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pedrospatch · 1 year

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to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries.

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment.

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting.

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up.

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment.

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away.

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head.

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell.

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky.

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age.

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today.

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all.

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right.

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that.

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him.

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it.

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours.

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue.

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm.

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife.

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer.

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth.

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing.

Your mouth falls open in disbelief.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other.

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead.

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun.

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze.

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger.

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition.

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot.

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it.

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world.

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you.

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake.

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before.

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments.

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness.

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy.

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull.

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously.

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you.

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore.

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him.

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor.

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles.

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb.

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence.

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time.

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright.

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers.

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others?

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold.

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again.

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made.

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter.

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak.

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger.

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right.

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over.

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location.

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin.

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day.

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks.

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured.

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life.

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh.

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him.

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip.

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head.

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.”

#joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller angst #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #fic: to hell and back

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

Note

Hi! I’ve been thinking about this for awhile.

Imagine Astarion walking in to see his s/o, only to see them on their knees groaning and looking uncomftarble, because of Haarlep and his promise. ”Everytime I make love with your body, you will know.”

Maybe Astarion could like try to comfort s/o through one of those times? Not in a sexual way, just doing his best to show that he’s there, maybe throwing a comment to distract them ”pretend it’s me.”

If you’re uncomftarble with this you can ignore it! Have a nice day/night!😊

I used they/them pronouns for Haarlep when applicable because the Narrator refers to them this way

References and dialogue taken from a scene in the game, transcribed by yours truly

Warnings: rape/non-con elements, swearing, crying, reference to victim blaming, references to past trauma/abuse

Word Count: 1,031

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

It comes on like a violent shiver. You can feel hands all over you, tracing up and down your legs and chest, but you’re all alone in your tent. You try to ignore it, focus on a book or something. Anything. But it’s overwhelming. Haarlep is using your body to pleasure someone else and you can feel it all. Maybe for Raphael it was incredible - another layer of pleasure to heighten the experience. To you, it’s violating.

You curl into yourself, tugging your knees to your chest as you sit on the floor, and hiding your face from the lamp light. If you could curl up tight enough, maybe you could block it all out. It’s a useless attempt. You know nothing can stop it.

“Darling, you’re going to miss… Shit.” Astarion rushes to your side, the flap of the tent shutting out the rest of the world. He’s not sure if he should touch you, where he should touch you. But you’re shaking, and whimpering, and he wants more than anything to help. “Can I touch you?”

You lift your face from your knees, nodding as a groan tears from your throat. It should feel good, but it doesn’t. You want to squirm and dive into water and roll in the dirt - anything to get rid of the ghostly hands on your skin.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and tugs you into him. His touch is more solid. He’s not a phantom taking pleasure in your image. You sigh with how real he feels. He brushes his fingers through your hair. “It’s the incubus, isn’t it?” he whispers by your ear. You nod and grab onto his arm. Your hands are trembling. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I can feel it, Astarion,” you gasp. You press your face into his chest. “Everything. Hands, just, all over me.” You can’t bear to speak out loud what else you feel. He can tell when your legs press tightly together.

“Tell me what I can do to help.”

Your mind is blank. You can’t think. You don’t know. You squirm closer to him and he draws your body into his lap, pressing his cheek to your head. He tries to be more firm in his touches. He scratches lightly at your scalp, tugs gently at the hairs at the nape of your neck. His hand runs up and down your arm, stopping only to press his fingertips against different locations that follow no consistent pattern. He can feel your tears against his skin, and he wishes more than anything to have killed that creature when they had the chance.

“Keep talking,” you whimper. A violent chill forces its way down your spine and you groan against his skin to avoid being too loud. He can’t imagine what the others would think or say.

When this happened before, it was in public. You couldn’t avoid it then, couldn’t rush somewhere private away from public eyes, and they scolded you. Told you to be quiet, teased you about liking it. It made his blood boil just thinking about it. It hadn’t been this bad then - the sound you made wasn’t out of disgust or discomfort.

“I know what it’s like to lose control over your own body. It’s a wretched thing.”

“I may as well just try to enjoy it.”

“I thought the same, once. It didn’t last. I know what’s done is done - you made your vow. But I’m sorry all the same.”

“Please,” you cry. “Please talk to me.”

He hushes you gently, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “It’s going to be okay, my dear. You’re going to get through this. And once these damn tadpoles are out of our heads, we’re marching right back to Avernus and killing that bastard.”

You chuckle, weak and wet, but it’s better than hearing you suffer. “Promise?”

“Do you even have to ask? I’d march down there tomorrow if we could.” He moves his hand from your arm to your leg. He rubs circles into your thigh with his thumb, applying various amounts of pressure as he does. Quietly, unsure, he whispers into your hair, “Can you pretend it’s me?”

He’s not sure if he wants you to, truthfully. But he’s willing to carry that weight if it means easing your suffering. It’s a sentimental thought, but it doesn’t last long as you shake your head. “They don’t touch me like you do.” There’s an edge of teasing in your voice, trying to make it a joke, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Good.” He wants to say something more, but nothing comes to mind. He’s almost… proud. Definitely possessive. If that incubus and whoever they're bedding now doesn’t know how to touch you in all the ways you enjoy, then Astarion won’t feel bad when he touches you. He would hate to ruin intimacy for you because Haarlep touches you the same way.

Your legs shake and you hold onto him desperately, wrapping an arm around him to dig your fingers into his back. You try not to dig too deep, try not to hurt him, even in your torture. It breaks his heart. A sound bubbles in the back of your throat, agonized and lewd. With just one touch of your hand to his cheek, he knows precisely what you’re asking for, and he captures your mouth with his own. It’s not romantic or sweet. It’s teeth clashing and swallowing every loud noise that would be louder if he pulled away. It’s offering you a final comfort as Haarlep desecrates you.

As your legs stop shaking, the phantom touches on your body fading, you kiss him softer, until you feel safe enough to pull away. You don’t hide your face again; you press your forehead to his. Your cheeks are flushed and stained with tears. He continues to play with your hair as he wipes them away.

“Thank you,” you whisper. A sob rises from your chest. “I’m sorry.”

He shushes you, pressing kisses to your cheeks and wrapping his arms around you. “It’s okay, my love. You’re okay. It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault. You’re okay.”

---

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finniestoncrane · 2 months

Text

2.5k Event Request - Gotham!Riddler x Fem!Reader word count: 780 a/n: good GOD an excuse to write soft eddie in that transition between goober and... violent goober lmao i think he needs to fuck the anger out of hi cw: degradation, rough sex, bruising, forceful, lil bit of choking 🔞minors dni🔞 �� masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2.5k (to follow or to block)

The seemingly sweet and usually placid Edward that you knew was long gone by the time he had begun to bottom out inside of you. His hands, the same ones that nervously fidgeted with his glasses and felt clammy the moment you touched them were now gripping your waist, pulling you down onto him as he fucked you senseless with a reckless abandon you hadn’t thought possible of him.

But there was a lot on his mind, a lot of tension to rid himself of, and he was apparently using you as the method of relief. A stress ball, there to take his aggression, his cruel words, the hatred he felt for you and the rest of your colleagues, all sinking into you, as deep as his cock.

“That’s right… you’ll take it hng I knew you… wanted it… Too ashamed ah… ah… to admit it in front of the others? God… A shameful little whore, hm?”

And to think you’d only agreed to a date on a whim, unsure of how it might affect your standings in the food pyramid that was the GCPD. Finally agreeing to a date with Edward Nygma if only to stop him from hovering around your desk, causing the others to whisper and point. It felt cruel to you, but it deflected some of the same cruelty from yourself. Under normal circumstances, his awkward mannerisms and neat appearance would draw you in, but the threat of becoming the focus of the adult bullies of your workplace had kept you distanced from him.

Now, you realised what you had been missing as you stared up at his face, teeth biting down on his lip before gritting together. Flecks of saliva foaming from between them, landing on his lips and your cheeks as he seethed. His well-kept hair falling down in front of his face as his movements grew wilder, faster, harder.

You might have been the object of his affections, but you were still another in a long line of people who refused to take him seriously, despite his obvious, at least to him, superiority. And while he’d been nervous at first, hands lingering on your waist as you pulled him into a kiss, he’d loosened up. Now he was quite happy to let you know exactly how he felt, his words punctuated by grunts as he thrust his hips into you.

“I’m better than you. I’m better than them all! You should be thanking me! You should have been the one begging for my attention.”

Where his fingers dug into your skin, you could feel the telltale signs of bruises forming. A dull, sweet ache that warmed your core, only heightened when one hand broke free and reached for your cheek. He cupped it, palm sweaty and hot, before he let his fingers slide down to your throat, stroking along the front of it, a threatening movement that had your breath catching as you waited for what you hoped was coming.

And then his slender, surprisingly strong fingers tensed around your neck, choking you, a strangled moan escaping with the last of your breath.

His glasses slid down his nose, and with his eyes no longer shielded by the glare on the lens, you could see deep into them, the pain, the anger, the lust. All of it accompanied by the self-satisfied and smug sneer that crossed his lips.

“I thought you’d be filthy… a little bit naughtier than I could even imagine. But you’re downright disgusting.”

His cock was buried deep inside of you, barely moving as he refused to shift backwards, only rutting into you, his head tapping against your g-spot, filling you and stretching you.

“You do like this, don’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak, only just managing to catch your breath.

“Use your words, come on. You’re not that stupid.”

Struggling to push any sound out, you were pathetically grateful when he eased up a little, lifting his fingers to admire the red marks that were forming on your skin.

“I like this.”

“Of course you do. Everyone wants someone to take charge. Someone better than them. Eventually, you’ll just be one of hundreds that will take me for who I really am. But you’re lucky right now. You’re… special, in a way.”

His cock twitched inside of you, throbbing with arousal at his own egomaniacal praise.

“Well… the polite thing to do would be to thank me.”

“Th-thank you?”

That genial, sweet smile you were familiar with appeared once more, genuinely warmed by the appreciation he was so desperate for, the kind he never got, before he began thrusting once more in his quest to ruin you.

“You’re very welcome.”

#finnie writes #riddler #the riddler #edward nygma #gotham #gotham riddler #gotham!riddler #gotham fox #x reader #finnie2.5k

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vodika-vibes · 4 months

Note

Would it be too much of a cliche to ask for a monster au with Commander Wolffe being a werewolf, and him finding out a monster hunter took his human s/o to lure him into a trap.

Sins Of The Father

Summary: You are the daughter of the nation's most well known, and least well respected, monster hunter. When you and your twin brother were children, the pair of you, and your mother, were attacked by a werewolf who wanted revenge on your father. Your mother died in the attack, your brother was turned, and you survived unscathed. Your father threw your brother in a cage, buried your mother, and you were left on your own…until you ran away from home at 18 and vowed to never return. And then you met Wolffe, a werewolf, and fell in love with him. And then your father found out.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2265

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Prompt: Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I don't think I followed the prompt to the letter, but I had an idea and I ran with it. I hope you like it!

“Are you listening?” You lift your gaze from your heavily bandaged hands, to stare at your father, your lips turned down into a dark scowl. “Don’t you look at me like that, I am your father, and you will respect me.”

“Or what?” You bite out, “You’ll break my hands…oh, wait-”

He roughly grabs your chin, roughly enough that you can feel the bruises forming on your already badly bruised skin, though you just grind your teeth and glare at him.

Your father gives in first, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you and turning away from you, “As if it’s not bad enough that you’re whoring yourself out to a wolf-”

“He’s a man, you’re just a bigot.” You bite out as you painfully rub your jaw.

“Shut up!” He rounds on you, “You…you’ve whored yourself to a wolf. Your brother is a wolf. Your mother would be ashamed-”

You surge to your feet, “My brother, your son, was only attacked because of you! We were punished because of your actions-” You cry out in pain as his fist slams into your cheek.

You glare up at him, and he glares right back at you. “I should slit your throat.”

“You won’t do it,” You counter, “You’re a coward. You always have been. You always will be.”

He strikes you again, and again, before he’s ripped off by his second, a timid looking man. “Sir, you can’t kill her. She’s bait, remember?”

Your father heaves for breath, “Right…right…” He turns his back on you, “Girl, take care of the cubs. Mattio…get her out of my sight.”

“Yes sir.” Mattio hoists you to your feet, and drags you out of the small cell that has been your room for the last week, and to the large building that houses the werewolf kids. “I’ll come and bring you back to your cell at the end of the day.” He says, without meeting your gaze.

You glare at him, and rip your arm out of his grasp, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” Is all you say as you walk over to the large door and wait for him to open it.

Mattio sighs, and unlocks the door, allowing you into the large house. And then he shuts the door behind you with a final sounding click.

The Cub House is home to over three dozen children between the ages of 6 and 12. All of them are werewolves. Many were plucked from their pack, some, though, were handed over to the Hunters when their parents learned that they had been turned.

Odds are, the second any of these children showed any violent tendencies when they’re transformed, they’ll be executed for being monsters. And it’ll be applauded.

Your lips twist with disgust, of course they’re going to lash out. Even young werewolves need space to run and to roam, keeping them caged won’t do anything but make the wolf angry. It is why so many packs live so far away from civilization.

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and you lift your gaze from the dirty floor to the darkened edges of the room. Golden eyes, identical in color, though so different in every other way, peer at you from behind crates and beds.

You smile and slowly, painfully, sit down on the floor, “Hello little ones,” You greet, as you wait for them to come to you. A little girl, with vibrant red hair, crawls out from under a bed and she trots over to you.

Her sharp eyes take in your heavily bandaged hands and arms, and the dark bruises covering every inch of your exposed skin, and she frowns, “You’re not like us.” It’s not a question, so you tilt your head and wait for her to continue, “Yet…they hurt you anyway. Why?”

The little girl leans in and sniffs at you, and you immediately peg her as a pack born werewolf. That is a very specific action that you’ve never seen from people who were adopted into a pack later in life.

“You smell like an Alpha.” The little girl says, “But not my packs Alpha, but you’re not like us.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“I’m not,” You agree, “I am, however, the life partner of one of the Fett Alphas.”

The suspicion clears from her gaze, “Oh, you’re a mate.”

You allow her to believe that, although you and Wolffe haven’t quite gotten to the point in your relationship yet. Well, Wolffe hasn’t, at least. You’ve been there for months now, though.

The little girl sits in front of you, and the other children emerge from the shadows, some of them pressing against your sides for comfort, “Why are they hurting you if you’re not a wolf, like us?” A little boy asks as he lightly traces a burn on your arm, and then holds out his arm to show an identical burn.

“I’m bait.” You explain, and you don’t have to say anymore, as the children nod in understanding.

“You smell like the wolf in the lower levels,” One of the oldest boys says.

You start, honestly surprised, “My brother’s still alive?” You blurt, “Stars, I thought that father would have killed him ages ago-” You take a deep breath, if you had known that he was still alive, you would have returned for him ages ago.

“It’s not your fault,” The little girl sitting in front of you says as she lightly pets your knee, “The Hunter keeps him isolated, there’s no need for such guilt.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” You murmur quietly, as your eyes close. You nurse the guilt for a moment longer, and then you exhale and shove the guilt to the side to focus on the children in your care, “This is the story of the Mother and her most beloved children-” You start in a sing song voice, it’s a story you learned from the pack, and now you’ll share it with these children.

All you can do now is hope that someone will come for you, though you also hope that it won’t be Wolffe.

The last thing you want is for him to be in danger because of you.

“Calm down, vod.” Comet says quietly as he folds his arms across his chest while watching his older brother pace, impatiently, from one side of the room to the other. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolffe bites out, his mismatched eyes landing on the ribbon clutched in his hands. His partner, his mate, always wears a ribbon in her hair. Always. It allows him to find her, even in a crowd of people.

Several days ago, he came to pick her up for their date, and saw that her front door had been kicked in, and her braid, ribbon included, laid in the middle of the living room.

Her home was also trashed, clothes ripped to shreds, furniture destroyed, paintings slashed-

Whoever broke into her home, whoever took her, hated her. And made sure that everyone knew it.

Wolffe grinds his teeth, and then whips his attention from the ribbon in his hand to his brother, “Tell me you found something?”

Comet sighs and shakes his head. “The boys have gone through the entire house, Wolffe. And they haven’t found anything.” He taps his arm for a moment, “Are you sure that she doesn’t have any enemies?”

“She-” Wolffe pauses, and his gaze drops to the ribbon. An old conversation, had several weeks after they started dating, comes to the forefront of his mind.

“My dad is a terrible person,” She says, her voice soft as she lightly traces his fingers with one of her own.

“He can’t be that bad,” Wolffe counters, his gaze locked on her face, “He sired you, didn’t he?”

She smiles at him, his fingers gliding across the palm of his hand, and over his wrist, “My father is a werewolf hunter, one of the less well respected ones.” She admits, “When I was a child, mother took my twin brother and I to the market, and we were attacked by an Alpha who had lost their mate to my father.”

Wolffe exhales sharply, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t. But mother still died, and my brother was turned…and I survived unscathed. I never saw my brother again after that day.” Her voice is soft and wistful, “I miss him.”

“What happened after?”

“I grew to hate him, and he grew to hate me in turn. No one was unhappy when I left.” She smiles tiredly, “I took my maternal grandmother’s maiden name as my own, and have tried to put it behind me.”

Wolffe’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “If it’s in the past, then you needn’t tell me.”

She hums softly, and presses her hand over his, “If something happens to me, Wolffe, I need you to know that it was my father who did it.” Her thumb, soft and warm, brushes against the back of his hand, “He’ll never forgive me for dating you. Never.”

Wolffe’s gaze is serious as he leans in so his lips are hovering just over hers, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you-”

Wolffe is pulled from his memory at the feeling of Comet’s hand on his forearm, “Vod?”

“Her father,” Wolffe says, “He’s a hunter. You need to look into her father.”

Comet pauses, and then he smirks, “I can work with that.” He agrees, “You have a name?”

Wolffe smirks at him, “Of course I do.”

It’s the break that the pack has been waiting for. Once Wolffe gives his brothers a name, they get a location of the hunting camp. It’s not terribly close to Fett territory, which is reassuring, but it is a lot bigger than anyone was anticipating.

Wolffe keeps his gaze locked on the camp, his jaw clenched and his hands curling and uncurling into tight fists. He can smell her. Her scent is strong. Too strong. The kind of strong that only comes with pain and suffering.

She’s probably still alive though.

He can hear his brothers bickering behind him, Cody and Fox’s packs are here as well, but it sounds like they have a basic plan in place. “I’m going to get her.” Wolffe says, interrupting his twin, “She’s suffering and in pain and I’m going to get here.”

“That’s why we’re here, vod.” Fox says, “But we need to be smart about this.”

“You be smart about it. I’m going. Now.”

Cody and Fox share a look, and then nod. “Fine. Go, we’ll be on your heels.”

The actual infiltration is a haze. Wolffe doesn’t remember how he managed to navigate the camp and make it to the small building where his mate is being kept without getting caught, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Because he climbs in the window and she’s there.

“Cyare,” Wolffe goes to say something else, I love you. I missed you. Are you hurt? How can I help? But he says none of them. Instead he walks over to her, and cups her face between his gentle hands, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her hands come up to press against his cheeks, but Wolffe carefully catches her wrists to look at her shaking hands. Her fingers are bent awkwardly, and there are bruises peeking out from under the dirty bandages.

“Cyare?”

“Broken,” She whispers, “He…father was…he’s not happy about you.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have protected you-”

“I’m the one who refused to move in with you,” she rasps out, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s his fault.”

She pauses and then nods once, accepting his words as a truth, and then she shifts to her knees, “Wolffe, there’s a small house not far from here where there are children being held and-”

“Shh, shh.” He bumps his forehead against hers, “It’s okay. Cody and Fox are here with me. They’ll take care of it.”

“My brother is here.” She says, “He’s here and he’s alive and you can’t leave him, Wolffe. You can’t-”

“Never. I would never. You’re my mate, which makes him family.”

She blinks at him, and there are tears in her eyes, “I am?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on asking you,” Wolffe admits, “I was going to take you out on the full moon so you could be there for my transformation and…” He sighs, “I had a plan, cyare.” He clicks his tongue, “Another crime to lay at your father’s feet.”

She watches him for a moment, and then lightly grips his shoulders, “Wolffe, I want to go home, please?”

“Of course, cyare. Let’s get you to the medic. And then I’m going to rip your father to shreds.”

He expects her to argue against it, for her to ask him not to, to offer mercy. But something icy slides through her gaze and she nods once. “Good.”

And Wolffe has never been more in love with her than in that moment as he leans in and kisses her gently enough to not hurt her, and then he pulls back to help her to her feet.

He knows that it’s going to be a bloody night. But he already has his mate’s permission for what’s about to happen. He’ll make sure that the massacre will be clean and quick, so he can get her home, so he can wrap himself around her and tend to her hurts to the best of his ability.

But for now, he has a battle to prepare for…and a mate to escort.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika-vibes 650 event #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #monster au #answered asks

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strwbnnie · 2 years

Note

-| hi my newfound love 💕

i bring to thee pervy thoughts to satiate your kinktober thirst 💦

STAY WITH ME NOW ….

N-

N-NAGA!BAKUGO 🐍

Naga!Bakugo who stands about 7ft tall at his full height. Thick, muscular arms crossed over his bulging pecs that lead to into perfectly chiseled abs and tapers into a massive corded serpentine tail that he uses to prep you before stretching your tight little hole out with his two slimy ✨cocks✨

do with this what you will ❤️

Kinktober day 1 and only 🤪

Ngl it took forever but I got it done lmaooo excuse mistakes I never proofread

Pairing: Naga!Bakugo x Explorer Chubby Black!Fem Reader

c/w: 18+ MDNI

chileeeee 😭 monster fucking, oviposition, tail fucking, kats has two cawks, oral (m!receiving), language ofc, Katsuki hates humans, Katsuki’s 100 yrs old at least, he’s also a lil mean but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t sprinkle a little praise here and there, venom intoxication, full nelson position, cervix fucking, girl you a babymama now 🤤 ❀ let me know if I’m missing any tags ❀

inspo behind his look lol

❀

Something wasn’t right about this forest, so many sinkholes and underground traps lingered around the bunker-like caves.

Which is exactly why you’re limping back to your camp. You’d lost your canteen, which meant you had no drinking water for the night. Fortunately, you had somewhere warm and sheltered to sleep.

You entered the bunker you’d claimed for yourself. This one was the least creepy of them all, lacking the furs and animal carcasses you’d seen in a couple of the others.

At the entryway you kicked off your boots, not wanting to track dirt and mud inside. The tapestry you’d brought gave you a decent amount of privacy, kept you hidden from whatever might’ve been lurking outside, however it couldn’t hide you from something already inside.

“Oi, it’s about time, who the fuck are you?” He snarled violently, tail curling around to push you the rest of the way inside. He’d been waiting on you to return all day, dying to see just who was bold enough to trespass amongst his territory.

He was huge, not only big and brutish but tall too, his head nearly grazing the cave’s ceiling as he raised up at you.

Katsuki hated humans. They were messy, disgusting and vile, destroying every place they’d come to inhabit.

So he’s absolutely seething when a ditzy little bitch makes herself comfortable right in the middle of his territory. Pinning your dumb little tapestry in the entryway, and leaving your things scattered.. neatly in a corner?

Okay whatever you didn’t make a mess, but still he’d spent days digging it out and getting it just right for his rut, only to have some human bitch trespassing while he was out collecting supplies.

“Oh I-.”

Terrified was an understatement as you looked everywhere but his face to to avoid his angry red eyes.

“You’re a..a…like a centaur..but a snake?” He heard you say. Should someone, or something like this even exist? You couldn’t help but wonder if he was the product of some freaky genetic splicing, or something conjured up from the deepest darkest depths of your monsterfucking fantasies.

His human or hunanoid half was absolutely beautiful. A very handsome face, even if it was fixed into a scowl, big muscled arms and an abdomen like a washboard. He wore golden cuffs on his arms and wrists, thick rings adorned a couple of his fingers. His body was thick and bulky, tapering down to a slender twelve foot long tail. His scales were black with splotches of tan, the underbelly that same sandy tan color.

“A Naga, dumbass. I don’t have time for ya little games, bitch. The hell are you doing in my den. Where’d you come from?”

“Your what? I’m traveling south and I just needed a camp for a few nights. Please don’t eat me, I’ll leave!” You were willing to beg the handsome creature for your life. You nearly fainted at the feel of his cold, scaly tail wrapping around and giving a deterrent squeeze.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He snarled. The last thing he’d ever eat was a disgusting human, you’d probably taste like shit anyway, with all the garbage humans ate.

Now, a deer or a big fat juicy rabbit? He’d do just about anything for. He’d probably go hunting after he figured out how to dispose of you.

“So, what should I do with you, my chubby little bunny?”

His tone was taunting, you’re sure anything you suggested he’d laugh at, but you mustered up enough courage to speak anyway.

His gaze was fixed on you, red reptilian eyes daring you to make a move. He wanted you to run. He’d probably even stall a bit, give you a little leeway before hunting you down like the predator he was.

And when he found you he’d contemplate snapping your pretty little neck, or pumping so much venom into your veins that your blood solidified completely, or even gutting you like a fish and tossing you aside for the scavengers to deal wit-

“K-keep me?”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head.

“Keep you?” He spat the words like they were poison filling his mouth. He scoffed, nose turned up and brows bunched into a menacing scowl. “Fuck are you talkin’ about?”

He’d expected you to beg for a merciful death, totally caught off guard when you suggested such an impious request.

“L-like a pet or maid..I-I can cook or forage or…please you.” You reasoned with the monster, voice dying in your throat at the end of the statement. You knew there was no way he’d let you go unscathed, so you offered up the next best thing, you hoped.

The blonde stopped and looked down at you, arms crossed over the thick trunk of his body and squeezing his deliciously large pecs together, before his mouth turned up in a devilish smirk. Uncoiling his tail, he dropped you right on your butt.

“Don’t need a pet, but I do need an incubator.” Your eyes widened when his eyes fixated on your chubby tummy.

“Incubator?”

“Yeah,” His forked tongue flickered. “Ain’t got a mate, but I’m ready for a litter.“

He slithered the rest of the way to you, pulling you right into his arms. He pressed his cool fingers into your doughy body, pulling you right up against him. “You have the perfect body to bare my clutch, so you will.”

Sure, it was contradictory. He hated humans, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use you and all of your warm holes, right?

“Either that or I stuff em’ into your corpse.”

He could smell your fear, along with the sweet scent of ovulation and it was absolutely intoxicating. Your scent alone made him fucking feral, made him want nothing more than to burrow deeper into his den and have his way with you, to pump you full of cum and then his eggs.

Which is exactly what he’d do. Make you pay for disturbing his peace and triggering his rut early.

“Gonna keep papa’s eggs nice and warm, right? Ya promise?”

You nod with so much force your head might fall off, flinching when his thin tongue flickered rapidly beside your ear.

“Good, now whad’ya say about pleasing me, Bunny?”

***

The naga is left speechless when you take the head of one of his cocks into your mouth. The warmth enveloping him like the tightest hug.

“Fuck…what a good little bitch.”

You responded with the faintest little ‘mhm’ staring up at him all starry-eyed and dazed. Your tongue ran up and down that thick vein, sending shivers up his spine.

Katsuki had fucked with plenty of Naga women, but none of them had ever taken his dicks into their mouth, too prude and snobby to commit such a profane act.

But humans—humans were the embodiment of sin, the epitome of absolute trash, and before now he’s never been more grateful for the scum of your race.

Because here you were, the sexiest plump little vixen he’d ever seen, on your knees with your tongue swirling around each of his heads, showing neither more attention than the other.

You squished one of them between your busom, fucking it with your tits while your mouth handled the other.

“Holy fuck.” The naga breathed out, palming your head to push you down onto his cock, the tip nudging the threshold of your throat. Katsuki’s mind was clouded with delirium, head thrown back as little grunts and groans were forced out of him.

He laced his fingers into your braids, the hair ties that held your bun long gone. He was surprisingly gentle, forming your hair into a ponytail to rut against your mouth.

You sucked his cocks like your life depended on it, because it did. You needed him to feel like you were worth keeping, not to be discarded after you’d given him a litter.

“S-stop.”

Of course you didn’t stop, too stupefied to even understand the command at first. The naga felt like putty in your hands, the rattle of his tail moving intensely fast, nearly beating against the ground to signal just how close he was.

Your tongue and throat tingled as you worked him with your mouth, pushing him closer and closer to a release that would’ve brought him to his knees if he had them.

“Stop…or I’ll kill ya.” Bakugou panted hard, breaths ragged and strained, giving your hair a rough tug.

He quite literally meant what he said, as much as he did want to paint your throat with his cum, you’d likely asphyxiate from all that semen.

Your mouth was off of him in an instant, staring up at him waiting for your next order. You were a delectable sight to behold. Saliva dripping from your chin onto your big tits.

He pulled you up into a sloppy kiss, coating your tongue and throat with venomous saliva. It made your mouth water, the more you swallowed it down. You were now covered in a light sheen of sweat, body lax in his arms and incredibly sensitive, signs that you ingested the poison well.

“Please! I want-I need your cocks! Need you to fuck m-me.” His venom had you slack-jawed and slurring, drool dripping from the corners of your mouth.

Katsuki loved a bitch who wasn’t too proud to beg, carnal urges roused and ready to give you all that you asked for.

“Gotta stretch that pretty pussy if you want both my cocks.”

You nodded, or at least thought you nodded, head swaying as he maneuvered you around. Now you have your arms looped around his neck as he holds you up by your knees.

You let out the most wanton moan when his rattle breached your cunt, gasping and panting like a whore when more and more of that thick tail made its way inside.

Your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth formed a wide ‘o’ as the rings of the his tail were sheathed deep into your cunt.

“Nice and warm.” His deep raspy voice lingers in your mind even after he’s spoken.

“Fuckkkk! I need more!” You cried out, cunt gushing more of your syrupy arousal around his tail and down your thighs.

“Doing s’good, I’ll give ya more.” He praised, fangs pressed into his lip as he slipped his tail out, rattle coated in your pussy’s cream.

Tears stung your eyes at the delicious stretch of his upper cock stuffing your cunt.

He bounced you up and down, loving how your warm, creamy pussy felt around him. With every thrust the head of his second cock bumped against your clit sending tremors through your body every single time.

He never wanted to leave the warmth of your cunt and quite frankly you didn’t want him to either with how you wrapped your thick thighs around him so tightly.

He was able to pry you off of him a little, just enough to position his second dick at your entrance.

Completely cock-drunk and dickmatized you’d probably die if he pulled out of you. You’d never been so full in your life, filled the the brim with this monster’s cock.

“You said you wanted both right?”

“Uhhuh?” You agreed to all of his questions if it meant keeping your life. Your mind was so clouded and hazy that you didn’t even process what he meant until he stuffed that second cock into your greedy cunt.

Shifting the position, he turns you around so that your back was against his front, cocks still stuffed inside as he handled you like you were featherlight. He lifts your legs up until he has them over his forearms, you’re now folded in half against him with his hands locked behind your head.

In an instant he’s moving again, holding you still and slamming into your pussy at a god-like speed. “Oooo shit.” You moaned, staring down at your bulging belly.

“You’re so stronggg.” Your praises pumped his ego, if that was even possible, the man already had so much confidence as it was. “Nghhh it’s s-so fucking good.”

“Yeah? Human whore loves my cocks?” He had the meanest grin on his face, basking in your praises.

“Yesssss, fuck yes.” You screamed, eyes crossed and tongue lolling out like a mad woman as he fucked you into oblivion.

“J-just like t-t-that.” You stuttered as you felt the peak of an orgasm creeping up on you.

It had just dawned on you, the blonde hadn’t even given you his name, if he had one.

“N-name..what’s your name.”

“Katsuki.” The Naga said, thrusts never faltering. He rarely gave his first name, especially to people he deemed beneath him. However, in a matter of moments you’d be the mother of his brood, of course he made an exception.

“Katsu…mmphhh. I’m gonna cum, Katsukiiii!” You whimpered out his name as you coated his cock with your juices.

“Oh f-fuck, what’s happening?” Your hooded eyes widened when the thick heads of his cocks pushed passed the ring of your cervix, sitting snug inside your womb and ready to deliver his clutch.

Play time was over, and Katsuki was ready to collect on that promise you made him.

Large and round, the first egg settled into your belly. One after the other he deposited six big eggs into your belly. The stretch was uncomfortable, heavy.

You weren’t even sure if you could stand holding so much extra weight. After all you’ve been through you weren’t sure if you could stand at all, honestly.

He finally lifted you off of his cocks, both semi flaccid and slowly retreating back into their slit. Your eyes were fixated below you, intrigued by the bright green slime that dripped out of your cunt but even more so by the swell of your tummy after being filled with the naga’s eggs.

You felt yourself being moved, until you were layed against your sleeping bag and few extra blankets you had brought to bundle up with.

You were drained— body covered in sweat and cum, belly stretched to capacity. You didn’t even want to think about how you looked right now.

“Oi, stay with me.” He slapped a calloused hand over your cheek a couple of times.

You floated in and out of consciousness but you kept your eyes locked on his crimson ones as best as you could.

“Did good.” He patted your head as you snuggled into his cool body, bulging belly jutting against his abdomen.

He rubbed a hand over your belly. ”S’good for me, gonna give me a strong litter.” He kissed your forehead and that’s all you could remember before consciousness evaded you.

❀

#bakugou x chubby reader #bakugou smut #black reader #bnha smut #chubby reader #mha x plus sized reader #bakugou imagine #bakugo x poc!reader #bakugou x black reader #kinktober #plus size teratophilia #teratophilia smut #terato #naga!bakugou #naga!bakugo #naga monster #naga smut #HentyeHottie

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syoddeye · 1 month

Note

feel free to ignore this one-

i have been a big fan of fanfiction for a while and recently got into cod. and ive noticed a lot of poetic writers tend to head down the noncon/ddne territory, and i guess it’s always a conflict for me?

cus it’s beautiful, but always so fucking sickening. nasty stuff for sure. and being one of my favorite authors, i guess im asking if you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romaticize it- instead of condemning? maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.

im breaking from my comfortable shell from the ‘white picket fence happy ending cute tale’ fanfiction and actually really enjoying reading dark fics because good ones do such a wonderful job at toeing the ‘this is so beautiful but I feel like vomiting’ line- but in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light- like the assaulter is…good?

im a bit new to it all which is why I guess there’s a shred of shame in it, because I don’t like the actions in ddne. they’re unsettling, gross (unfeminist? unsure) - but the writing is often times why i have to finish them because it’s jus so beautiful, pulls you in. your guts are all shriveled but your mind is wide awake and your mouth is wide open like you’re trying to swallow the poetry whole (not to be dramatic).

have you ever felt this? or am i jus like. vanilla.

hey friend, thanks for your patience on this.

i know you’ve already reached back out and i’m glad the links shared here helped. i’m gonna respond to both asks here because i don’t want to break your anonymity without your consent.

i’m also disabling reblogs. everything below this is my opinion and experiences. other folks will obviously feel differently. (if any of my smart and talented friends want to chime in or correct me, please do.)

first, i respect and appreciate your openness. you are kind and your thoughtfulness shines through both messages. feeling conflicted about complicated and difficult topics is normal. not to get all woo-ey off the bat, but we’re human beings. this is our first time planetside and all that. it’s important to cut yourself some slack. this post is generally how i see it:

“the human brain is weird. sex fantasies ≠ actual desires. if you ask yourself, “would i want to act out this thing in real life” and the answer is “fuck no,” then you’re fine. shipping is also not an indicator of what you would condone in real life. you are not secretly a monster. you are a human being. human beings are complicated.”

you ask: [do] you believe the writing is supposed to justify it? romanticize it- instead of condemning?

no, and this is where i think the posts i shared help. i do not believe dead dove or dark fic justifies sexual assault and rape, in the same way i do not believe games or horror films make people violent.

you also share:

“maybe it slips past me but im always unsure if the writing is supposed to be seen as strictly art that divulges into the depths of a dark mind and a bad man- or it’s indulging in a fantasy.” “in the back of my mind i wonder if it’s supposed to be read in a positive light”

this just tells me you’re engaging with fiction in a normal way. it’s normal to process how a story affects you. when reading fiction that depicts the disgusting, there’s a chance you feel disgusted. you remind me of how i felt when i first started reading dark fic. i had to unpack and grapple with years of being told any sexual fantasy that wasn’t heterosexual + monogamous + only explored after marriage was a one-way ticket to superhell and made me an awful person. surprise, it doesn't!

again, i’ll echo my first reply in case anyone needs to see it again: content warnings and tags aside, if readers hit an unexpected limit/boundary/landmine in a fic that they know will adversely impact or trigger them, they need to exit immediately. disengaging from fanfic is a reader’s responsibility. no one is forcing anyone to read fanfic, and no one should feel like they have to finish fanfic because it’s beautifully written, at the expense of their well-being.

(to note, because i don’t want folks to think i’m ignoring it, but i’m not going to wade into what’s feminist or not when it comes to fiction. i think that’s a whole other discussion and i’m not in the headspace to engage.)

(another note, semi-related - something that continually frustrates me in the broader discussion of dead dove and dark fanfic is the pressure for victims to share personal information to justify their opinion, no matter where it falls. while i do share some stuff about my personal life, i do have limits. i’ve been asked point blank in my ask box and ao3 comments if i’ve ever been sexually assaulted, because some folks feel entitled to that information to ‘justify’ my writing about it. people can and will make their assumptions, but i will never divulge that info here, on tumblr.com, of all places. that’s a hard line for me.)

to your second message, i am sincerely happy that those links helped. it really boils down to ‘it doesn’t equal your actual desires’. you said it was a huge relief to see that, and it is! again! i felt a galaxy brain moment when i stopped hating myself for liking darkfic. reading/writing dark fic isn't an endorsement.

and and and not to sound like your grandpapa out on the porch, but now that i know your age—you are young. do not beat yourself up for learning or not knowing your limits just yet. i am in my 30s and learning shit about myself all the time. i’ll be 60 and having lightbulb moments reading fanfic.

okay. i think i’ve yapped enough. linking to early’s post again because it’s so, so good.

#sy asks #smarter people have discussed this and hopefully i do not sound too dumb

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reactionimagesdaily · 1 year

Text

The Image Tags Masterpost

(As its own post thanks to a suggestion from @oregano-gremlin! gracias)

Every image is tagged with one of these tags, for organisation purposes! ^_^

(Also It’d be a HUGE pain to go back and re-organise them so, while suggestions for new categories/adjustments to existing ones are appreciated, I’m almost definitely not gonna follow through on any of them.)

(Also I am uh. Putting this under a read-more because it’s longer than I thought it was gonna be when it’s all laid out lmao)

#[undefinable] - for images that don’t really fit into a single mood, or have a mood that isn’t accurately represented by one of the other tags

#;_; - for images that are the big sad

#Hell yah - for celebratory, “nice”-type images

#Hell nah - for images that simply embody the concept of “no”, “no thanks”, “not for me”, e.t.c.

#Frick the frack off - slightly violent images used to tell someone to begone or that they are unimpressive

#Y’all are heathens - images that demonstrate disdain, confusion, or general contempt for your group chat

#Ah shit - images that convey “oh fuck”, “oh no”, “oh heck”, “oh shit”, and so on

#Depression time - for images that can be used to either show genuine sadness, or a weary sort of “oh God” that is less emotive and more resigned than an #Ah shit image

#Huzzah - celebratory images

#w h a t - images which convey just. total incredulity and bafflement

#F - for images that pay respects

#ooh-de-lally - images to be used for things that are exciting, spicy, or generally just make your eyebrow quirk up a bit

#Cursed - cursed images

#Wow - images that either convey a sense of genuine wonder, or demonstrate like. “yeah cool story bro”

#I LOVE YOU!!! - images you can use to show affection to any loved ones you are fortunate enough to have

#Welp - for images that aren’t very emotive or very specific, but rather channel that face you make when someone’s talking about something and you have no real idea how to react

#Genuine mirth - images that express, well, genuine mirth

#Contemplation time - I like to think this one is self-explanatory lmao

#Horny on main - not for NSFW stuff so much as stuff where it’s just a guy saying “hehe boobies” or whatever

#:) - happy pickturs

#Fear - fear

#Called out - honestly this one’s a bit inconsistent but it’s either for when you yourself have been called out (“you got me there”) or for when you’re calling someone ELSE out (“cool motive, still murder”)

#Free Real Estate - for images based off of those legendary seconds

#Gratitude amigo - images that say thanks

#Trans rights - because trans rights are human rights

#Disgustan’ - for when you need to express disgust with an image

#Disney - images @ that specific megacorp

#I am so great - images for when you’re proclaiming your own greatness (or at least an amount of self-satisfaction)

#Stole your meme lol - for those images you see everywhere on twitter indicating that someone likes your meme/image and have saved it for their own use

#Genuine reassurace - images that express, well, genuine reassurance

#[Music stops] - there are lot of parodies of the initial “music stops” image, and I have many of them

#Gweetings - images that say hi

#I will cause problems on purpose - images with those vibes

#Ambivalent - because sometimes you need to visually express how little you care

#Bog Moss - this is actually the tag for images that are like “mood” or “same” - I tag them ‘bog moss’ because of an inside joke lmao

#Mockery - bully your friends with this specific collection

#Please exercise empathy - for images that basically say “I don’t know how to expain to you that you should care about other people”

#Nice music - images dedicated to saying that specifically music is good

#Sic ‘em - for images that carry a similar energy to Mayor Tyler from Gravity Falls going ‘git ‘em! git ‘em!’

#Grooving - images that convey the emotion of dancing

#You are not immune to propaganda - I have no idea where that edit of Garfield came from, but there are LOADS of edits, so they all get their own category

#Think of the economy - for images designed to satirise people who prioritise stonks and the economy (which CAN be important, I won’t knock ‘em) over human life

#Silence! - you know that image of the crab lasering something? Yeah, there are a bunch of those, so they get their own category

#Genuine wrath - images that express, well, genuine wrath

#Pretty sus NGL - images designed to help convey suspect or suspicion

#Gotta go fast - images that go quick nyoom

#Ight Imma head out - parting is such sweet sorrow, as these images will demonstrate

#Case Closed - for image that indicate that some kind of mystery has been solved, or that some kind of question has been answered

#Not-okay cute things - for those images where it’s like, a plush toy captioned with “I can’t fucking take it”. those sorts of images. they have a category

#Oucho - for images that convey pain but aren’t quite in the realm of ;_;

#Ok boomer - Y'all remember ok boomer?

#Chillaxing - for image that surmize a specific chillaxed vibe

#Nice dub - using this one for pics of that one specific guy in all those pictures where he’s congratulating people’s Ws and Dubs

#not a pic #the Image Tags Masterpost

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an-honest-endeavor · 2 months

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Disgusting.

(Ooc)

1. If something makes you “uncomfy,” talk to me first before making a long-ass post, @marbled-magician .

2. What do you mean by “flirty/ooc” comments? Those comments were very much ic. And don’t start me on the chisaki stuff. I was receiving asks encouraging my character to pursue Chisaki and explaining how to do so in detail, which I assumed were from @kaichisaki-rp on anon because who the hell else would send detailed instructions? Also @yumikoshigarakirp was unwantedly flirting with my Endeavor (before getting with Dabi) and @fierce-wings-rp ‘s Hawks (recently, and repeatedly), so maybe get off your high horses. Not to mention their character being constantly rude and violently threatening others, often for no reason, but I put up with it because it was in character. But since we’re out here mashing ic and ooc together, you might want to consider yourselves too, not just me. Again, if you’re uncomfortable, say so, and none of it was ooc. I’m not interested in flirting with any of you irl.

3. The Dabi-Endeavor stuff was in response to @endeavorsbiggesthater ‘s Dabi literally saying Enji “made him a villain.” He did not make him a villain. Hence my comment about serial killers and abuse. Please read the thread fully (with the tags!) before inserting yourself into the conversation, @marbled-magician .

4. I don’t even remember sending that ask to @dabis-blueflame , I don’t know if it’s me or not, and either way, you are speaking to “endeavor,” what does it have to do with a callout post for me, the person behind this account? I am not Endeavor, I’m not responsible for your blorbo’s suffering. Keep in-character and out-of-character stuff separate. I have not interacted with @dabis-blueflame in a while (or a lot), and I do not believe I have given them any reason to be upset with me. MORE SO BECAUSE THEY NEVER FREAKING SAID ANYTHING, LIKE THE REST OF YOU. What is this, an exercise in mind reading?? How is that “harassing Dabi,” are you freaking serious?

5. It’s rude and borderline cruel to mash your misinformation, SECRET uncomfiness, and your feelings towards a fictional character into one big gross blob and use it to bully me. You don’t get to go “uwu I was shy/being a people pleaser” and then blow up and gang up on me. If you’re not saying you’re uncomfortable, I’m under the impression that our rp is going fine. You have no right to call me out for not reading your mind. I had no idea you had ANY bad feelings towards me, @marbled-magician . I was under the impression we were friendly. You seriously think this is okay to do? This is disappointing and hurtful. And don’t think “uwu please don’t harass them” is absolving you. You made me a target for harassment instead of talking to me. Now I have to wonder which of the mha rp blogs are “uncomfy” before interacting with them. This is disgusting behavior.

#ooc

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alt-zadr-b1tch3z · 1 year

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This event is inspired by the vintage culture of Invader Zim (1990s/2000s) and largely relates to fashion and media trends of that time. This year pays homage to that via the magic of vhs horror movies. RULES: Must be 18+ to enter Both written and drawn submissions may apply To submit applications, post to tumblr and tag your submission as @alt-zadr-b1tch3z Do not harass the Artists/Writers It is the preference of the blog creator that you depict Zim and Dib as Adult versions of the original characters. However, underage iterations of Zim and Dib will be posted if the artwork meets the criteria of Disney shipping (cheek kisses, holding hands, exchanging gifts, hugging, Not Being Sexual) No depictions of Racism, Sexism, Pedophilia, Homophobia, Transphobia; or anything else I think is deplorable will be reblogged. I personally will block you if you’re being disgusting or a bigot.

Trigger warnings MAY include: Blood, Eyestrain, Drugs, Needles, Cutting, Gore, Suicide Mention, Murder, Violence, Infanticide, Patricide, Negative Depictions of Hospitals, Gay Cartoon Characters, Guns, Weapons, Vomit, and much more! Feel free to send asks about specific things you want tagged. Disclaimer: This blog does not condone any unlawful or harmful acts depicted in the events submissions. I will do my best to tag content for trigger warnings but may screw up, I’m just one dude. Negative mental health symptoms such as suicidal ideation, violent tendencies, long lasting depression, and many unmentioned others; are all things that deserve to be depicted in art and shared within an understanding and mature community. Sharing your experience with other like minded people is an important part of the coping process, and makes us feel less alone when we face the dark feelings within ourselves. It’s ok to fuck up and do the things you’re not supposed to, no one is perfect. You deserve to get the most out of life that you can. Healing is a slow process and it’s ok to acknowledge your bad feelings through art. If you are experiencing mental health problems, please seek out a professional avenue for help, or find some kind of healthy coping mechanism. You will thank yourself when you look back on it. Thank you, for reading my preachy little blurb about why leaking brain badness is good sometimes. Please enjoy the showcase <3

IDEAS FOR SUBMISSIONS: The categories and subcategories are loose and unstrict, do what you want to with the prompts given, and have fun with it!

Word prompts: Scene Word Generator Fashion Prompts: Emo fashion board Scene fashion boards ART INSPO

#zadr #zim/dib #iz #invader zim #alt-zadr-b1tch3s #announcment

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psalacanthea · 1 year

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WiP Whenever

whoops, I missed Wednesday. Update on the rewrite of the BG3 EA fic: not going as well as I'd like. But life's been doing things that are Rude, which will hopefully ease off soon. I am still hoping to release the 15 rewritten chapters on Halloween, so keep your fingers crossed for me! Here's a lil bit <3 As always, if you'd like to be tagged next time I post, pls post your own and @ me!

...

“No, I’m too attractive to fit in that little hole. This is just illusion, you know that.”

“Too–” Astarion gave her a long, strange look and then shook his head in dismay– deliberate and exaggerated.

Zynatheri scoffed and tossed her head. “It’s true. Don't bother badgering me to try. ‘I’ll never fit’, said the wagon driver to the farmer’s wife.”

With quick, violent movements that startled her, Astarion threw up his hands and rounded on her, voice sharp. “Would you please just drop the disguise?! You keep flirting with me, and then I look at you and it makes me want to vomit!”

Zyn made a high-pitched sound of offense, her hand fluttering to her chest. “Excuse me? I’m flirting with you? I am not flirting with you! How dare you!”

“That’s what you’re focusing on here?!”

She shrugged, as innocent as a Judas goat.

Astarion sighed, cradling his forehead tiredly with one hand. “The instant we’re alone you go back to acting like yourself, and it’s extremely off putting! I do not want a teenage boy flirting with me! I’m over two hundred years old!”

“You’re distressed because you want to flirt back,” she teased him with a grin that only grew when he glared at her. Aha. She'd pinned the bastard down.

Abruptly he smirked, quite obviously having had some mischievous revelation. She could tell by the smugness, both in face and voice as he spoke: “so you do admit you’re flirting with me.”

Aah, she had outed herself there, hadn’t she? Zyn shrugged yet again with careless aplomb, tucking her hands behind her head, scanning the top of the cliff briefly to make sure they weren’t being spied on. Luckily, she was shameless. “Oh, I was lying. But I’m really not going to break character so you have something to think about when you’re spit-polishing the admiral’s spyglass tonight.”

“Vulgar,” he scolded her, eyes drifting back towards her. His eyes returned to her face. The cringe back and revulsion on his face delighted her, comical in its exaggerated disgust. “Stop grinning at me, you ghoul! Just dispell the hideous disguise!”

Zyn gave a little ‘hmm’, an amusing idea striking her. “I could put a dress on this disguise so that I'm a woman disguised as a boy disguised as a woman. A classic. Or you could tell everyone not to worry because I am older than I look? I could say you have a ‘youthful spirit’ perhaps.” She grinned, maliciously. "Have you ever read The Temptations of Ser Edrew? Specifically the chapter where he and his squire-"

“Stop, you little freak!”

#wip whenever #wip wednesday #BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 fic #Astarion x Tav #Tav: Zynatheri Rivati #she's the wooooorst

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codswalloping · 2 years

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Tagged by @gritkitty. Rules: pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line (or three), and share it! then tag 10 people.

My takeaway from this exercise is that I write a fuckton of h/c and a fuckton of dialogue, but it’s fun to write bantery h/c, dammit!

Tagging @angryonabus @chocolatepot @cinnaluminum @clarasteam @glassmirrormask @leupagus @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 @missgeevious @newnewyorker93 @whetherwoman and anyone else who wants to play!

Cabin Pressure, “Contents May Have Shifted”

There was a very squashed moment or two of silence.

"Arthur," Martin said. "Why have you stuffed me into the locker?"

Doctor Who, “Afterburn”

Jack laughed. "Hello yourself," he managed, and then he couldn't help it, he ran at the Doctor and swept him up in a violent, crushing hug, his Doctor after all this time, all this time, all this time.

Generation Kill, “Feel Like I’m Fixin to Die”

“Hey, I’ve had plenty of visions that don’t involve my own dick,” Ray says. “I’m having one right now about Sixta’s dick, plowing you hard up the ass, and you are loving it, too.” He throws a leg over Espera’s and starts humping him. “Comply with this grooming standard, bitch.”

John Finnemore’s Double Acts, “A Friend in Need”

“Oh, no,” said Bunning, shocked into sincerity. “My dear fellow. You mustn’t think I minded that. I’m a poor enough nursemaid, but even so. Glad to help out. Really I am.” He’d felt, in fact, an aching tenderness toward Søndergaard in his vulnerability—he felt it still, a knot of swelling tension in his chest that didn’t seem to belong anywhere but that he didn’t know how to put down. It would wear off, he supposed, in time.

Life on Mars, “Shot”

He couldn't unsee it, try as he might: the way Sam's face at rest had looked almost pretty, the smoothness of his skin laid out over hard muscle and bone. How could you see something like that and not want to touch it? He'd wanted to curl himself around the damaged body of Sam Tyler, like a hard shell over something soft.

Love and Rockets, “Hopeless”

Every now and then, though, not always, there’s a way Maggie has of making her feel all liquidy and achy-tender at the core. There’s no telling what might set it off: the sound of her laugh, or the way she sticks her tongue out a little when she’s working with her hands, fixing something, or the stupid open trusting expression on her face when she looks up at Hopey all of a sudden. It makes Hopey want to grab her hand and just run somewhere with her, anywhere, everywhere.

Our Flag Means Death, “Happily Ever After”

“Black Beard,” said Stede, thoughtfully. “No, I’ve not heard of him. Fierce fellow?”

“Really desperate character, yeah,” said Lucius. “Such an asshole. Throw you overboard soon as look at you, for no reason whatsoever.”

“And he’ll never quit paying for it, will he,” Ed muttered. “God help the poor soul.”

Schitt’s Creek, “Strange Brew”

“But you’re really hot,” David said, surprised. “You wouldn’t want to fuck yourself? I’d totally fuck me if I weren’t me.”

“Uh huh,” Patrick said, in an and there you go tone of voice.

The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, “Fetish” [NB the tentacles in question are NOT KATSU’S I would never]

It felt like being gently and cleverly rearranged at the circuit level, as if he were one of Mori’s creations, responding helplessly to the watchmaker’s intimate manipulations. The tentacles pulsed, thickened and thinned, curled and twisted and delved; there were so many of them now, so relentless, so deep— Thaniel sobbed out a cry of wordless ecstasy, and shook, and shook, and shook.

What We Do in the Shadows (2014), “Thirst Aid”

Not that he wanted a relationship with a werewolf. Not even a very kind and funny one with freckled eyelids and warm, strong arms and the most enticing little dimple when he smiled. Yuck. Disgusting.

#my fic #meems

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phoenyx-rising · 8 months

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I’m wary of anyone who calls for the sympathy and humane treatment of literal rapists/pedophiles… people who are actually inhumane in their actions… this is the hill we want to die on?? Defending criminals??? Defending RAPISTS AND PEDOPHILES?!??

Either you didn't read the post that was on and just cherry-picked for shock value to make yourself feel better, or you are a troll. If you respond to this and continue the trend of not reading, I won't continue. Sorry to anyone who follows me for the wall of text that's about to occur. That being said, let's try to un-cherry pick your grievance, and I'll start with the TL:DR sic-semper-hominibus kindly put in the actual post: "your disgust-based violent politics are not less reactionary than any run-of-the-mill homophobe or racist's disgust-based violent politics". This is important to remember whenever you start demonizing any group, regardless of their crimes, because it allows for Literally Any group to be demonized. When the flamboyant gays are targeted first and people look the other way cuz they're strange, it shouldn't come as a shock when other queers are attacked next. It's to protect children from pedophiles, don't you know? And well, Florida is registering trans people as sex offenders now, and sex offenders aren't human. (Points 3.a and 3.c in case you really did not read the post you are commenting on... again, a little silly if you ask me, but referring to people as sub-human because they committed a crime is a slippery slope to allow groups to target people they don't like.) That is obviously terrible, and should be seen as terrible from any group, regardless of their politics. Now, regarding Actual sex offenders, pedophiles, murderers, billionaires, etc? Yea, they also deserve a fair trial and to be treated humanely. Part of that is because it is - once again - easy to point fingers and claim someone is a rapist and if we just immediately go welp, gotta kill them now? Well, that's happened. As was stated in the original post (point 3.b, if you want to look back and rethink your horror) it was really easy for white women to point at a black man - man used loosely here, as teenagers were also accused - and have them lynched. But the other part that you might disagree with and I will wholeheartedly defend, yes, is that even if we put them through a fair trial and it's proven without a shadow of a doubt that they did indeed commit the crime, then at the end of the day they are still human, and deserve to be treated as such. They broke the laws of society and a just response as decided by that society needs to happen, but there is a reason so many countries have abolished the death penalty. There's a reason why so many US states have abolished or placed a moratorium on it. There's a reason why many people condemn countries that haven't and continue to execute their citizens in painful ways. It's because current methods of execution are painful and inhumane, and the criminals are still Human. (It's also cuz capital punishment is more expensive than life imprisonment, and because the racism, sexism, ableism, etc etc etc in our Not perfect justice system means that innocent people are convicted of crimes they did not commit, which brings me back to the beginning where just cuz someone is Accused of committing a heinous crime does not mean we get to treat them as sub-human. Vicious cycles and all that which only ends up hurting innocent people). Anyways, now that I have reiterated the original post that was more clearly written - which I hope you read and just didn't understand, and that's why you're here, not cuz you're a troll - maybe now you will better understand why human beings - even criminals - should be treated as human? Like, it is basic empathy levels, but it's also just humanity. So yea, go re-read that post that I left TAGS on, and the responses on it, and have a good day :)

#anon ask #the Original original point of the first post is also valid and is why this is often a college level course subject #It's too complicated to fully dissect in a tumblr post but the humanity of criminals should never be questioned #as that is an extremely slippery slope

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alatusxiaoo · 2 years

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❞ [ 10. ] bumping into strangers

— 9:17 pm, LOG TWO: xiao’s whereabouts.

it is 9:17 in the evening when the realization dawns that despite being a man of circumspect, xiao remains baffled of the fact that he has absolutely no idea how long he’s been craning his neck across his shoulder to stare mindlessly at you.

he knows he has never dived headfirst so thoughtlessly and recklessly into all sorts of undesired situations. but he betrays himself when the sworn occasional glimpses take a gradual metamorphosis into unconsciously bewitched gazes.

it’s amazing how three long years have passed, and yet you still looked like the girl he met back in the last year of high school.

“xiao,” an impatient nudge echoes from a faintly tipsy childe. “what are you spacing out for?”

xiao hesitates to tear his eyes away from the outlying sight. but when he lazily glances at the half-full vodka shot raised in front of him, he wonders why he expects to see you holding it out towards him instead of the pretty stranger sporting a rather flirtatious smile. was she also a fourth year taking the same major? he couldn’t seem to recognize her distinct features from anywhere.

nevertheless, he takes the offered glass in his hand and throws his head back to tilt the drink squarely against his mouth, potent liquid passing by his lips until the spicy flavor violently punches the back of his throat.

it tastes fucking disgusting.

the world shines a bit too brightly as he forces himself to swallow the vodka down his throat. he blinks several times to fight the dazed sensation, vague noises of his friends’ chorused cheers resounding around him.

and when his gaze flutters subconsciously across the end of the room, he finds you staring illegibly at him.

it doesn’t hurt even when it takes less than a second for you to look away.

it is 9:34 in the evening when you suddenly collide into xiao’s chest with flushed cheeks. he reaches out to seize you in his arms, proving successful in breaking you from an awfully clumsy fall.

you stare blankly at him for the second time since you arrived — and yet for him, he’s already lost track of how many times he strained his neck just to peer over in curiosity.

it feels bittersweet, the way either of you somehow always make your way back into the other’s life without warning.

xiao can’t stop himself from asking whether you’re okay, hoping the slight tremble of his drunken voice was rendered inaudible to your ears.

“i’m fine.” comes your begrudging response as he helps you stand. surprisingly, you don’t bat his hands away as he carefully props you up.

you think he seems almost a bit concerned despite his characteristically apathetic nature that you’ve begun to acquaint yourself with for a while now, but you fearfully shake the far-fetched theory off and pace away from him in hurried steps.

leaving him behind to watch.

it is 9:42 in the evening when xiao leaves the party to take the night bus back to the dormitories.

he hated the wafting stench of drinks. he hated the stuffiness of the venue. he hated the girls that stared at him for too long. he hated the guys who egged him on to do something stupid. he hated the spreading of faint pain across his neck. he hated your flushed cheeks. he hated childe for miraculously convincing him to tag along.

and yet, xiao finds himself gazing quietly outside the glass window.

because for the first time in three years, he finally allows himself to wonder how it all went wrong.

I WISH YOU WERE SOBER — [ previous. masterlist. next. ]

synopsis — in which you were never really one for spontaneity or precipitous decisions, until you got yourself drunk at your senior year university party and woke up the next morning with the most dreadful of hangovers…along with a painfully distorted memory of a stolen kiss on that hazy evening.

note — because we love mysterious pasts with the ex hihi

taglist — @tihgnari @ceylestia @eissaaaa @venyan @sohyuki @senjurro @bobaducky @dinoshimaaa @sharoshing @ioverjn @hey-comrade-hold-stil @skaramush @lesboluvs @clovcly @ventuswhat @zephestia @theother-victoria @neptun-es @ihaveahunterlisence @minyoungieee @astolary @wrenhyperfixates @heartonthemoon @goodthingimsam @capybara4lyfers @slvdsjjk @michelindu @kimiesstuff @itssoizzy @kazuzux @hiqhkey @layla240 @justrisahere @one-offmind @diaflower @liquor-kissez @tokanite @pooonyo @sweetstrawberrybabe @yeeden @nejibot @lcvez @rion-s @sakushoujo @koiir @lost-wicked-artist @dampam @q1ngx1n @yer1sdi4ry @bleedingwhiteroses222 @starglitterz @xdncrkay @uwak-uwak-uwak-uwak

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obey-me-rot · 3 years

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You're Mine

A/N: I guess as a writing blog I should be doing some writing right? Honestly this has just been the biggest headcanon I've had in a while since I started playing Obey Me of the brothers just...like Devildom culture must be so different! And then the whole pact thing with human masters must be so different as well! I just view them as big animals just wanting to get your attention u wu. Warnings: Jealous boys, public shows of dominance and a lot of biting.

It's almost painful being in the Devildom sometimes.

A cultural exchange program amped up to 100 %.

As much as you loved the brothers, you also were meeting some pretty cool demons in RAD. Surely you were the human student everyone was so excited to meet, but none of them really talked to you, you know? But there were some that were brave enough to overlook your pact marks and dive into a conversation.

Even some were bold enough to talk to you out of school!

Making so many friends was so exciting, especially since you still thought of yourself as new! Wait till the brothers see how many new demons you have met!

Problem is you forgot how weird demon culture is, especially when it has to do with a demon and their master.

"MC?"

Lucifer blinks as he notices the demon approaching the two of you, pausing your daily walk with him as confusion turns to familiarity and you run up to greet your friend.

The first thing he notices is how they are a low ranking demon, so there’s no need to be hyper aware of any sort of threat. In this instance he doesn’t need to look to make sure his pact mark is visible to the demon.

His mark was embedded right in your iris, so anyone could see whose protection you were under.

He smiles politely as you turn around to introduce them, the demon waving at him shyly as if remembering that, yes, this human made a pact with Lucifer and therefore should not be messed with in any way. Yet there was no sort of violent tendencies coming from this demon, which put him at somewhat of an ease.

That is, until the demon takes a hold of your hand.

It’s a simple touch, one that a human would mistaken for a sign of friendship and camaraderie. The demon was speaking excitedly about a new flower they had seen over at the Botanical gardens and how much they wanted to show it off to you.They tighten their hold and Lucifer has to dig his fingernails into his palm from ripping their hand off.

You had no idea what it meant and the action would most likely scare you.

And Lucifer wanted you to trust him as much as possible.

“Would it be okay if Lucifer comes along?”

“...y--yeah! I don’t mind!”

Hesitation mixed with fake happiness, this demon really thought that he would get some time alone with you, didn’t they? They probably planned this whole thing out and whatever excitement they were showing you was just a front to hide their true intentions. Besides, look how they are hanging off of you, they want to make a pact with you so badly it’s almost disgusting.

Might as well get rid of the pest now.

“Come on MC, I want to show you the huge petals--!”

“OW!”

You and the demon look back to see Lucifer biting down on one of your fingers, your ring finger to be exact, while making eye contact with the pest. His teeth are not necessarily breaking skin but the pain of the bite made all your attention go back on him, turning around to tug your finger away and cradle it close. “Lucifer what the hell!”

He smiles and tells you not to worry about it, your retort falling on deaf ears as Lucifer’s eyes fall on the demon one more time. Their eyes are wide and they have immediately taken two steps back, their back as straight as a needle as Lucifer sends them one last look that lets them know of his intentions.

Leave now or I will gut you in front of my human.

You turn to apologize to your friend for putting them in such a weird situation but the demon is already long gone, no sign of them ever being in your presence as you look around aimlessly.

“They left...” you frown and look at Lucifer, “Next time at least warn me.”

“If I did then you would have probably forbidden me from doing so.”

The Avatar of Pride smiles as he takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours as you kept talking about how you would apologize the next day. But Lucifer wasn’t listening, he just kept staring at you as you talked, happy that his master wasn’t particularly mad.

That demon would have to learn to get his own, this human was already his.

He had finally gotten you all to himself.

Mammon had a photoshoot today, making you tag along so he could finally show off his modeling skills. And it would help him out as well. The product they were trying to sell did not appeal to him one bit and he just really needed you as inspiration.

And inspiration did you give.

“Oh gorgeous Mammon gorgeous! Lean back and close your eyes.”

The cameraman was giving him compliment after compliment, excellent after excellent, it was as if all eyes were on him at that exact moment. He smiled as he thought about how you must be looking at him. His shirt was open, letting the cloth hang off the side of the couch as the camera focused primarily on the low riding jeans that showed off the boxers he was promoting.

“Perfect! Perfect!! Now turn around and stare into the camera!”

His eyes opened and his head turned expertly, Mammon smiling as he tried to make eye contact with you--

Only to see that you were gone.

Camera flashes stop as he bolts up, turning to look for you before his eyes focused on your form.

There you were...talking with someone else.

“Mammon?”

He doesn’t stare at the cameraman, only gets up and stalks towards you and the demon currently holding up the lights. Both of you turn to face him, a voice speaking loudly about a five minute break as Mammon stands behind you and hugs you from behind, placing his chin right on your shoulder as he looks at the interloper.

“Are you taking a break?”

Mammon smiles as he buries his face in your shoulder, hugging you tight as the demon tells him he did a wonderful job. Without raising his head, Mammon speaks up.

“MC, who is this?”

“Oh right! Haven’t introduced you. He is a friend from RAD! We sit together in Pactology 101.”

“Well we used to sit together...”

“We talked way too much in class, didn’t we?”

It’s like nails on a chalkboard when he laughs, Mammon feeling glad that he was closer to you so he could hear the sound of your laughter instead of the ugly screeching of the intruder taking up your attention. Did this guy think he was stupid? That he couldn’t notice all the goddamn pheromones he was releasing? Mammon shakes his head back and forth, breathing in your scent heavily as he tries to leave his own behind.

This guy was embarrassing himself with how badly he wanted to form a pact with you.

“MC.”

“Oh oh, remember when the teacher caught us texting in class?”

“I think he might want to just put us back together cause we are still causing trouble!”

The Avatar of Greed frowns, did you not hear him?

“MC…”

“Well the teacher knows we are a good match, doesn’t he?”

“A match made in hell, I would say.”

Why was this guy still talking? Why were you still listening to him?

“MC….”

“Hey after this...would you want to go get some coffee, MC? If you’re not busy.”

“Nah, I only have this toda---FUCK!”

A pair of teeth tug at your earlobe, Mammon growling in your ear as he makes eye contact with the annoyance in front of him. He should be counting his lucky stars that you were still in the room, if Mammon found him anywhere else this demon would be nothing more than a meal for his familiars.

“MC, you have to stare at me or else I’m going to take longer.”

You rub at your ear as Mammon lets go of you, breaking eye contact with the other demon as he gives you his signature pout. He didn’t want you to see him be all scary, Mammon wanted you to see him like the number one demon he always tried to be for you.

“And you had to bite me because of that!?”

“Because you weren’t paying attention! You have to keep your eyes on me or else I’m not going to sell this stupid product. In fact--”

He drags you back to the couch, yelling at the cameraman that he would be posing with you so he could actually get through this photoshoot instead of doing a solo shoot. The man sighs but calls makeup to get you ready, Mammon smiling as he sits down right next to you.

The farther you were from that guy the better, all of his master’s attention needed to be on him after all.

Of course something like this would happen. Bad luck seemed to follow Leviathan wherever he went.

"Did you see the finale of it live?"

"I did!!! My movie theatre put it on the big screen and everything!"

Levi was glad that you were a nerd just like him. It was refreshing and probably one of the biggest reasons he had decided to make a pact with you.

Well, he had tried to kill you first and then make a pact with you but it was still a special story! Who would have thought that he would land himself a human master with his own interests!

Though he guessed that was a bad thing now.

He couldn't keep his thoughts in check as the clerk of the comic store kept talking to you, Levi annoyed that he couldn't keep up with the conversation you two had. It was about some comic cinematic universe that had been adapted in the human world and he honestly didn’t want to put anymore thought into it because of how close the clerk was getting.

Dammit he should have bought the new manga volume in Akuzon...but you had been so cute irl asking him to get the manga in this comic store you found,and if his master was begging him so cutely then what else could he do?

“I actually got the limited edition of this one movie--”

Nobody cared.

“It was up for a lot in Akuzon but I’m glad I got my hands on it--”

Stop talking!

“And I have a pretty cool viewing set up in the back--!”

Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking to MC!

Levi frowns as you gush about the movie some more, glaring down at you for letting your attention stray from him. But why should he be surprised, of course your attention would stray. Him being the yucky otaku that he is, of course you would go with the demon who took his interest and actually turned it into a profit--

No.

No! It wasn’t your fault! It wasn’t even his fault! It was this demon’s fault!

Thinking they looked so cool with their most basic of interests. If Levi could expose them for the fraud that they were, MC would be able to see the absolute fool that this demon was making themselves out to be. Smiling a lot more, inching closer as they talked, even offering to take you to the back of the store--!

People may say what they want about Levi but at least he wasn’t this desperate to get on the good side of a human...at least the first time he met you.

His eyes fall on the back of your neck, hair conveniently placed out of the way as he remembered something Lucifer had discussed with him and Mammon after they had made their pact.

You will not think rationally when you are with them, make sure to monitor your actions so you don’t embarrass yourself.

That’s what he said but…

Surely Levi wasn’t going to embarrass himself more than this demon already has.

“This is the one with the symbiote creature, right? And you got the bonus deleted scenes! Honestly I would be so down with watching it right--EEP!”

Levi made sure to let his tongue lick the back of your neck first before biting down, wanting to make the bite as painless as possible. Although he guessed that not making you feel pain was out of the question as he felt you tense up, his tongue swiping against your nape one last time as he pulled back and tugged on the back of your shirt.

“MC let’s go. They don’t have it.”

You turn to look at Levi, hand on the back of your neck as you tell him that he could have gotten your attention in any other way, but he knew for a fact that he had made his point across with the demon in front of him.

Summoning Lotan in his own home was one thing, summoning Lotan in a store would probably cost a lot…

Even if he knew brothers wouldn’t blame him with how nauseatingly this demon was trying to approach their master.

“MC, here.”

Satan breaks his pencil, but it seems the two other people don’t seem to notice.

“And it's the first edition too, but I took it out just for you.”

You smile and mention about how you didn’t need anything fancy for the assignment, just a simple book that talked about Devildom history. Which Satan agreed, this bug was acting like he owned the entire Royal Library. A pass to get a first edition title wasn’t that rare of a fucking find--if he wanted, Satan could call up any of his connections and get about 16 copies of different first edition titles that spoke not just about the Devildom history but about whatever the hell topic he could get his hands on.

This guy wasn’t that special yet he was acting like he had just given you the world on a silver platter.

The demon sat down at the table you and Satan were studying at, looking at you the entire time he explained how to open the book and how to make sure it stays in its pristine condition.

Which made Satan break another pencil.

From what you had mentioned, this guy was just someone you knew from RAD. You labeled him as the ‘smartest person in the class’. Which was a bit of an insult on his part but he guessed that as long as he wasn’t the one in your class it didn’t count as an insult towards his person.

He, of course, being the smartest demon you know.

But Satan didn’t have to be the smartest demon in RAD to know what this nuisance was doing.

If he were to read you any book on Devildom demonology, certain demons needed a human master. This insect in front of you would count as one of them. Lower demons usually tend to be without guidance and need a soul to feed from. In comes a human master, being able to fulfill that need with a pure soul of their own. The demon feeds and in return, develops a sort of ‘affection’ towards their master since they are now the hand that feeds them.

The same couldn’t be applied to Satan or his brothers, however. As the seven demon lords, they are able to gain the sustenance they need from the feed of other lower demons under the sin they were made in.

They are free to form pacts, but it’s not like they need it.

A good metaphor would be that they are essentially ‘picking off the plate’ of the lower demons, making the lower demons only cause minimal casualties up in the human world as they feed and keeping the seven lords from going feral with hunger.

Of course, things were different now. Satan had you now, a human all of his own.

Essentially, someone was trying to ‘take a bite’ of his favourite food, and Satan hated sharing.

Friends be damned, politeness be damned, he needed to show this demon his place.

“Isn’t it fascinating? The cover was made with a demon’s skin.”

“....really?”

“Yes. I believe it was from recently dead demon’s during the first Celestial War. Do you want to feel?”

You nod, curious about the black and shiny cover as the demon holds out his hand for you to take--

Only for you to yelp as Satan takes it first, dragging your hand back so it would be close to his lips as the Avatar of Wrath’s teeth bite at the skin near your wrist. You hiss in pain at the sudden sharpness, quickly pulling your hand back and staring at your demon as he gives the annoyance one last pointed stare.

“That is how demons started their pacts before we arrived in the Devildom, wasn’t it?”

The demon nodded slowly, his eyes darting to the mark on your wrist and then back at Satan. He opened his mouth to try and speak up but seemed to decide better against it, giving you one last smile as he stood up. “...I’ll...I’ll go get you the second volume. That one might include more accurate and updated information on pact markings.”

Satan smiles and nods as he scoots his chair close to you, looking back at you tracing the mark on your wrist with a frown before putting all your attention back on him.

“Did demons really used to form pact marks like this?”

The Avatar of Wrath shrugs.

“I was only guessing, he was the one who left thinking it was the truth. Here, let’s go look for a book on our own.”

Asmo would like to think that he had perfected the fake smile to the point he could keep it up for an indeterminate amount of time.

“MC! Try this!”

Yet the corners of his mouth twitched as he watched one of your friends, who happened to be a store clerk at Majolish, open the door to your dressing room to hand you another outfit they had picked out. And it wasn’t a bad outfit--!

Just...did they have to keep opening the door every single time?

Granted, he shouldn’t be in your dressing room in the first place but he insisted he would stay since you were only trying some shirts on! It wasn’t like he was seeing anything inappropriate and your pants were staying on the entire time.

This sight was okay for him because he was your demon and you were his master.

So it wasn’t right that some random nobody kept coming in to hand you shirts that they thought looked cute on you! That’s what you had Asmo for!

Yet here he was, secluded to sit down on the little chairs that someone would usually toss the unwanted clothes they wouldn’t buy. Which was already doing horrible things for his self-esteem.

“I learned a couple of things by working here. See? The color really matches your hair.”

The Avatar of Lust scoffs when he hears that. What exactly did the demon learn? How to match colors? Oh look, someone learned the basics of the color wheel, someone give them a medal.

“And since you are wearing something long at the bottom, it’s only fair that you go with something short on top.”

This demon is going to win an award for making basic observations, Asmo could already see it. What a future they had ahead of them.

“These colors are summery too so...it goes great with the weather!”

Oh he wants to gag, Asmo’s heard enough.

“You don’t think it’s too revealing? I do like the color though…”

Before the demon can answer, Asmo grabs your shoulders and pulls you back to him with a smile as he makes you look in the mirror.

“I think it’s revealing enough for the summer look you are going for...except can you maybe get it in a light pastel? Any color would do it just needs to be a pastel color if we want it to go with the light color of your bottoms.”

The demon deflates at the sudden lack of contact with you but nods as they step out, waving goodbye and stating once again how ‘gorgeous’ you looked. Which Asmo guessed was the only compliment they had in their arsenal.

Gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe you.

“I did like this color, Asmo. Does it not look good?”

“No it looks perfect on you! But--”

He tugs on the floral print top and smiles as he wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“Floral prints are extremely last season and I want you to be on a more neutral type of clothing. Just simple colors. This way we can add some jewelry--some of my own creation of course.”

Asmo smiles when you giggle, fixing your top and looking at yourself in the mirror a couple more times as you mumble to yourself about how Devildom summers seem rather temperate compared to the ones you were used to and how you wouldn’t need anything sleeveless.

Damn the Devildom summers, if they could even be called that at all.

His ears twitch as he hears the pest start to make their way back, Asmo’s smile dropping slowly as he looks down at your neck. This was the spot they kept staring at, wasn’t it? Shame it wasn’t decorated--

But he could fix that~ “I found some other colors that would go well with you MC, do you want to--”

“OW OW OW!”

Asmo’s teeth are right on your neck, turning to look back at the clerk with a smile and a little wave as he hums at the way you clench and unclench your fingers while looking at him through the mirror, wanting to ask just why he was doing this but the pain keeping you quiet. It was cute how much you were hurting but how you were doing absolutely nothing to stop him. This could technically mean that you approved of what he was doing, correct?

He lets go as the clerk immediately closes the door, you calling out for your friend but Asmo brings you back and makes you look at the mirror one more time.

“There we go. That’s a pretty mark, right MC? An Asmodeus Limited Edition item, just for you~”

If this kept happening, Beel was going to eat this demon.

“You need to try some Devildom food, MC! I promise it's good!”

Beel stomach growls again as you laugh, ignoring the parfait in front of you. He gives you a tap on the shoulder and your attention is right back to him. “Oh sorry, Beel. Here!” You scoop up the delicious frozen treat and feed it to him, Beel smiling as he takes another two bites of his hamburger and watches you and your friend talk. He actually had no idea that you had any friends in RAD and was happy to see that at least some demons were treating you nicely, compared to theo ones who had teased you when you first arrived.

Well he said teased, more like threatened to eat you.

He figured you would make friends fast though, you were nice and all the demons here were already attracted to human souls so it was bound to happen that one of them would have the courage to talk to you.

Yet this one seemed rather...eager.

“How about this. Hell’s Kitchen serves good food but I know this awesome corner in the wall place we can get some grilled bat sandwiches. Guts and everything.”

His stomach growls again, he knew of the place this demon was talking about and would most likely want to take you there himself if you ever asked.

Beel takes another two bites before waiting for you to feed him the parfait.

Nothing.

He frowns and stares at you again, the demon keeping your attention all to himself as you spoke about how you didn’t necessarily want to eat anything with guts in it. His eyes went to the parfait, watching some of the perfectly placed scoops slowly melt and droop down on the plate.

MC, pay attention to him!

This was his time with you! He didn’t mind if someone else stepped in and he was glad you were making friends but this demon was interrupting his mealtime!

He ate his burger, you fed him ice-cream, this is how it had always worked!

People could say what they wanted but Beel was a creature of habit, and he was in the habit of having you feed him.

Not just that, he was in the habit of having your attention all on him when it was his time to hang out with you.

Wasn’t this demon just being a bother? Didn’t you also want them gone?

They kept talking about all the stuff that clearly grossed you out, seemingly delighted with your reactions as they kept trying to egg you on to say yes to an outing. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were smiling the entire time, Beel would have already made the move to unhinging his jaw and--

“I promise I’ll treat you to the best ghost pepper pizza you’ve ever had. You’re free after this, right?”

Beel’s stomach growls, whether in hunger or anger Beel wouldn’t be able to say. All he knows is that this demon is bad news for both him and you.

So what would be the quickest way to make him back off?

“I’m not but I can take a raincheck--!”

You drop the spoon you were holding as Beel bites your cheek, throwing the demon one quick glimpse before letting out a few sounds that seemed to make up your name. The demon stares at you and Beel as the Avatar of Gluttony pulls away from you, licking his lips as you slowly put a hand on your cheek and turn to look at him.

“The parfait is gonna melt. I want another bite.”

“Beel…”

Eyes turn to the demon once again, Beel frowning as he takes a hold of your hand underneath the table.

“Please leave. If MC is going to eat Devildom food then they’ll eat it with me. The only thing you are going to do is gross them out.”

“So what did you want to talk about?”

Belphie frowned as your fingers gently played with his hair. That is not what he had asked for when he asked to lay on your lap. Belphegor wanted the usual way you would comb through his hair, both of you gently whispering to each other as the planetarium ambience lulled him to sleep.

“Well...uhm...I wanted to ask something important.”

And who the hell was this person? He peeked up to look at you smiling at the screen, frowning that you still didn’t seem to notice you were doing a shit job at giving him the attention he needed. Whoever this was had been on the line with you for a good solid ten minutes, talking about useless subjects such as their day and what they had for lunch. If anything, Belphegor had no idea how this thing was taking your attention. You were doing most of the talking anyway, they should just hang up and leave you alone to pay attention to your demon.

“We’ve known each other for a while.”

Belphegor most likely knew MC for longer...maybe.

“And honestly I haven’t met a human like you before. You just...I just expected humans to be something and you aren’t that so it threw me off.”

The Avatar of Sloth yawns as he buries his head in your lap, smiling at the darkness he found in the small crook of your thighs. He yawns again and closes his eyes to try and fall asleep but the grating voice of the demon on the phone was sending nothing but warning signals to his brain.

“So I wanted to ask something I didn’t think I would ask a human before.”

He really wanted to yell ‘get to the point’ or ‘hang up the phone’ but he knew that you would most likely shush him and tell him to be patient, which would then result in you gently pushing him away so you could talk somewhere more private. And he wasn’t ready to lose his favourite pillow just yet.

So he continued listening, tracing random shapes on your thighs as he felt his eyelids start to droop.

“I know you have seven pacts already…”

Damn straight.

“But would an eight be too much for you?”

That wakes Belphegor right up, eyes wide open and head turned to face up at you to see your reaction. Of course you would be surprised, this demon really had the guts to ask the current master of the Seven deadliest demons in the Devildom for a pact?

You better be grateful that Belphegor found comfort in your lap and would prefer to stay here, rather than go break the neck of the demon insolent enough to try to take his master away.

So go ahead, reject him.

“A pact? With me?”

What were you doing?

Don’t give him such a hopeful answer! Belphegor had to share you with six other demons constantly and those demons were his siblings! He was okay sharing with Beel but he drew the line at anyone else! Adding an eighth demon to that would be like asking for a bloodbath, a bloodbath with only one target.

Belphegor frowned as the demon started talking again, stuttering and jumping over his words like he was a dog who asked to eat their masters table. Which essentially he was, not like there was room for him anyway.

“I know I’m not like those brothers--”

Damn straight.

“But making a pact with you would make me really happy...is what I am trying to say.”

He wants to gag.

A part of him couldn’t blame the demon, you were perhaps the best master a demon could ask for, but you were already t a k e n.

And you were to blame too, you know?

You weren’t rejecting him like you should. The face you were making was far too surprised and flattered at the proposition given to you. Were you that greedy? Had Mammon rubbed off on you? You had seven of the most powerful demons under your command, what more could you possibly want?

As a master, you were doing a bad job at rejecting this insect and an even more horrible job at not paying attention to the actual demon you were tied to.

He turns his head back to the darkness of your thighs, feeling you shift as you also struggle to find an answer. This was becoming too much, if Belphegor didn’t act fast you were most likely going to say yes, just because you didn’t know any better!

Fuck it, you could try to push him off but Belphegor would hold on tightly, he had to save you from your mistake.

“Uhm. Well that is honestly really flattering. And eight pacts wouldn’t be so bad--”

You slap a hand over your mouth, your teeth biting into your tongue as you look down at the demon nipping at the inside of your thigh. Belphie looks up innocently, batting his eyelashes at you as he bites down a little harder--

“I’ll-try-to-have-an-answer-for-you-later-got-to-go-bye!”

Fingers hurry to end the call as Belphegor quickly lets go, smiling as you gape down at him.

“I was in the middle of a call!”

“I know.”

“Then what was that about!?”

The Avatar of Sloth shrugs as he closes his eyes.

“You weren’t paying attention to me. It made me mad.”

You sigh and lean back, Belphegor waiting for a few moments before smiling as he feels your fingers combing through his hair.

“Next time,just talk to me, Belphegor.”

He would have answered, but that would make him promise something he most likely was not going to do.

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