#they butchered drawing one of my favorites :(

[edgelessvoid]

But it's not the same, is it?

[bad-comic-art]

weirdly proportioned kenan kong (new super-man) from DC Festival of Heroes

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submitted by @the-nightwing-thief​

[slumbergoblin]

Pentaceratops girl for the soul

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 8: It’s Still Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader Petals.

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Super creepy dude (it's not Soldier Boy), sexism (it's Soldier Boy), swearing, Denial of feelings, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"What?" You ask for the hundredth time as you catch Ben glancing over at you from the driver's seat.

Street lights flicker on the outside of car, rigid lines of the buildings softened by the speed as he maneuvers the vehicle through the crowded Saturday night traffic.

He was driving, obviously, because when you'd tried to take the keys, Ben had snatched them away and stated "women can't drive" to which you'd responded "I’m not going to be told that I can’t drive by someone who was born before the invention of the wheel.”

Ben looks back out the windshield that’s bathed in a red glow from the stop light above. “Nothing.”

The color of the light cuts through the shadows in the car,  dramatizing Ben's proud nose and sharp jaw, catching on the lapels of his coat and making him look like a creature that rose from the sea when a god fell into the depths.

Again it reminded you of all the classical literature you'd read in high school and your first year of college, finally understanding what poets wrote about when they described true beauty, and thinking that the fall of man might not have been from pride but rather man fell for beauty such as this, the beauty that Ben possessed.

When you'd first met him, you'd thought that it was a proud beauty, a haughtiness that Ben had because he knew exactly how good he looked and he expected people to worship that, to bend over backwards for him, but now you weren't sure. Yes, Ben knew how attractive he was. And yes, Ben was Ben, but with you sometimes you weren't sure. The moments you spent on your couch when he asked you about your father or when he asked you how your day was or when he indulged your ridiculous request to try out couches at IKEA or when he thought to buy you coffee or when he sat outside your bathroom just to hear you sing you didn't see the haughtiness, didn't see the pride, didn't the anger, and you didn't see the version of Soldier Boy that you'd seen in clips and photos from the past, you saw someone different, someone real.

“You’ve said 'nothing' seventeen times.”

“I have not.” His eyes flick to yours once more, annoyance pulling his mouth down into an attractive frown.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face? Did Annie draw a mustache on it?” You reach for the visor to look at yourself in the mirror again. "Because she did that one time when we had a sleepover in middle school and she didn't tell me until we got through second period."

"She drew a mustache on you?"

"Yes. To be fair I had drawn a mustache on her the week before, but I didn't use a permanent marker."

"How long have the two of you been friends?" Ben asks slowly.

"Since elementary school." You examine your face in the mirror. You always had a habit of smudging your mascara or your lipstick whenever you wore it. It wasn’t that you meant to, it was that each time you legitimately forgot you were wearing it. But your face is devoid of anything abnormal. You still looked the same as you did when you left the apartment, dark lipstick, smoky eyeshadow, contoured cheeks, and you didn’t see why he kept looking at you. "We grew up in a small town and we were the only two supes in our class. The other kids thought we were freaks, used to make up jeers, there was also something about cooties, but I think I've repressed it."

"Fucking dicks." Ben mutters.

"It's okay. I didn't really care and I had Annie. Would have been worse if it was just me." You shake your head to focus back on what you'd asked Ben before. "But what is it?"

“Nothing. It’s just-“ Ben clears his throat turning again to look out the front windshield as the light turns green. “I’ve never seen you wear anything like that before.”

“Well it’s not exactly my style. Could you see me sitting in the dirt messing with plants and potting soil in something like this?” You snort at the image. "Overalls and jeans seem to be more durable and sustainable for my lifestyle. Not to mention cheaper." You'd seen the price tag on the dress that you were wearing, something that Frenchie said "fell off a truck."

“It should be.”

“What?”

“I mean-“ He shrugs looking away from you. “As much as I’d like you to walk around wearing nothing at all sweetheart, I think you should wear things like that more often.”

"And why is that?"

"You look nice."

"Are you saying that I don't look nice all the time?" You tease him, forcing yourself to frown. It was difficult when you could  feel your body warming from the inside out with his compliment. "That I'm some terrible slumpy mess-"

"No I- I just meant that you-" Ben clears his throat again, his hands tightening on the wheel as he searches for the right thing to say. “Why can't you just take the fucking compliment I-" Ben says, almost sounding a little angry.

"I'm just messing with you Ben."

“Oh.” He lets out an awkward chuckle.

Sometimes you thought that it was cute and almost a little endearing that Ben didn't understand sarcasm or social cues from the new century, it made you feel like it was up to you to educate him on things like that.  Not that it was a burden, it never felt like a burden to show Ben how to use things or introduce him to the wonders of 2024.

Not to mention you liked how Ben was a little bit old-fashioned about some things, like how he actually got a physical copy of the newspaper every morning and took the time to read it, or how he wasn't on his phone as often as everyone else was or how Ben actually seemed to pay attention when you talked to him. That last one was always surprising, you'd thought that given how eager Ben was to get into your pants he'd only be focused on that. But when you spoke, Ben's eyes never glazed over or darted to his phone as if he secretly wished for you to stop, Ben genuinely listened to you when you spoke to him. Not to mention he gave you an incredible amount of eye contact that you weren't used to receiving from other people living in this century.

"Thank you." You fold your hands in your lap, thinking about the compliment Ben just gave you. "You know, I-" You hesitate.

I can't believe I'm about to admit this out loud to him.

"I don’t think you look too bad yourself." You finish.

Deep down you really hoped that the music earlier had been enough to cover the conversation you had with Annie back at the apartment. In that conversation you'd admitted that you found him attractive, and you didn't want him to know that. Well, know that you actually admitted it aloud. He already had fun making you squirm whenever he brought up the subject of sex.

"Thanks Petals. Keep buttering me up like that and I'll give you a preview of what I've got under this." Ben winks at you.

"I don't think I need to see your unicorn underwear, thank you." You roll your eyes and stare out the window watching the buildings fade into a dark blur in shades of gray and black. "Or your Strawberry Shortcake Tattoo."

"My what?"

"Nothing."

"I don't have any tattoos sweetheart." Ben pauses as if considering. "If you want I'll let you strip search me when we get back home. I think that would be quite educational for you. You know? Seeing exactly what a real man should look like."

"Can we focus on the mission?" Your cheeks heat, but for some reason you couldn't stop thinking about the word 'home.' Ben had never called your apartment that before, he'd called it "our apartment" but never home. It was weird to hear him say it and weirder still was how it made something in your chest tighten.

But you ascribed that to the dress. The ridiculous dress that you weren't sure how on earth you were going to chase down another supe in and the same dress that was only held on to your body by a small sliver of fabric at the back of your neck and seemed so fragile that you feared it would rip when you breathed.

"I'd rather focus on exactly what you've got on under that dress baby."

"Use your imagination." You roll your eyes at him.

"Oh I am. Trust me. But I think that the real thing would be much more satisfying Petals."

Ben eases the car into a space down the street from the party, but close enough that you could hear the classical music, the chatter of the crowd, and see the bright lights. As you get out of the car, Ben flashes around the front to open the door for you.

You blink up at him in surprise as he takes your hand to help you out, and you let him without a second thought. No one had ever done that for you before, even your high school boyfriend who never made the effort to get out of the car, let alone walk you to the door after a date. You weren't expecting him to do that for you.

"Oh. Thank you." But when you join him on the sidewalk, Ben doesn't let go of your hand. You're dangerously close to him, closer to him than you were in the car. The wind picks up behind him rustling through his hair and sends the smell of his shampoo and cologne washing over you in a wave that makes you feel like your chest is unraveling.

Ben's gaze darkens as he stares down at you, and he steps forward, pinning you against the side of Butcher's car.

"Ben what are you doing?" You croak, unable to find your full voice, not when your throat felt like it was closing.

"Come on. You really want to go to that stuffy party Petals?" He purrs, smiling down at you. His hand was toying with the fabric of your dress, at the top of the slit that was just barely above your mid-left thigh

“Ben-“ Your jaw clenches tight, but the feeling of his hand beginning to slide against your skin, pushing the fabric of the dress aside, makes electricity trail with his touch.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No.

The look in his eyes is all consuming, turning his eyes into two liquid pools of a jade colored sea that beckons you forward, highlighting the golden flecks that sparkle and shine in the darkness.

Ben's smirk grows. “Are you really going to keep pretending that you don’t want me to fuck you? Your cheeks are flushed, your heart is beating faster just like it always does whenever I’m around-“ He leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of your neck making an involuntarily shudder roll through you like a clap of thunder. “That’s my girl.”

It would be so easy to give in. To let him take you back to the apartment, to let him have you like he'd wanted from the first moment you met.

As the thought of giving in begins to peel back your inhibitions, a memory floats up from the darkness.

It's your parents, dancing in the kitchen when they thought Darren and you were asleep. Soft light illuminates the kitchen from candles that cover the counter tops and flicker in the air conditioning. The soft tone of "Gonna Sing You My Love Song" is playing, while they sway together and your father looks down at your mother like she's his whole world, singing to her the lyrics with his whole heart. You could still hear his deep voice finding the words and could see your mother smiling radiantly at him.

The memory is gone as soon as it comes, but it reminds you of what you want, that you want love and you didn't want to waste your time with someone who would only pretend to care for one night.

I have a job to do. And I don’t want this- well… I don’t want it all that much.

You think about what Annie and Hughie have, how they tell each other everything, how Hughie listens to what she wants and brings her flowers just because he was thinking of her. It made your heart ache to think about their relationship and to think of your parents again, but you knew that it was what you wanted more than anything in the world. You wanted someone who understood, who wished to be with you not because he wanted to possess you, but because he loved you and wanted to share his love with you and wanted to be loved by you.

"No." You say, pushing back on Ben's chest. He doesn't move much, but he does drop his hand from dress.

“Why not?” He snaps eyes no longer jade pools, but now a blazing emerald "I don't understand you Petals-"

"That's not special Ben, loads of people don't understand me."

"Do you have any idea how many women would love to be where you are? How many women have begged me to-"

"To fuck them?" You tap your lip thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I realized that you haven't said that to me today so naturally I forgot. And I really don't want to rehash this now!"

“I want to.” His eyes blaze with anger. “I don’t understand. You flirt with me, tell me that you find me attractive-"

"I was being nice! You told me I looked nice. That's what you do when someone compliments you. And I do not  flirt with you."

"Yes you do!"

"No I don't." You shout. "I've told you before that I don't want to have sex with you."

He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “We both know that’s a fucking lie. So why not? Do you think it’s going to be bad? Because I can guarantee that anything we do together will be fucking fantastic. Is it because you hate me? Because hate sex is pretty satisfying. Or do you think that I'm going to lose control or something or not take care of what you need? Because I’m pretty damn attentive!”

"For the last time, I don't fucking hate you Ben I just-" Your teeth clench together in anger.

A couple in nicely dressed clothes walk by, eyeing Ben and you with wide eyes and reminding you exactly why  you're here.

"Beautiful night isn't it?" You nod your head in their direction awkwardly with the words, before you take a deep breath. "Look this is not the time or the place. We are on a mission and if you don’t want to come to the party, that's fine, I can handle the supe on my own.”

You push past him and begin to walk down the sidewalk a brisk pace, hoping that he will just leave. Because now you were getting pissed off and frustrated. You didn't understand why you had to keep having this conversation with him.

I have told him several times that I don't want to sleep with him. I haven't flirted with him. I don't think I've led him on in any way.

A part of you wasn't annoyed because of the many times that he had come on to you, it was annoyed because of the moments that Ben would act differently, when he acted like a man you could see yourself falling in love with. It made you feel like he was just jerking you around and trying to pretend so you would  give in, like this whole thing was his big scheme to get into your pants.

“I just don’t understand you Petals.” He grumbles as he catches up.

“You’ve been saying that since we first met Gramps.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say Macho Macho Man.” You reply, but then the wind picks up again and you can smell his cologne transporting you back to a few moments ago when his hand pushed back your dress and you felt the scratch of his stubble against the skin of your neck and it felt like you had swallowed lightning. It quickly took you back to the moment when he kissed you outside of your apartment the first night he'd stayed with you, how he curved his body around you, and moved his mouth against yours, sliding his tongue past your bottom lip and-

“See you’re doing it again.” Ben is staring at you, noticing the flush that travels from your cheeks and creeps to your ears. “Just admit that you want to have sex with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

And then you lose it, wheeling on him, poking your finger into his muscular chest.

 “Because then what?" You spit and Ben's eyes widen in surprise. "You fuck me once, leave right after and never talk to me ever again? You fuck women then throw them away. You don’t see sex as something special, you see it as a way to let off steam,  to justify your existence, and to make yourself feel good about you.” Every syllable is coupled with a finger poking into his chest.  "You only want me because you can't have me. I understand that you have this fascination with me now, but as soon as I give in, you won't care." You say it to enforce the idea in my own mind, to gain control of your hormones and push away the memories of Ben and you together.

"You don't know that." There's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place.

"Yes. I do."

"How?"

"Because I've seen the evidence!"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Let's brainstorm for a minute." You hold up a hand to stop him. "Who was it that founded Herogasm?"

"Me?"

"Who was it that got Tinder as soon as he got back to America?"

"It wasn't as soon as I got back it was at least a week later-"

"Ben, I want to have sex with someone I love. Not just a quick fuck for five minutes in Butcher's car, or a romp in the shower, or just to 'loosen up'. Okay?" You swallow the lump in your throat. "And I won't do that to myself, have feelings for you, and sleep with you, only to have you throw me away."

Ben blinks and you watch something cross through his gaze that you'd never seen before. "I'd never throw you away Y/n." He says it softly, just barely audible over the sounds of the city.

"You say that now, but as soon as I give in, it won't matter." You clear your throat. "Now I'm going to go to this party, you can do whatever you want, but please just let me do my job."

And then you walk away from him and into the flashing lights and soft classical music that does little to stop the pounding of your heart and the lump of emotion stuck in the back of your throat.

You haven't seen Ben in exactly twenty seven minutes.

In the first seven minutes of your dramatic exit and entrance into the party you had slipped into the bathroom and cried. Why you were crying you weren't exactly sure. Maybe it was the tidal wave of emotion or just the way that your blood was pumping and your heart felt like it would break free and take flight, but you did. And when you emerged from the stall with blood shot eyes and smeared makeup you redid it all the best you could in the bathroom mirror, using the emergency kit that Annie had given you.

Of course you couldn't take all the credit, there was an elderly woman in a navy blue dress in the bathroom who practically witnessed your mental break down and when she saw you struggling to do your make up she helped and more importantly did not ask any questions.  She did however say that if you pointed out exactly who it was who did this to you that she would go "make them wish that they were never born." You were tempted to watch this woman kick Ben's ass, but you'd only thanked her and went out to join the party.

The people were dressed elegantly, sipping champagne from crystal glasses and munching spinach puffs so good you were sure that Kronk was in the back making them and apple tarts that were so mind blowing you were sure that Lorelei Gilmore was somewhere stealing a tray. You were disappointed that you hadn't brought a bigger purse, because the spinach puffs were practically orgasmic and you'd only been able to shove three in alongside four apple tarts. Not to mention that there was so much free merchandise and party favors it meant that you now had a new iPad, a tennis bracelet, a watch with a crystal face, an expensive bottle of champagne and several bottles of perfume that smelled so rich it made your head spin. You were contemplating somehow smuggling out another gift bag so you could sell the iPad on eBay when you feel your phone vibrate in your clutch.

You were expecting it to be Butcher. He had been more about low tech tonight, not relying on radio contact too much, just texting and phone calls for emergencies. Not to mention Butcher had as much patience as a child who was told to wait until after dinner to have a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie.

But it's not Butcher's name that lights up on the screen, it's Annie.

Annie : So how’s the date going?

You pause for a moment and you think about telling her everything that happened in the past twenty seven minutes. You had wanted to call her when you were crying in the bathroom, but you didn't know what to say, didn't understand why you were crying.

I'll tell her later, over wine, because I'm going to need a lot of wine after tonight. You sigh again as the memory of what you yelled at Ben rings in your ears. You didn't know why you felt this way, you'd told him the truth  if anything you should feel relieved, but… Maybe I should apologize-

You shake your head. No. I won't apologize, it was him pressing all my buttons and trying to get me to… Right. I gotta answer Annie.

You: It’s not a date!

Her response is immediate.

Annie: Sure… tell Ben to get you home by 10.

You: I’m disowning you as a best friend.

Annie: Well when you reinstate me as a best friend, I want all the dirty details.

You: There aren’t going to be any dirty details!

Because I had a fucking mental breakdown, unloaded all my feelings on a man who keeps telling me that he wants to fuck me, and is probably mentally compartmentalizing all his possessions and is going to be moved out by the time I get back home.

Annie: And when you guys finally have sex, know that I am ready to be an aunty and I am ready to help you raise super-baby. It's going to be so much fun!

"Oh for the love of-" You begin to let out a string of colorful curses just as someone bumps into you. You raise your eyes to stare at the man.

He's taller than you, at least six feet and built like a body builder, with graying black curls swept back over his head, sun kissed golden skin, and wearing a perfectly black tailored suit, a crisp white shirt and a navy blue tie, all of which oozes wealth, . There's a hint of a shadow along his strong jaw that gives him a masculine quality to offset the fancy clothes, but emphasizes a long scar that hooks over the left side of his chin and drags down to his neck. His nose has been broken in the past, but still has a curved hook and his eyes are a deep amber brown almost a maple that hold humor and curiosity.

"I'm sorry." The man's voice is low, almost a little raspy, with a hint of an accent that you can't place. He's attractive, fit, and probably close to mid-forties, early fifties. You recognize him as the man running for City Comp Troller, the person whose party you were crashing.

"It's okay." You force a smile, shoving your phone back into your purse, trying not to smoosh the spinach puffs and apple tarts.

"I'm Elijah Black." He holds out his hand to shake yours, his brown eyes lazily tracing up and down your figure as he does.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, alarm bells go off. Something about this man seems wrong, sinister, almost predatory. His hand is soft, surprising giving his imposing figure and stature, and the action of him shaking yours causes his shirt to pull away from his throat revealing just the kiss of black ink that arches over his collar bone, but vanishes in an unknown pattern beneath his white shirt. "And you are?"

"I'm Lisette Worthington." You say the fake name confidently, throwing a shy smile in his direction. "It's alright I was in the way-"

"And very angry at someone." Elijah adds with a smile.

"Yeah,-um- my friend is trying to get back together with her verbally abusive ex. She won't listen to me when I tell her not to." The lie comes easily.

"Pity. I always listen to my friends." He smiles wider, still holding on to your hand, even though you've let go of his. "Especially if they're as pretty as you."

"Oh -um- that's sweet." You answer with an awkward laugh looking for a way out of this. You tug your hand, but he doesn’t release it.

At that exact moment, Ben's arm comes around your waist and he pulls you back into his muscular chest, eyes locking with Elijah.

"Sorry I was gone for so long sweetheart." He says loudly so Elijah can hear him, tightening his grip on your waist. Ben places a kiss just behind your right ear as he does so as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And you fight the warmth that blooms ebbs beneath the surface of your skin when he does.

Despite everything that happened outside you were relieved that Ben was here with you, because Elijah was creepy and Ben always made you feel safe. And despite his constant attempts to get into your pants a part of you trusted that Ben would have your back.

Elijah's eyes flick down to yours as if waiting for you to confirm the fact.

"It's alright babe." You smile up at Ben, leaning in to him and allow yourself to lay your free arm over where it's resting on your waist. Your thumb strokes back and forth over the back of his hand as you do. And for a moment Ben doesn’t look away from your face, something passing through his eyes that you can’t place.

Ben's gaze flicks back to where Elijah is still grasping your other hand. "You gonna drop my girl's hand or are we going to have a problem?"

You flush when Ben uses the words 'my girl' and are thankful that Ben's back is to the large red, white, and blue display of flowers on the table behind him that begins to shed it's flowers and come back ten-fold in even brighter shades of color. Elijah's eyes flick to the display confused momentarily, before sliding back over you.

"Apologies." Elijah lets go of you, but doesn't back away. "I just wanted to get to know her a little better." You don't like the way his eyes trace over your figure as he says it. "You know, it might be considered rude to keep someone like her all to yourself."

"Just like I'd consider it rude for someone to make a move on someone who belongs to someone else." Ben retorts, emphasizing the word "belongs" in a way that makes it suddenly very hard to breathe.

You can hear Ben's jaw clench together, his body tensing behind you slightly, and feel it warm a few degrees as he begins to lose his temper. You can feel the tension traveling through his body and to calm him down you do the one thing that always helps you, you squeeze his hand where it rests on your hip, trying to tell him that it's okay.

Elijah's mouth turns up, eyes glimmering in amusement at Ben.

"But thanks for keeping her company, I can take it from here.” Ben's voice is cold and humorless.

"Of course. I'd hate to leave a beautiful woman like her for even a moment. You’re very lucky.” He smiles at Ben, who doesn't return it. "I'm sure I'll see you around Ms. Worthington. Don’t forget to vote.”  He emphasizes the name as if he knows it's not real, and has the audacity to wink before he vanishes into the crowd.

Ben holds on to you for another minute, eyes locked on the place where Elijah vanished, but he does not return. Ben’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you to him so tight that you can feel each of his muscles beneath his suit and you fight to keep your heart beat under control and to fight the urge to blush all over again. Finally, he lets out a breath and releases you.

"Are you okay?" Ben looks down at you, his eyes filled with something that looks a lot like concern, surprising you.

Why is he worried about me?

"Yeah. Thanks."  You smile as you look at him, but it feels forced.

Ben nods once.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” He states.

You blink at him confused.

“I didn’t like the way you looked when he started talking to you. Or when he wouldn’t let go of your hand.” His expression hardens, jaw tightening as if he's relieving the memory. "You looked like a deer in headlights Petals."

"I did?"

"Mhmm. Could hear your heartbeat from over there." Ben nods his head in the direction of the bar, where various couples scramble for liquid courage and waiter weave through the crowds holding fresh trays of spinach puffs and crab claws.

"Oh. Well, thanks again, he was very creepy." You bite the inside of your cheek in quiet contemplation thinking for a moment. "I mean some politicians are supposed to be that way, but he was definitely top ten of the creepiest men I've ever met in my life."

"Just promise me I'm not number one." Ben half-smiles, but there's something in his expression that makes you realize that he might not be joking.

"You're not on the list." You say it to reassure him.

"Really?"

You nod. “I -uh- haven’t seen you all night-“ You begin to say. It was true, you had no idea where Ben had gone when you'd had the "fight." If you were going to call it that.

“I was at the bar, getting a drink.”

“Oh.” You do an awkward shuffle with your feet, trying to think of some way to move the conversation along.

Why does this feel so awkward? Why does it feel like we broke up?

Ben doesn’t speak for a moment, instead he’s looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “Petals?” He says it quietly, the same way he said it the day when he told you he was going to buy the couch and you didn't have to worry about paying for it. He said it almost… reverently… not in a teasing way or in a harsh way, he said it in a way that made you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yes?”

“I’d never-“ He clears his throat as if it’s difficult for him to say what comes next. He lets out a frustrated breath. “I’d never throw you away. I want you to know that.”

“Oh please Ben you don’t have to say that I-“

“No I'm not just saying that. I- I’m not some fucking monster.”

“I don’t think you are Ben. And you shouldn’t have to explain yourself or apologize.” You hold out your hands waving them in front of you.

“But-“

“No.” You shake your head and place your hand on his arm. “I shouldn’t have unloaded all that on you and I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair. And it's okay."

“What’s okay?”

“It’s okay that it’s not who you are. That you're not really one for relationships. And what I should have said is that, I’m not going to ask you to change or guilt you into doing something that you don’t want. It’s not the type of man you are.”

"What type of man am I?"

"Well you're just not a one woman kind of guy or really into relationships." You say it to clarify, but in your head this conversation is becoming as awkward as the one you had outside.

Ben is oddly quiet.

“But that’s okay.” You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "I meant to also say that, I really don't want to sleep with you because I don't want to make you change for me. That feels very cruel, to manipulate someone that way. For me to want more, to fall for you and you just change the way you are for me."

"Petals-" He's saying it softly again, the way that tugs at your heart.

"I promise I'm fine and I just want to move on. Pretend we didn't have that conversation, or really this one either," You laugh awkwardly. "Okay?"

Ben stands there in the silence, his mouth pulled down into a frown. "If that's what you really want."

"I do. So things can go back to normal?"

"Sure." He says it slowly.

"Good." You turn your head to look away into the crowd, feeling a little bit better, but at the same time you couldn't fight the wave of disappointment that pricked on the edges of your soul. You didn't know where it came from.

The people around you are still mingling with one another and you're trying not to notice how close Ben is standing to you, so close that you're practically against his chest, but there is a good inch of space between the two of you and you revel in it.

I will handle this because I have to. Ben has made it clear what he wants, and I have made it clear what I want and-

As you have the thought you think you see a flash of white in the crowd, the back of someone's head that you think you should know, but as you try to stand on tip toe to catch a glimpse of their face, they're gone.

That was weird. I mean it kinda looked like-

Ben's phone rings in his pocket and he answers it.

"Shit." Ben mutters. He grabs your wrist and tugs you through the crowd which parts easily out of the way of his broad form.

"What is it?"

"The supe is outside!"

Shit.

Ben and you burst through the front doors of the building, just as a hooded figure drives past going full speed in a fancy bright red convertible.

"Come on!" Ben shouts running towards one of the valet who is about to give the keys to a black sports-car idling by the curb to it's owner. Ben grabs the keys as he speeds by, sliding over the hood in his haste to get to the driver's side before you and you follow.

"Sorry! We'll bring it right back." You shout at the owner as you throw open passenger side and slide into the car, slamming it behind you.

But as you do, you realize that something's wrong… what you thought was the passenger side of the car is actually the driver's side.

Wow I was not expecting that.

You lock eyes with Ben who looks devastated by this turn of events.

You can't help the grin that splits your face as you start the car with a press of a button, remembering exactly what he said about women driving earlier. "European car bitch."

Ben looks murderous. "Hey wait a minute-"

"No time Gramps." You slam your foot down on the gas.

The purring of the engine turns into a roar as the car jolts forward in hot pursuit of the red convertible. You shift to a higher gear as you press down further on the gas.

"Oh for fucks sake."

"Calm down. I'm a great driver-" You look over at him.

"Eyes on the road! Fuck." Ben clutches on to the door handle so tight you think he's going to rip it off.

"Ben it's okay, don't have a cow."

"Truck."

"What?"

"THERE'S A FUCKING TRUCK!" Ben shouts reaching for the steering wheel as if he thinks he can drive over you, as a garbage truck backs out into the street.

"You're gonna get us into an accident!" You snap back swerving around the truck to follow after the supe.

"No I'm not! I'm going to fucking save us."

"Not with that attitude." You shift to another gear as you speed up to push through a red light.

The supe turns right in a wide arch cutting off the traffic coming from the left.

"Take a right!" Ben says.

"I have eyes Gramps! Stop backseat driving."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd let me switch with you!"

"Not a chance. We'd lose the supe." You jerk the wheel, feeling the car curve in a beautiful arch through the light. "Man when I get rich I am gonna get one of these."

You hear your phone buzzing in your purse and you start to pick it up, but Ben snatches it away. "No! Please for the love of God do not take your eyes off the road!"

"Fine. Answer it for me."

Ben reaches into your purse and stops. "Why the fuck do you have spinach puffs in here?"

"Because they were free and they were so good." You sigh, taking another sharp turn.

I have no idea where we are going or what we're going to do when we catch this guy.

The supe obviously knew that you were following after him, which meant that there was no way in hell he was going to go back to his chop shop.

If he was smart, he would lead us as far away from it as possible.

Ben hits the speakerphone button.

"Hello?" You sing-song.

"Where in the bloody hell are you?" Butcher shouts on the other side of the line.

"Well I'm not exactly sure. It’s dark. Ben can you read any of the street signs?" You say as you hit the gas, swerving around another car that enters the roadway in front of you, weaving through the oncoming traffic for a moment to get back behind the supe.

"OH HOLY FUCK!" Ben practically screams, one of his hands pressed against the dashboard, the other holding on to the door panel.

"Guess that's a no." Butcher says.

"Gramps is a little upset that I'm driving."

"How are you going to catch the supe?"

"Haven't gotten that far yet."

You watch the convertible take a sharp left down a small alley. "Hold on Ben."

"No No No No!" Ben rips the door handle off as you turn into oncoming traffic narrowly missing a dumpster to follow the supe.

"Holy shit!" You slam on the breaks as you see the convertible completely stopped and the supe standing there. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt that's pulled low over his head, a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, and he's glowing. Well, arcs of bright blue and white electricity weave around his body, crackling through the air around him.

Your eyes narrow as you sit there in the car, Ben glancing from the supe to you as if trying to decide whether or not he should throw himself from the vehicle.

You rev the engine and the supe tilts his head to the side as if daring you to come closer. You slam your foot down on the gas and the car jumps forward to ram into the supe, but just before it does, he shoots upward off the ground using his electricity to propel him to the rooftop above.

You slam the breaks, but the car smashes into the back of the convertible, deploying the airbags.

Well, guess I can't return it now.

Ben is already out of the car and you follow.

"Swing me up to the roof." He orders, loosening his tie.

"Who the fuck do I look like? Tarzan?" You respond looking around for a weed or a vine, but you don't see any.

Ben sighs in frustration and jumps as high as he can with his super strength, making it about half-way up the fire escape before he swings himself up all the way to the roof.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. What am I supposed to do?" You shout up at him, but Ben is already racing over the rooftops after the supe.

You grab your purse and your phone from the car, running out to the street and following the pulsing lights of what you assume must be electricity that get further and further away as Ben chases after the supe.

"What in the bloody fuck is going on?" Butcher roars through the phone as you run as fast as you can, stiletos clacking against the pavement, arms pumping. Your dress is whipping back behind you and you're sure that you're flashing pretty much everyone who passes by, but you're too focused on the supe.

"Well-" You gasp for air because the last time you ran this fast was in middle school when your neighbors doberman broke free and chased you around the neighborhood and no matter how many times Annie tried to get you to do cardio with her you'd rather die than run recreationally. "Soldier Boy is pursing the supe but he's -gasp- on the roof and I don't-"

You were going to say that you didn't have a way up there but then you remembered exactly what was in your purse.

Sacrifices must be made.

"Butcher just trace the call, I can't talk now." You don't end the call, instead you stuff your phone into your purse and remove one of the precious apple tarts. "Fuck I really wanted to eat you." You whisper longingly to the pastry in your hand. You take a bite and try not to moan aloud at the taste, before you pull your arm back to throw it, but then you stop and take one more bite.

I mean… this is a HUGE sacrifice and maybe Ben is completely fine and-

Electricity crackles over the top of the building and you see Ben for a split second almost get knocked off the roof, before he runs back out of sight over the lip of the building.

Or not.

You launch the tart onto the side walk ahead of you manipulating the remains of the apple to sprout and grow into a tree that sits at an awkward angle. You reach down and rip away the dress so that it's no longer floor length, but now reaches your knees and won't get caught on the shoes.

"Wow." You hear someone say and turn to your tight to see a little girl sitting on the steps of one of the buildings eating a vanilla ice cream cone.

You clear your throat with an awkard smile. "Stay in school kid." Before you run full speed up the trunk. Your eyes are glowing bright green as you will the apple tree to grow larger and larger, curving it's branches outward until you're able to leap from it's outstretched arms onto the roof.

Ben is using a makeshift piece of wood as a shield to fend off the electrical attacks of the supe that stands on the opposite side of the roof. The man is still glowing, the tendrils of blue and white reaching outward from his body to wrap himself in a cocoon of safety from Ben.

Another blast shakes the roof beneath your feet that Ben catches with the wood, his shoes sliding backwards a foot with the force of the expulsion.

Damn it. He's gonna owe me a whole cartload of spinach puffs and I will collect.

"Eat this you electric bitch!" You shout throwing one of the spinach puffs at the man. It hits him square in the chest, getting through the electricity because it doesn't conduct anything, and falls on the ground at his feet.

The man tilts his head down at it confused as to what it is.

"Did you just throw a fucking Spinach puff at him?" Ben shouts.

"Yes. Don't say I never did anything for you Gramps." You respond, and as the supe looks back up at you from the ground, you will the plant to grow.

The tendrils wrap around his legs, holding him in place. As the man looks down to fight off the plant, Ben advances with the wooden board and swings as hard as he can.

It hits the supe in the left side with an incredible cracking noise, you're not sure if it's the board or if it's the supe's ribs, but there's enough force to propel the supe from your trap halfway across the roof. His body rolls, kicking up dirt, soot, and who knows what else.

When the supe stands he's still wearing his hood and his scarf, but somehow he looks more angry. How he was able to convey that with his face covered, you weren't sure, perhaps it was the way the air around him seemed to glow, or how his eyes had shifted to a bright blue that burned through the shadows on the rooftop.

Ben races forward, but as he does you realize that the supe wasn't just standing there, he was charging up. And as Ben gets almost past you the supe shoots a bolt of pure electrical energy. Everything slows down. There's a high pitched crackle as the bolt jumps and sizzles through the air, separating the water molecules. Every hair on your body stands up as the smell of ozone fills your nose.

And your instincts take over.

Your body leaps forward of it's own accord smashing into Ben and propelling him out of the way of the bolt, your arms wrapping around his muscular chest and side as you do so. The bolt scorches through the air just over your head where Ben had been standing, making the hair on the back of your head stand straight up, but the supe missed.

In your head you were saving Ben like he saved you the first time you met the supe, when Ben yanked you back out of the way and ripped one of your favorite shirts, but something about this feels different, it felt like the protective instincts you felt for Annie when she told you exactly what the Deep had done to her.

Ben rolls the two of you as soon as you land so that his body is curled protectively around yours and if the supe takes another shot the only thing he'll hit is Ben's unprotected back. Your face is buried in his chest, arms cinched tightly under his armpits to entwine at his back, holding him to you as tight as you can.

When you raise your head to look behind Ben preparing to go another round with the supe, he's gone.

"Shit where did he go?" Ben shouts standing from the ground and looking around at the now empty rooftop.

Well that's just great. I wasted my spinach puff and my apple tart. Maybe that party is still going on and I can grab some more. You begin to think to yourself, as you adjust the remants of the dress, but then Ben wheels on you, his face contorted in rage.

"This is all your fault! You and your stupid Spinach puff!"

"Whoa. Don't you dare speak that way about the spinach puffs, buddy. They were amazing and-"

"I don't fucking care! You couldn't have done anything else?" Ben snarls. He's standing so close to you that you can feel his anger heating the air between the two of you. "Or better yet, you couldn't have just stayed out of my way? I had this handled! But NO you just had to get between him and me didn't you?" His eyes are narrowed at you, glinting in the night like emeralds. "I would have had him!"

Why is he so angry about this? All I did was push him out of the way. You suddenly think back to how when you landed Ben immediately rolled so that you were no longer in the line of fire. Did he do that on purpose?

"WHAT? I saved your life! A thank you would be nice-" You snap back.

"No you didn't. All you did was make things even more difficult for me. Just like every other fucking woman."

You narrow your eyes at the sexist comment. "How did I do that? All I did was help you!"

"No you fucking tackled me! And believe it or not Petals, I'm not going to let you get fucking electrocuted because you keep trying to save me!"

"I didn't want you to-"

"What? Die? I hate to break this to you Petals, but I'm not some pussy like that plant fucker. And electricity doesn't kill me."

"How do you know that? It could-"

"It fucking doesn't, because those assholes in Russia already tried all that shit on me!"

His words make your breath catch. You were trying not to think of all the horrors that Ben suffered in his forty year captivity, because each time you did it made your heart break for him. No one deserved that, not even him.

"Oh." You whisper quietly pressing your lips into a tight line.

"So next time you want to risk your fucking life for me, don't. Because anything that asshole can do to me, worse shit has been done, and I'd rather feel a little fucking electricity than watch you get blasted to pieces." He snarls and stalks off, in the direction of the apple tree you used to get on the roof to look for the supe.

The smell of ozone is still in the air, the sounds of the city rising from below, the bright lights of the distant skyscrapers standing like stoic watchmen. You can just catch a glimpse of Vought Tower amongst them.

And as you stand there in the aftermath you wonder if Ben really didn't care about you, then why was saying that he'd rather get electrocuted than watch you die, and why did he turn his back to the supe and shield your body from the coming hit?

A/N: Wow a lot happened in this chapter…. But honestly R.I.P the apple tarts and the spinach puffs. But, yes I know a lot of angst, a lot of the reader and Ben both living in denial. I promise that I do have a plan for this fic and that they WILL end up at the end. Y'all just gotta bear with me. 😂😭

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♰ ₥ØĐɆⱤ₦ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ♰

♰ Pairing: slasher!yunho x chubby!fem!slasher fucker!reader

♰ Genre: smut/dark romance/horror

♰ Summary: With a ruthless, brutal killer on the loose the safe thing to do would be to stay as far away from dangerous men as possible. But you've never been the kind of girl to play it safe and when danger comes in the form of a man like Yunho, how's a girl to stay away?

♰ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♰ Warnings: Yunho's a literal serial killer, neither of you die but someone does, sorta vivid description of a limb being chopped off, voyeruism in a way, slasher fetish, sadism, masochism, dom daddy Yunho, choking, restriction of movement, a lil nipple play, penetrative sex, sex covered in blood, dirty talk, scratching, hickeys, other forms of marking, creampie, manhandling, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), you're both kinda psychos...obviously.

♰ A/N: I'd like to say, "Oh, I wrote this because Halloween is coming up!" but, no, I didn't. I'm just a slasher fucker, okay? A part of this was inspired by one of my favorite horror movies and if you can guess it then let's get married. Love you forever.

On a side note, thank you @dawn-iscozy for suggesting Yunho for this. I didn't regret that decision for a solitary minute.

There’s a killer on the loose. A brutal, wicked man who stalks the night preying upon unsuspecting victims. Some say he only goes after those he perceives as having done something wrong. His own perverse way of balancing the scales, righting the wrongs that the cops don’t have the balls to fix.

Others say it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Your chances of being butchered are all the same, sinner or saint. One thing’s for sure, once he has his sights set on you not even god himself can save you from the fate that awaits. You’re gone in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. At least not in one piece. 

You’ve heard the warnings a thousand times over but none of them struck fear into your heart. On the contrary, you have quite the erotic fascination with his art as he calls it in the letters he leaves behind. There’s something about what he does that taps into a fetish for danger that you dare not tell another living soul about. You want to play with fire, scorch the tips of your fingers in his flames. That’s how you ended up here, straddling the lap of a man who claims to be the killer your sick little heart yearns for. 

You met at a club. The kind where people go to indulge their wildest fantasies, no matter how depraved. You were wandering around alone in a tight latex mini dress that fit the richness of your curves like a glove. You had your hair pinned up the way you do now, waterfalls of curls spilling down to frame your face. Expertly applied black lipstick adorned your kissable lips, drawing men in enough that they’d lose their minds thinking of all the things that pretty mouth could do. The man beneath you was among them. 

He spotted you from across the room, your figure bathed in red neon light as you sat at the bar plotting your next move. You let him buy you a few drinks, loosening you both up enough that secrets began to spill as freely as the vodka in your glass. “I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?” the dark haired man whispered in your ear, a hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. You swore that you would, hand over your heart. And that’s when he confessed. Your clear fascination with the man known as the Seoul Slasher had prompted him to reveal himself to you. 

You couldn’t believe it. A real live serial killer, an absolute monster, so hypnotized by you he was nearly drooling down your cleavage. Going against every self preservation tactic they taught you in school, you invited him back to your place for a bit of fun. An offer he excitedly accepted. For a man whose entire modus operandi is control, he was more than happy to relinquish it to you. In no time you had him spread out on your bed, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed frame. 

The entire room’s dark save for the flickering wicks of a few candles sprinkled about the room. You run a hand down his bare chest, sharp nails nicking at his tattooed flesh. He hisses at the sting, grinding his hips up against your core to add some pleasure to the pain.

You let out a giggle, fingers teasing the waist of his pants, “Tell me how you did it.” You flash your doe eyes, tightening your plush thighs around his hips. 

“How’d I do what?” he asks, far too preoccupied with your body to hone in on your words. 

“Those last two guys you killed. I wanna know every gory detail. You can tell me while I ride your cock.”

Your words certainly aren’t falling on deaf ears. He heard you loud and clear. He takes a calculated pause before providing you with a less than satisfying answer. “I used a butcher knife. Chopped them up real easy. Some of my best work I’d say.”

“Oh” you pout, shoulders dropping. You fold your arms across your chest, your disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “You really shouldn’t lie, you know? It’s a nasty habit.”

“Lie?” he scoffs, a nervous smile creeping across his face. His deception has failed and he doesn’t have enough brain cells to save this sinking ship. “I’m not lying, babe. I’m telling you. I used a butcher knife.”

You point an accusatory finger at him, applying pressure right between his eyes. “Dirty, dirty, liar” you sing, “You aren’t the Seoul Slasher.”

“And how would you know?” he asks, unjustly offended at the fact that you aren’t stupid enough to buy his bullshit. 

You lean in close, the warm flames of the candles reflecting in your eyes like hellfire. “Because I’m already fucking him and he’s not too happy about you going around pretending to be him. It’s just bad manners.” 

His smile grows more strained, his nervous laughter tickling the tip of your nose. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not but this is getting a little weird. Even for him. You watch him for a moment before erupting in soft, sweet laughter that mocks him. Reaching underneath your pillow you pull out a gag and shove it right into his mouth, shutting him up for the first time tonight. 

“Baby, I’m done playing now!” you call out like a housewife announcing that dinner’s ready. 

You sit back up, climbing off of him, and skip your way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. You hop up, feet giddily swinging back and forth to the tune of heavy footsteps descending the hallway. The man’s eyes dart over to the closed bedroom door, his heart thumping out of his chest. You can make out a few muffled protests but you dare not take it out. There’s nothing he can say that interests you now. Not that it ever did. 

When your best friend first told you that a guy at the club was going around claiming to be the Slasher, you couldn’t believe your ears. Especially not when the real one was sleeping peacefully beside you. Further investigation proved that your best friend had been telling the truth so he had to be dealt with. Then another popped up and another. This one will make for the 4th and you must admit, as annoying as identity theft is for your boyfriend, you get a kick out of luring them here. 

They always start out so cocky but once the gag’s in and those footsteps come, getting closer and closer at an agonizing pace, they’re not so confident anymore. At first they freeze up just like the corpse they’re soon to be. The shock does need a few seconds to set in. And then they panic, screaming through the gag and tugging at their bindings, their bodies writhing like a fish out of water. This one’s no different than the others. You can guess his next move like a film you’ve watched a dozen times and all of it’s in vain. 

Sweat slicks his brow as the door creaks open and your face lights up like the Fourth of July. You breathe a sigh of relief. There he is. You’ve only been apart for hours but it feels like an eternity. A tall figure steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, revealing a handsome man in tailored black pants and a black button up you pressed yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, tucked just below the elbow where a pair of long black latex gloves begin. He spares the unfortunate soul strapped to the bed a passing glance before approaching you. He leans forward, palms flat on the dresser, caging you in. 

“Did I do okay?” you question innocently, always hungry for the praise he never fails to feed you. 

Yunho nods, gloved fingers stroking your soft cheek, “Oh, my good girl. You did more than okay. What would I do without you?”

Taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that would soak your panties if you were wearing any. He takes a deep breath as he pulls away, not wanting to but knowing that time is of the essence.

“Did he touch you?” Yunho’s jaw tenses, gloved hands flexing to warm up for the night’s events. 

You peek around him to check in on the dark haired man. His face is wet with tears and he’s sobbing all over your new gag. You pray he hasn’t pissed himself. You’re not in the mood to have to buy a new mattress again.

You look back to your boyfriend and nod. “In the car he put his hand on my thigh.” 

“Thank you for telling me, baby,” Yunho says, kissing you on the forehead. He turns around, eyes darkening as he approaches the foot of the bed. “I’ll start with his hands.” 

Kneeling down, he slides a large case from underneath the bed and pops it open to reveal his tools. The spread is a pristine assortment of autopsy tools, not a lowly butcher knife in sight. He delicately runs his fingers over them, settling on the fine toothed bone saw. Your gaze never leaves him as he rounds the bed, aligning the sharp teeth of the saw with what you’ve come to know as the ulna. The bone right on his inner forearm. 

Yunho grinds the saw against it and the man’s arm tears open, tattered pieces of flesh splintering off to the side as he carves his way through tough tendons. Blood gushes from the man’s arm, drenching the brand new sheets in a river of crimson. Yunho’s movements are precise and purposeful. The saw taps bone as the body below him convulses violently, the pain beyond anything you can imagine or ever care to. 

Your boyfriend pauses, glancing over at you, and you know it’s about that time. You open one of the drawers beside you, fishing out your phone and a pair of over ear headphones. You sync them up, hitting play on your favorite song, and smile lovingly back at him.

He can’t be as brutal when he knows you’re listening. It’s one of few things about his profession he’s never quite been able to bring himself to expose you to. Even with the man’s cries muffled, being dismantled brings sounds out of someone that could give the most vile person nightmares. You can watch all you want but you won’t hear them.

It’d be easy to say that you weren’t like this before you met him. You were a sweet, delicate flower and this charming psychopath came along, corrupting your young soul. But a girl doesn’t get wet watching her boyfriend dismember people because she had her purity corrupted.

You were never innocent, you’d simply presented yourself as such. Yunho just freed you from the prison of feeling guilty about what got you off. Power. Not being at the mercy of anyone. Yunho treats you like a princess. You’re never left wanting for anything. Your every desire is satisfied. So what if your Prince Charming comes with a body count? Nobody’s perfect. 

Yunho makes quick work of the body. After the slice to his second arm the man’s already at death’s door and the severing of his knees puts the final nail in the coffin. Yunho tosses the body parts to the ground like the limbs of an old doll. Breathless and blood soaked as he licks splatters of scarlet from his lip, he goes in for another cut.

You’re the only other thing he looks at like he does his work. The excitement of the kill is borderline orgasmic, dopamine coursing through his veins with every gruesome cut. Once he starts he has to keep going, chasing his high until it’s finished and the body’s nothing more than scattered pieces of an impossible puzzle. 

Shoving the torso to the floor, he steps back to catch his breath, waving to get your attention. You slip your headphones off, setting them down to navigate the landmine of limbs and entrails to reach your love. 

“You need some water, Yunie?” you ask, throwing your arms around him. The blood weighing down his clothes sticks to your arms, cool against your skin. It used to feel a bit strange but after a few times you’ve come to find it refreshing like a cool shower on a hot day. 

Yunho shakes his head, a dazed look in his eyes. Usually the adrenaline begins to die down after that final cut but it’s only getting more intense. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he salivates over you like a man on the brink of starvation. “No, I need you. Right now.” 

His lips crash into yours at a thousand miles per hour and you don’t even attempt to stop him. Why would you? Bloody gloves cling to your dress, stripping you of the material. You rip his shirt open, sending buttons raining down onto the slippery hardwood floor. Yunho’s hands ravenously explore your body as you rid him of his pants, painting your plush figure in blood like a canvas. 

Attempting to feast upon your body through gloves is as close to torture as he’s ever come so he tears them off, groaning in delight as his bare hands sink into your pillowy ass. He picks you up, tossing you back on the bed, your breasts bouncing marvelously as you land.

You grin watching your boyfriend stare down at you like an absolute animal. His body’s everything dreams are made of, his flawless, rigid cock already leaking in anticipation. You spread your thighs, teasing him with the arousal dripping from your entrance. Bringing two fingers between your legs, you stroke them between your lips, spreading yourself open for him.

“You want it?” you moan, back arching as you pinch your sensitive clit. 

Yunho positions himself between your legs, palming his cock above a pussy that’s clenching wildly at the ghost of what could be. He places a hand on your thigh, admiring the view. You in a sea of blood toying with yourself for his pleasure. What a sight to behold.

“You aren’t teasing me are you?” he asks, gripping your thigh tighter. His voice is low and rough, feral in every way. 

You bring your slick fingers up to the head of his cock, coating it on your juices. “And what if I am?”

You motion to get up, your brain set on tasting his cock on your tongue, but Yunho’s quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms over your head. His free hand wraps around your neck, the veins of his arms pulsing as he applies the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless but not in pain. 

“Do you want it?” He bumps his cock against your slit, missing on purpose to drag it between your folds. Your body shudders as much as it can with his full weight on you. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, knowing he won’t hurt you but loving that you’re completely at his mercy. 

“You know that’s not enough, baby” he smiles, squeezing your throat tighter, “I need to hear it, princess. Tell me you want it. Beg for daddy’s cock.”

He presses his throbbing tip to your entrance but this time he arches into you, giving you the head and nothing more. The stretch of that alone is disorienting, a wave of heat rushing through you. Releasing his hold on  your throat, he brings his lips to yours, parting them to taste the desperate pleas that spill out. 

“I want you to fuck me, Yunie. I’m so needy for your cock. I have been all night” you whine and his tongue traces your lips. You taste delicious. He inches into you, feeding you a little more then stopping. A little more then stopping. And your body jumps with every motion, pitiful sounds pouring from your lips onto his. 

“Fuck me” you beg, an undeniable brokeness in your tone, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck…” Your voice trails off, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. He lifts off of you, still holding your arms in place above your head, and thrusts into you ever so gently. You clamp down around him tightly enough that it’s hard to move, your pussy's too needy to let go. 

Yunho grins, cupping one of your breasts, “I didn’t know watching me kill got you so hot. You’re sick, you know that?” He pinches your nipple harshly and you squeal, twisting in his hold. 

“I know” you moan, blowing him a kiss, “But so are you.”

“Fuck, I love you” he growls, pulling you under with another dizzying kiss.

His thrusts grow harsher, your warm, spongy walls drawing him in impossibly deeper. His fingers knead the tender flesh of your breast as he brings his tongue down to soak your bud in equal parts blood and spit. Taking the bud between his teeth, he wraps his lip around it, suckling at it without losing his rhythm between your legs. 

“Yunie. So good. So, mmph, aah…” you’re moaning but he gives one particularly hard thrust to your cunt, knocking the words right out of your mouth. 

You want to touch him so badly. To dig your nails into his back while he fucks into you. To run your fingers through his hair, tugging at the deep brown strands as his tongue swirls around your bud.

“Touch” you pout, wiggling your hands. 

Yunho pops your bud free of his lips, licking his way up your breasts, across your heated skin, along your neck, until you’re eye to eye. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna touch you. Please, daddy” you plead. You’re so helpless. So beautiful.

Yunho watches you squirm, feigning indecision. After an agonizingly long contemplation, he turns your arms loose, the redness on your wrists marking where he held you. Your hands are drawn to him like magnets, scouring every inch of him they can reach just to feel him.

Your nails find his back, digging into the flesh. Yunho buries his face in your neck, moaning at the sensation. “Harder” he whispers, fingers knotting in the sheets beneath you. You dig your nails in deeper, breaking skin, and he’s on the edge of a whimper, the sensation nearly too much for him. 

Slipping an arm around your back, he keeps you flush against him, sinking into you over and over. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed closed. You’re saying something but nothing’s coming out. Only whines and moans, the occasional fractured piece of his name.

There’s no bracing yourself for a cock this long and thick. You just have to take it, let it destroy every bit of you until there’s nothing left. A sense of euphoria surges through you and your legs instinctively lock around his waist. 

“That’s it” he coos, fawning over the string of hickeys he’s left on your neck, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” Yunho grabs for your wrists one last time, locking them above your head. He pounds into you so hard the bed creaks, maybe even moves a few inches. “I wanna feel you gushing around this cock.”

Suddenly your breath hitches and your body feels weightless. It’s as if you’re floating above yourself. Watching this gorgeous man fuck you into the mattress like his own personal whore. And you are. You’re more than happy to be. Your senses come back to you in a rush of ecstasy and you’re trembling, crying out as you do exactly as he said. Creaming, gushing, dripping down his length. 

Yunho pulls back, kneeling between your legs to drag his cock out and glide it back in. He goes all starry eyed at the sight of his cock glistening in your cum and soon he’s spilling inside of you. Your needy walls milking his cock of the warm, white liquid that overflows from your delicious pussy.

His hand comes down on your plush belly, enjoying its softness as he feeds you those last few strokes. You’re still moaning weakly when he finishes, laying back on the bed and pulling you on top of him. 

Curled up safe and warm in his arms, you bask in the afterglow, thoughts of the man your boyfriend dismantled little more than a distant thought now. But ultimately it’s difficult to ignore. Especially when your eyes drift up and you notice something dangling in the corner of your eye. 

“Yunie” you say, lightly petting his shoulder. 

Yunho strokes your hair, looking down at you lovingly, “Yes, baby?”

“I think his hand’s still attached to the handcuff.”

[vixnarts]

Sorry that I haven’t been posting on Tumblr. I’m not active on here because the platform isn’t my favorite. But since I’m hated by the dragon artist community in the HTTYD fandom on Instagram. I’m going to post my drawing here. I’ll come back to posting more of the creepypasta proxy x supernatural AU soon. Now without further ado, let’s start off with my opinions on both Httyd movies.

HEADS UP: if you do not like these opinions about the third movie, please do not attack me or anyone else that agrees. I will block (depending on the comment) or delete the negative comments.

Toothless (THW): There were so many things with this movie that pissed me off, starting off with Toothless himself. He stood out like a sore thumb. His design is atrocious with the squished eyes and the eyebrows. The few things that were good were the Deathgrippers and when Toothless was angry. That’s it. Also the light fury was shit and she looked like a condom. Anyways, Toothless was butchered so bad in this movie. He was a slobbery horny fuck and made out with his own shadow. He was disgusting to the Light fury (Thanks for smacking him in that scene when Toothless was being a creep doing those tropical bird dances). Now with his markings, they’re vaguely there. When he’s flying you can kinda see em but not really. Aside from the deathgrippers and Toothless’s angered expressions, the entire movie was shit. And DO NOT get me started with the light fury and those ugly ass looking night light things. I preferred the old storyboard where Toothless was reunited with a pack of night furies and Drago returned. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Side note: I also liked the soundtrack of this movie. With this atrocious movie, it’s like DreamWorks took away all Toothless mysterious aspects and made him act like a rubbery mutt (no offense to dogs, dogs are way smarter than what DreamWorks did to Toothless)

HTTYD (2010): Oh boy, I loved this movie since childhood. The animation, the dragons actually looked intimidating, and my favorite of all Toothless. I loved him, his design especially. He actually scared me as a kid while watching this on DVD. Toothless in the first film was by far the best (as well as HTTYD2 Toothless, tho I like the first movie better) he was sassy, protective of hiccup even when Astrid was gonna attack. What I loved about Toothless’s design was his tiger shark leopard print markings and that he acted like a cat. I loved the way he moved in flight and walking. Another thing on what I loved about Toothless was that he was actually mysterious and unknown. No one never knew about his species it was all unknown. It would’ve been cool if DreamWorks added the concept light furies in the movie. That would be dope.

[artistcalledbella]

Have you drawn Billy Butcher? i think i saw it but I'm not sure

No! (O_O;) Which is crazy cuz I love the boys and he’s one of my favorite characters. But getting this ask made me want to rewatch the show and I finally got around to drawing him!

[billythesimp]

hello wonderful writer! may i humbly request a fem reader who's very independent and strong-willed cow!thiren with lycaon? she works with the victorian housekeeping crew, and generally takes combat related jobs.

I'm so sorry if I butchered this. I could not for the life of me figure out how to write this. But Cow thirens sounded so cute wahhhh!

Watch the Horns, Master

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…

I love thiren's they are all so cool. I think my favorites from the game are these two office ladies who you can find in the afternoon in front of the flower shop in Lumina square. They are like sister's kinda and are just full cats. I think they are cats at least.

Lycaon x Cow-Thiren-fem!reader

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡…⋙

tw: none

✦ Being a cow thiren, people consider her to be very cute and very fragile, just one glance of her and people don’t assume anything other than a sweet, little maid who only wants to please their master. When in reality, the horns on your head are nothing more but a part of your deadly weapon, turning cold and stern once her true purpose is revealed. Her whole personality is what draws Lycaon in. 

✦ Lycaon adores how efficient and committed she is with her commissions. No matter the mission, the client, or the hollow, they never back down and hold themselves on a higher pedestal that nothing can hurt them. Just because they are smaller and more vulnerable, they aren’t a being to look down on. No upset guest who threatens their work or filthy ethereal who hungers for her life will stop her as she is an impenetrable force. So Lycaon puts many expectations on her, having them take up the more complicated tasks at her own request. 

✦As a reward for her well done jobs, he often treats her to her favorite snacks and obviously a well-off paycheck. He’s taken time to get a better understanding for his employees, but with her he takes the time to make her feel welcome and included. Despite her denial of having no interest in joining the crew in their daily interactions and activities, he can tell that she does long to be included and join in the fun, drowning herself in work and managing Corwin and Ellen as a supportive older sister figure. 

✦ In combat, she makes an effort to ensure everything goes to plan. Keeping a close eye on her team while providing a shield of sorts that will protect the girls and man from any danger. She’s very much a more physical fighter as once again, benign a cow thiren makes her a lot tougher than most so she’s worked out to gain that sleeper build. A routine that she’s sometimes worked with alongside Von in the gym or their own private sparring sessions. So every battle, she gives it her all, fighting hoof and nail to take out any imposing figure in her path, in a graceful manner if you will to upkeep the image of what a maid from Victorian Housekeeping is really all about.

[safarigirlsp]

Never Whistle in the Woods

Flip Zimmerman x OC

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Violence. Monster Action. Cryptids. Creepy things that happen in the woods. Backcountry flavor. Just a nice getaway with Flip. Those never go according to plan. I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from @rynwritesstuff and @lumberjack00fantasies

AO3 Link

One of Flip’s favorite things was spending a secluded weekend out at his cabin, nestled in the forested mountains, away from the noise and mayhem of town. And away from people. Nothing cured a man’s love of humanity better than working with them. He enjoyed having a beer and a burger with his friends after work and he enjoyed taking his girl out to dinner. But he liked it a helluva lot more to take her with him into the mountains and not see or hear from another person for a couple days. Actually, it had become his favorite thing.

Knowing this, his girl, Kate, had booked him a nice getaway right up his alley. A solid week squirreled away in a truly remote cabin about as far away from humanity as he could get. It had taken a little online spelunking for her to land on the small town of Kitwanga, British Columbia, but its selling points of having a population of less than five-hundred, being a prime location for hunting and fishing, and being a true gateway to the wilderness with scarcely an outpost North between the little town and the Yukon, had sealed the deal. Besides, for the shrewd outdoorsman who wanted a less touristy experience with a friendlier populace for about a third of the money, British Columbia was a superior option to Alaska with all the same appeal.

Over-the-counter hunting licenses were available for all sorts of game that required a lottery draw or exorbitant fee in the States. Flip laughed when he read in the game regulations that it was strictly prohibited to shoot Bigfoot and that, should a sportsman encounter him, he was to be considered a protected species.

“How many big, hairy Canadians do you reckon had to get shot in the ass before they added that regulation?” He grinned at Kate, sitting with her legs curled under her on the seat of his rented truck as they bounced down the terrible excuse for a dirt road, sloshing in the mud and hitting potholes by the hundreds. Flip had twice hit his head on the bolt of the rifle secured in the headache rack above his head on the ceiling of the truck’s cab. He would have left the rifle inside their cabin, but they had been stringently warned not to take a step outside without it. Bears were a real threat and the animals here had little experience with humans, which meant little fear of them.

“Sounds like you better watch your own ass if you’re out wandering around in low light,” she teased back. “You’re big and lumbering enough to be mistaken for Bigfoot.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lot better lookin,’” he winked at her as he pulled into the only gas station in the tiny town. He filled up every day on their return in case the owner decided to take a day off. Electric pumps were a novelty that hadn’t reached this far north, it seemed. He was in a teasing mood, returning from a day of hiking and, as he put it, takin’ pictures of every goddamn thing in Canada.

“Depends on who you ask,” Kate laughed warmly. “I’ve waged a losing battle for quite a while trying to convince my friends you’re handsome. They tell me I’m blind or brainwashed.”

Five businesses in the tiny town were booming, frequented by most if not all of its citizens on a regular basis: the grocery store, post office, church, bar, and the gas station. Actually, Kitwanga boasted two bars. Flip figured this was a good insight as to the favorite pastime of the locals, especially since it doubled the churchgoers. There were no restaurants, but the bars had all the haute cuisine a man could want, so long as what he wanted was a cheeseburger or a sandwich or some chicken fried steak. However, one bar generously offered to cook anything a person brought in, provided the thing was somewhere between alive and kicking and starting to turn, and provided that gastronome paid in cash. Flip had already taken the owner and bartender up on this offer and handed over several trout he had caught that day to the owner’s wife and cook to fry for dinner. He had to admit it was some of the best fried fish he had ever had, and it paired wonderfully with the potent Moose Knuckle stout beer on tap.

The sign at the gas station read, Headed north? Need gas? It’s now or never. Two lonely gas pumps sat on a rectangle of cement on the otherwise muddy ground – the kind of pumps a person usually only saw on postcards from the fifties, with the rounded tops and numbers for cost and gallons that ticked by on a dial like an old one-armed-bandit style slot machine. A hand-scrawled sign in the window listed the hours vaguely as open from dawn ‘til dusk. An uninformed observer could easily mistake the business for being abandoned, or even condemned, a relic lingering in a ghost town. But for the metropolis of Kitwanga, it was a thriving business. There was even another vehicle at the pumps, a ’79 Ford truck with a lift and a winch on its bumper and a fat man in overalls leaning against the bed, pumping gas.

Flip stepped out of his truck and lifted the nozzle of the gas pump with a rusty squeal. He admired the view of his girl as she trotted into the gas station to forage for supplies. A brisk wind rustled his hair, tinged with chilled moisture. Above, low clouds in a grayscale palette churned in the sky. The snowy tops of the mountains were hidden inside the clouds and rain slashed across their facades in a grey haze. The rain hadn’t yet reached the foothills where the town and Flip’s rented cabin were nestled, but fog was creeping in from the base of the mountains and off a nearby river. Between the thunderclouds and the fog, it was as if the world was slowly closing in, like the vignette on a Bogart movie narrowing in on the dramatic eyes of a starlet.

Tilting his face up into the chilly air, Flip smiled. He loved rain and thunderstorms, and found peace in their chaos. Mainly, he loved holding his girl while a storm raged outside, or having a drink with her while they sat on the porch and felt the electricity in the air, and making love to her and feeling her shudder thunderously beneath him. His smile widened as he anticipated the evening ahead.

“Storm’s comin,’” the man at the pump said to Flip as he spat a string of brown tobacco into the mud. “You here for huntin’ or fishin?’”

“I’m mostly just here to take a break from everyday bullshit,” Flip replied in a friendly tone. “But I have tags for fishing and tags for bear and moose in case one happens to wander in front of me.”

“Storms are bad for fishin,’” the man said, nodding knowingly. “But they can be good for huntin.’ Storms bring the animals down from the big mountains. Moose especially like the mist and bears like to hunt in the rain when their prey can’t hear and see ‘em as good.”

“Good to know.” Flip smiled as he replaced the nozzle and turned to go inside and pay his tab.

“That your girl?” the man asked with a suggestive nod toward the gas station.

“That she is.” Flip turned to face the man, wondering if he’d end up getting in a fist fight while on vacation.

Not taking the hint, the man whistled appreciatively.

Flip decided the rube meant it as a compliment, so he simply agreed with a “Yup,” and went into the gas station. Kate had been suspiciously long inside anyway, something that nagged at the part of his mind that was always an officer on duty.

Inside the dingy little gas station, Flip saw his girl leaning against the counter engaged in an affable conversation with the attendant behind the counter, a squat older man with a heavily lined face and long silver hair in a braid hanging over his shoulder down to his gut. Flip wandered through the store, grabbing a few items that struck his fancy, some beef jerky, chips, candy bars, and other assorted junk food. At the back of the store, a menagerie of terrible taxidermy watched him with glassy eyes. Above the beverage coolers that lined the wall hung several deer and caribou and two enormous moose. A life-size grizzly bear stood on its hind feet in a corner, frozen mid-snarl, its head a solid three feet above Flip’s. He looked at its paws that were larger than his head and vicious curling claws, longer and thicker than his fingers. Facing such a beast, the gun he had in his truck now seemed very feeble. He grabbed a six-pack of stout beer bottles and an over-sized bottle of cheap wine and took his loot to the counter to pile it alongside Kate’s items.

“Have you heard about the wendigo?” Kate asked Flip when he joined her at the counter. The lilt in her voice told him she was highly amused. “My new friend was just telling me about it.”

“Yeah, wasn’t that the name of that stripper I arrested last year for blackmailing the mayor?” Flip smirked. “Wendy-Go?”

“He’s an idiot, I’m sorry,” Kate apologized to the man behind the counter, simultaneously elbowing Flip in the ribs. “Please ignore him and continue.”

The attendant gave Flip a sideways look and continued talking to Kate in a slow, backcountry drawl, “It is said the wendigo were people once, but now they are cursed. A wendigo is born during times of famine or in the harshest winter. When men are starving to death in the cold. When a man is weak, and he chooses the black path of cannibalism over death, butchering his fellows to save himself. When a man eats the flesh of another, he takes a curse upon himself. The wendigo lives in constant starvation, its body emaciated and rotting, only growing hungrier the more it eats. Its hunger can never be sated and it becomes a crazed beast with an insatiable bloodlust.”

“Is this insatiable bloodlust specific to tourists?” Flip asked sarcastically.

“Sometimes,” the man shrugged, unbothered. “It looks to punish those with greed in their hearts. Or, depending on which stories you believe, it seeks people who are like-minded to itself to build its own tribe.” He eyed Flip narrowly. “So, if a tourist is out greedily mining or wantonly slaughtering game, then yes, the wendigo will come for him.”

“Slaughtering is one of the few things I never do wantonly,” Flip deadpanned and slapped some cash down on the counter.

“You should be careful, son,” the old man told Flip seriously. “There are many ways a man can be greedy. He can be greedy for his woman and covetous of her.” Then he shrugged again. “But these are nothing more than old tales.”

“So, you don’t believe in the wendigo?” Kate asked.

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s real. I’ve seen a wendigo twice. He has antlers taller than a caribou and wider than a moose, teeth like a wolf, and only skull sockets for eyes. But they glow. It’s the glow I remember most,” the man said genuinely as he counted out change. “I just don’t know if he was once a man, or something that was never human at all. Maybe the people who first came here created a myth to explain the monster rather than created a mythical monster themselves.”

“Maybe it’s a convenient way to scare pretty, gullible girls.” Flip smirked at Kate. Then he returned his attention to the cashier. “Let me guess, there’s something that wards off the wendigo? A silver crucifix or whatever? I bet we can buy it right here.”

“Nothing wards off the wendigo,” the man scoffed. “And he is far older than your crucifix. Why would a forest god bow to a stranger on a cross? Fire can stall him, maybe even frighten him, but it can only buy you time.” He looked outside the window at the building storm. “Not good weather for making a fire if you need it.”

“Damn shame.” Flip shook his head and began collecting their provisions in his arms. There were no courtesy bags.

“We do have flares,” the man suggested innocently. “They burn in any kind of weather, even underwater. All the bush pilots carry them.”

“Probably inside their emergency monster-hunting kit alongside the stakes for vampires and silver bullets for werewolves,” Flip laughed. “Go ahead. Load us up with some flares. Consider it a tip for a good campfire story.”

“It’s always smart to be prepared,” the man agreed as he placed two bundles of six red flares apiece on the counter and rang them up. They looked like bundles of dynamite.

Kate took the flares because Flip’s arms were already overfilled. She thanked the attendant and turned to leave.

The old man grabbed her by the elbow, stopping her and causing Flip’s hackles to rise. He spoke seriously, “Don’t whistle when you’re out in the woods. Whistling will summon the wendigo. Sometimes people hear whistling too, before it comes for them.”

“And these people who hear the whistling before it gets them,” Flip said as he edged his body between Kate and the counter and nudged her toward the exit. “They walk out of the woods to tell their story, huh?”

*******************************************************************************************

Their log cabin for the week was almost an hour’s drive from the gas station. It wasn’t that far as the crow flies, but the road was serpentine with switchbacks as it climbed the foot of the mountains and made even slower by soupy mud. It was set deep in the forest, surrounded by old-growth trees with trunks as thick as the truck’s bed. The sun set on their drive back. As it dipped below the mountainous horizon, the landscape glowed a shade of hazy purple only seen in the alpine. The clouds were the color of gunpowder and the rainy vapor was periwinkle. The spruce turned into an army of nearly black silhouettes with a light mist writhing among them as moisture rose from the damp ground as well as drizzled gently from the sky. The drifting mist made everything look as though it were moving. It gave the illusion of eldritch shapes in the trees creeping along the edges of vision and tree limbs grasping like clawed fingers as they swayed in the breeze.

Flip hit the brakes suddenly, slamming Kate forward in her seat and knocking her out of the reverie the gloaming forest had cast over her. A black shape froze in the muddy road a few yards ahead of them. Its eyes sparked cold white in the headlights and the fur on its back was raised aggressively.

“A wolf!” Flip said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one this close.”

The huge animal was coal black, its amber eyes reflecting white in the headlights in the way wolves eyes do. It stood frozen, staring down the vehicle, acting like the truck was a new creature intruding into the wolf’s territory. Something was wrong with its silhouette. Something with its mouth. It took several seconds for Kate to realize what it was. The wolf turned its head uncertainly, deciding whether it should continue on its way across the road or turn around from the metal beast with offense headlights. A dead rabbit dangled from its jaws, its legs swinging lifelessly and ears flopping limply. Its lifeless eyes glinted a dull red.

The simple reminder of nature’s brutality unnerved Kate unexpectedly and her hands felt suddenly cold. She gripped Flip’s hand, digging her nails into his palm with irrational harshness.

“Nature, red in tooth and claw,” he teased and grinned at her, but he laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Some redneck at the gas station told me that predators liked to hunt in the rain. Guess he was right.”

Night had veiled the forest with its velvety black cloak by the time they parked next to the porch of their cabin. It was silent enough to hear all the noises of the forest, from the chattering birds to the subtle rustling of deer browsing in the brush to moisture pattering lightly on the ground. A great horned owl as large as a man’s torso sat perched in a tree branch hanging near the roof of the cabin, its yellow eyes glittering like moonlight as it hooted an eerie cadence. It followed them with its yellow eyes as they unloaded the truck and carried their loot inside, its head turned almost fully backward like a creature possessed.

There was no light pollution and on a clear night, the moon and stars lit the forest bright enough to see easily. On a rainy night, moisture in the air brought out all the smells of the forest, the crisp spruce, the earthy soil, the embers in the fireplace. The cabin had no electric lines and was powered by a temperamental generator and a wood stove. A woodpile was stacked against the back of the cabin, complete with a large timber axe embedded in a nearby stump. Cell service was laughable. Flip loved everything about all of that. He was pleased it had running water, however, mainly because it would have greatly impacted his sex life if it didn’t.

Flip grilled steaks outside that night before the rain hit and they had dinner on the porch, counting lightning bolts. Then they tangled around each other in front of the fireplace, making love as the flames crackled and danced and the thunder rolled. Between dinner and fooling around several times, they finished the bottle of wine and opened another. Night fell early this far north in the autumn and the nights were long. The cabin was equipped with a tv, but it was one of those terrible old boxy things with a tiny screen and antennas. The antennas were only for show since there was no service. Instead, there was a vcr and a selection of campy nineties movies and some even campier porn. It seemed to defeat the purpose of being there to even bother with the tv. They hadn’t turned it on once.

“I’m wide awake,” Kate mused, propped up on Flip’s bare chest, looking down at him. “Let’s do something.”

“I have plenty of ideas,” Flip said huskily. “They’re all sure to wear you out.”

“We’ve tried your ideas. Several times. And I’m still far from worn out.” She smiled. “We’re here in a cabin, basically having a sleepover. Let’s play some sleepover games, the kind you play as idiot teenagers or in sororities in college.”

“I think girls have a lot wilder sleepovers than boys. And my experience with sororities is limited to sneaking in and out of them, so you’ll have to be more specific.” He ran his fingertips along her spine and kissed her throat, doing his best to interest her in another round.

“Later, you animal,” she laughed and shoved his face away while pushing herself up and off him. “You know what I mean. Sleepover games. Like Bloody Mary, or playing a Ouija Board, or the Midnight Game.”

“Packed a Ouija Board, did you?” he teased. “That would explain why your suitcase weighs fifty fuckin’ pounds.”

“I don’t think ghosts care whether or not you use a name brand.” She pinched his chest, making him flinch.

“What ghosts are you gonna find out here?” He squinted as he rubbed his chest. “The Donner Party?”

“Don’t you think they’d be fun to talk to? We can try Bloody Mary. I don’t think she has a centralized location,” she teased and pulled on her discarded pair of pajama pants and a hoodie. She threw Flip’s grey sweatpants at him. “Put that thing away or it might scare off the ghosts.”

Flip grumbled more protests under his breath, but he dressed in his sweats and a thermal henley. “How about we each stand in front of the bathroom mirror with the lights off. I’ll ask for Candyman. You ask for Bloody Mary. And we’ll have a Celebrity Death Match between vengeful ghosts?”

“You know the ghosts always get the cynics and the cocky shitheads first, right?” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest in a faux reprimand.

“Is that a rule?” Flip grinned. “I think the ghosts go for the morally corrupt woman who can’t keep her legs closed first. You’re in trouble, sugar.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she said with finality.

“How about we play a fun game, like spin the bottle or truth or dare?” He winked at her. “I always pick dare. Do your worst.”

“I can’t imagine where a game of truth or dare with you would lead.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

Flip puffed his chest and stepped closer to her until their bodies were almost touching. “I have a better idea. You have some pretty big balls for a pretty little girl. Let’s see how big they really are.”

“Oh my god, Flip, if this is another ploy to explore that region further…” she laughed.

“Everything I do is some kinda means to that end.” He smirked. “But we’ll get to that later. Now, let’s go outside and whistle at the wendigo. There should be some of those sonsabitches around these parts.”

Flip went to the door and stepped into his muddy boots. He leaned against the doorframe, casually cocky, and raised an eyebrow at her in a challenge. “How ‘bout it, hot stuff?”

“I think we’d be better off trying to summon Bloody Mary than a wendigo,” Kate said hesitantly. “Plus, it will be cold out there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he teased. “How do you figure that trying to summon a ghost through our bathroom mirror would be safer than trying to call in a wendigo? At least a wendigo will stay outside. Besides, I know how psycho you’d get if I let another woman into our bedroom. Dead or alive. Don’t try to set me up, sweetheart.”

Rolling her eyes again, Kate pulled her coat on and slipped her phone into its pocket, feeling the bundle of flares she had absently pocketed at the gas station. There was no service, but its flashlight might come in handy outside. Grinning, Flip picked up the rifle that was leaning against the doorframe and slung it over his shoulder. Cocky though he was, he took the advice serious about the threat of bears and always having a gun on him out here in the wilderness. He held the door open for Kate and ushered her outside.

The air was thick with humidity but the rain had stopped for the moment, leaving the moisture on the air to chill their skin and turn their breath into ghostly thick fog. The porch was covered in slushy frost as bright as diamonds. Their boot prints left skeletal black outlines on the otherwise pristine frosty canvas as they descended the steps and walked into the forest that awaited them only yards away.

Flip offered Kate his arm and led her into the trees. The old growth forest felt like being inside a fairytale, surrounded by enormous tree trunks and relatively open ground at their bases. The roots of those great trees were so thirsty, they leeched most of the nutrients and left little for brush and scrub to encroach. After the rain, the ground was muddy and slick, with frost growing denser by the minute as the temperature dropped through the night.

Filling his lungs, Flip began whistling a terribly off-key tune as he walked through the woods. His casual swagger was the same as if he were taking his girl out for a stroll in the park. Kate winced when he struck a particularly loathsome note, and squinted her eyes at him, “What in the hell are you whistling?”

“Season of the Witch,” he replied, acting offended. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I like the song, I don’t appreciate what you’re doing to it,” she laughed. “We’re not going to find any wendigo if you scare them all off with that horrendous noise.”

“I don’t hear you doing any better,” he scoffed.

Mainly in an attempt to save her ears from his screeching, Kate started whistling. She teased Flip first with her best wolf whistle. Smells were heightened in the damp air but sounds were muffled. In the silence of the forest, the whistle sounded unnaturally loud. Now that Flip wasn’t making noise himself, he found himself focusing more on his surroundings. He didn’t feel right, something he couldn’t put his finger on tugged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t just that noises were muffled by the dampness in the air, but something else that he found indefinable in that moment. He told himself it was just the product of being in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar vegetation that he found unsettling. The size of trees still seemed monstrous to him, and the smell of spruce instead of the familiar smell of pine must have been unsettling to his subconscious. And it probably didn’t help that he had cultivated a little buzz drinking wine for the past few hours.

A light gust of wind blew into his face and all of his senses sparked with alarm. He froze in place, seizing Kate’s arm to silence her whistling. The unmistakable scent of a wet animal hit his nose with the force of a slap in the face. Quickly evaluating his surroundings, he unslung the rifle from his shoulder and held it across his chest in high port. It would take him less than a second to aim and fire. But the forest was close around them, visibility limited to fifteen feet or so in any direction. If the animal was a predator, a bear or a mountain lion, it could cover that distance in less than a heartbeat if it wanted. He could still see the faint glow of the cabin’s lights. They hadn’t gone far, but there was no chance of outrunning an animal back to safety.

A heavy footfall sounded inside the trees ahead of them, muffled on the wet ground but distinctive. Straining his ears, Flip thought he heard a branch being brushed aside by something passing by it. Whatever it was, it was very close ahead of them. Flip’s thoughts raced, less cohesive and more a rush of images of nightmare scenarios that he weighed in an instant. He could hide himself and Kate behind one of the huge tree trunks and hope the animal passed them by. But whatever it was had to already know of their presence. If his feeble senses could hear and smell the animal, it had no doubt smelled and heard him much sooner. In that case, he decided it was best to hold his ground and meet whatever it was head on, straight down the barrel of his rifle. That would give them the best chance. Flip would have to make his shot count, and he’d probably only get one, but it was a decent chance.

Stepping in front of Kate, Flip raised his rifle to his shoulder. He kept both eyes open, not limiting his focus to only what was past the end of his barrel, but trying to expand his senses to the full spectrum of forest in front of him. He heard a heavy breath, something panting. Closer now. Flip clicked off the safety and tightened his finger on the trigger. The hardest skill for a hunter to learn, especially when hunting game that hunted him back, is to wait long enough for a good shot but not so long as to let it get him. He wouldn’t waste his shot until he saw his target clearly and could be sure of putting the bullet where it would matter most. His hold on the gun was rock steady, his breath stalled, his eyes unblinking.

The panting grew in volume until it seemed to drum in his ears. Odd for a stalking predator. Before Flip could reconcile that, a bear burst from the trees only feet in front of him. A huge grizzly bear lumbering toward him on all fours, the top of its humped shoulders taller than Flip’s head. His finger tensed, less than a millimeter of movement was required to fire. But something was off with the bear. It was panting heavily, saliva dripping from its open mouth and fog snorting in bursts from its wet nose. The bear stopped short at the sight of the man with a gun right in front of it, clearly surprised, very unlike a predator who had been stalking the man. Flip hesitated. If he didn’t kill the bear immediately with one shot – drop it right in its tracks – it would maul them both before it died. If the bear wasn’t hunting him, it was a foolish risk to take. Grizzlies were not commonly hunting predators; they were scavengers and fishers. Most people who were mauled by grizzlies had either gotten between a mother and her cubs or a bear and its food, or they had startled it like waking a grumpy old man.

Sniffing the air, the bear looked at Flip. He was so close he could see the small particles of moisture the bear blew out of its nose along with steam when it snorted. The bear’s little round ears flicked, one turning backward to listen behind it. The bear’s eyes were wide, showing white, in a nervous gesture that was common to both man and beast. The bear looked back over its shoulder and then broke into a gallop. Flip’s rational mind told him to shoot, but his instinct prevented him. The bear altered course enough to avoid running straight into Flip. It paid him no further mind at all, instead running right by him. Flip followed it with the barrel of his rifle as it passed by him so close that a string of white saliva landed on the rifle’s blue-black barrel.

Turning around about face, Flip followed the bear with his sights until it was well past them and showed no signs of turning back around. He looked back toward the place the bear had come from, still holding the rifle to his shoulder. He didn’t look at Kate when he told her, “Walk back to the cabin. Don’t run, but go now.”

“You want me to follow the bear?” she hissed. “He ran toward the cabin. I don’t want to get near him again.”

“Follow the bear,” Flip gritted. “If a bear’s runnin’ from something, we’d best do the same. He didn’t care about us anyway. Now, move.”

Uncertainly, Kate turned and retreated toward the cabin. They hadn’t gone that far, after all. Flip backed after her, keeping his rifle aimed into the black forest from which the bear had run. A shrill scream splintered the silence, starker than a bolt of lightning. Kate shuddered and Flip ducked, hunching his shoulders like he had taken a punch. The scream shrilled for several seconds, wavering on a blood-curdling note before trailing away. It echoed around them, seeming to float on the mist.

“That’s just an elk bugling,” Flip said, trying to calm Kate. Maybe it was in fact an elk, a sickly, ravenous elk. “Keep moving, slowly.”

“I’ve never heard an elk that sounded like that.” Kate shivered against more than the chilled air. “This is starting to scare the hell out of me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take your mind off of it when we get back,” Flip tried to joke but he couldn’t muster the required lewdness, his mouth was too dry.

The howling scream burst again through the forest. It was something like an elk bugle, but more howling and rasping, with a sort of growling mingled in at the end as it trailed away. It was closer now. Flip felt as much as heard it reverberate inside his skull.

“Whatever that is, it’s not an elk.” Kate had her arms wrapped around her body, trying to prevent herself from being overtaken by tremors.

“Sure, it is,” Flip lied. “They probably just grow ‘em bigger up here.”

Kate blew out a shuddering breath, fighting to keep her steps slow and steady.

“Pick up the pace a little, darlin,’” Flip rasped.

“You said not to run,” Kate hissed.

“I didn’t say to crawl either!” Flip gritted. “This is one hell of a time for you to start listening to me.”

Instead of moving faster, Kate stopped short. So suddenly, Flip bumped into her as he walked backward. A branch snapped somewhere inside the forest. It was strangely loud. Flip realized then that the snap only sounded harsh because the forest had gone utterly silent. The hundreds of small noises from birds and insects were gone. Even the drops of water falling from tree branches seemed to have stopped. The forest felt like a living thing around them, possessed of a presence all its own. Now that presence was altered into something darker and ominous.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flip’s voice had dropped to a whisper without his conscious approval. “I said keep moving. We’re not far from the cabin.”

“Turn around.” Kate’s voice trembled.

Dropping the rifle for a moment, Flip looked back over his shoulder. His nerves must be playing tricks on his eyes. He turned fully around, holding the rifle at high port across his chest. The view of the forest that met him was foreign. It wasn’t the same forest they had walked through only minutes before. The trees were more skeletal, their grasping branches more cloying. Moss hung from the branches like the lank hair of a corpse, and the ground was spongy underfoot, as if the forest was rotting around them. Even the air smelled stale and moldy. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning illuminated the forest in patches like a stop-motion movie. Most unsettling of all, the comforting glow of the cabin lights that could be seen through the trees had vanished or been snuffed out.

“What the fuck…” Flip’s voice trailed away as he took in the strangeness of their surroundings. A burst of lightning brought the forest into focus for a gleaming second. Bizarre shapes hung in the trees like a macabre abomination of Christmas tree ornaments, figures made from twigs lashed together with sinew to form pentagrams and humanoid shapes and horned beings. Flip swallowed thickly and ignored them. “We couldn’t have gotten turned around so fast.”

“We didn’t.” Kate looked around frantically. “I could see the cabin lights, then I heard that horrible bugle and looked around for it. And then the lights were gone. They couldn’t have all gone out, not all at once.”

“Lightning must have struck the cabin,” Flip lied again. Nothing about the forest looked familiar to him now and everything about it felt wrong. “Must have shorted out the lights.” There was no reason to scare Kate more than she already was. “It’s alright, we don’t need lights for what I have in mind when we get back.”

The scent of wet dog hit Flip again on a gust of wind, yanking his attention in the direction of the odor. He saw a heap of dark fur, glistening from the spotty rain and aimed his rifle at the creature. It didn’t move. Steam rose from the furry mass. Flip noted another smell on the air, something with a coppery aftertaste that coated the roof of his mouth. He edged forward, looking at the steaming animal down the barrel of his rifle, his finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire. He recognized the beast when another bolt of lightning revealed the horror to him.

“Don’t look,” he said to Kate, but it was too late. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her scream from escaping.

The huge grizzly bear they had encountered minutes before lay on its side in a broken heap of matted fur. Steam spiraled into the air from its torn-open belly, its entrails protruding from the mangled tissue like uncooked sausage. The gaping wound was only minutes old. The bear’s body temperature would plummet rapidly in the frigid air and it was still warm now. Even as they stared, the steam began to abate. Hanging in the branches of the tree nearest the bear carcass were several more bizarre figures crafted from twigs.

The screeching growling bugle erupted again, very close this time. Flip nudged Kate ahead, keeping his rifle at the ready, but not knowing where to aim it.

“Which way do we go?” Her breath came in shuddering puffs of fog.

“I don’t know,” Flip admitted. “Away from here.”

Amid a stand of spruce to his side, bare tree branches swayed in the wind, their spiky fingers waving ominously. Flip hadn’t noticed the wind pick up. Looking at the oddly swaying branches, he realized there was no wind. The air had gone as still as the inside of a crypt. The strange branches were bare, glistening wet and pointed upward, still swaying.

A flash of lightning illuminated the creature and Flip flinched so hard he almost fired accidentally.

What he had taken for bare branches was a set of enormous antlers, shaped somewhere between a moose and a caribou and as large as an Irish elk, with wide paddles and long spiked tines spurting out non-typically like broken fingers. It had a dark mane like an elk with a tawny, painfully emaciated body. Flat tines of several spinal processes protruded through the hide at the top of its high withers and one hip bone showed through the skin. But its head was the most terrible of all. Its face was in an advanced stage of rot, dregs of sagging flesh barely clinging to the skull. White skull bone gleamed in exposed patches, and its sharp, lupine teeth were long in the exposed jawbone and ragged. Its nasal cavity was bare, the fleshy nose rotten away, leaving only the pointed bones and a black hollow. It had no eyes that Flip could see, but there was an evil gleam inside its sockets, like embers inside a pile of ash. The monster shook its head, slinging water from its great spiked antlers. Then it leveled its head like a bull about to charge and fixed its glowing eyes on Flip.

“Shoot it,” Kate whispered, her eyes wide with terror.

“I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Flip looked down the barrel at the rotting flesh covering the walking skeleton and white bone peeking from beneath. The monster’s glowing eyes were not something found among the living. Without lowering his rifle, he looked at Kate and met her eyes. “It’ll come for me first. I’ll make sure of that, and I’ll stall it as much as I can. Get to the truck, darlin.’ The keys are in it. Run like hell.”

“I’m not leaving you!” she said vehemently, her voice losing some fervor when the creature took an ominous step closer, its enormous antlers swaying with its gait.

She felt for her phone, hoping there might be service. Not that another human could even reach them in less than an hour, making any idea of help hopeless. Her hand closed around the lumpy bundle of flares. With an excited breath, she freed a flare from the bundle and fumbled with lighting it.

The monster bugled angrily, a sound so shrill it felt like it grated along their spines. It rushed toward them through the trees, its teeth bared and eyes aflame. Flip fired, sending a bullet right between those glowing eyes. He even saw the bullet strike and tear away more rotting flesh, leaving a pearly white hole in the skull. It didn’t slow the monster or even make it flinch. He bolted another round into the chamber on instinct, staring down the barrel at the demonic eyes that were fixed upon him.

Kate popped the cap off the flare. The cap had an abrasive tip like a matchhead and she struck it to the end of the flare, holding it high as it burst to life. With their eyes accustomed to the darkness, the flare seemed as bright as sunlight, searing black pulsing spots into their vision. The monster squealed again, shaking its head with pain or irritation. Its antlers caught in the tree branches, stalling its advance. The flare burned and popped, hot on Kate’s face even at arm’s length and blindingly bright.

The landscape around them crackled and wavered, like a tv signal trying to come in through static. The trees looked less skeletal and more normal, like they had been before, and the strange twig figures vanished. The cabin lights glowed through the trees, yellow and warm, not far from them.

“It’s in our heads!” Kate shouted. “It’s making us hallucinate, but I can see the cabin and the truck now.”

“The light bothers it,” Flip said as he reached into her coat pocket, grabbing three flares and leaving her the remaining two. The monster wrenched its antlers free of the branches where it was tangled and lurched toward them in a shambling gait.

Shouldering his rifle that was of no more use than a club against the monster, Flip bit the cap off a flare with his teeth and struck the head. He rammed the end into the muddy ground at his feet, leaving the tip burning. The beast reared, shrieking with rage and clawing the air with its cloven hooves as Flip backed away. He could see the glow of the cabin lights now too. It was hard to resist the urge to run to the light.

Flip lit the next flare. Kate was a few yards ahead of him, gaining ground toward the truck. It would take whoever reached it first a minute to start it. Flip had a good throwing arm and even better aim. The monster lunged at him, rage overriding whatever else had been driving it to pursue them so far. Flip drew back his arm, took a second to aim at the gaping black jaws, and threw the lit flare as hard as he could. The flaming tip cartwheeled through the air like a throwing knife before the fiery head struck the monster right where its nose should have been. But it had no nose, its nasal cavity was exposed in its partially skeletal head. Robin Hood could not have struck a finer bullseye. The flaming tip sank deep into the nasal cavity, embedding itself there.

Screaming terribly, the wendigo shook its head and stomped its hooves, rearing and bucking like a horse that had stepped on a hornet’s nest. It couldn’t shake the flare free from its skull. The flames spread, shooting out through holes in the rancid flesh of its cheeks and jaws. It looked as though it breathed fire when it screeched, belching flare fumes and flames out of its hacking mouth.

“We’re not gonna get a better chance than this!” Flip roared at Kate as he burst into a run toward her. She had a few paces head start on him and sprinted ahead toward the truck.

Kate reached the truck first, yanking the driver’s door open and jumping inside. Flip could bitch about her driving all he wanted, but she dared not spare the extra second or two for him to take the wheel. Not with the eldritch monster galloping toward them, bugling terribly, flames bellowing from its mouth and nose. Flip had his one remaining flare in hand when he reached the truck. The engine roared to life.

Instead of joining Kate inside the cab, Flip vaulted into the truck bed and shouted for her to drive. Kate slammed the truck into gear, throwing Flip against the side of the bed. Regaining his balance, he dropped to his knees and planted his back against the rear window, making himself as steady as he could. Kate was speeding as fast as she dared down the muddy, winding road, and it wasn’t fast enough. The wendigo pursued them, galloping after the truck and gaining ground. Striking the tip of his flare, Flip held the flaming tip aloft, casting the entire truck in a halo of searing red fire. The wendigo allowed more distance between them, smart enough to keep outside of throwing range of another flare.

Kate took a slippery curve too fast, the truck fishtailing as she recovered control, slinging Flip from one side of the bed to the other. The flare was nearly whipped from his hand, but he clenched his fist tight to keep his hold. Gritting his teeth, he composed himself, using all his strength to keep his balance and keep his arm held high. He couldn’t afford to lose a flare. They only had three flares left, and it was going to take every last burning second of each one to reach town.

*******************************************************************************************

 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

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[inkmonster21]

Voughtland

Read as a continuation of this

Billy Butcher x fem!Reader

It’s Friday! Field trip day! Bailey is up and running about, trying to pick what outfit to wear. “I wanna wear my Starlight dress!” She smiles and points to the closet. You smile as you dress her in said dress. Taking a picture for memory.

Your daughter waits at the door tapping her foot. “Are you ready, mommy?” You finish getting ready, slipping on your shoes, and gathering your things. Bailey waits at the door, growing more impatient by the second.

You smile at your daughter's eagerness, her little feet tapping the floor in anticipation. "Almost, sweetie. Let me just grab my purse."

The bus ride to Voughtland is electric with excitement. Children chatter amongst themselves, pointing out the window as landmarks whizz by.

You sit amongst the other moms in the front, exchanging smiles and laughing at the kids' antics. As you sit amongst the other moms, you can't help but notice how young you are compared to the rest. They all seem happily married with their own families.

You glance down at Bailey, smiling as you realize she's all you need. Her innocence and love are more important than any romantic relationship ever could be. The kids gleefully rush into Voughtland, eager to explore every corner of the park. You watch as they disperse into groups, some already hopping onto rides while others line up to meet the life-size superhero characters.

You can't help but smile, seeing the excitement and joy on their faces. Bailey, having the time of her life, runs off to join the others. Before they could run off the teacher spoke. “Alright, everyone! Gather here!” The kids reluctantly pull away from their current activities, slowly making their way back to the meeting point. A few pout, but most hurry to rejoin the group, eager to know what's next.

“Okay! So I know the drive up here was long and I know we’re all pretty hungry, right?” The teacher asks.

The children nod eagerly in response, some even letting out a collective "Yes" that rises from the group.

The teacher smiles at their enthusiasm, knowing just what to say to appease hungry little stomachs. There was a surprise hidden in the words. The teacher could barely stay still. “Well, we have a surprise right through those doors.”

As the room comes into view, the kids' eyes widen with shock and excitement.

In the corner stand Homelander, The Deep, and Queen Maeve. The three supes smile as the kids enter the room.

The kids' gasps and whispers fill the air as they take in the sight, unable to believe that they're in the same room as their favorite heroes.

You watch as the kids eat and chat happily with their heroes, especially amused by Bailey's enthusiasm as she tells The Deep about dolphins.

Suddenly, a figure takes the seat next to you, his firm presence drawing your attention. Without even glancing, you know exactly who it is. You meet his dead eyes. Homelander smirks as he catches your reluctant smile, his gaze unwavering as he looks you up and down. "You looked lonely," he replies.

Fuck. I force a smile. “It’s so nice for you to take time out of your day to do this.” He leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as his gaze remains fixed on you. “I love kids.”

“I’m sure they’ll remember this for the rest of their lives.” Homelander nods, a smug smile on his lips. "Of course they will. Every child should have the chance to meet their heroes."

His eyes flick over to where Bailey is still talking with The Deep, then back to you.

"She's very sweet, your daughter," he remarks, an almost mocking tone underlying his words. He wasn’t stupid. He could fucking smell Butcher on them from the second they walked in. The little girl resembles his enemy. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

You smile at his compliment. “She’s one of a kind.” Homelander watches you with sharp eyes, his smirk growing as his suspicion deepens. He glances back towards Bailey, taking in her appearance once more before turning back to you.

"Yes, she certainly is," he agrees, his tone almost mocking.

He leans in a bit closer, the scent of cologne and arrogance surrounding you. He notices your ring finger, any sign of a wedding ring absent. "And her father?"

You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, gosh. That’s… quite an intimate question.” You grin at him. Homelander raises an eyebrow at your reply, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies your face.

He chuckles lowly at your attempt to sidestep his question. “It’s just curiosity,” he says, the hint of arrogance in his tone. “Her dad’s… around. We’re not together.” Homelander cocks his head to the side, his expression unreadable as he continues to study you.

"Ah, I see," he responds, his tone slightly mocking. "Not together, huh? Must be hard raising a kid on your own." You wave your hand at the remark. “Nah, she makes it easy.” Homelander chuckles slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"She's a well-behaved little girl, I'll give her that," he agrees.

He glances over at Bailey, who's still animatedly chatting with The Deep. Then he looks back at you, the sharpness in his gaze returning.

"But she looks so familiar, you know? I swear I've seen her somewhere before…" You lie quickly, “We’ve been to a couple of meet and greets. That’s probably why.” Homelander nods, his smile still in place, but his gaze hardening as he considers your words.

"Ah, that could be it," he murmurs, seemingly accepting the explanation.

He's silent for a moment, still looking at you intently. Then, he grins and leans in closer, the smirk growing on his lips.

"You know, a strong, independent woman like yourself should have a man to take care of you," he says, his voice low and suggestive.

You laugh and scoot your chair away slightly. “Oh, no. I’m happily single.” Despite your attempts to distance yourself slightly, Homelander doesn’t seem dissuaded by your response. He chuckles at your laugh, his eyes still locked on yours.

"Happily single, hm?" he says, his tone dripping with arrogance.

He leans in a bit closer, his gaze roaming over your features. "A beautiful woman like you, all alone? That's a shame." He continues to push. Even inviting you to an interactive experience where you could have a tea time with Starlight herself. Before you could shut it down. Bailey accepted the invitation. Homelander grins as Bailey eagerly accepts the invitation to tea time with Starlight. He seems all too amused by the situation, his eyes flickering to you as if enjoying your discomfort.

"Looks like someone's excited," he muses, his tone slightly mocking, "How can you say no to that?" You push a smile as Bailey jumps at your side. “Can we go now?”

As Bailey tugs at you with excitement, you can't help but smile.

Homelander chuckles, watching the scene unfold. "Eager, isn't she? Starlight will be happy to see a little fan so excited for tea time," he says with a smug smile.

Homelander leads you and your daughter down a hallway. He glances back with a smug smile. “Just through here.” He opens a door and calls out. “This little one is ready for her tea time with Starlight.”

You go to follow Bailey through the door, but Homelander's firm grip on your arm stops you in your tracks. His smirk widening, he looks at you, his eyes locked on yours. "Ah, ah. Starlight will take good care of little miss Bailey.” He drapes an arm over your shoulders. “Take a walk with me," he says, his tone dripping with confidence.

As you begrudgingly walk away, your heart aching a bit at the sound of your daughter's excited chatter, Homelander guides you away from the room.

He looks at you, his smirk still present on his face. "Don't worry, your daughter's in good hands," he says, almost mockingly. "relax a little." Homelander leads you down the hallway, his arm still wrapped casually around your shoulders. He can almost feel the tension emanating off you, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

He glances at you, his cocky smirk still present. "Nervous, sweetheart?" he chuckles, the mocking tone returning to his voice. You push a smile and exhale. “Starstruck, maybe. Sorry. When I got up this morning I didn’t think I’d ever be in the presence of Homelander.” Maybe if you boast his ego enough he’d let you go?

Homelander chuckles at your attempt to butter him up, his smirk growing wider. He obviously enjoys the compliment, his ego thriving on your words.

He lets out a low, arrogant laugh, his arm still around you as he leads you further down the hallway. "You're right about that," he says, his tone dripping with cocky self-assurance.

"Not many people get this close to me. Consider yourself lucky." Homelander forcefully guides you into the dark room, the heavy door closing behind you with a loud thud.

His playful demeanor fades, replaced by a cold, hard glare. His hand still grips your shoulder as he pins you with his gaze.

"Now, we can talk without all the bullshit smiles," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Still attempting to play dumb you question, “What?” Homelander leans in closer, his hand still gripping your shoulder. “Cut. The. Bullshit. Now.” He flashed his laser eyes. You sigh and hold your hands up in a sense of innocence. You use to fucking take down supes, but it’s been so long. You’re out of practice I guess. Hard to act tough when you sing fruit salad on the daily.

Homelander grins at your gesture of innocence, his eyes flickering over you. He can see the shift in your demeanor, the facade slipping slightly. "I can smell him on you. On her. Just like a wet dog.”

He's in your space now, his eyes piercing into yours as he leans in even closer. “Listen, I… I don’t have shit to do with whatever they’re doing. He’s not around. He doesn’t care. Okay?” He smirks at you. “Guess we’ll just have to see how much, he doesn’t care.”

He slams your head into the wall knocking you out. Homelander looks down at you, unconscious on the floor. His smirk widens, a cruel and satisfied look on his face.

"You’re right," he says, voice cold and detached. "Let's see how much he doesn’t care."

You wake up, bound tightly to a chair, a gag around your mouth, effectively silencing you.

The room is dark, almost completely devoid of light. The only sound is the occasional hum of machinery and the quiet drip of water. You're in a secluded spot on Vought grounds. While you're being held in a dark room, alone and bound, Bailey is blissfully unaware, sipping tea and chattering away with Starlight just a few floors above you.

Homelander sits on the side, watching as your daughter giggles and discusses superheroes with Starlight. A smug grin is plastered on his face. He’s having you taken care of.

Annie takes a picture of herself and Bailey. She found her costume just adorable. Starlight smiles warmly at the picture she's taken with Bailey, her heart warming at the sight of the little girl dressed as her.

She grabs her phone and quickly texts the picture to Hughie, adding a message along with it.

Look at this, isn't she cute?

Hughie's scrolling through his phone when the notification from Starlight pops up. He frowns as he taps on the message to see the picture of Starlight and Bailey.

Bailey? He thinks to himself, confusion written on his face. Hughie stares at the message for a moment, not seeing you anywhere in the picture. Something feels off to him. A pang of anxiety gnaws at his stomach, his mind filled with questions.

He looks to Butcher and shows him the photo of Bailey and Annie. “They’re at Voughtland. Annie said the seven were there for a school trip.” Butcher glances at the picture on Hughie's phone, his expression immediately darkening. Recognising Bailey, he looks tense at the sight of her with Starlight.

"A school trip?" he mutters, anger starting to build as he processes the news. You didn’t mention anything to him about a field trip. Especially to Voughtland, because he would’ve said fuck no.

Butcher pulls out his phone and dials your number. When it goes straight to voicemail, his worry grows.

"She's not answering," he mutters, a hint of panic in his voice. He glances at the picture again, the absence of you gnawing at him. He turns to Hughie, his gaze dark as he gives the order. "Call Annie. Ask if she's in there with her."

Hughie listens to the cheerful sound of Annie and Bailey dancing together in the background before speaking up. "Hey, Annie," he interrupts, his voice filled with urgency. "I need to ask you something." Hughie does as told and calls her.

Bailey and Starlight are dancing with wide smiles when Hughie calls. Annie answers. “Hey, kinda busy-“

Butcher snatches the phone. “That kid. Is her mother with her?” Annie furrows her brow, glancing at the little girl dancing to the music. “No? She dropped her off.”

Butcher’s frown deepens at the revelation that you're not there. "What do you mean she dropped her off?" he asks, his tone growing sharper. “She… she dropped her off with me for the tea time. Then she… left.” Annie looks at the little girl. “Everything okay?” She asks the team. Butcher closes his eyes and huffs. “Just don’t let her out of your sight.”

Annie's voice comes through the phone, slightly surprised at the new voice. "Um, sure." She looks over at Bailey, who's still dancing happily. "Hey, Bailey, sweetie?" she says, gently interrupting the girl's dance. "Where did your mommy go?" Bailey looks up with a smile. She pointed out the door. “With Homelander.” Clearly no sense of danger for her mother.

Annie's heart skips a beat at the answer. Hughie looks at Butcher with worry. "Homelander? Why would she go with Homelander?"

He knew this would eventually happen, but if she would’ve just listened to him, he would’ve been able to protect her against this. As Butcher continues to pace, he can't help but feel a pang of guilt and anger. *If only she would have listened*, he thinks.

He clenches his fists, his mind racing with thoughts of what could be happening to you. He knows you're tough, but he also knows the kind of hell you could be thrown into with Vought. He grabs his coat and tosses it on. “Oi!” He holler to the team. “We’re going to Voughtland.”

As Butcher hollers to the team, the rest of the boys look at him, immediately understanding the urgency in his tone.

"Voughtland? What's going on?" MM asks, a look of concern on his face. Butcher huffs, “my girls are in a bit of trouble.” MM raises an eyebrow at Butcher's words, a flicker of curiosity mixed with concern in his expression. "Your girls?"

The rest of the boys look equally puzzled, curious about the nature of the "girls" in question.

Butcher huffs as he gathers his belongings. Butcher says your name, turning to look at M.M. and Frenchie. “You lot remember her, yeah?” They smile in fondness. Butcher raises his brows, “Well she had a little girl. Mine. So the question is. Are you going to help me?” Without a single word, they all gather weapons and belongings.

You sit bound, and now bruised, lip busted. “Fuck you!” You scream at your attacker. Some no name paid to pry the information you don’t know out of you.

He asks, his face a cold, apathetic mask as he watches you struggle against your binds. "Language, sweetheart," he says, his voice dripping with thinly veiled malice. "No need for that." You rest your head down, and begin to laugh.

He frowns at your unexpected laughter. He takes a few steps towards you, puzzled by your reaction. "What's so funny?" he asks, his tone losing a bit of its cool as he looks down at you.

“Just… this stupid shit. I got out, ya know? I was happy. Guess karma has a way of sneaking up.” You look at him, “and even if you kill me and send my kid to Red River, I know for a fact Butcher will skin you from your head to your fucking toes for hurting his kid.”

The attacker's smirk falters for a moment, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. He had assumed you would be frightened, cowering before him. But here you are, defiant and bold.

He recovers quickly, his smirk returning. "Butcher, huh? You think he'll come to your rescue?" he chuckles.

You laugh again. Finding the time to untie your hand behind your back, “Rescue me?” your eyes find a thin rod on the ground.

you look up at him and shake your head. “I don’t need anyone to fucking rescue me.” I spring from my chair and dive away from him as he lunges. I grab the small rod and turn to him, stabbing it into his eye socket and directly to his brain.

I sigh, standing up as the door is ripped open. You turn to the door and toss your fists up, ready to brawl.

Butcher stands at the door with M.M., both wielding weapons. Butcher lowers his at the sight of you. He sees the cuts and bruises covering you, signs of the struggle you've just been through.

"Shit," he mutters, his grip on your shoulders tightening as if to reassure himself that you're really there. "Are you okay?" You nod quickly without a word. You are all ushered out of the underground tunnels. Your mind is racing. “Bailey. Where is she?”

All thoughts of Homelander and revenge are pushed to the back of your mind. Your main concern is finding Bailey.

As you and Butcher rush out of the underground tunnels, you look around urgently for any sign of your daughter. "Bailey," you repeat, your voice laced with worry. "Where is she?"

Butcher holds you under his arm as he leads you out. M.M. is back up as we move towards the exit. “I got Hughie and Frenchie to take Bailey to the safe house. She’s safe. I promise.” Your heart clenches with worry, but Butcher's reassuring words offer some comfort. Knowing that Hughie and Frenchie have taken Bailey to a safe house eases some of your fear.

"Okay," you murmur, holding onto Butcher's arm tightly as the three of you move towards the exit.

As you enter the safe house, you call out for Bailey, your voice filled with urgent concern.

"Bailey! Baby, where are you?" you call out, your eyes darting about the room, searching for a glimpse of your daughter.

There's a moment of silence, and then a small voice replies from another room. "Mommy?" As soon as you hear Bailey's small voice, a wave of relief washes over you, and you feel tears prick at the back of your eyes.

Without a second thought, you rush towards the sound of her voice, finding her in another room. You grab her tightly, pulling her into a tight, comforting hug.

"Oh, baby," you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. "Are you okay?" She looks at your face and frowns. “Daddy? What happened?” She asks as she reaches for Butcher. Butcher steps closer, a mixture of concern and relief etched on his face as he looks at the little girl in your arms. He glances at your injured face before crouching down to meet Bailey's gaze.

"It's alright, love," he says softly, his voice gentle as he reaches out to touch her hair. "Your mummy just had a little accident, that's all." Bailey scrutinizes you, her young mind able to intuit that there's more to your accident than you're letting on. However, her tiredness takes over, and her eyes droop as she leans into Butcher's outstretched hand.

He notices her sleepy expression and gently ruffles her hair. "Come on, love," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "You need some rest."

You watch as Butcher lifts Bailey into his arms and carries her towards the bed, their interaction tender and caring. Your heart feels full watching the two of them, and a warm smile forms on your face.

As he tucks her into bed, you realize how much you've come to depend on him, both for yourself and for Bailey. He was your stability in this chaotic world.

Your thoughts drift back to the events that led you here, a pang of guilt mixed with gratitude settling in your chest.

You knew you’d tried your best, but you wished you could've done more to protect Bailey. The thought brings a pang of self-blame, but you also know that if Butcher had been there, things could have turned out very differently.

You find yourself in the quiet of the safe house, the lights dimmed, casting a soft, warm glow. It’s almost peaceful, the calm after the storm. The silence is broken only by the soft breathing of Bailey, already fast asleep. You settle onto the couch, the weight of the day's events catching up to you. Your eyes, heavy from exhaustion and worry, start to feel weary. You lean back, letting your body relax into the comfort of the cushions.

Even though your mind is still on high alert, the quiet of the room, combined with the fatigue settling in, makes it almost impossible to stay awake. When Butcher steps out of Bailey's room, he stops in tracks as he spots you, asleep on the couch. A soft, almost tender expression crosses his face, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

He walks closer, his footsteps silent as he approaches, careful not to wake you. He stands before you, watching your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath. As he looks down at you, asleep on the sofa, Butcher's eyes rake over your face. A strong urge to lean closer, to kiss you, washes over him. But he resists, knowing that you need sleep more than anything right now.

His fingers, almost involuntarily, reach out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch feather-light and tender.

You stir “Billy.” You mumble still asleep. Your sleepy murmur of his name causes Butcher's hand to still against your hair. He looks down at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he realizes you're still half-asleep.

"Hey, love," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff. "You're supposed to be asleep." You sit up, making room for him. A small smile tugging on your lips.

Butcher watches as you stir and sit up, making room for him on the couch. Your sleepy smile warms his heart, and he takes a seat next to you.

He slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. "Couldn't sleep?" he teases. You push a small smile and shake your head. “It’s been so long since I’d fought for my life.” You look at Butcher. “Kinda missed it.”

Butcher raises an eyebrow at your words, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You missed fighting for your life?" he asks a hint of disbelief in his tone.

He tightens his grip on your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side. "You've got a strange sense of nostalgia, you know that?" You scoff and bump your shoulder with his. “Look who’s talking.” Butcher grins at your scoff and shoulder bump. "Hey now," he teases, a smirk on his face. "No need to use logic against me."

He pulls you even closer, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder. "Are you alright, though?” You lean into his hold, resting your head on his chest. “Yeah, I’m alright.” You wait for a beat, “I… I shouldn’t have even taken her there. I should’ve known better.” Butcher nods. “You should’ve told me.”

You agree, and if you did tell him, then you’d be safe from all this nonsense. “Yeah. I should’ve.”

Butcher continues rubbing your shoulder, his hold on you firm yet comforting.

"What am I going to do now? We can’t go back home. He knows my name, her name, what school she goes to, her teacher.” You cover your eyes in shame. How could you have let this happen?

Butcher feels a pang of sadness as he hears the despair in your voice. He pulls you closer, wrapping his other arm around you.

"Don't beat yourself up, love," he murmurs, his voice low and gruff. "This isn't your fault."

He pauses for a moment, his mind working quickly. "But you're right, we can't go back home. Not right now, at least. We'll figure this out, though. I ain't letting that bastard get to us."

You look up at him, then around at the surroundings. You wouldn’t be truly safe until he was gone. He would never stop looking for you, just to knock Butcher a peg down. You’d be the sacrifice. Bailey….

You shake your head. “Your boy, Ryan. Grace keeps him safe doesn’t she?” Butcher nods, knowing exactly where you are going with your question. "Yeah, she does. Ryan's safe with her," he says, his grip on you tightening.

"Why do you ask, though?" he adds, a hint of foreboding creeping into his voice. “Bailey. She… if Homelander has the slightest chance to take her, he would.” You run your fingers through your hair. The hatred of supes coming fresh to mind. “He has to go.” Butcher listens intently as you speak, the mention of Bailey's name a chilling thought. The idea that Homelander might use her as a pawn against him makes his blood boil.

When you mention Homelander's need to go, Butcher's expression hardens. "You're right," he says, his voice cold and resolute. "He's got to go. And I'll make sure of that."

You shake your head, “not without some help.”

Butcher looks at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Are you suggesting you help me take down Homelander?" he asks, disbelief evident in his voice.

He runs his hand across his face. "Love, this ain't a game. Homelander's the most dangerous supe out there. I can't risk you getting hurt." “And I can’t just sit here when I know I could help. Especially when he knows Bailey is out there.” Butcher shakes his head doubtfully.

Butcher looks at you, his expression a mix of worry and admiration. On one hand, he doesn't want to put you in danger. But on the other, he knows how fiercely protective you are of Bailey.

He lets out a sigh. "I can't talk you out of this, can I? Once you set your mind to something, you're more stubborn than a damn ox."

You lay a hand on his cheek. “That’s why you love me.”

He leans into your touch, relishing the feeling of your hand on his cheek. He covers your hand with his larger one, holding it there for a moment.

"That's right." he says, his voice gruff but filled with affection. You lean in, relishing in the moment, and as you do, Butcher's free hand moves to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. He looks at you for a moment, a mix of desire and care in his eyes.

Then, he leans in too, connecting his lips with yours in a tender, yet passionate kiss. As the kiss deepens, Butcher's arms tighten around you, holding you close. His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you to him as he devours your mouth with a fierce hunger.

There is a sense of urgency in his actions, his touch desperate and full of unspoken desire. He needs to feel you, to know that you're really here, safe with him. A small gasp pulls your attention from the kiss. Bailey stands behind the door, spying on her parents in a loving embrace. She couldn’t help but smile as she saw her mother and father in such a way.

Butcher and you break the kiss as Bailey's gasp interrupts the moment. You both turn to see your daughter standing behind the door, her eyes wide and curious.

Butcher's hand slips from your neck, his expression somewhat sheepish as he realizes they've been caught. You smile at her, “Hey honey.” Bailey gives you a sheepish smile in return, her cheeks turning slightly pink at being caught spying. She's never seen her parents kiss like that before.

"You were kissing," she says, her voice filled with innocence. You look to Butcher with a smile. A playful manner picking up. “Kissing? Your dad? No way.” You sarcastically claim.

Butcher rolls his eyes, playing along with your little game. He feigns surprise, pretending to play the part of the innocent father.

"Yeah, no way," he says, his voice gruff but laced with humor. "Your mum was just getting something out of my teeth, love." Bailey crosses her arms and challenges you both. “No. I saw it with my own eyes! You were kissing!”

You and Butcher exchange a quick glance, trying to hold back laughter at Bailey's stubborn insistence. You decide to play along for a bit longer.

"Are you sure you saw that?" you ask, your voice filled with mock confusion. "Maybe you were dreaming or something." You nod. “Yeah, you know you sleepwalk.” Bailey stomps her foot, her small frame filled with determination as she approaches. She looks from you to Butcher, her expression defiant.

"I know what I saw," she says, her voice firm. "You were kissing!" You toss your hands up. “Fine, fine. Yes, mommy and daddy were kissing.” Bailey smiles with an excited expression. Butcher grins, unable to hold back his laughter anymore. He looks at Bailey and ruffles her hair affectionately.

"There, is that what you wanted to hear?" he asks. She nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She climbed on the couch, shoving herself between the two of you. “Daddy.” She says with a smile.

Butcher chuckles as Bailey climbs onto the couch and squeezes between the two of you. He wraps his arms around her, a warm smile on his face.

"Yes, love?" he replies, his voice soft and fond. Bailey looks at you, wiggling her brows. “I know you love mommy now.” Butcher rolls his eyes at Bailey's comment but grins good-naturedly.

"And how do you know that, hm?" he asks, his rough voice filled with feigned aloofness. “Because you only kiss people you love.” She grins in pure innocence. Butcher's expression softens at Bailey's innocent comment. He looks at you and then back at her, a small, fond smile on his face.

"Well, can't argue with that logic, can I?" he says, ruffling her hair affectionately. Bailey grins, but a yawn makes its way to her face. You pat her leg, “Come on, back to bed. You went mommy to come lay with you?” Bailey yawns, her energy seemingly running out. When you ask if she wants you to lay with her, she nods, her eyes drooping.

"no, it’s okay. Go lay with Daddy," she murmurs, leaning her head against your arm. You scoff at her words. A small smile played on her lips as she closed the door back to her room. You chuckle softly as Bailey closes the door behind her. It's sweet how she always wants you or Butcher with her when she goes to sleep.

You look at Butcher, a small smile on your face as you shake your head. "Little matchmaker, isn't she?" Butcher smirks at your comment, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yeah, seems like she's got it all figured out, love."

He moves closer to you, his arm sliding around your shoulders again. "Can't say I'm mad about it, though." Leaning into his touch you feel fatigue washing over your body. “I couldn’t agree more.” Butcher feels your body relax against him as fatigue sets in. He pulls you closer, his arm encircling you protectively.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs, his voice low and soft. "You should get some sleep, too."

You give him a sly smile, standing up. “Yeah, I guess.” You make your way to the door before looking back. “You coming or what?”

Butcher raises an eyebrow, a cocky smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He stands up and saunters over to you, a swagger in his step.

"Of course I am, love," he replies, his voice dripping with confidence.

[samglyph]

Good morning. Season 4 finale.

Holy smokes gang. What an episode. I absolutely loved it. I think it took a little bit for me to become really invested despite the in medias res thing we had going on, but once that action started I was in it. The visuals this episode were great, I especially liked the description of the mollusk mask on the viziers face. I also was quite pleased about the little reference to hastur being the peacock king that’s fun.

I know a lot of people are sad about the butcher. I am not because as soon as he showed up again I figured he would be one of the casualties of the episode, and narratively I like that it was Kayne who did it as opposed to Larson or an unnamed cultist or alien, especially considering I had a theory that Kayne was connected to the music in his head and the powers he had. I did love the twist of him being on our side though I actually audibly reacted to that. It surprised me but made sense in the perfect way. It also makes perfect sense to not include that scene, but I am excited to see some of the fan work that comes out of that missing piece. I’m AMAZED that Charlie managed to make it out alive, but then again he might be bleeding out on a street in Spain right now. Oh well. No body no death so I’m counting him as still kicking.

Speaking of Charlie, I loved the scene where John was forced to come clean. I liked how it twisted the previous scene of Arthur speaking for John and John finally being heard by someone else and feeling so so happy, to now be forced into a position where that newfound relationship is potentially going to be destroyed because he no longer has the option of privacy. Wild.

Of all the scenes with yellow, predictably Arthur’s confrontation and apology was my favorite. He’d already admitted fault in a previous episode but this I think is where it really hit home. And in other lines, while Yellow remained adamant that he didn’t care, you could tell that he genuinely did want to understand the connection between Arthur and John, and wanted to understand why he couldn’t experience the same thing. Most tragic fragment of a nightmare king. I hope you have fun flaying Larson alive for the next couple thousand years. Also why was Larson so flirty this episode dude he killed your son stop whispering in his ear like that.

And then of course, we get to Kayne. Kayne Kayne Kayne Kayne. Glad we got confirmation that Kayne isn’t/it doesn’t matter if he’s nyarlthotep because while have a fondness for the crawling chaos and Call of Cthulhu mythos, I actually like when things are separate from that. Plus I think it makes him scarier if he can’t quantify his existence. Holding out his bloody hand for Arthur to take and Arthur choosing to go with him willingly obviously paralleling his denial of Larson earlier in the episode. I also liked his takedown of Larson a lot. Fuck that guy.

Anyway @everyone who questioned why I draw Kayne covered in blood in every scene even when he’s not fresh off a carcosan murder spree how does it feel to be wrong.

[snake-spire]

I’m back with the Magnus archives/Malevolent AU crossover with my favorite avatar designs:

The Slaughter Butcher and The Stranger Noel

I’m absolutely in love with these two designs, especially the Butcher and his violin made out of humans (not accurate to the actual instrument because I can’t draw instruments for shit.)

Sorry these two took so long. I was drawing Lonely Oscar but he turned into a full blown piece so I might have bit off more than I could chew with that one.

But after Oscar, I have one more character to draw (gotta save the best for last)

[paranoia-art]

◦•◦Need some Unique AUs for your OCs/OTP? I got you!◦•◦

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Angel and Demon AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Under the Sea AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Arranged Marriage AU (It could be like Romeo and Julliet OR an AU where they have to get along with one another after an arranged marriage.)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦Assasins AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Art School AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ BookStore AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Army AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Idol and Fan AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Ballet AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Beach AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Celebrities AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Ceo and Ceo AU (This would be si intresting though)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Butcher shop and Flower shop AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Circus AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Racers AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Necromancer and DEAD person AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Witch and Wizard AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Supernatural and Supernatural AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Detective AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Daycare AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Demon and Demon hunter

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Fantasy AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Illusion AU (Basically both characters hold up illusions on their true reality, whether it's physically or mentally.)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Fashion Designers and Models (This would be so cute as a ship)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Flower Shop AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ God's and Goddesses AU (POSSOBLY MY ALL TIME FAVORITE.)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Amnesia AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Guardian Angel and Their Human AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Guarian Angel and Guardian Angel SU (this is definitely a ship)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Ghosts AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Switch bodies/lives AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Hollywood AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ HUMAN AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Ice Skating AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Library AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Lawyers AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Scientists AU (Like test subject x Scientist)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Asylum AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Band AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Medival AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Office AU (I had to add in a few classics, come on they're so good)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Reveng story AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Preist and Demon AU (This doesn't have to be a ship)

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Photographer and Model AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Stalker and Stalker AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Stalker and Detrctive AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Apocalypse AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Reincarnation AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ University/College Roomates AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Soulmates AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Shapeshifters AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Teachers AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Vampire and Damsel in Distress AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Superhero and Sidekick/Villain AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Wedding Crashers AU

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Divorced AU

Follow @paranoia-art For More!

Up next, Unique and Funny Ships to draw/write your favorite OTP as!

May 5 2024

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 7

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 7 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

---

In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour!

---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Rosie had arranged for Hal to escort you across town for the event.  

“You'd be an easy target, all gussied up and fancy looking,” she'd explained.  “And Alastor is nothing if not a gentleman.  He'll see ya’ home safe.”

So Hal had put on a bow tie and his least blood stained trousers and the two of you had set off towards the Hazbin Hotel.  It took longer than expected thanks to your heels making the pitted sidewalks an absolute terror to negotiate, but a good number of people were still entering the hotel by the time you arrived.  

“Ya’ got knives on ya?’” Hal grumbled.  

“I've got two in my purse, one strapped to my leg, and Ms. Rosie leant me her sharpest hat pin,” you say, reaching up to fiddle with the accessory in question.  

“Attagirl,” Hal says, squeezing the arm laced through his in approval as you passed through the gates and meandered along the cobblestone driveway.  Hal prattled on as you drew closer to the entrance, seemingly overflowing with paternal advice, but it was hard to focus on his words over the thundering of your heartbeat in your chest.

“- and a kick to the pussy hurts just as much as a kick to the dick.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmured distractedly, reaching into your beaded pearl clutch to pull out the invitation with shaking hands.  

You handed it to the doorman, some sort of egg-like creature with a large chunk of shell missing from the top of its head, providing a clear view of a pulsating yolk where its brain should be.  The egg man called out your name to the uncracked egg beside him, who scribbled on a clipboard wildly before shooting you a dopey smile and thumbs up.

“Don't stay out too late,” Hal said gruffly, patting your hand reassuringly as he released your arm.  “You're opening tomorrow.”

Alone for the first time since the sun came up, you decided to linger in the lobby of the hotel for a bit before following the garishly flashing signs directing visitors to the rear garden.  

With as deep a breath as your girdle would allow, you grasped the back of a wing back chair and gave yourself permission to panic, hoping that briefly indulging your baser instincts would clear your mind enough to stay focused on the task of surviving an entire afternoon on the Radio Demon's arm.  

A few minutes and an uncountable amount of breaths later, you felt the knot in your chest loosen and heartbeat slow to an acceptable rate; still fast, but as good as your were likely to get walking into an event that would likely draw out some of the most powerful demons the Pride Ring had to offer.  

“Whatcha doin’ in here, toots?”

Adrenaline crashes through your veins, undoing all of progress you'd made in centering yourself as you spin to face the man addressing you.  You recognized him, of course.  Not because you'd personally watched any of his many works, but because of the plethora of billboards bearing his face and other, more delicate parts, that loomed tall over every corner of the city.  

“The garden party is, y'know, in the garden,” Angel Dust said, tone acerbic as he rested a full watering can on a jutting hip.  “So what're sneaking around her for?”

“I'm not sneaking,” you rush to defend yourself, fiddling with the cuff of your sleeve nervously.  “I'm just… lurking.”

“Ain't too sure there's much of a difference between the two.”

“Sneaking implies some sort of underlying mischief.  I assure you that I'm simply waiting here.”

“Oh?  And what're you waiting for?” Angel Dust asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he crossed one set of arms across his chest.

“An excuse to leave,” you say dryly, casting a wary glance out the open double doors leading out to the patio.  Something about your response seemed to set Angel Dust at ease, because the next time you looked at him he was smirking down at you, suddenly more amused than distrustful. 

“You and me both, girlie,” he snorted, unfolding his multitude of hands to smooth down nonexistent creases in his floral halter top and leather hot pants.  “I can't stand all this hoity-toity bullshit.  It's exhausting playing nice with folks who wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire.”

“I think I'd rather burn anyway,” you said, wrinkling your nose distastefully at the thought.

“No promises, but I'll keep your preferences in mind,” Angel Dust snorted, beckoning you down the hallway with a wave of his willowy arm.  “Why don't you come outside with me?  I'll show you the best parts of the garden- all the ones I planted, of course.”

The gardens at the Hazbin Hotel could be generously described as eclectic; an absolutely miss-matched and uncoordinated array of plants that honestly had no business being in the same hemisphere as each other, let alone the same garden bed. 

“Charlie had the grand idea of givin’ everyone their own chunka’ land to cultivate,” Angel explained, pointing at various sections of the garden.  “Husky put in the lemon tree so he can have fruit to stock the bar with and all the goddamn mint that won't stay where it fucking belongs!”

A surly looking catman casually flipped off Angel as you passed by, likely the one responsible for unleashing the minty scourge if Angel Dust's playful sneer was anything to go by.  

“Satan below, I love that man,” Angel sighed, grabbing a glass of champagne off a passing waiter's tray before continuing down the rough cobblestone path. “Anyway , all these pretty blossoms belong to moi-”

You nodded in sincere appreciation.  “They're absolutely gorgeous.”

“Course they are!  They take after their daddy,” Angel Dust cooed, blowing kisses at a cluster of puffy white chrysanthemums.  

“I didn't know Earth flowers could even grow down here,” you murmured quietly, struck nearly breathless by the beauty of the blossoms.

“They can't.  Not naturally, anyway,” Angel explained, flicking an aphid off the petal of a perfectly symmetrical dahlia.  “But having Lucifer constantly hangin’ around definitely comes with some perks.”

“I didn't think I'd ever get to see them again,” you whispered, blinking rapidly to banish the tears welling in your eyes, frustrated at how they made your vision blur when you wanted to remember everything with sharp, crystal clarity. 

“It's like seein’ an old friend again, innit?” Angel smiled knowingly, having gone through a similar experience when the scraggly stalks he'd obsessively tended had sent out their first, tentative buds.  “Now, c'mon.  You gotta see the rest of this place.  Shit starts gettin’ fuckin’ bizarre.”

‘Fucking bizarre’ didn't even scratch the surface of describing the rest of the garden tour.  Your next stop was Princess Charlotte’s sad plot of withered and wilted plants. 

“She bought every half-dead plant at the nursery.  Thought she could rehabilitate ‘em,” Angel had explained with a long suffering sigh. “I don't wanna talk about the symbolic implications of that, if ya’ don't mind.”

The next section was a barren stretch of land without a single plant.  Rising from the ground instead were hundreds of insects skewered on sharpened sticks; everything from tiny house flies on toothpicks to large horned beetles impaled on whittled down twigs. 

“Niffty,” Angel Dust had offered up with a helpless shrug, as though the single name provided any sort of reasonable explanation for the eerie tableau.  Deciding that you didn't actually want Angel Dust to expound on the situation, you simply nodded and continued on your way down the row.  

The air quickly soured as you left Niffty's sacrificial plot, the ground on either side of the path softening with every step; eventually shifting into a churning, fetid swamp.  The understated appeal of the shoulder high cattails and thick swaths of pillowy moss were lost on you, distracted as you were, by the thick cloud of gnats that swarmed the area. 

“Whose area is this?” You grumbled peevishly, swatting at the bugs flittering around your face. 

“Why, this area is my handiwork,” Alastor's familiar voice called out from behind you.  Both you and Angel Dust visibly stiffened at his sudden appearance, turning in unison to face the Overlord.  

“Alastor,” Angel Dust greeted flatly.  “What're you doin’ all the way out here?  Don't you have some rich schmuck to schmooze?”

“Always,” Alastor sighed dramatically.  “No rest for the wicked and all that.”

“You must never fuckin’ sleep then,” Angel groused, folding his many arms in front of himself defensively.  

Alastor ignored his barb and instead extended a hand out towards you, wiggling his fingers expectantly.  

“Come along now, dear.  I'm not sure how you managed to slip by me, but you've deprived me of your company long enough.”

“Wait a minute,” Angel bellowed incredulously, eyes impossibly wide as he watched you place your hand tentatively into Alastor's; his spindly fingers clamping around yours like a vice as he guided you closer to his side.  “You're Alastor's guest?”

“She's a fair bit more than that,” Alastor grinned, undeniably smug as he guided your small hand into the crook of his arm; turning his head to give you an unmistakable, pointed look.

The performance has begun.

Tag List:

For the first time ever I have been requested to create a tag list, so let me know if you want to be added!

@wendds @matpatsstuff @qardasngan

[nobody-nexus]

TADC Obsession AU

So yes I finally made this a whole ass AU- which is why I haven't posted art for a hot second. The idea of this honestly kinda fucked up AU is that Ragatha is the protagonist HOWEVER we see the story through the eyes of Pomni (aka it's a Second POV)

Let's meet the gang ^^

Amanda, or Ragatha, is a seamstress who has decided to move back into town in order to start anew with her dress making business. She was actually a little surprised to see a new face within the town

Eliza, or Pomni, is the new butcher for the town. Well 'new' for Amanda. In reality, she's been there for a few years now. And seeing that seamstress.... it was love at first sight for the deranged woman

Jackson, or Jax, is the younger brother of Amanda and a complete loser. He can't seem to keep a job to save his life and lives in a small but cheap ass apartment. Amanda is... slightly disappointed in him

Grace, or Gangle, is a librarian for the town. She's a bit of a germaphobe due to being a sickly kid, but thankfully she keeps gloves and face masks in her library as well as medkits all about

Zoe, or Zooble, is the owner of the tattoo parlor in the town. They were the first to be suspicious of Pomni, and therefore always warns people not to trust her. But, that won't stop everyone from doing so

Cesar, or Kinger, is a sad soul. Only leaving his house for work and to go shopping, he's hardly seen out of his house. Ever since Quinn, his wife, had gone missing- he's not had the best time recovering

Caine is the CEO of one of the most well-known meat production sites in the United States. He stays in the small town, finding it very quant, and it had the benefit of having his favorite customer!

Marina, or Moon, is Caine's wife and a detective for the local police force. Although she's incredible at her job, she seems to have run into a road block with a list of seemingly unrelated murders....

Summer, or Sun, is the older sister of Marina and a schoolteacher for the town. She's a kind soul who is trying to make sure no one worries, but isn't afraid to be blunt with others. In the middle of the madness

Bubble is, to put it simply, Caine and Marina's pet dog. Nothing more, nothing less (like actually I just wanted to draw Bubble as a dog)

Gabriella, or The Gloink Queen, is the manager of a local strip club known as 'The Gloink Cave'. Despite her business, and a very commanding personality, she's seen as a potential suspect for it all

Ivy, or The Influencer, is the local hermit of the town. Hardly leaves her apartment and is a local dark web and black-market salesman! She's a criminal with a fanbase. And Amanda's deranged cousin

I have a lot of this AU, and it's been infecting my brain as of recent, so much so that... well, I made reference sheets for ALL of the characters. Hope you like it! If you have any questions, my inbox is nice and open! So, ask away

[em1e]

༝  you know, i really like you, but are you like . . y’know?

家入 // DYLTGIR ⠀ ༝ ༝ ieiri shoko ⠀ ༝ ༝ 1.8k words ⠀ ⚠︎ modern!au where everything is fine, no pronouns but implied fem!reader bc of the song, in their early 20’s? suggestive kinda maybe idk man i just work here, alcohol consumption ⠀ — shoko loves retelling how the two of you got together.

contrary to popular belief, shoko ieiri was a lightweight. 

as much as she likes to drink and smoke and brag about how she could outdrink any of the boys in front of you, she takes five shots back to back and you know you’ll be dragging her to bed with more effort than you’d like. 

but, she’s having fun, and so are her friends, so who are you to really be upset when she has a pretty flush to her cheeks and she’s giggling like a schoolgirl? 

“can ya tell the story of how you two met again?” gojo slurs out, leaning most of his weight on nanami, who just pushes him off with a scowl. gojo bounces from one shoulder to the next, into geto who welcomes him with a small smile. 

it’s childlike, the way he asks, like he’s begging for a bedtime story from his parents rather than the embarrassing retelling of what brought you and shoko together. 

your own cheeks are warm despite not touching a drop of alcohol, waving in front of you dismissively, “you already know the story, gojo, i dunno why you ask for it everytime you’re drunk.” 

“but geto doesn’t!” he shakes his friend by the shoulder as if to emphasize this, and you fear geto might puke from the sudden movement, “he wasn’t ‘round when you two met, ‘member?” 

you do, vividly remember how shoko would complain to you about gojo complaining to her about geto going on a ‘sudden spiritual journey and leaving them behind’, but you think maybe now isn't the time to bring it up. 

and shoko’s interest has been piqued enough to your current conversation that she draws away from nanami with a giggle, arm wrapping around your own as she leans forward. 

“you wanna know how we met?” 

“‘f’course,” geto slurs out, now leaning against gojo. if anyone knocks into the two, they’d both go down in a heaping pile of lanky limbs. 

“i don’t think-” you start, only to be shushed by gojo. 

“she’s gon’a tell my favorite part!” 

you roll your eyes, sending a pleading glance to nanami as if he’d ever have any amount of control over them, but he just shrugs and slides over the whiskey he’d been drinking. before you’re even able to touch the cup, shoko’s grabbing it and swinging it back into her mouth with a click of her tongue and a boop to your nose. 

“nuh uh, you’re drivin’, ‘member?” 

in your defense, you weren’t going to take a sip of the drink, but it still makes you pout how quickly she took it away. at least she’s distracted from the story –

“gojo ‘nd i were out drinking,” she starts, and you visibly deflate at the start of her recount. 

༝ ༝ 

shoko was honestly surprised she managed to convince gojo to come out after such a disastrous midterm she is sure they both butchered. she knows he’s been down since geto dipped and the untimely failure was surely not going to bring his spirits up, but what broke college student doesn’t love to get drunk on a weekend? especially when your best friend offers to pay? 

she thinks her offer is what really got him to come out, and he seems at least a little happy to be out of the house; not burrowed under five different blankets with a tub of melted ice cream at his side, flipping through the same four streaming services before ultimately doom scrolling on his phone. 

it’s a nice change, she thinks. 

and when he leaves for a second to get the pair of them another round of shots, she spots you. 

pretty, with your hair styled nicely out of your face with a hot form-fitting outfit that hugs you nicely. she’s surprised she isn’t drooling. you catch her eye, offer a meek smile and turn away just as gojo comes back with the shots. shoko’s eyes haven’t left you, though. 

gojo slides her the glass and she catches it without looking away, bringing the rim to her lips and tipping her head back until the liquid’s past her tongue, warmth spreading further through her body after it being her second (or third? how many had gojo passed her?) shot. 

“you like ‘em?” gojo asks after shooting back his own, wiping at his mouth and following his friend's  gaze. 

“‘s cute.” she comments, but gojo can see the heart-eyes forming in her iris. he grins. 

“i can go talk ‘em up for ya, if you want-” 

that pulls her attention from you quick, eyes snapping to meet his, “absolutely not.” 

“why not?” he straightens his shoulders as if he’s really considering going, “they are pretty cute. might have to talk to ‘em myself-” 

gojo moves to step away from the table they’d laid claim to but before he can fully maneuver his way around, he’s being pulled back by shoko, who narrows her eyes and fixes her own little black dress with a pointed finger, “you are not ruining this for me.” 

and she makes her way to where you were previously hovering, eyes scanning over every warm body until she finally spots you sitting alone, finger running around the rim of your glass as if you were bored out of your mind. 

shoko could fix that. surely, definitely could fix that. 

she slides into the seat across from you, smile already on her cheeks when your eyes shift from the glass to her. 

“hi,” she starts, glad the warmth from the alcohol is buzzing under her skin enough to give her the boost she needs to be friendlier than usual. a look to the side and she catches gojo’s  lingering stare, a smirk on his face as he cheers her on with a nod of his head, and it’s enough to spur her on further, “you here all alone?” 

you smile besides yourself, hiding it when you look down at your lap. your fingers still tap tap tap at the rim of your glass, “i’m not,” you offer, “my friends are on the dancefloor and ‘m not much of a dancer.” 

noted, shoko’s smile only seems to widen, “really? ‘m sure you dance just fine.” 

you wave a hand absentmindedly in front of you with a scrunch of your nose, “nope, not me. i’m just here for the booze.” 

“then let me buy you one?” shoko offers, eyes flitting to the cup you’d been nursing, “you don’t seem like a bourbon type to me. i’m thinking you’d like . . a strawberry daiquiri? or maybe a mojito? i can make a mean sex on the beach, too, if . . that’d be something you’re into?” 

the implication isn’t lost on you; leaves you pausing for a second as if in thought, opening your mouth to say something then thinking better of it before bringing the glass to your lips and tipping your head back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. 

shoko’s impressed at how you don’t cringe at the taste, head tilting as she waits for your reply to her offer. 

“you don’t recognize me, do you?” 

shoko can’t help the way her brows furrow at the question, head turning further as she scans over your face. sure, maybe you look familiar? you could be in her econ class, or even her physics class, both are at eight in the morning and she’s hardly alive at that point of the day – the bar’s so dimly lit, too, who is she to really say? 

“i can’t say i do,” she says finally, sitting up straighter, “should i?” 

you smile again, bashful and pretty as you lean forward but look away from her, gesturing for her to lean forward as well. shoko does so without hesitation, eyes on your lips when you bring your hand towards your face like you’re getting ready to spill a juicy secret. 

“we’ve met before,” you almost whisper the words, and shoko’s glad she knows how to read lips or she fears she wouldn't catch the way they leave your tongue, “we went on a date like last year.” 

you lean back, almost impressed with yourself at how she remains hovering forward, searching your face for any sign of it being a lie. 

then, she’s on damage control, “i would've remembered a date with someone as pretty as you.” 

another smile is on your lips, “i changed my style up a bit. s’okay if you don’t recognize me, especially in this lighting.” you half gesture up to the flickering neon lights hanging around the establishment. 

“well . . what if we tried it again? ‘m sure i could make it up to you with that strawberry daiquiri?” 

her offer is quite tempting, but still, you can’t help but tease, “we slept together, y’know? one night stand and you left before i even woke up.” 

you almost pout as you recount the night, and shoko’s brows cannot raise any higher on her face from surprise when you add, “especially when it was so good.” 

the sex? or the date? she wants to ask, but this hardly seems like the time when you’re looking at her the way you are. 

“well how ‘bout another chance? ‘m not above begging.” shoko thinks gojo has been rubbing off on her, because surely these words are not leaving her lips. you’re just so fucking pretty, how could she skip out on another potential chance? 

she holds her breath when you smile, head tilting as you think and think and think. 

“sure,” you say finally, with a shrug, “as long as i get that strawberry daiquiri?” 

shoko can’t stop the grin from forming on her face, looking over her shoulder to send a wink to gojo, who’s already into his own flirty conversation with some blonde. 

“let’s get outta here.”

༝ ༝ 

shoko’s full weight is pressed happily into your side when she finishes retelling the story, with gojo and geto in a fit of giggles across from the two of you, while nanami left in the middle of the story to get another round of drinks for the table. 

nanami makes it back just as the story concludes, and shoko’s quick to grab her next shot from the table as he sets the glasses down, swinging it back before she’s pressing into your side again with her head on your shoulder. 

“don’t act like you’re not happy you gave me ‘nother chance.” 

she leans up and messily presses a kiss to your cheek, and you can smell the alcohol she’d just drank on her tongue. tequila. nanami must hate you, because tequila means you’ll be sitting in the bath for an extra thirty minutes promising her you love her while she giggles (or pukes into the trash can you’ll need to pull beside the tub). 

“never said i’m not happy.” you assure her with a smile,  turning your head to press your lips to her own. 

she grins at the contact, cupping your cheek clumsily, and you think there’s no one you’d rather be with.