.
Unwrapping your arms from his neck, you leaned back to get that perfect angle, your hands landing on his knees. A squeak fell from you as his tip began bullying your soft spot. Your head fell back, mouth dropped open as that delicious feeling began building in the pit of your stomach.
“Ah! Yoongi! Your cock feels s-so good!” You felt drunk, mind hazy and awareness faded. All you could focus on was the feel of him under you and the way his perfect cock slipped in and out. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, electricity spreading all the way to your fingertips and making your toes curl.
Yoongi couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t even know where to look; your breasts, face, where you were connected? He could see how your arousal was dripping down to wet his pubic hair, a ring of your wetness coating the base of his cock. You were truly was a sight to behold.
That pressure was building faster than you thought. Sliding your hand down your body, your fingers connected with your clit, rubbing the nub in fast circles.
“Yoongi!”
He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Your walls clenched and constricted around him, almost suffocating him. His hands rubbed at your nipples, flicking at the piercings. You were seeing stars, the stimulation was too much. His hands roaming you, your own fingers on your clit, and his cock inside of you was all too much.
That pressure…..
“I’m cumming!”
Your hips lifted from his cock, it falling out to slap against his stomach. Your fingers rubbed at your clit until some drips of liquid came out. The motion of your fingers caused the droplets to fly everywhere, some landing on the cushions as well.
Once you were done riding it out, he was flipping you back on the couch, head pressed into the cushions and ass up in the air. He delivered a few slaps to your ass, pulling some moans from your at the sting. Your head was swimming, the sudden movement making you a little dizzy but that dizziness quickly left when Yoongi entered you again.
His cock entered you in one swift motion, hips immediately working to push and pull against you. Your ass clapped back on his hips, the fat jiggling and rippling with every move. His own orgasm was just over the horizon.
“You are so fucking sexy.” Each word was punctuated by a thrust. “You come in here looking this good and then you bounce on my cock until you squirt? Why the fuck have I been spending all my time here when you’re at home?” He was really talking to himself. Only a true idiot would leave a hot piece of ass like this at home all day. And he must really be a true idiot, probably the dumbest man alive. But not anymore.
Your moans were rising in pitch. With this position, you could every inch, every curve, absolutely everything. You could barely breathe, your brain only being able to form utterances of his name and begs of faster and harder.
That feeling in Yoongi began cresting, balls drawing up as his orgasm washed over him. His hands gripped your hips and ass hard enough to bruise but you could care less. He could bruise you up all he wanted.
His orgasm spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, shuddering his whole body. “F-fuck….” He breathed out. That was probably the hardest orgasm he’s ever had in his life.
Your own breath began to even out. You thought that was the end but you were suddenly flipped around back on your back. Both of your legs were hiked up over his right shoulder, thighs pressing into your chest in Yoongi’s absolute favorite position.
“You think I’m done with you?” His smirk was teasing and it caused more arousal to drip from you. He reached his hand down to line himself up before pushing into your heat. A gasp came from your throat at the intrusion, your hands coming to grip at the back of his neck.
His hips set a brutal pace, balls wetly slapping against your ass.
“Oh my god! Y-Yoongi!”
It felt like he was in your throat, every thrust hitting you in all the right spots. Your nails scratched at his neck, the slight sting only pushing him harder. He could feel your walls tightening, a tell tale sign of your orgasm. Your breasts bounced with every push, dark nipples looking incredibly enticing.
“Cum, baby. That’s it.”
Your body seized up as your second orgasm full body absorbed you. Your vision spotted white and your ears were ringing.
But not even your orgasm made him stop or slow down. He pushed faster and harder, the squelching noises getting louder as more and more wetness spilled from you.
It was like your orgasm wouldn’t stop. Wave after wave came over you. Every nerve was lit on fire, your mouth dropped but no sound came out. He had taken every word from you.
When he felt you squirt on his cock again, he shoved his full cock inside. Your toes curled so hard that you could feel them crack, legs shaking but he held them tightly. Your hands smacked against his shoulders as the stimulation became too much. You were so full.
“Yoongi!”
“Take it. Take all that cock, baby.”
You had no choice but you didn’t care. You’d give up every choice if it meant he’d fuck you like this.
He rolled his hips against yours a few more times before his own orgasm washed over him. He groaned into your throat, a full body shudder racking his body.
Lifting his head, he connected your lips in a soft kiss, a complete turn from what just went down. You hummed against his lips, hands roaming his soft skin.
He moved your legs from his shoulders, massaging your slightly sore muscles as you kissed. You both let out small moans as he pulled out of your heat, his cum flowing out of you.
Yoongi helped you clean yourself up, giving you a large elastic to tie up your hair. The sweat would definitely make your roots curl back up but that was a problem for another day. You put your dress back on as Yoongi pulled his shirt and pants back on. Your underwear found themselves tucked into his back pocket. A little silly considering he had endless access to you pussy but you guessed it was some man thing.
When Yoongi went back to his computer, leaning over the chair to click at some things, you visibly deflated, mood dampening. Was he really going back to work? You guessed you did just come to drop off food, the sex was a bonus and you did say you would leave afterwards. You just couldn’t help but feel a little sad and used. Yoongi was the king of aftercare, always running you a bath or giving you cuddles as you two calmed down from lovemaking. It’s not like this one moment would make you think Yoongi didn’t care but you did feel a little defeated.
Gathering your things, you were about to approach the door but Yoongi’s voice stopped you.
“Where are you going?”
You didn’t turn to face him, feeling a little embarrassed. “Home. Aren’t you going back to work?”
A snort came from him. “Of course not.”
You gasped when his body pressed against your back, also the feeling of his boner was right on your ass.
“Yoongi….”
“You really think I’m about to work and let you go home so you can wash my cum out of you? I’m fucking you until you can’t walk.”
Maybe you should come to the studio more often.
665 notes
·
View notes
grimm
Pairing: Death (Puss in Boots: The Last Wish) x f!catgirl Reader
Synopsis: The series of unfortunate events and clichés that lead you to meeting a familiar nightmare in the middle of the woods beneath a full moon. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
Warnings: 18+, explicit smut w/ a nonhuman character (not a nonhuman cock though), noncon, death, violence
Tags: alternate universe, angst, size kink, object insertion, masochistic reader, praise (voice) kink, outdoor sex
Words: 18.5k
Notes: It's been a while, huh? Yes, today we are going to fuck the furry from a kids movie, I'm not sure if y'all are even surprised but. Anyway. On the one hand I'd say I feel shame but on the other they shouldn't have made him talk so sexy, which is not my fault. All the Spanish is from DeepL and context.reverso. Hopefully any mistakes aren't too bad and you don't find it too cringe, or you can manage to look past it for my sake.
Once upon a time there lived in an unassuming little corner of the world a man. A husband to a beautiful wife and a father of two lovely children. He was strange, perhaps, for the ears atop his head, and the vertical irises through which he looked, and the spry springiness of his limbs. Stranger too for his chosen lifestyle, a traveling merchant whose blood couldn’t get any lower. Ravi, sons and daughters of Bastet, relics of a bygone era. For all that he was strange, however, he was steadfast. Bolstered rather than weakened by the critical eye of other men, the unyielding cut of his silhouette and unshakable confidence made the man a lord in his own right. He had been here, and there, traveling wherever the wind called him, and always with certainty. If his chosen path was obstructed by a swath of trees, he would see the forest leveled before he so much as considered choosing a different route. A further measure of his determination, however, would prove that if he were told that those same obstructing trees were sacred, he would scorch the earth so thoroughly that not even ash dared remain beneath his boots when he trampled on the hallowed ground.
One day, the man looked down to admire how far he had come throughout the years, to smile upon the many grand achievements he had stacked up along the way. But then, looking a little closer, he couldn’t help but notice how long his shadow had become. While he had been distracted, the sun made its arc above him, and now it was falling towards the horizon, casting him in ever dimming light. Taking with it, he thought, Ra’s blessing. He began to tally up all of the things he had been ignoring. A stiff back, sore joints, fatigue after a day of travel, a headache after a night of frivolity. He noticed that while his son had grown tall and strong, he had been shrinking. The lovely apple cheeks of his beloved wife had begun to dull, wrinkles forming around her eyes. This realization filled the man with a feeling he had never experienced before—uncertainty. And then, fear.
Unable to face the dark, he vowed that he would not allow it, he would do whatever it took to escape such a terrible fate. Unbeknownst to him, this audacious belief invited the attention of a creature with a unique penchant for mischief and an appetite for fear. A wolf. He told the man that he could run, he could fight, he could rage, he could try to pull the sun back with all his might, but in his desperate frenzy to escape the night, he would only incur a great debt. An immeasurable bounty. One, perhaps, that would condemn not only him, but his family and the legacy he had created. A terrible fate.
“I do not fear you,” the man said.
The wolf laughed.
It was to be a chase, then. A hunt. The man ran, searching for something, anything, that would save him, traveling here and there with purpose, scouring the shadows, tracking down myth and rumor with a passion bordering mania. There had to be, he reasoned, a way to remain in Ra’s boundless glory. Circling ever nearer, the wolf harried his prey to the last.
Until, on the lush outskirts of a certain small village, a small ravi family set up their wagon for the night. The woods swarmed with the sound of bugs, the early summer heat simmering back down into the cold dampness of spring nights. Haunting and dreamlike, echoing in the dark, signaling finality, a song. And then, a figure in the dark. A familiar face, a frightening foe.
There, in the night, beneath the full moon, the hunt ended. Nowhere to go, nowhere to run, his obsession had taken him so completely that the only remaining recourse was a final fit of fury against the dying light. Perhaps, in those last moments, the man realized what a fool he had been. Too late. The wolf had grown bored of the game.
Horror of horrors, serendipity struck. A child who should have been tucked up tight in her bed, sheltered and safe from what lurked in the dark, grew bored of counting sheep. She hadn’t yet learned to fear the night, thinking her father to be playing a delightful trick. Creeping, quiet, curious, and ignorant to the cruelty of the dangerous unseen, she breached the forest’s uncanny shadows. Deeper, deeper, until she discovered the truth. Her father’s corpse hit the ground, his empty eyes never seeing her terror, his deaf ears never hearing her scream.
The gray wolf bid her to run, and she did. It was inevitable that they should meet again.
one chance.
Before that night, you never gave much thought to death, or luck, or malevolent forces, or tragedy. It was only when you were huffing, puffing, screaming for help, crying wolf, that true fear crept into your life. Once the door opened, it could not be closed. Although the monster was long gone, its shadow remained.
And they said: you were lucky to have escaped. They said: ravi law, loose as it was, could not be counted on for satisfactory justice. They said: the murder could not have been committed by any of the simple townsfolk. They said: it would be a blight upon the poor ordinary people for the case to drag on and on. And so the crime was tried thus—your brother, suffering a fit of drunken rage, donned a mummer’s wolf mask and murdered your father.
Not even a day passed before the so-called trial was held. The only building that could accommodate the gawkers and jury was the local barroom, a place that stank of old wood and fermentation. You didn't know the man acting as judge, you did not recognize any of the faces around you, only that they were indifferent, cold, and your brother's life rested in their callous hands. He sat near the front as the case was laid out for the gawkers, his face drawn and shadowed. Clapped in irons, his mouth covered to protect his jailors from his sharp ravi canines, ears as low as you’d ever seen them, looking not so much a man on trial than livestock on auction.
"You’re the daughter, are you not?” the judge called. It took you a moment to realize he meant you, his dull eyes signaling you out.
Someone spat at your feet.
“Filthy half breed."
"They’re incestuous, the father must have found them in the act."
“They’re both guilty.”
“Go ahead. Run. No one escapes me.”
The low whisper, practically a growl, made your ears twitch, your heartbeat racing as you scanned the faceless crowd with dry eyes, blinking fast to try and find the source of that terrible voice. But the faces were all human, drawn with cruelty and disgust, but human.
The judge banged on the table, catching your attention. “Young lady! You witnessed the crime, yes?”
You shook your head in rejection of the phantom voice and cleared your throat, breaking free of your mother’s grasp to stumble towards the judge. "Yessir," you said. "Yessir, I am… I-I did."
“Go on, then. We’ll hear your testimony.”
It was difficult to breathe, the air was stuffy and hot, your skin too tight. You could feel the people watching you, the weight of their eyes.
"You've got it all wrong, sir,” you said. “It-it wasn't him. He couldn't-"
"The facts only, if you please," the judge said, cutting you off. "Did you or did you not see the man who attacked you?”
Hot, heavy tears formed in your eyes, primed to travel the same salty tracks down your cheeks left by those before. Fear, pain, sadness, exhaustion, all of it compounded and ached within you. You didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to think. But you had to.
"It was no man, sir," you said, your voice choked.
“Do you mean to tell me a woman killed your father?”
“No sir, it was an… an evil spirit.” Behind you, people muttered and whispered with disbelief. Shock. Doubt. Anger. The judge's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “He had the head of a jackal, or a-a a wolf. ”
“A mask.”
“No, sir. It was not a man.” You heard your mother’s scolding voice from behind you, and your brother raised his head to look at you with shock, but you ignored it all.
"I should hope I don’t need to remind you of the severity of these proceedings,” the judge said, his eyes narrowed into slits.
"I know what I saw,” you replied, your hands balled into tight fists at your side.
"Your testimony is that an evil spirit with the head of a wolf murdered your father and attacked you?" The judge clarified, not so much as pretending to believe you. The question pulled a bit of laughter from the crowd. Your mother grabbed at your arm to pull you back, but you refused to let her. Instead, you set your stance and jaw.
"Yessir."
More laughter, as if there was anything humorous about this situation.
“I know,” the judge said loudly, silencing the crowd with a wave of his hand. “I know that you’ve been through a terrible thing, and I am sorry about that. That’s no excuse, however, and I mean this, it is no excuse for you to lie. You might think you’re defending your brother, but anything less than the absolute truth only strengthens the case against him. And, if I’m to be completely honest, I find this behavior deeply troubling. Perhaps it is acceptable among your kind to believe in stories of evil spirits and the like, but it is not appropriate here. We’re a good, God fearing people.”
“This isn’t a story. I saw it,” you insisted, your throat swollen and the world blurring up with tears. “The beast might still be in the woods, if you just look-”
“Look for the big bad wolf?” the judge asked, a bushy gray eyebrow rising high, inviting further discontent and disbelieving laughter from the people behind you. He sighed, once again calling for order and shaking his head. “It pains me greatly, you must understand, I want to be fair considering your circumstances, but this really is unacceptable. If you won’t testify against him, your father’s killer-”
“I told you,” you insisted, a little louder.
“No, young lady. And I repeat—no. What you have done is insult me and the fine people of this town with your absurd heathen fiction,” he told you.
“That’s not-”
“Your kind think you are above civilized law, but understand that we are giving your father the justice he, as a son of God, deserves by right. Your father brought fear and tragedy into the hearts of these people, and your scoundrel brother committed an unthinkable crime. There are those who don’t believe your brother is deserving of a trial at all, considering the substantial evidence against him. Indeed, this is a kindness I am extending to you and your mother. So, for the last time, I will not tolerate your pagan fiction. Do you understand?”
“I do,” you said, although you could feel your confidence wavering, a shaky cold sweat beading up on the back of your neck, pooling acidically in your stomach. He wasn’t going to listen. He didn’t believe you. “But I haven’t lied, I know what I saw.”
That caused an uproar, the people’s voices overlapping, a relentless and meaningless wave of noise. Demanding you be silenced, removed, executed.
“That is enough,” the judge exclaimed, and you didn't know if he spoke to you or the people. “So far, I have disregarded accusations that you were complicit in your brother’s crime, but if you continue to behave in such a manner, I may have to reconsider. That is a charge of patricide, young lady. Do you not have enough decency to spare your mother the loss of another child?”
You looked at him, really looked at him, overcome with a dizzyingly caustic rush of pain and disbelief at the injustice. He didn’t care if your brother was or was not guilty, or who had actually killed your father. To him, the death of a ravi man was meaningless, let alone two. Let alone three. He saw your eyes and ears and that was it.
Trying to fight back the thick swell of fear and pain and anger, you breathed carefully in and out, staring straight up in an attempt to fight the tears.
“It wasn’t my brother,” you said, forcing the words from your mouth without inflection. "He would never, ever… he wouldn't."
“Did you,” the judge asked icily, bluntly, “or did you not see the face of the man who attacked you?”
Red eyes, a long snout, a canine mouth full of deadly sharp teeth. A spirit attempting some approximation of the god of death with twin sickles in hand, trying to twist the kind shepherd’s image into one of terror, a creature wearing the face of evil itself. But the truth cowered away from something far more potent, shamefully grotesque. Self preservation.
“No,” you said, realizing too late the damning significance of that answer, wanting to add more but not knowing what. When you looked your brother in the eye, you understood. And it didn’t matter what you said after that point. You were the girl who cried wolf.
two times questioned.
That night, a great storm blotted out the stars and made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of yourself. You made off into the night with your meager possessions packed up in a sack and some vague idea of where to go in the back of your head, mostly memories of better times. Anywhere was better than the home for wayward girls you had been shuffled into, a place that was a charity in name only.
Ultimately, you didn’t make it far, not even out of the city. There was no place in the world left for you, and you were afraid of the dark, and it was so, so cold.
Falling to your knees at the side of the road, mud splattering you with the force of each raindrop, you cried. Sobbed, curling in on yourself, desperate to wish it all away, wailing louder than the winds could blow as if your misery would overcome nature itself. You tried not to cry much anymore, tried not to show your weakness, but now it all came flooding out. Agony deep enough to drown, heavy enough to crush.
Until you heard a song beneath the gale. Impossible that it should reach you above the riotous storm, impossible that you should know its melody. Panic slushed through your veins in an instant, and you stumbled upright, ready to run from a danger you had so desperately tried to convince yourself didn’t exist. Red eyes and silver sickles and-
When you whirled around to run, you were not caught by a wolf, but by the man you could only think of as the prison warden.
Caked with mud and soaked to the bone, he dragged you back to the home, and you let him, fearing what lurked in the darkness more than you feared the punishment your escape attempt would earn.
Although it wasn’t bright, the light blinded your glazed eyes. You slipped when he released you, but felt nothing when you fell, leaving a muddy smear upon the tiles. Your fingers, bleached of color, were numb to all sensation, slipping when you tried to support yourself. The cold burrowed into your very core. You shook. Violently, as if your soul itself trembled.
Fear had kept it all locked up tight in your chest. Fear of your shame for crying wolf. Fear that if you gave breath to the creature that haunted your dreams, he would be made real. You told yourself that your father was murdered by a man in a mask, but the wolfman haunted you, the face of oblivion, that song and that laugh.
Distantly, you became aware of a commotion, and then the headmistress appeared before you. A towel was forced into your clumsy hands by the same girl who helped you get to your ice-block feet, muttering something about drying off. You doubted a single towel would manage that feat, but you held fast onto the fabric with fingers you couldn’t feel.
“Where in God’s name,” the headmistress demanded, haughty even in her dressing gown and curlers, “do you think you were going?”
You hugged the towel to your chest, feeling the fluffy material grow heavy and limp from your embrace. Ruined by your touch. Shaking so hard your teeth clacked, the entire world jittered and hazed, your bones practically vibrating, tears and snot dripping down your face with the rainwater.
“I asked you a question,” she said, her tone a little more shrill. Anger smoldered in her voice, but your eyes found purchase only on the lacy hem of her nightcoat. Such fine lace would have been imported from the north, your father had sold more than his fair share of it. You owned several pretty dresses decorated with similar frills, once. A lifetime ago. A life that ended with one decisive slash of silver. “Where were you going? Running off with a boy?”
Wide open fields of rippling golden wheat, smooth red cliff sides overlooking deep drops into the abyss, frothy blue waves licking pale sandy shores. Places you knew, places you had only heard about. Ravi weren’t meant to stay in one place, yours was a people of wanderlust and breeze.
The lady stepped forward and slapped your cold, numb cheek. You stumbled, slipping back onto the floor. “You will answer when I ask you a question,” she said. “I will not repeat myself again.”
“I wanted to see my mother,” you finally told her, your voice barely comprehensible from the way you were shaking, more tears welling up. The pain was there, was always there, and it burned hotter than the biting blue on your fingers and toes.
“Oh, for the love of… you’re well on your way to joining her,” she said. “What in the world was I thinking, allowing you into my home…”
You stayed silent. There was no defense you could offer, no excuse you could provide. She sighed, annoyed.
“I’ll decide your punishment in the morning. Assuming you don’t catch cold and die.” She laughed once, a short sound. “I should be so lucky.”
Die. Your sluggish brain was slow to process that word, churning it round and round in a swirl of equally unpleasant thoughts. When you breathed, the air rattled in your chest. Your mother made the same sound at the very end, as if death had already planted its seed in her body, slowly infecting her from the inside out. Fear had never come for her, not like with your father or brother. There was only vacuous ecstasy, the madman’s bliss of fever. When you pictured what she looked like, it was her hollow eyes staring into nothingness, her bones poking out beneath waxy skin in unnatural angles and blood bubbling upon dry lips. “I am going to see them soon,” she told you, smiling. It was the first time since your brother’s execution that she didn’t look at you with blame smoldering beneath her pained eyes. “We’ll be together, and it will be beautiful.”
But it was not beautiful.
Death was a hideous, terrible thing. Despair and empty eyes and rotting flesh without poetry or resolution. Blood dripping from curved blades, lives harvested without mercy, red eyes flashing with glee. A neck snapping and a body gone limp at the end of a rope. Agony in a small room that smelled of human waste and sickness. Death was not beautiful.
three failures.
The other girls called you, among other things, murderer.
“She pushed her.”
“Her kind are all like that, thieves and murderers.”
“Freaks.”
The two of you were stuck cleaning windows, balanced precariously high up in the air. The platform got loose, teetering uncertainly two stories up. It could have just as easily been you rather than her, but it wasn’t. Of course you hadn’t pushed her, but who would believe the word of a ravi?
And who would believe you when you told them of the shadow which greeted her down below? A monster you couldn’t believe in. The bastardized form of a benevolent god. The real murderer.
They saw your fear as guilt. And that was that. Murderer. You hadn’t pushed her, that was a fact. But it was suspicious, wasn’t it? There was a pattern of death surrounding you. Punishment.
Every night, you begged forgiveness, begged for freedom from the creature that haunted you. Bastet did not answer. Ra did not answer. Your prayers became pleas, and your pleas weakened into whimpers. Eventually, you stopped asking.
It followed you. Death, less an intangible concept than a lurking threat circling ever nearer, followed. Your father, your brother, your mother, other girls in the home. But not you, no matter how close you came. Accidents happened. Punishment became more and more brutal. Part of it was because of what you were, a belief that a beast could handle rougher treatment. Part of it was your attitude. Punishment. Live, but live in misery. Survive, but survive endless torment. And they said that you were lucky. The beatings were never deadly, although they should have been. The accidents were never fatal, although they could have been. You shouldn’t have survived, but you did.
four minutes.
It was spring, then. The river beside the road gushed with newfound force, overeager after an especially snowy winter. Even the season of life and rebirth was ripe with violence and death. The scent of it seemed to cling permanently to your dirty clothes, cloying in the chill of night. You and three other girls from the charity house followed by the riverside on the way back to town, your faces dusty and feet heavy from a long day of work. There was, as it turned out, quite a bit of money in renting out orphans to satellite farm estates who could launder clothes, clean carpets, polish silver, and scrub cast iron. No money for you or the other girls, but money nonetheless.
The three chatted as they walked in front of you, a conversation you tuned out. Long had you grown accustomed to walking behind them, ignored and withdrawn. Trailing behind like a shadow, an afterthought. In so-called polite society, that’s all ravi were. They—they with their round irises and human ears, with their unmarked faces and smooth canines—didn’t want you at their side. You understood things like that now, things you had been so blissfully unaware of in your childhood.
You watched their worn-out shoes marching on in synchronized steps. Watched when they suddenly stopped, your eyes drawn up in confusion as they turned towards you with big smiles.
"Those flowers are awfully nice, you should see if you can cross the river to pick some for us."
"I’d go myself, but your kind are more agile than real people, right?"
"The rocks make a perfect bridge for you to cross."
Requests from them, although you weren’t sure they could be called anything other than orders, weren’t abnormal. The only thing lower than an orphaned girl was an orphaned ravi girl. That was the way of it. Rather than forming a bond of solidarity, they emphasized what little status they had left by pushing you around. Surely there were similar flowers on this side of the river, but that wasn’t the point.
Biting your lip, you looked at the rocks spanning the river’s violent course to the other side. It wasn’t much of a bridge. Attempting to cross was, at best, stupid. If you fell, you would be helplessly carried away by the water, thrashed about against the rocks. Dead, surely. But if you denied them, they would almost certainly do worse. Whisper words of your supposed misdeeds to the headmistress, spread lies that would earn you punishment. Malice gleamed in their empty, hollow eyes.
"All right," you said, feigning indifference as you sized up the river.
The girls smiled and tittered as you faced the river. The water roared. Nerves had your hands shaking, but you didn’t let them show.
With a big breath and a mental prayer to Bastet to steady your feet, you stepped onto the first rock. Beneath the worn sole of your boot, the rock was slippery. You set your jaw, going to take another step.
Something knocked against your back. While it was a light touch, the surprise jolted your balance.
Just like that, the rock slipped out from under you. An undignified squawk left your mouth, and your arms flailed around empty air desperately to regain your footing, but you couldn’t manage it.
The water hit as hard as the ground might, immediately dragging you under.
For a moment that seemed to consume forever entirely, animal panic. You inhaled a lungful of water, thrashing wildly. You tumbled sideways as the river dragged you along, hitting rocks on the way. You violently struggled against its unstoppable current in an attempt to get your head above the water.
Unable to breathe, unable to orient yourself, you were as good as dead.
Then you slammed against a rock. The agonizing impact gave you enough of a painful shock to find purchase against it, slicing your palms against the rough edges as you held fast against the water’s oppressive tow. Blindly, you managed to find which way was up and dragged yourself to it. And then you were vomiting river water, hacking it out of your lungs and desperately trying to suck in gasps of air.
Feeling as heavy and broken as a corpse, you managed to flop onto the bank, covering your entire front with mud, crawling through it to drag yourself out of the water completely. It was there that you came eye to eye with three familiar pairs of shoes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“I guess cats can swim after all.”
“You’re lucky that rock was there, huh?”
You coughed up more water, coughed until you were hacking up blood, wheezing and shuddering with bone-deep violence. There would be a terrible bruise on your stomach. But you were alive because of it. Pain, and life. Lucky you.
five years.
Barely into your lanky teens and with nothing more than meager pocket change to live on, you made your final escape from the charity house and went west. The most recent beating was proof enough that if you stayed, you would die. The woman who stitched you up said you only narrowly avoided it this time. You knew a coffin was the sole eventuality waiting for you there. So you left. Despite the time spent there, you parted with no sentimentality for what you would be leaving behind, or excitement for what laid ahead.
In a way, you were following your father’s example. His legacy. In his final days, you heard him muttering about the sun going down. Your brother whispered that he’d grown paranoid of his own death, that it was why your family never stayed in any place for too long. He was driven by a mean, feral fear and even aggression towards death, the cornered-rat instinct to defend your life at any cost, to protect the pitiful remains of existence as an animal would. You thought you understood. So you pressed against your bruises and exhaled slowly, accepting the pain as proof that you were still alive.
Dust kicked up a big cloud behind the wagon, baking beneath the heat of the sun. Although the world was alive with birds and bugs and the sound of hoofs on the road and wheels crunching over ground, you couldn’t empathize. Crusty from a night of fitful sleep, your eyes cringed away from the garish sunlight, your head pounding angrily. Pain and anxiety from your first night on your own kept you awake and, when you did manage a few hours of sleep, you had bad dreams. A fiction where your family was restored and you were all together again. Whole, untainted by horror and death. You woke up hollow and sick and empty, unalive but breathing.
“Are those real?” the girl beside you asked, breaking you from your thoughts. She pointed at your ears, her eyes wide with curious innocence. You imagined that question had been building up for a while, ever since you hitched a ride on her father’s wagon to the nearest town, the two of you sitting in the back of the bed with your legs swinging over the passing road. She was very young, her round-cheeked smile missing a single tooth and bright colored ribbons in her hair. He was going to the next town over to sell goods from his farm.
"Quinta!" her father scolded sharply.
“It’s okay,” you said. It was better to be asked outright than to endure the side glances. “They’re real.” You tilted your head to show her. Quinta reached out to pet the fur, her chubby little hands cautious.
“What are you?” she asked, getting another stern look from her father over his shoulder. Not that you blamed her. He probably didn’t know either, ravi didn't often leave their small communities, and they were practically unheard of in this part of the world. Little wonder, some establishments wouldn’t so much as let you inside. It was a very positive mark on his character that he allowed you to ride on his wagon in the first place, most people wouldn’t.
“I’m ravi.”
She blinked. “Is that why you look like a cat?”
“I guess so.”
Quinta considered that for a moment, staring at you unabashedly. It wasn’t just your ears that were different, otherwise you could have covered them up and avoided the scrutiny. With round eyes and vertical pupils, markings seemingly painted over your cheeks, you stood out regardless of what you did or where you went. Ravi were strangers to everyone, uprooted and adrift, low as the dust trailing beneath your feet. That fact hadn’t changed after you ran away from the charity house, you merely traded the title or orphan for that of vagrant.
“My mom won’t let us keep cats, we only have a dog,” Quinta finally announced. “Do you like dogs?”
You shrugged.
“Are you afraid of them because of-” She put her hands over her head, mimicking your ears.
“We are natural enemies,” you said, although the comment didn’t come across as the joke you intended. Perhaps because it wasn’t a joke.
Quinta didn’t say anything, looking back at the passing road and her swinging feet. The warm air smelled like trees and dust and the stacks of straw piled up on the back of her father’s wagon. When the breeze blew, you got whiffs of the approaching town. Manure, cooking food, fire smoke, and that tangy, sweaty scent of so many people all crowded in one place.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Somewhere else.”
“Oh.”
You looked down, staring at the road. The sun beat down on your neck, sweat beading up on your hairline. You could hear the chorus of a small town’s buzzing crowds as the wagon pulled closer.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Quinta said. “Will you come to our house? I bet you’ll like my dog, he’s really, really nice. My mom is there, you can meet her.”
You smiled, feeling a sharp little pang at her sweet innocence. “Thank you, I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, please say you will.”
“Quinta, that’s enough,” her father chided. She frowned, but said nothing else.
The wagon pulled to a stop where the animals could be hitched. You hopped off and stretched, looking around the town. You weren’t really sure where you would go next. Far away. As far as possible.
“Thank you, sir,” you told the man, bowing politely.
He nodded gruffly, and you knew you shouldn’t linger. Still, you couldn’t help but glance back at the sound of his heavy grunt. When he passed the wagon bed, Quinta jumped up onto his back, her arms wrapped tight around his neck. He was quick to rebuke her, scowling as he put her on the ground. That clearly hurt her feelings, turning away with a trembling lower lip and furrowed brows. You felt, for a terrible moment, a great pain in your chest.
You wanted to tell her that he was just busy. Maybe he could be cold and stern, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love her. You wanted to tell her to love him while she could, that time was finite. Right then, you weren’t looking at a stranger and his daughter, but at a little girl with ears too big for her head and a man who waved at her from the driver’s seat with a sun-crinkled smile, a man who tweaked those fluffy ears with calloused fingers, and a man who kissed her forehead with paper-dry lips.
But then you blinked, sunblind and a little dizzy, and turned away from the scene.
You thought of your father, love for him tender sweet and swelling in your chest, overwhelming. But quickly, always so quick, his smiling, twinkly eyes were emptied as his body fell to the ground, deprived of dignity in those final moments. And the monster turned from him to face you with a wild expression, a growl in its throat. He said you would meet again. The big bad wolf was not real, he was a masked madman, a creature of fiction. All the same, your anxious, cold gaze scanned the crowd of many faces around you. Haunted. Hunted.
sixth sense.
Blisters covered your hands, and you couldn't stop coughing, your body seizing with fits of it. The tangy sour stench of smoke infected every pore of your body, saturated your lungs with its acrid excretions. Somehow, despite the horror of escaping a building as it burned down, you were alive. You had no idea what had woken you up, but it happened before anybody even noticed the fire. Others weren’t so lucky. The girl who slept every night two beds down from you, who was innocent, who had never done anything at all to you, was dead.
"It's not your fault that you couldn’t get to her in time. You were lucky enough to get out with your life," you were told, an attempt at consolation. A lie.
It was your fault. Your punishment. Your presence invited the flame to spark a blaze in the boarding house for working young women, and yet you had lived while someone else died. Above the sound of so many voices, of a chaos world attempting to fix such a tragedy, you could hear it. She screamed for as long as she was able, until her lungs were too coated in sooty black smoke to make a sound, until her flesh melted by the infernal heat. Other women boasted swaths of charred skin, blisters popping bright red and gruesome, bones broken from leaping out windows. Their lives would be ruined by this, by the sheer misfortune of being near you.
And as the flames licked the sky, you could have sworn you saw an inhuman face at the flickering orange edge where the light tapered into shadow, his eyes not so much reflecting the blaze as they were consuming the fire’s callous violence, soaking in the terror which mingled with the smoke.
Then you blinked watery eyes, and the shadow was just a shadow.
There was nothing for it, you left town as soon as you were well enough. Not soon enough, clearly.
It was your fault, your punishment, but terribly, shamefully, you kept thinking, over and over and over, at least it wasn’t you. You breathed in air that still stank of the memory of murderous smoke and felt grateful that you would recover from this incident.
That selfish drive was the crux of it all, the reason you could never allow yourself to move on. After so many years, most people would have found a way forward. They took their anguish in stride and did something with their life. But you didn’t. For you, there was no forgetting, and there was no moving on. You couldn’t be allowed happiness in a life others had been denied, a life that you hoarded so rabidly. Even cowards had to draw a line somewhere, didn’t they? No matter how miserable, you struggled to squeeze one more day out of the harsh world, to carve yourself another miserable hour, and then, crippled by pain and smoke and fear, felt a coward’s joy when facing tragedy because at least it wasn’t you.
Lucky, lucky, lucky you.
seven rainbow hues.
"Watch out!"
It happened so fast. That was the cliche, but the truth. Time did not wait for you to catch up in moments where survival came down to muscle memory. Panic and surprise cut up your perception in choppy little bits. One second you were walking down the road, you noticed a man beneath a falling beam and lunged, and then you were flat on your ass in the middle of a road, adrenaline spiking your heart rate and your entire body shaking with it. So little time had passed that the warning was still tangy in your mouth, the sound stifled by the echoing impact.
Someone was shouting. Screaming.
Sitting up, little rocks grinding into your skinned palms, you looked at the fallen beam not even a foot away. Had you erred even a few inches to the right, you would have been, at the very least, catastrophically injured. Just like the man you tried to push out of the way. He was screaming. His leg was crushed.
But you were fine. Alive.
People swarmed the man to free him from the beam while the world blurred extra bright, the colors of shock overloading your brain, dozens of different voices buzzing together. Someone asked if you were okay. You were. Of course you were. Alive. The carpenter jumped down from his ladder, finally getting the man out from under the beam. A gruesome mess had been made of his shin, bloody and broken. You only watched, a sort of cool numbness had taken the place of adrenaline.
The man's leg was a ruin of flesh and bone, and your only injuries were a bruised tailbone and skinned palms. You should not have survived that.
eight shots of moonshine.
“He reared up real tall, howling like a beast, and that’s when I stuck him,” the hunter said, his expression animated as he recounted the story. It was, by your count, his ninth drink, and the fifth version of his story about how he fought, and escaped, the terrifying half-man-half-wolf beast—el hombre lobo, in the local dialect. It made sense that some cruel spark of fate would invite the subject matter wherever you happened to be, especially now. That’s the way these things always happened, wasn’t it? The world had a way of kicking you when you were down.
You listened to him with half an ear, staring at your chapped, cracked knuckles. Working as a laundress was not kind to your skin. Unfortunately, being ravi and having a limited skill set meant that simple labor was just about all you could get. So you did odd jobs and, once you had enough money, you would be on your way to the next place, and then the next, and the next. Passing through like a ghost, and then gone. Temporary. Just like this bar, this drink, this man and his story. Transient.
“The sound he let out was deafening, and I mean that,” the hunter continued. “I’ve never heard anything like it, not in all my years.”
“That’s not true,” you said loudly, pulling the story to a screeching halt before its predictable conclusion. You hadn’t meant to speak, but you did. If nothing else than to just make him stop. Details changed, but the ending was mostly the same each time. The creature put up a fight, but the hunter was stronger and smarter. Maybe he’d mention the bear trap again, how he watched the wolfman trying to gnaw off its own leg. And it wasn’t like you cared what some random drunk had to say. You didn’t, really. It was the alcohol, and the memories the alcohol was meant to be suppressing, and some misplaced well of fury crammed deep into your gut, unable to be reached or drained or expressed in any meaningful way. Or maybe it was something else, something less palatable. You had a way of testing people’s tempers. Pain was proof of purchase, after all. And you had paid more than your fair share.
“What was that?” the hunter asked, glazed eyes surprisingly lucid when they landed on you, twinkling with an amused sort of incredulousness at being challenged. He had on a sweat stained red shirt and the ruddy complexion to match. Everyone around you was in similar states of drunken disrepair. So were you, for that matter—a shot of something hard and foul tasting past reasonable. Two shots away from having the energy to engage in this stupid argument, which was ridiculous considering you were the one to involve yourself in the first place.
“That didn’t happen,” you said. The few people who had been paying attention in the first place laughed at you, but the hunter seemed intrigued, if irritated, by your attitude.
“Are you calling me a liar?” he asked.
“Do you expect us to believe you fought the big bad wolf?” Those words were old and mean, that of a horrible old man without a shred of mercy in his heart.
Red-shirt’s eyes narrowed. A couple of the men laughed again, sending a few drunken jibes in your direction.
“Is that what you’re supposed to be?” One of his friends called, gesturing at your ears, which twitched under his attention.
“No, no. She’s one of those cat people. The eastern savages,” the man sitting next to you responded, roughly tweaking your ear. He’d made a few friendly comments in your direction throughout the night. And then a few less friendly ones as the liquor loosened his tongue. You winced and ducked away, scowling at him. He grinned. “Have you got any wares to sell us, gata? Or maybe you’re here to put on a show.”
Another laugh, a playful wolf whistle.
“Ah, I understand. I was mistaken,” red-shirt allowed, a mean grin spreading across his face. “It was no wolfman after all. You ought to tell your pa to keep away from these parts. Next time I see him, he won’t get off so easy.”
That drew a bigger laugh from the few people bothering to pay attention. A part of you hated him a little bit, hated him with a riotous, evil sort of passion. His ignorance, his audacity. You hated yourself more for not holding your tongue.
“No, it was her ma,” another man chimed in. “Must have been in heat if she was so focused on you.” You felt a red hot flush rise to your cheeks at that, some uncomfortable mixture of embarrassment and anger.
Needing to calm the impulse of rage, and kicking yourself for having spoken at all, you took a deep breath.
“Aw, pobre gata, don’t be upset,” the man next to you said. Poor cat? He drew out the condescending pet name with a sugary sweetness, going for your ears again. You scooted back to avoid him, nearly falling from the alcohol-induced sway of the world. The men laughed again. “Where’re you going?” he asked. “They’re just teasing.”
You licked your dry lips. You needed to leave, it wasn’t the sort of place you should have been hanging out in the first place. Part of you worried that he might try something. He looked hungry. Worse, part of you wondered if he would, wanted to stick around and find out what kind of situation you’d dug yourself into. Curiosity didn’t come from desire or lust, but from something darker, the impulse of deserved violence. Alcohol made it worse, made you think that maybe you could want it, that you might enjoy being roughed up and used in a vulgar game of intimacy.
“Let me buy you another drink,” he offered. “I promise not to tease you.”
You pursed your lips, and knew you would hate yourself later, and decided that it didn’t matter all that much anyway. “Okay.”
Hours later, you were sweaty, sour with alcohol but no longer drunk enough to tolerate the discomfort, and ultimately dissatisfied with the interaction as you stumbled through the quiet town back to the room you had been renting. The unpleasant scent of sex was all you could smell, it clung to your rumpled dress and messy hair. Evidence of your mistake. Despite being so forward, he hadn’t been what you hoped. Whenever you pulled back, he thought to coax you further with sweet words rather than rough hands. You’d have been better off trying to antagonize the man in the red shirt to get what you really wanted, not a quick upright with a man who wanted to slobber on your neck and call you beautiful.
Disgust, shame—a sickening feeling of wrong had you ducking into an alley, vomiting up a stomach full of bile and alcohol like a homeless wretch, shaking hard enough that your teeth clattered. Snot, stomach acid, and tears smeared against the side of the building when you pressed your fevered cheek against it, the material rough on your skin. But it was cool, and solid, and you were breathing. Alive.
Miserable. Beautiful. That was your mother’s word. An ugly, ugly word. Your shoulders heaved with half-hearted sobs, your skin crawling and stomach twisting. You were alive because the only thing you feared more than the hideous pain of living was beautiful death, and that was the ugliest feeling you could possibly imagine.
Eventually, you collected yourself, wiping your mouth and eyes, and completed your walk of shame, your thoughts lingering on el hombre lobo and the furious hollow in your chest, and the sort of hatred which begged violence and cried for pity.
nine lives.
Afternoon faded into sunset as you walked, and you weren’t too concerned. If anything, you felt the same relaxing sense of relief you always felt when you left one place for another.
No, you didn’t worry at all until twilight gave way to the rise of the moon. That’s when you stopped, frowning up at the sky. Either you were lost or you had severely misjudged the distance. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done other than continue on and hope that you reached civilization soon. You pulled your cloak a little closer to fight off the chill, adjusting your bag uncomfortably. Summer was coming, but the air retained the cold damp newness of deep spring.
And so you trundled along, reminding yourself over and over that it was okay. While possible, it wasn’t likely that anything would happen to you.
Your anxiety wasn’t helped by the full moon. A morbid coincidence, and a mixed blessing. It was full that night. Illuminating your father’s twisted expression of fear, haloing the impossible beast looming above you, lighting your way when you ran, dying your blood into the color of ink. As always, it was a bit of mischief the universe was having at your expense. It shone the same steady pale silver, bleaching the world in imitation sunshine just like it always had, always did.
A gentle breeze shook the tree canopy, the leaves shivering. Above them, the perfect velvet blue veil of sky was mostly undisturbed by clouds. The stars twinkled and winked, dulled slightly by the radiance of the moon. Bugs wailed and frogs sang their nighttime dirge, an unsettlingly miserable sound. No matter how uncomfortable the sun could be, blinding and revealing, the night was worse. It was the place where nightmares lived, after all. And the woods, the place where the big bad wolf hid.
Right. These were the woods where the hunter claimed to have seen the wolfman those few weeks ago. A chill slithered down your spine at that realization. While it was most certainly a lie, in the dark, it troubled you. It frightened you. There were many things in the deep, dark woods to be afraid of. Hiding, lurking.
Huffing with annoyance at your paranoia, you vigorously shook your head and focused on the path instead. Everything was fine, you just had to keep going.
Seemingly out of nowhere, the wind began to blow a lot harder, catching the hem of your cloak and loose strands of hair, crawling beneath your clothes to make you shiver. At the same time, a shadow slowly closed in around you, a stray cloud covering up the moon. The sudden lack of light made the shadows darken significantly. Goosebumps crawled across your entire body in response to the windy chill, hairs standing on end and visceral discomfort lurching in your gut like a hook behind your belly button. Surrounded on all sides by darkness, stranded in the woods, you were completely and utterly vulnerable.
Then it all—bugs, the frogs, and the wind—everything died. Not slowly, tapering off naturally, but all at once, as if a great dampener was suddenly pressed into the air. And that was strange, that was eerie, that was cause for fear, but the first whistled note shot straight into your core.
Trees were hungry things. They, with their thick wood and big bodies, had an appetite for sound. Echoes, however, were mischievous. They would rather play tricks than be eaten. Back and forth, from everywhere and nowhere, a tune you knew all too well danced amidst the silent forest. The notes jumped from one to the next in a song that should have been cheerful but wasn’t. You didn’t move. You felt like you couldn’t. Standing there, ears perked and twitching in search of any noise aside from the whistling, heart racing, cold sweat gathering on the nape of your neck, you suddenly knew, with an alarming degree of certainty, that you weren’t alone.
Slowly, eyes watering from the sudden burst and disappearance of the wind, you looked up.
The whistler, seeming not to notice you, was no more than a dozen feet ahead, a darker shadow amidst the void, a little off the edge of the clearing. Jarring surprise shot like lightning down your spine at the sight, at how close you were to somebody you hadn’t noticed, so powerful that you stumbled backward on pure instinct. But your foot landed on a mossy rock and the squishy material slid out from under your boot. You tried to find your balance, but you wound up overcorrecting, sending you forward instead. With a yelp and a loud thump, you tumbled onto the ground, landing hard on your elbows and knees.
The song ended.
“¿Tan deseosa estás de ser engullida?” the man asked, amused. You looked up, terrified, but without any moonlight to help you see, the most you could make out was the vague shape of a hooded figure leaning against a tree.
Fear made your hands shaky, your body unwieldy and awkward. Scrambling, unsure if you should have been embarrassed or scared, you got up to your feet. At least you weren’t hurt.
“I-I don’t… no entiendo,” you said, wondering, hoping, fearing, unsure. At least it was just a man. That shouldn’t have been the consolation it was. It shouldn’t have been any consolation at all.
“I asked if you needed any help,” he clarified in an accented voice, amused in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I, um… I was just surprised, bu-but it’s okay,” you said, trying very hard to calm down. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I would hate for you to wind up like the last girl who got lost in the woods,” he said. You squinted into the dark, but you couldn’t see any details beyond a shadow. Covered moon or not, the dark was borderline unnatural. “She was gobbled up whole, her granny too. You’ve even got the red hood.”
It took you a second to register that he was messing with you. Entertaining any sort of interaction was foolish, but you couldn’t help your nervous laugh, pulling your cloak closer. “Oh, yeah.”
The stranger laughed in turn, forcefully friendly in a very uncomfortably stilted way. The sound sent a fresh shiver down your spine. “They don’t get very many people coming all the way out here to visit,” the man said. “Are you here to see family, gatita?”
Your ears twitched nervously. “Um… Excuse me?”
“Is that offensive? I can never remember what you beast types call yourselves. Ra… something.”
“Ravi,” you said.
“That’s right. I’ve never been much of a cat person myself, but I can see the appeal. The big eyes, the fuzzy ears… Very cute.” He paused. “Hey, can you purr too?”
You drew back, your awkward moment of uncertainty giving way to dread at the underlying danger of a question like that. While many people scorned you blindly, there were those with a particular taste for half-breeds.
“I need to get going, it’s late,” you said slowly. You didn’t want to turn your back on him, and you had no idea how close you were to town, but anything was better than here.
“Wait, before you go, I heard a story recently,” he said, unconcerned with your response. “It’s about your kind. Stop me if you’ve heard it before.”
“I don’t-”
“Once upon a time,” he said, speaking as if you hadn’t, “a gato got it in his head that one life wasn’t enough for him. Even though he had everything he could ask for—a wife, two children, a successful career, he was proud. He didn’t see why he should have to abide by the same rules as everyone else. Of course, he was warned that it was a bad idea, but it became a… preoccupation of his. He traveled just about everywhere, certain that he could do what no one else had.”
The man paused, giving you a moment to register his words, to feel the slow drip of horror pooling in your stomach.
“It didn’t work out for him, in the end. It never does.”
“Who are you?” you asked, although you had a feeling. A very strange, awful feeling. “How do you-”
“Do you know how it ends?” he asked, pushing away from the tree and standing up, stepping out of the shadows, only a few feet in front of you. Your eyes were better adjusted now, taking in as much light as possible. His hood fell back, letting you see the man in full.
Only, he wasn’t a man.
For a second, the ears on the top of his head made you think he was ravi too. But they were too small. Pointed. Distinctly canine.
Then the rest of it registered.
He wasn’t a wolf standing on hind legs, or a person with wolf features, but some inhuman, impossible mix of the two. His long, toothy snout was distinct to a dolichocephalic skull. A beast. That’s what you would assume given all that thick gray fur, round eyes, and the pointy ears directly on top of the head. But somehow, despite all of that, something about his face registered as perfectly, sickeningly, uncannily human.
And you knew him. You saw him in your nightmares, in the shadows, in the darkest places of your mind. No matter what resolve you had before that moment, all you wanted was to run. You needed to run. But fear, pure and distilled, paralyzed you.
“No? That’s fine, it’s just a story, after all,” he said, the words far too well articulated considering the wolf’s muzzle they were coming from, the shiny sharp teeth through which they were spoken.
You opened your mouth to respond, and instead you whimpered as you exhaled.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You remember me, don’t you? I remember you. Although, you were a lot smaller back then. Who would’ve thought that you’d turn out to be such a looker?" He laughed at that, a stilted chuckle. When you didn’t respond, his demeanor dropped, darkened. “Your fear was intoxicating.”
Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and sniffed at the air like a dog. You couldn’t do anything, your limbs refusing to move even though every cell in your body screamed at you to run. When he leaned back and exhaled, his lips pulled back in what was very distinctly a smile, an expression that should have been impossible for a wolf to make.
“I’ve waited a long time to see you like this again, I worried that it would be disappointing,” he told you, red eyes opening. They were mad. His smile was mad. Dread overwhelmed your system. “But you smell even better than I remember.”
He took a step forward. With a few unnerving exceptions, his body was human enough. Tall, broad shouldered, slightly hunched, wearing clothes like a person. His hands were almost like paws with pads and claws, but were articulated like your own—short one finger. He was no monster. He was a nightmare come to life.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Surprised to see me?”
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you’re not… not real.”
You could see the excitement in his eyes as he licked his lips with a long tongue, another entirely animalistic motion. The perfect meld of human and wolf traits was fascinating. Sickening. Something that should not exist.
You did nothing other than stare at him with wide eyes as he leaned in. And you did nothing as he raised his hand, dragging the claw in a butterfly kiss over your cheek. “You think?” he asked, the growl in his voice almost like a purr.
That woke you out of your trance and you stumbled back, covering the skin which tingled from the very real touch.
He laughed and straightened out, but didn’t follow you. “It’s not safe to be out here so late. You never know what you’ll find lurking in the woods.”
You swallowed hard, your breathing picking up, the old well of fury cracking open just a little. There should have been more, but the fear was too intense, cold in your veins. “What are you?” you asked, barely audible. Frightened of the answer, but desperate to know.
“Your father called me Anubis. That’s one of your gods, right?”
“You are not a god,” you said, an objection because you couldn’t allow this nightmare, any degree of holy pedigree that you had feared for so long. There was doubt in your voice though, doubt you couldn’t stifle.
“It depends on how you look at it,” he allowed. “But it’s true that I have no interest in being worshiped, and I certainly don’t want your faith. I prefer fear.”
You swallowed hard, shaking your head in a hazy attempt to fight back the swelling tide of fear, to deny him that. “I'm not… not afraid of you, wolf."
That didn’t so much as make him blink. "You fear me more than you fear anything else."
"No! You killed my… my—I hate you."
“Sure you do."
“And because of you, my brother was…” You couldn’t finish the statement, your entire body nearly vibrating from the way you were shaking. “And then mm-my mother...”
“Execution and, what was it, some kind of sickness?” The wolf clicked his tongue. “It’s a harsh world.”
“You took them from me,” you said softly. “You took everything.”
“Do you want revenge, gatita? You wouldn’t be the first.”
The mocking tone of his voice was as bad as a slap across the face. Even if you wanted revenge, what fight could you possibly put up against an impossible creature like him? You flexed your hands and clasped them together, your breathing picking up with the confusion of old fury and sadness and fear.
“I want to know why,” you finally said.
The wolf sighed, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated—and far too human—way as he continued to circle you. “Everybody thinks there’s a reason. There isn’t. Who lives, who dies, it’s all the same to me in the end. But there are those who… tempt fate. Although, I prefer to call it tempting death."
"You're saying that my father wanted to die? You're crazy,” you argued, your shoulders tensing in some form of defense.
"He was especially tempting. His pride, his ego, his fear… I gave him several chances, and he chose to insult me over and over again.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “I may have gotten carried away. You can’t blame me for wanting some fun now and again."
Despite the relative warmth of the night, the air chilled whenever you inhaled, your skin raising with goosebumps. Something in your head clicked, the understanding you had been trying very hard not to acknowledge.
"What are you?" you asked again, but you were thinking that you knew. Of course you knew, it was something you’d known for a long time.
"You know who I am."
"Death," you whispered.
“And you know all about tempting death, don't you? To be honest, I’m starting to lose my patience, gatita,” he practically whispered the pet name, leaning down behind you so the word brushed intimately against your ear, his breath disturbing the fine hairs and making them twitch.
You yelped and jumped away, twisting around. All you could think about was how close all those teeth had been to your ears. Your neck. Death watched as you stumbled even further backwards, hitting a tree and falling against it.
“Watching you survive things that would kill anybody else over and over, it’s unbearable. You throw yourself into danger like you’re trying to tease me.” Genuine irritation glowed in his eyes. Frustration. You shouldn’t have been able to see an emotion like that on such an inhuman face.
You needed to run. Whether or not that was a good idea no longer mattered. Surely he wouldn’t follow you out of the woods, surely sanity would take his place once you were back among civilization, out of the moonlight’s pure lunacy. Your insides squeezed sickeningly. Your heart raced.
“Is it a cat thing? You inherited the ears, the eyes, and, what, the nine lives? I guess that skipped a generation,” Death mused, his demeanor shifting completely right back into amusement. “Or maybe it’s just dumb luck. What do you think, gatita—are you feeling lucky tonight?”
Run. You needed to run.
Death stepped forward.
You had to run.
Rather than get any closer to him to follow the trail, you rolled off of the tree to the side so you could escape into the trees, letting your pack drop to the ground to avail yourself of the extra weight. With your back to the wolf, you sprinted, not caring where it took you, only that it was as far away from him as possible.
Behind you, you heard him calling out to you. You heard him laughing. You gasped and choked for breath, your feet pounding against the forest floor, your streaming eyes blind to anything other than what was directly in front of you. Running, catching the sharp fingers of trees across your arms and face, stray logs and squishy moss and wet grass threatening to trip you with every step. All around, you could hear his laughter, echoing around amidst the trees and in your head.
And for what? Your escape had been doomed from the start, nothing more than the animalistic instinct of prey.
It really only made sense when you realized that Death stood directly in your path, a hulking shadow with red eyes. Your body jolted on instinct and you skittered into a hard stop, momentum pushing you forward while your feet tried to backtrack.
“¿Dónde vas, gatita? Haven’t you heard that it’s dangerous to stray from the path?”
Thoughtlessly, you twisted around, but you were too slow. Or he was too fast. Grabbing a fistful of fabric from the back of your cloak, Death dragged you backwards. And then you were looking into a pair of bright red eyes, choking as your cloak’s tie tightened around your windpipe.
He growled as a wolf would, and you felt base terror in your very core. No matter how humanly he expressed emotion, his face was very decidedly that of a wolf, of a predator that you were naturally wired to fear. A rising surge of bile burned in your throat from running and all you could hear was your heartbeat, thundering ever faster. You choked out a yelp, lashing out however you could in a bid to get free. He easily avoided every attack you threw out, seemingly bored by the attempts, casually holding you at arms length.
“What I really can’t stand,” he told you, his voice low and calm, “is how you waste it. Fighting so hard to stay alive, and for what? Nothing will be lost when I end it.”
“Shut up!” you cried, choking the words out through gritted teeth. You would live. Survive just like you always did. He considered that, licking his lips before irritation once more gave way to excitement.
“Then again,” Death said, letting you down enough to stand on your toes, allowing you to take a breath. Oxygen hit you in a hard rush, you might have fallen over if he weren’t steadying you. “I’m in no rush.”
“Let me go,” you demanded, your breathing ragged, your ears buzzing and ignorant of his words.
Death smiled, his wolfish muzzle pulled back in an expression so human it bordered on obscene. His face was right to yours, you could practically count each of his deadly sharp teeth, see into the soulless depths of those evil eyes.
“Your fear is positively mouthwatering. The poor little kitten is really terrified of el lobo feroz. That fear is the only thing that’s ever given your life purpose. If you think about it, I’m the only reason you keep going. It’s almost flattering.” He licked his lips again, considering you intently. “You don’t mind having some fun before I kill you, right?”
“No!” you screamed the word, but all it did was make his eyes flash with hunger.
“I’m going to eat. You. Up.”
Every muscle in your body went taut, seizing with a different sort of horror. That confounded curiosity to know what he intended, the disturbing impulse to tempt violence, was only heightened by the adrenaline in your system. You had no word for the dark feeling, for the disturbing impulse. Only disgust, swirling dark twisting up hot and low in your gut. With shaking hands, you finally managed to undo the tie around your neck, dropping out of your cloak and onto the ground. And then, before you could even stand up, you were running.
This time, Death didn’t react. No laughter or jeering taunts followed your escape. Dampened beneath the rush of blood in your ears and your feet pounding on the forest floor, the woods were full of the normal sounds. Bugs and frogs and birds and the breeze.
All the same, you knew that el lobo feroz wasn’t far behind. You knew that, and you knew you wouldn’t escape from him. Not this time. But you couldn’t just stop. So you made your frantic flight through the trees, sprinting as fast as you could to escape a creature which existed in opposition to all that was sane or safe. Death himself.
From behind you, in front of you, on both slides, all around, the lilting whistled tune finally began. Panic, bright red and raw, caused you to trip. There was a jolt when your foot caught on something, sending a little shockwave all up your body, then a lurch as gravity forced you down and momentum dragged you forward. For a moment, true weightlessness. And then you were skidding and somersaulting along the ground, skinning your hands and knees all over again before you collapsed, your chin painfully knocking against the ground when you completed your tumble. No pain registered, just numb confusion. You were breathing so hard your lungs burned, your tongue paper dry and sour. Despite the deafening sound of your heart beating and the wheezing rattle of air in your lungs, you could hear his song.
Everything, everything hurt, but you forced yourself up, to shamble into the bushes, curling into a ball to wait.
The song ended.
Seconds—less than that, really—passed before anything happened. Then you heard him. He allowed you to hear him, your pursuer wasn’t concerned that you would manage to escape. He didn’t need to bother running after you, or disguise the noise of his approach. You squeezed your eyes shut until you heard heavy feet crunching through the grass and twigs right in front of you, peeking them open to watch a figure emerge from the darkness.
Death stopped to sniff the air like the predatory beast he appeared to be. You pressed both hands over your mouth and nose, your entire body shaking with the tension of staying stiffly still. For a moment, you hoped he would move on. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
“This has been fun,” he said conversationally, “but you’re not exactly the most challenging hunt. So, make this easier for yourself and come out, or make it more fun for me and stay put. Your choice, gatita.”
Your sore, overworked body twitched, wanting to obey and spare yourself. But if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be looking around randomly like he was, right? Unless this was another game and he was trying to trick you, to see how you’d respond to that threat. But he could be bluffing. You didn’t know, and that uncertainty kept you in place.
Death chuckled ominously, leaving your line of sight. Somehow, that was worse than anything else, the nothingness of blind anticipation.
For a fleeting moment, you hoped he had moved on after all.
“Did you really think you could hide from me?” Death asked. Behind you, above you. A short little scream ripped from your throat as he grabbed you by the hair, wrenching you upright so fast that your body went limp with dizziness, head spinning with terror and a fresh rush of energy. He kept you up by exchanging a fistful of hair for the front of your dress. “Me temo que no tiene suerte.”
Getting your bearings, you yelped, thrashing out of his grip. Death let you go too easily, causing you to stumble. You went down hard. This time, it did hurt. Your hands and knees were skinned raw. But still, you crawled. It wasn’t a choice, it was instinct.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Death said, crouching down behind you. He laughed. “I’ve got a feeling that you will too.”
“No—no.”
“You can’t lie to me. I can smell it. Fear mixed with desire… It's delicious. I can’t wait to have a taste.”
All you could do was grunt when he grabbed you by the waist, easily lifting you up and manhandling you onto your back. You fell with a heavy sound, dizzy all over again.
“I’d say I was surprised, but… Well, I’m not,” Death said, straddling you. His legs were completely wrong. They bent like a man’s at the knee, but bent again with the backwards angle of a wolf’s legs, ending in a set of thick paws. His face was worse. He spoke with such vivid animation. It shouldn’t have been possible for a wolf’s face to emote like that, it shouldn’t have been possible that Death himself could look so gleeful, so excited. When you attempted to drag yourself away, he settled more of his weight on top of you. “This is how you like it, right? Rough. It makes you feel alive.”
Even in your terrified panic, you knew what he was talking about. How long had he been watching you? How intently? Had you ever managed to escape from him, or were you just running around like a headless chicken, never knowing you were doomed? Furiously rejecting that, you bucked upward, bowing your back to throw him off. When that didn’t work, you grasped fistfuls of fabric from the front of his shirt to get leverage.
Death growed low and grabbed your face, slamming your head against the ground, claws digging into the soft skin of your cheeks. He followed while you were still reeling, leaning down to talk directly into your ear.
“Do you feel alive now, gatita?”
You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut so you couldn’t see his frightening face. El lobo feroz. His nose was cold and leathery when it brushed your face as he pulled back, air ghosting across your cheek and making you whimper. Death laughed, sitting up.
“The ears really are cute,” he told you, releasing your cheeks to take hold of your ear instead. The rough pads caught on the delicate skin, brushing the fur up in a way that made you shudder. He saw that, you could tell by the way his red eyes flashed, the way he licked his lips again. “Who knows, maybe you’ll change my mind about cats.”
“Stop it,” you said, covering your face in an attempt to find peace from this absurdity. He hadn’t broken skin with his claws, but your chin and palms were busted up, your cheeks latticed with shallow scrapes from the trees.
“I told you. You can’t hide from me,” Death said, his voice dragging with a growl. The threat was emphasized by the sudden cold edge dragging lightly against your neck.
Stiffening, you lowered your hands, looking up at him with wet eyes—looking at the humanoid wolf claiming to be death, who had killed your father and ruined your life, who had haunted you every day since, whose mere shadow terrified you to your core, and once you came to grips with the unbelievability of what you saw, you had to contend with the knowledge that you were powerless to such a nightmare. Utterly, completely powerless.
Death groaned. Or hummed. Or growled. It was a happy sound, excited. “Está buena, gatita,” he told you, saying it like praise. “I don’t normally go for this sort of thing.” Casually, he nudged your chin upward before dragging the sickle down so the point caught beneath the neckline of your dress. “I shouldn’t. It’ll have to be our secret, hm?”
Willful ignorance had done nothing for you thus far, but you still clung to it. He couldn’t be talking about what you thought he was. He couldn’t be that human.
In a sharp movement, he pulled the sickle downward. Fabric ripped loudly in the quiet night. Yelping, you tried to pull the scraps back together, to cover yourself because that indignity was too far, wasn’t it? Nudity could mean nothing more than a prelude to violence to something like him, but it was different to you.
Death growled in annoyance, pressing the weapon’s tip into the soft give of your stomach.
“Hands off,” he told you. You didn’t move, and he pressed down. Not too much, just enough to break the skin, to draw blood.
“Stop,” you said, clinging even more desperately to the front of your ruined bodice, “that hurts.”
“I’ll keep going. To. The. Hilt.” Death drew out each word, pressing down with each word to make his point, the sickle’s edge disappearing into your skin. He meant it. Obey or suffer.
Looking straight above at the uncaring night sky, you released your bodice. He chuckled as he pulled the weapon away. It might have been that sound, or the crushing disgust of being exposed. There was very little thought behind the way you lashed out, capitalizing on his moment of distraction as he readjusted himself.
Your pathetic attempt at escaping the inevitable lacked any art or intelligence, only the final burst of energy that came from knowing you’d have no more chances after this. Death avoided your thrashing limbs, letting you wriggle your way upward, twisting around to try and crawl away. And then he drove the sickle into the ground right beside your hand, the blade only narrowly missing your fingers as he drove it into the dirt. You yelped, flinching away. Death used the moment to flip you around again, slamming the air out of your lungs.
"Delicious," he growled, curling over you to get at the exposed skin of your torso. Fabric that hadn’t been properly cut was torn away by his hands. Hands, paws. Human finger articulation and the thick pads of a dog’s feet, each tipped with dangerously long claws. They caught your skin, the rough pads like sandpaper on your sensitive flesh. Just as quickly as the fabric was out of the way, his nose replaced it, his hulking form hunching over your body. Each rapid inhale tickled your skin, pairing disturbingly with the cold of his nose. Unlike his hands, his tongue was soft, lapping up the blood he’d drawn on your stomach before he moved up. The uncanny mixture of sensations made you squirm.
“Stop, stop now,” you said, jerking in uncoordinated little bursts beneath him more on instinct than rational thought. Fur filled the spaces between your fingers as you tried to push him off. He didn't react to you tugging on it, all it did was remind you of how bestial he was. The whole situation was terrifying, yes. But, more viscerally, it was gross. Deeply uncomfortable to feel his long, smooth tongue, to endure the threat of teeth as he moved up, to choke back disgust and terror as he passed over your nipples. “Stop,” you whined the word despite yourself, your eyes screwed shut in an attempt to separate from reality. Death chuckled, moving up across your flushed chest, to your neck, leaving you flushing bright red and slick with his saliva.
“Impatient?” he asked, the words brushing over your fluttering pulse. “I’m not surprised. That’s fine.”
The waistband of your dress didn’t part as easily as the top. He worked from the other end instead, making a slit to tear the fabric up and expose your stockings and panties. Claws made short work of the thin, well worn cotton, carving shallow lines into your skin to strip you entirely.
“Nn-no, what are you doing? Stop, st-” your words cut off with a heavy ‘umph’ when he pushed you back down. Death didn’t so much as look at you as he admired his handiwork, let alone respond to your plea.
“Just like I thought,” he said. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
“No,” you said, desperately shaking your head. All you could see was his sharp, sharp teeth, those deadly claws. And your body was electrified, covered with drool and chills and thrumming hot with blood. There was no way out of this, you couldn't even comprehend the pain he could cause. Out of options, you pushed down the remains of your skirt, attempting to close your legs.
Claws dug into your thighs as Death forced them back open with a little growl, sparing you no indignity. The moon deprived you of the cover of darkness and it shouldn’t have been so embarrassing because he wasn’t a man, but it was. Just like he had with your torso, Death explored the exposed skin. The puffing brushes of air as he sniffed and licked along your thighs was humiliating and obscene on its own, nevermind when he nipped at the sensitive flesh to make you whimper, forcing you to contemplate the damage those teeth could do where you were most vulnerable.
The thought of such agony had you try a final time to close your legs, only to have them spread even wider, giving you the perfect view of el lobo feroz with his muzzle pressed against your pussy, his long pink tongue lolling out to drag across your slit. It wasn’t the pain you anticipated, but it was just too strange, too surprising, too disturbing. Having the snout of a beast between your legs, regardless of the creature's perceived humanity, was enough to make you feel sick, twisted and filthy.
“No, no, don’t,” you demanded shrilly, kicking in an attempt to displace him. Death growled, claws puncturing into your skin as he pushed your hips back down, peering up at you. His eyes didn’t reflect or catch the moonlight. They glowed. Empty. Evil.
“Ten cuidado, gatita,” he warned. “Haven’t you ever been warned about getting in the way of a wolf and his meal?”
“Please,” you said, unable to comprehend that this could happen. That this would happen. “Please don’t… don’t. You can’t do this.”
“What are you going to do to stop me?”
That was awful, too awful for words. Fight and risk more pain, or let it happen and… And what? What rational response could you possibly have to this other than disgust and despair? Maybe you should have been glad he wasn’t about to rip you to bloody shreds and feast on the remains, glad that you would be spared pain and immediate death, but that consolation felt terribly cheap when confronted with the equally unimaginable.
“You can’t,” you said, your voice too high, terrified into a whine. “You’re not even… I mean it’s not like you can… like you’ll… you can…”
Death hummed in annoyance, you could feel the vibration of the sound. “Te voy a comer. Y luego te voy a coger,” he told you, the words easy like he was explaining something very simple which, considering you couldn’t understand them, only made it that much worse. “¿Está bien, gatita?”
“No,” you said. “No, I don’t…” Understand. Believe. Consent.
Death laughed, arranging your legs into a more comfortable press towards your chest to make room for his hulking form. There was nothing you could do to make him stop.
The pads of his fingers were painfully rough against your pussy’s outer lips, catching on the sensitive flesh as he parted them. His tongue, however, was softer than anything you’d ever felt, lapping at your entrance, up to your clit. You squirmed uncontrollably, locked in some limbo of disgust, discomfort, and embarrassment.
You thought that if you just closed your eyes, if you just blocked it out, you could pretend that this wasn’t happening, but Death hummed out an animalistic growl, and his tongue was far too long and dexterous to be human, and his fur bristled against your thighs, and there was no way out. Already, your body was waking up to the stimulation. Responding. There was something wrong with you. You knew that, you’d known that for a long time, taking pleasure in beatings, wanting sex to be rougher and rougher, needing to be brutalized like it was an itch to be scratched. This was a new low, the grotesque indulgence of those most perverse.
Like you.
“Please stop,” you whined, another plea to add to the string of ignored requests. Death made a sound you could feel more than hear. For reasons other than fear, you shuddered at the noise.
With your clit acceptably swollen, your body twitching with every movement, his tongue slicked downward. Your hips jumped, legs closing and opening with surprise, but Death wasn’t deterred.
“No-oh,” you sounded so weak, your rejection coming out pathetic and breathy.
Death made another growl-like sound, pushing you down flat with mean claws that poked fresh holes into your skin. You hadn’t been trying to escape, you just couldn’t stop from squirming as he tested the flinching muscles of your entrance. This was new, and different, and terrible, and foul. His tongue was soft and long and far too dexterous, pushing into you with a few hungry strokes. No human man could do that. It wasn’t physically possible.
You whimpered, your head falling back in some vain attempt to block it all out. Escape wasn’t so easy. While his tongue lacked the pressure and weight of something solid, he attacked your g-spot with precision. Eating you out. Eating you. Given that long snout, it had to have been awkward, but that didn’t seem to deter him. And every time his head moved, his nose ground against your clit. He was probably watching you, watching you twitch and gasp and writhe helplessly, but you kept your eyes squeezed shut. The sight of a wolf’s head between your legs like this would kill you, surely it would.
Unbidden, you remembered telling the child Quinta that dogs were your natural enemy, and your penchant for seeking the companionship of those who promised animosity, and the wicked sort of sense it made that you would find yourself here, and you could only laugh at it all but the hysterical sound came out like a sob, and then a low groan, and then a sharp whine when Death pressed the rough pad of one of his fingers against your clit instead, dragging small little circles against it while his tongue continued to torment you.
“No, no, no, no-”
Whatever you were denying, it was pointless. Noise for the sake of it, words getting all tangled up with your choked moans and sobs and hiccups. The little addition of pain from the too rough texture on your clit was enough to give you what you really wanted, what you always ached for.
Pleasure lurched in your core, your hips bucking wildly. Death growled again and it was mean. Aggressive. You seized up, mouth open wide as if for a scream, your feet planted so you could tilt your hips up for more. More pleasure, more pain. Disgust, shame, fear, all of it became white hot and foul, agonizingly sexy in the few moments where the high of orgasm negated the living nightmare between your legs.
And then you were coming down, hips jerking into the tongue of a wolf monster, the creature that had killed your father, Death himself, and you actually sobbed, shying away from his touch as little sparks of overstimulation promised something worse. Unable to escape in any material way, you covered your face. Tears, dirt, and blood smeared together on the feverish, sweaty skin, nearly suffocating as you panted.
Death let you be and sat up, laughing. Laughing at you.
“That was faster than I expected.”
Peeking out from between your fingers, you saw the way his muzzle was glistening before his tongue swiped it away, saw the way he was smiling as he mocked you. “Ah. Unh-no, I-”
Death leaned over you. You flinched away, but he only grabbed the sickle he’d driven into the ground beside you. Casually, he flicked the blade out. The cool metal winked in the moonlight. Although you were still trembling with the aftershocks of orgasm, you weren’t too far gone to feel a fresh wave of fear. Immediately, you curled in on yourself, covering as much of your vulnerability as possible.
“You cower in fear, but I can taste your desire,” Death said, licking his lips. “It’s not half bad.”
“Please just… just stop.”
“I’m doing you a favor. You’re too tight.”
Death didn’t elaborate on that, positioning the weapon’s hilt between your legs, pushing the flared base between your folds before you could figure out what was happening. Everything was wet with a mixture of saliva and your own arousal, slick enough for the weapon to press against your entrance. You figured it out then, but he pinned you in place with a hand on your stomach, claws pressing against the flinching skin. There was nothing you could really do to avoid it, and you didn’t dare close your legs around the blade itself.
“This might hurt.”
“Stop, please stop, you can’t—”
Death didn’t say anything, watching your expression as he pushed the weapon’s grip into you. To see such a sharp blade between your legs in any capacity was dizzying, and that was without the intensely physical pressure of its grip rubbing against your inner walls.
“I told you, didn’t I?” he asked. “To. The. Hilt.” With every word, he drove the weapon deeper, your body jerking with each movement.
“Stop, just stop, please, take it…take it out.”
“I’d do it myself, but,” Death said, holding up his off-hand, “I’m not so sure you’d like that.” His claws practically gleamed in the moonlight, and you knew exactly how rough the pads were. The idea of those inside of you was enough to make your insides wither, although all that really amounted to was your cunt tightening around the weapon. You grunted at the feeling, shook your head fast, panicked.
“No! No,” you told him as coherently as you could. Your tongue was dry as bone, you choked on the grit.
“Thought so,” he replied, pulling the sickle back only to slam it back in.
The textured grip felt disturbingly good in some mad, broken way. His tongue had been so smooth and soft, but this was solid and firm, forcing itself into you. He used it like a tool, not bothering to simulate sex, twisting it this way and that, forcing your pussy open. Making room. You couldn’t help but writhe with each movement, your cunt tightening around the grip, hips tilting up as you were consumed by a confusing twist of disgust and need. Violence and pain were things you knew and understood. Familiarity had you dripping around the weapon, you could hear how wet you were, and his harsh motions only emphasized the vulgar sound.
“Not bad,” Death said, amused by the sight. You shut your eyes. “This weapon killed your father. It’s only fair that you should die by it too—una pequeña muerte.”
“Don’t,” you said, body going painfully tense with disgust, with hate, with fear. Death pulled the sickle out, pushing it back in with an ugly squelch, dragging a pained yelp from your mouth, and then a distinctly less pained one when he twisted it slightly. “No, no, I…”
Little death. You belatedly realized the implication of that. You’d already come once, it wasn’t nearly as difficult to build you up again. Especially not when he was being more deliberate with each thrust, when the sandpaper-rough texture of his finger nudged at your clit again.
Nothing in particular set you off, maybe it was just the acceptance of sensation, the acknowledgement that it would buy you a few moments of madness from this unthinkable situation. Gasping, flushing, writhing like a creature possessed, you seized up, pleasure flushing through your system with a white-hot sort of frenzy. You didn’t think it could be compared to death, not really. You felt distinctly alive for a few seconds of shivering, wet heat.
Until it ended, abruptly dropping you back in the middle of an unfathomable predicament.
Death hummed as he stopped, letting you wilt back onto the ground, trembling and hot. “I prefer a fight, but-” Without much ceremony and a disgustingly wet shlick, Death pulled the weapon out of your pussy. “You put on quite the show, gatita. This is going to be good.”
“What are you doing?” you asked, drawing your legs in, wincing at the feeling. Some part of you still rejected what was happening, what he was capable of doing. Of course that got a little harder to believe when he pushed his pants down. Was it flattering that a monster would be turned on by torturing you? You wanted to think that it couldn’t be, that you weren’t that depraved, but the part of your deepest self that stirred in reaction to the sight frightened you. It seemed that the human shape and build of his body carried over to his primary sex characteristics. It was sick that the revelation should be relieving, but at least you would be spared the particular grotesque indignity of inhuman genitalia. Maybe if you shut your eyes, if you blocked it all out, you could pretend that it was just a man raping you.
Because that was so much better.
You weren’t even aware that you were trying to crawl away until he clicked his tongue, grabbing your waist to pull you back into place. The pads on his fingers were so rough, claws threatening to rip the sensitive flesh. He licked his lips with wolfish excitement. Fur brushed your bare skin. There was no way out of this, to escape el lobo feroz. Not mentally, not physically.
You pressed your thighs together as tightly as you could, ignoring how slick they were.
“It’s too late for that,” he said, easily prying them apart. Fur brushed against your skin, but you were more concerned with the sight of his cock as it bobbed up before settling against your abdomen.
Heavy. That was your first thought, right before the comparison between your body and his cock really settled in your feverish brain. The head alone was thick enough that you couldn’t fathom it getting past your entrance, let alone that you’d be able to take the rest.
“No, no, no, you-you can’t do this,” you said, staring at his dick with a crawling sense of fear that had nothing to do with his inhumanity—in all regards—and everything to do with the size. “It won’t fit.”
“You can accommodate new life,” he said, a hand going under his cock to press against your abdomen, right above your womb. “Let alone Death. You’ll be fine.” He said it like a joke, like it was amusing. He was sick. You were sick. This was…
When he moved, the slap of his dick on your abdomen was audible, punctuating a joke that wasn’t funny to begin with. Death clearly wasn’t concerned as he rearranged you, pushing your legs up and apart until your thighs screamed, his body bearing down against you for leverage. The unyielding press of his cock between your legs made you panic, but he had you utterly pinned. You couldn’t do anything other than feel it slide across the sensitive flesh, settling right against your entrance. You couldn’t do anything to stop this. Death grunted as he readjusted you, claws digging fresh lines into your flesh, and began to rock his hips forward. When you yelped, bucking up against him, the sharp points broke skin. It would be easy for him to rip you up with nothing more than those claws.
“Quédate quieto,” he growled. You didn’t need to understand to be still.
So close like this, you realized that you could smell him. Not the stench of a dog, of wet fur or a poorly maintained pelt. Not the scent of a man either, familiar and human. Death smelled like a cool summer night, and torrential rain, and a river’s violent rapids, and acrid smoke, and the dry dust of an old road. Although it wasn’t entirely unpleasant in the way you might have expected of a wolf man, it made your stomach churn, doing nothing to help you relax as he continued to press the thick head of his cock against your pussy.
For a moment, you thought that it really was impossible, that you would be spared. That single second of relief was all it took for the head to pop past the initial barrier of muscle. Your mouth dropped open at the feeling. Surprise, maybe. Your legs were spread wide enough to mitigate some of the dragging pain as he forced himself a little deeper, just past the ridge. Death made a sound low in his chest, but all you could manage was stiff, cold shock. Surprise at how surreal it all was. But reality marched on all the same, with or without your comprehension. You weren’t sure what you expected it to feel like, but you would have been wrong anyway. Stretching, aching, too much, too much, too-
Grunting, he rolled his hips, pulling back just enough before thrusting deeper. Little by little, letting you adjust and relax ever so slightly before pulling back to go further. You whined each time, back arching, your pussy tightening around him. It was probably a protective measure, trying to keep him out, but it hurt, pulling a rumbly growl out of his throat, his hips pushing forward despite the painful resistance.
“No more,” you got out, the words tight, pained.
Muttering something under his breath, Death leaned back to let drool drip from his long tongue. It landed heavily where the two of you were joined, splatting with an unattractive slap onto the place where you were joined, onto your swollen clit. He laughed at your girlish yelp of surprise.
You let your head fall back, your hands covering your face. They smelled like dirt and blood. At least the extra lubrication helped, and you knew your body was responding to this. Whether to protect itself or out of some truly disturbing reciprocation, your pussy was soaking his cock, making way for him as he rolled his hips back and forth.
Deeper, further. You were going to split apart.
“Stop, please,” you finally broke enough to beg, pressing against his stomach, ignoring the sickening feeling of fur beneath your hand. You were almost surprised when Death stopped, huffing hard. Worse, you were grateful.
“Too much, gatita? And you were doing so well.”
A pathetic little whine tore from your throat when you looked down at the remaining few inches of cock between your straining pussy lips and his grotesque inhuman body, despairing at the sight. “I can’t,” you whimpered. “No more.”
Death growled in frustration, claws digging painfully into your skin as he shifted back and forth a few times, trying to ease himself deeper. You could see the shadow of distension shifting across your abdomen as he did, proof of how deep inside of you he already was. But no matter how he rolled his hips, or twisted you around, there was no more room.
“Stop,” you said, the word getting caught in your swollen throat, your body desperately straining to get away for fear that he’d just force it in.
Death stilled, exhaling hard to steady himself. It sounded like a growl. Your pussy unintentionally clenched hard around him at the noise. It hurt, the muscles unable to adjust to his size. The reaction had his breath catching, and that became a throaty laugh.
“Fine,” he said, finally dragging his hips back. It was what you wanted, but it still hurt, the stretch worsened by the way your pussy squeezed and pulsed around his length. Death stopped when only the head remained inside of you. “You just need to be broken in. That’s fine.”
You looked, stricken, from the dizzying sight of his cock—now, at least partially, glistening with your own arousal—to the sickening expression of manic glee he wore. How could a canine face express such viscerally human emotions?
And then, in the back of your empty, dizzy head—why was this happening?
“No more,” you begged, squeezing your eyes shut, your pussy trying to push him out despite the discomfort of it. Claws ripped into your skin when his grip had to tighten to keep you in place, his hips chasing yours as you tried so desperately to escape. It hurt all over again. Maybe not as bad, but now you knew what to anticipate.
“It's better like this.” He stopped when he was as deep as he could go and you were grateful that he didn’t push it further, grateful that he was taking it slow. The stretching, pinching ache wasn’t any better, but it wasn’t worse either. “What is this… Two? Three inches?” You looked down, realizing that he was referring to how much of his cock couldn’t fit inside of you. It had to be more than that, although you were stuck on the sight of your pussy stretched around him. “By the end of the night, there won’t be anything keeping us apart. That’ll be… poetic, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t fair that his voice should be that of a man, should be low and dripping with a villain’s dangerous charisma. All you could do was groan weakly, your breathing shallow. Despite what he said, there was nothing poetic to the sound of it. Slick, filthy, disgustingly wet. Every thrust punched a sharp noise out of you, although most of them were nothing more than heavy breaths. Death wasn’t very quiet either, making noises that fluctuated seamlessly between that of a man and that of a beast.
“Hurts,” you whimpered in protest, willing him to slow down. He didn’t.
“Good.”
The single word, the cruelty of it and the accompanying set of a harsher pace, hurt in more ways than the physical. You couldn’t help but wail in despair, writhing with pain you couldn’t escape, unable to get away as he fucked you. Deeper and deeper, forcing you to stretch out to accommodate him.
“You like the pain, right?” Death asked mockingly, his voice low enough to nearly get missed beneath the filthy squelch of each thrust. And all you could do was whimper. Did you like the pain? No, but there was a perverse satisfaction of justified destruction. You had no idea how he knew that.
“I don’t,” you said, needing to reject him. To reject all of this because otherwise you were afraid it would end like before, that you would give in. That you’d enjoy this. But it was too late. You couldn’t help your hips from twitching of their own volition, and a particularly sharp thrust pulled a surprised gasp from your open mouth.
“Buena gatita,” he said in a low voice, half growl. The sound, the language, the speaker, none of it mattered because your body knew praise, and the kind that came with cruelty was what you craved in the sickest part of your brain. “Muy buena.” Your cunt fluttered weakly around him, your hips rolling upward to meet his next thrust. It hurt, and it felt good.
As soon as you admitted that to yourself in any way, you were lost. A few more thrusts and you had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. There wasn’t a single place within you that wasn’t full of him, not in your head or your pussy or your chest. Consumed entirely by Death.
Gods help you, you could hear the fresh wave of wet arousal your body provided with that awful thought, so eager to submit to his dominion. As if sensing that, he stilled, his cock buried deep into you. Your eyes opened unintentionally, confused by the sudden break.
“Well, well, would you look at that,” Death said as a way of explanation, self satisfied. You followed his eyes, looking at where the two of you were joined. There was nothing between, his pelvis flush between your legs, the fur matting with how wet everything was. You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His hips shifted and you could see the bump of distension, more pronounced now. “Like I said—poetic. All you’ve done for years is tease me and now-” He laughed. “Now you’re mine.”
Death pulled back slowly, letting you see how much of his cock he’d forced your body to accept. It looked about as impossible as it felt, you couldn’t really comprehend it on any level other than the most base—sickening satisfaction. Ensuring you were still watching, his hips snapped forward. Once, twice, three times, making sure each thrust was solid and steady, filling you up entirely, the thick head of his cock brutalizing your cunt in a way no human man ever could. The battering against your cervix hurt in a profound, electric way, a way nobody had ever managed to hurt you.
And you took it. Your mouth open dumbly, your head tipping back into the dirt, your body rolling with each movement.
Even suffering such intimate, awful pain, you couldn’t deny your feeling of pleasure. Sublime friction, pressure in every place you needed it. And, to a dreadful degree, Death seemed to be aware of your reactions. Aware enough, at least, to take note when you couldn’t help but moan aloud, to exploit the angle that had you seeing stars. He grabbed you off the ground, forcing you to throw your arms around his neck. Like that, you were even more at his mercy. Full enough to split, you could understand the indulgence of size, of craving excess. Beautiful. Your boiling brain pulled that word out from its scattered nothingness, and it was beautiful. Repulsive, disturbing, grotesque, and beautiful.
“That’s right,” Death practically purred into your ear. “Look at how well you take it, you’d think you were made for this.”
“Oh, gods, oh—please, I can’t, I…” You weren’t even sure what you were begging for, it was too late from the second he praised you, sending you spiraling, coming hard, your pussy squeezing his cock so hard it hurt, your fingers pulling hard at the fur on his neck. Death laughed breathlessly, not slowing down for even a second. You didn’t care. If it hurt, it felt good, an endless feedback loop of madness.
Holding so close to him, you were more aware than ever of how terrifyingly powerful his body was. He could easily destroy you if he wanted.
This was Death at his gentlest.
Dizzy, reeling, hardly able to scrape together any coherent thought beyond that, all you felt at the realization was the vague veil of fear. Letting yourself get fucked by the big bad wolf. Coming on his cock, moaning like a whore for a being that shouldn’t exist in the middle of the woods beneath a full moon.
His hips stuttered then, a groan catching on a growl in his chest.
“Delicious,” he said. “Your fear, I could just…” Death didn’t finish that thought, or maybe you couldn’t hear it as his thrusts became well and truly punishing. Seeking his end like a man would. That was what you expected, in a distant way, but you didn’t expect that a mystical—mythical?—creature would ejaculate, only that you’d had enough encounters with men to know you shouldn’t let it happen. Not inside. Never inside, that was way too dangerous.
“Nn-no-”
He didn’t listen. You couldn’t escape, and you stopped caring after a moment because the heavy, carnal weight of him coming inside of you was enough to make you squeal, your pussy squeezing his cock, your body straining in an arch against his. You didn’t know if you were coming again or if it was just a continuation of the onslaught of stimulation that your brain couldn’t make rational sense of, but there was a sort of lunatic’s bliss in the feeling, in the agonizingly hellish ecstasy of pleasure. Of complete and utter excess. You could feel the rumbling vibrations of his growl, it entwined with the human groans. The two shouldn’t have suited one another, but your broken mind accepted both gleefully, losing yourself in the sound.
After a few jerky, halting movements, Death released you.
He was slow to pull out, which was probably a mercy. Even softening, his cock was painfully big, you couldn’t hold back your pained whimper when he pulled out. The absence was immediate, cold, and hollow. You wilted when he let you fall limp onto the ground, defeated. Deflated. Breathing as if you’d run a marathon, it was all you could do to keep it together, the gravity of all that happened setting in.
Something landed on your naked, sweaty body. Scared, you opened your eyes. But it was fabric. A second passed before you realized it was your red cloak. The one you left behind to escape from him before. It felt like a lifetime ago. You gratefully used it to cover your nudity, glad for the moment to catch your breath with some dignity.
“Ah, that was good,” Death said, satisfied, rolling his neck and shoulders. He’d already fixed his pants and retrieved his weapons. “The fun’s over now. For you, at least.”
“I don’t know… how to get back to the trail…” you said, wincing as you sat up and looked around. His cum dripped out of your gaping, sore pussy, sticky on your thighs. Vaguely, you wondered what sort of monsters would come from such a coupling, but you disregarded that thought just as quickly. If he was done, you needed to get away. Then again, you weren’t even sure if you could walk.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Death’s less than friendly tone rolled over you like ice water. Slowly looking over at him, you exhaled a big, shuddery lungful of cool night air. He stood high above you, his looming figure blotting out the moon. Right then, he looked no different than he had all those years ago. Brilliant red eyes, gray fur, silver sickles. The big bad wolf in all his glory.
“What?”
Those bright red eyes held a different sort of intensity than before. Swirling, passionate madness without any of the ravenous hunger. “You know, I’ve been watching you ever since that night. Every time you narrowly escape death, and every time you get other people killed. But you know that, you’ve seen me. That’s why you run, thinking you can escape the inevitable. For whatever reason—luck, fate, the blessing of those gods you claim to believe in—your life has been spared over and over. And yet, you do nothing with it.”
There was malice in those words, a visceral sort of disgust that reflected what you so often felt for yourself. You considered trying to stand up, trying to run again. Fear thundered in your chest, urged you to escape as you always did. But, honestly, you didn’t think your legs could support your weight. No. You couldn’t run. You never had really managed to escape him anyway.
“So, I thought, why does it matter if you die now or later—your life has no meaning. If I finish it now, you won’t be able to keep teasing me, and we’ll both have some peace.”
“I don’t want to die,” you said, your voice hushed to hide the tears.
Death looked down at you, and you wondered if it was disgust or pity you saw on his inhuman face. But then you realized, it was neither. His jewel bright eyes gleamed with glee, passion of a type you couldn’t understand, that belonged to something beyond the realm of what you could possibly comprehend. A living nightmare.
“Your fear,” Death said, inhaling deeply as he took a step forward, his sickles in hand, “has the most intoxicating smell. I might even miss it.”
395 notes
·
View notes