unholy

Dunk's not sure what's wrong with him, but has stopped trying to understand it. The bloodlust lingers like a shadow in the back of his mind, always, and even in his quest to defend the innocent, good intentions never manage to snuff out the part of him so inclined towards the fight. As a man he resists it well enough; the requirements of knightly combat are passable, and Dunk doesn't have to use hands and teeth the way he did as a boy. But when the moon is full like this, and when his flesh gives way to fur and his nails to claws, his hunger rises to unbelievable heights, and not even the values his Ser taught him are enough to save him from it.

The wolf, Dunk has learned, likes to play with his food. The wolf stalks, and lunges, and holds his own speed back to only scrape flesh without killing. He can only play with animals for so long, considering their instinct-driven life, but that only means it's time to find new prey. The cycle works well enough, and after a night of bloodshed Dunk often wakes feeling refreshed, his instincts satiated.

Today, however, the wolf found his first human. And today, she runs and hides and holds her breath, and it thrills him that his prey is clever about it.

A twig snaps beneath a heavy paw. Deliberately, the wolf walks in the brush, rustling leaves as he does. He can scent her in the wind, having memorised the tang of her blood on his claw, and eyes of brilliant blue drift towards a tree only about fifty feet away. Maw opening, he lets out a slow breath.

The wolf steps away from the bushes then, footsteps hardly heard with the pads of his paws over the grass. He moves into the shadows, stalks forward, and stops when he sees the girl turn in an attempt to find him.

Let her wait, he thinks, tongue brushing over sharp teeth. Let her heart slow...

It's only when her breathing calms that he snarls-- purposeful in its volume-- and lunges forward to swipe down her hip towards an exposed thigh. The girl's already torn dress tears further to expose her underclothes, and her skin splits prettily under two sharp claws, soft and warm like butter. The wolf snaps his jaw, catching hair between his teeth, but all she has to do is try to pull herself free and he'll let her run once more.

there is no question as to what she has to do here, even if it will hurt like hell.

in a flash, nancy yanks her head the opposite direction. she's prepared for a struggle against the beast's jaws, a ripping and tearing tug of war. shockingly enough though, it never comes : there is only the slightest pull before she's freed from his clutches. it is disconcerting, yet nancy does not give herself time to dwell on it. instead, she takes off into the trees once more as fast as she can.

it isn't as simple this time, though.

this time, her legs already ache from running and the fire of the injury has her gritting her teeth. this time, her dress gets in her way, torn as it is, and she has to fumble with the fabric as she goes. ripping it the rest of the way, she only slows down long enough to toss it onto the ground behind her, the cool night air like a balm as it hits her exposed skin.

the girl runs, though she does not get much further. she is exhausted and bleeding, and it feels like the ground reaches up to grab her and yank her down as her ankle turns over. with a cry, she tumbles to the dirt, knees scraping the ground. still, as soon as she's gathered enough of her bearings, nancy reaches for a rock and throws it blindly into the darkness surrounding her.

an attempt at a deterrence, however feeble it may be.

she can hear him behind her, following her path. her blood. her scent.

he keeps his distance, but nancy knows he looms, watching and waiting, biding his time. the thought strikes fear into her heart, and in a twisted sort of betrayal, it makes heat pool in her core.

the hunt — it will all culminate in him devouring her, one way or another.

nancy knows that there is no point to this. all he had been doing is trying to wear her out, to tire her before he goes in for the kill.

nancy should be horrified.

she is horrified.

of Dom/Sub/Switch flavors || all acts are consensual. || REVERSE! highly encouraged.

DIALOGUE - dom.

"That's it, baby. You are almost there. Just a little more." "Fuck, you are so beautiful like this." "Shh, ah-ah, not a sound, baby." "God, you're fucking soaked down there." "Take it all, it's all yours." "Holy shit, your mouth is dangerous." "God, you're so fucking tight." "I want to be down here forever." "Swallow, baby, all of it." "That's my good girl." "That's my good boy." "Woah, slow down darling, I am not going anywhere." "Eyes on me. Don't you look away now." "Ask me, baby. Ask me for more. You know how to." "Louder, I can't hear you." "Show me how much you want it."

DIALOGUE- sub.

"I can't. I can't anymore. Please." "I am close. So fucking close." "Don't stop, please." "Fuck, you are vicious. I want more." "Give it to me." "If you stop right now, I am going to fucking kill you!" "God, you are in so deep." "Is that all you've got?" "Punish me." "You feel so good. I am going to lose my mind." "Stay down there, I am not done with you." "Do I taste good? Show me how much you like it." "Let me sit on your face when I cum." "Keep going. Keep fucking going."

ACTION - sender focused. (attach REVERSE! to switch roles)

sender trails kisses on receiver's stomach and leaves a trail of hickeys. sender drags their tongue over receiver's inner thigh before biting it. sender grinds on receiver from behind while both are dressed. sender grinds on receiver from behind while both are undressed. sender nibbles on receiver's earlobe while fingering the receiver. sender grunts/moans against receiver's neck while finishing inside the receiver. sender masturbates to reach an orgasm while the receiver is watching. sender chokes the receiver while fucking the receiver roughly. sender grips receiver's head while riding receiver's face. sender performs oral on receiver under the table. sender puts a pillow under receiver's hips. sender puts a blind fold on receiver. sender spends a long time kissing receiver's body. sender rides the receiver with hands handcuffed behind receiver's head.

ACTION - receiver focused. (attach REVERSE! to switch roles)

♥ breeding & being bred ♥ { NSFW 18+ KINK RP STARTERS } kinks ; breeding,  creampies,  daddy kink,  mommy kink, lactation, pregnancy. send ‘+ reverse’ for the reverse.    more can be added on request.

Instead, his family is dead and gone, and Ben's killed more people than he can count in more ways than he can count. Slaughter has come so easy to him it's almost his primary nature; Nancy speaks of creation and Ben isn't sure he has that ability any more. How is he supposed to touch her gently when the only thing keeping him alive was his ability to rip things apart?

He wants to say something, but that damn muzzle keeps him silent save for a muffled grunt of concern. Ben lumbers forward, and to his embarrassment barely keeps himself from falling to his knees in the opening Nancy makes for him with her thighs. Somehow, he manages to crouch, and the hairs on the back of his neck rise as soon as his palm touches Nancy's ankle. His thumb strokes the bone and his eyes shut against the feeling of it-- her skin is fucking burning, and he's torn between terror and fury at what these fuckers have done to Nancy's innocent body.

I'm sorry, he thinks, hazel eyes catching Nancy's bleary gaze. Ben can only pray that she can see he means it.

Water collects beneath his fingertips before he can think about it, leaving cool, wet trails as he slides his touch along her leg. He watches, eyes going half-lidded, as Nancy spreads her legs for him with barely a command. It's like she's been practising for this. Like she was made for it.

"That's a good boy," comes the voice from the overhead speakers. "You aren't as stupid as we thought, huh?"

Growl muffled behind his muzzle, Ben uses his free hand to flip the cameras off. The act doesn't earn a reaction, but he didn't expect it to.

Ben shakes his head. The heavy feeling in it is new. The water conjured by his touch grows on its own in turn: thin, wet tendrils curve around Nancy's thigh in a single helix.

And he groans, distraught, as his fist tightens around her calf.

He's killed people with this before-- drowned them from the inside, filling every orifice they had with liquid until it was all their lungs could carry. He's made it so water spilled out of their mouths even as it entered from elsewhere. But what control Ben might have had is as slippery as the clear, viscous fluid that's begun to creep up Nancy's torso.

He reaches up in an attempt to stop it, but freezes with his hands pressing on either side of Nancy's waist. Eyes wide in alarm, he watches all those tiny tendrils sneak beneath Nancy's bra, soaking it with liquid. The cloth shifts with their movement: they trace the swells of her breasts, offering several points of cool, wet pressure as they memorise the shape of her. Eventually her nipples grow hard beneath their touch, each little tendril tracing around the peaks of them before they start flicking and pressing against pebbled skin.

Hips twitching, Ben's mouth fills with saliva at the same time his cock swells with blood.

the sight of him between them feels right, somehow. almost as if he belongs there and she belongs here, and this is how it was meant to be.

everything is right now that they’re together.

it's been so long since she had last seen him in-person. so much time spent wondering and worrying ; so much time spent seeing him running for his life during the competition, and then so much time spent watching him from a distance when the network had snatched her up. the last time she had seen him in-person was before this all started, and now ... now, he's looking up at her from where he's crouched between her thighs, face partially covered by that goddamned muzzle ( she wants it off of him, wants to hear his voice again ), and those hazel eyes of his, full of both remorse and want.

it's a feeling she can relate to.

the water dances along her skin, beginning to climb higher and higher and beyond ben's hands, and in some part of nance's brain, she's aware of the fact that this is one of those modifications that they're so fond of inflicting upon him — she's seen it, seen the way that he uses this on the other test subjects, yet there is no fear in her as it makes its way up her body and out of his reach, leaving chills on her skin in its wake. there is nothing there but that need that has invaded her every sense.

she knows that ben will not hurt her. not just because the network wouldn't allow it, with the goals they're trying to achieve, but because it's ben. it's her friend ; he's one of the good ones, regardless of the things he's had to do.

the sensation of those tendrils on her chest makes her gasp. nancy's back arches ever-so-slightly, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip. there are too many points of sensation : ben's hands on her waist, the cool relief against her feverish skin. the unfamiliar touch of those tendrils as they dance along her sensitive nipples, making make her squirm and writhe. the throbbing warmth in-between her legs that only seems to get more demanding with every moment that she's in here with him, clenching around emptiness.

it's overstimulating, but nancy does not want ben to stop.

hell, at this point, she doubts he could even if he tried — they're both in too deep.

the sensation of those tendrils against her breasts, toying with the peaks of them and drawing those pretty little gasps from her lips, feels almost eerily similar to his mouth on her. judging by the look in ben's eyes and the way that his hands cling to her hips with a near-death grip, she knows that he's getting something out of this, at least.

“ ben ... ” she breathes, eyes slipping shut. “ ben, please ... ” she doesn't know what she's begging for ( oh, but doesn't she? ), but he's the first bit of real relief she's found.

some part of nancy thinks she could come just from this alone, if it were to keep going on long enough.

and that's what the network wanted all along, wasn't it? nancy, desperate and aching for him, every single touch enough to both soothe and stoke that fire burning within her, and ben, almost unable to resist.

then, if it's at all possible, her legs spread wider, as if to invite ben in.

she wants him closer.

Ben feels the familiar pump of drugs into the port on his spine as soon as they open the door to his gilded cage.

He's finally ready for the first test, Killian, he remembers some whitecoat saying a few hours prior. Stupid fucker. Ben doesn't have the liberty of understanding what "testing" means, but it can't be good, not when he's spent the last six months throwing up, doing physical tests, having shit injected in him, and counting the days until he could murder every last bastard around him.

He's been feeling stronger, but the restraints used on him have evolved with it, too. Ben figures these people're just underestimating how much being pissed off elevates him.

He suspects the drugs his captors just shoved into his system ought to give him some kind of augment; when they aren't the stuff that's meant to knock him out, they unlock some latent abilities instead. The opened door, meanwhile, usually heralds the appearance of another test subject-- Ben's ripped through enough of them to know the deal.

Steadying his breathing even beneath his muzzle, Ben watches the nervous lab assistant-- a fellow named Tim-- wheel a cage in. The man runs as soon as he's able, the door locks (and Ben hears all the other safety measures being put into place), and remotely the cage presented to him clicks, its door swinging forward in invitation.

Like clockwork, the implement in his spine pulls out of its port. Ben's nerves are suddenly his own again, and he lands on his feet when his restraints have him coming off the wall. His hazel eyes are sharp with a mix of anger and bloodlust as he stalks forward, muscles shifting beneath the loose fabric of his clothing, and when finally he approaches the mouth of the cage...

He hesitates.

The muzzle on him keeps him from saying anything, but Ben's frozen all the same. Before him, chained to the inside of the cage, lies a face he hasn't seen since that god damn competition.

Oh, no.

The horror Ben feels realising they captured Nancy Wheeler takes a backseat almost as soon as it forms in his head. Not only have they captured Nancy, but they've done something to her too-- he smells it through his muzzle, sees it in the flush that covers her skin, and has to tear his eyes away because he's sure the wet spot in her pants between her legs isn't supposed to be there.

What have they done to her?

The glare he fixes the camera in the top corner of the room is hard.

"No," says the Network's top producer over the speakers, "we don't want you killing her, Ben. Come on. Look how pretty she is.

"But there's something else about her you should be noticing. Hell, I'm sure you've already realised it. What do you think that is?"

Ben swallows thickly. He can hear Nancy panting, can hear the chain clinking as her position shifts, and most of all can hear the rapid beating of his own heart as the blood beneath his skin heats with interest.

hell, nancy doesn’t recall how long she’s been inside their lab’s walls. a handful of months, she knows, but who can tell anymore with the way they keep her compliant?

in between the poking and prodding they'd done to her — it was always after that, always when it was wet and aching between her thighs, always when she felt so fucking empty that she thought she might scream — they had shown him to her on the screens, showed her the modifications they had run on him. made her watch as they loaded him full of drugs, enhancing him in ways that shouldn't even exist. originally, nancy had thought it was just because they wanted to torment her ; thought it was because they wanted to show her just how little good their attempts at rebellion had managed to achieve.

and while she is sure that still played a part in it, the words that had been whispered in her ear as she had watched ben tear apart some other person that had fallen into the network's grasp, have not been forgotten : “ the two of you were wanting to work together to make something new, were you not, miss wheeler? ”

in that moment, all the experiments they had run on ben, all the testing and prepping that had been done to her ... everything had clicked for nancy.

and now, here she is, watching through hooded eyes as ben stalks towards her. this time is different than all the times they've made her like this before — the gnawing ache is worse, the heat underneath her skin almost enough to burn her alive, and with the way they had positioned her, chasing that sweet reprieve of friction on her own is near impossible. it's enough to drive someone mad.

she likes to think that if she didn't trust ben so implicitly ( the recognition in his eyes had been undeniable ) that she wouldn't be practically presenting herself to him like a bitch in heat — it's easier to tell herself that, anyway. easier to tell herself that it's only because it's ben, her friend, and not because she thinks that she might die if something doesn't touch her soon.

“ shut up, ” she hisses, the words obviously aimed at the voice crackling through the speakers. “ just shut the fuck up. ” even despite the things they've done to her, that stubbornness of hers refuses to die out just yet.

acutely aware of the wet, sticky mess between her thighs and the chain keeping her bound, nance shifts slightly, just enough that those big blue eyes of hers can lock onto ben's face. his name falls from her lips in a breathy sigh. the sight of him should fill her with guilt, perhaps even with apprehension, knowing what she knows — but instead she feels relief. he'll take care of her. she knows he will.

“ they ... they're wanting us to ... ” she starts, groaning softly as a cramp, vicious and demanding, stabs through her abdomen. her hand instinctively comes to rest against it as if it will somehow make the pain go away. nancy's chest rises and falls with every sharp breath, accentuating the baby pink lace they've seen fit to adorn it with.

[ she is empty and she is on fire, desperate to be filled with something, anything. ]

“ ... they want us to make something, ben. ”

and that's the point of all this, isn't it? ben, the creator, and her, the vessel.