#a monster not as something to fear but as something to pity or to reach out to

[braingone]

Sure, let's go ahead and slap the myth of Tam Lin onto Ambrose too, while we're at it

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - request angst 3/3 (4?)

"Where is she?"

"She took Orion home so they could both get some rest. They'll be back in the morning." He stares at the wall, picks a small spot, lines it up like he's looking through a scope. He doesn't look at Price, can't acknowledge whatever he'll find there. Pity, concern, worry. "It was an accident, Simon. She knows that, we all do."

"I want to be alone."

"Simon-"

"Captain. We're in a civilian hospital, and I want to be alone." It's meant as a reminder. They're not at work. They're not in the field. There's no rank in this room right now, only friends, and he doesn't want to be around friends right now. He doesn't want to be around anyone except for you, and his son, but you're not here because of something he did. He did this. This is his fault. Again.

Nothing makes sense. He can't even remember it, he's not sure he wants to. The look on your face when he woke up and you were plastered to the wall across the room told him everything. He hurt you. He frightened you. His wife. His everything. Terrorized by a monster, a circle unbroken.

The snake truly does eat itself.

The idea of hurting you boils the acid in his stomach, bringing it up his throat and into his mouth, before it rushes out violently onto the blankets covering his lap.

He doesn't call for a nurse to clean it up. He just sits there, head tipped back against the bed, medicine pulling him under again.

"There's your dad, huh? Is that your dad?" Kyle bounces Orion before placing him in Simon's outstretched arms.

"Hey, little man," he looks him over, cataloguing all the changes, the growth, the way his eyes track Simon's movements, his smile. "You're so big now." His voice cracks. Kyle gives him a nod, and then steps out.

Orion babbles, grunts and coos stringing together as he pushes himself up and down on Simon's chest. It hurts, but he swallows it down in favor of holding his son. "Where's your mama? Is she here?" Why didn't you come? Why didn't you bring him? Even though he knows the answers, the questions still linger.

He wants his family. His whole family. The only thing he's clung to for months and months, his moon and star. The only light in the dark.

His heart aches.

The next time his door opens, it's dark. The nurse slips out, light turned down in his room, and he's startled from his sleep, catching the outline of someone curled up in the recliner to the left of the bed, closer to the window.

It's you. You're asleep, legs kicked over the side, blanket twisted in your lap. You're knocked into the side of the chair, cheek flush with the fabric. You're bone weary, lips parted, hair free.

You're here. You came.

Selfishly, he wants to wake you. Wants to crawl out of this bed to sit at your feet, on his knees, his head in your lap, begging for forgiveness.

He stares at you. Soaking in every quiet second, every expression painted onto your sleeping face, every twitch, every quiver. Hours pass, and his eyes almost close-

when yours open.

He whispers your name.

"Hey." You tuck your knees close. Defensive posture. The thought strikes a burst of pain through him.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes hoarsely, and you nod.

“I know. It’s not… you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I still did it.”

“Simon…” your sigh is heavy, sad, and he gulps for air, fear freezing through him.

“Will you… can you sit over here?” He nods to chair directly at his bedside, the smaller one, and you swallow. “Please. I can’t see you that well. I want to see you.” He’s so fucking weak for you, it’s almost unbelievable, holding his breath until you’re settled beside him, close enough he can see the tears in your eyes. “I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks. “You don’t know how sorry I am, I’d never, never hurt you. I’d die for you, mama. Without a second thought.”

“I know.” Your voice trembles, and tears roll down your cheeks. He wants to reach for you, pull you into his arms, but he doesn’t know if you’d want him to. If you’ll ever want him to again.

“I love you.” You nod, thumb rolling over the sapphire on your finger.

You don’t say it back, eyes dropping to the floor. “Your doctor says you can come home at the end of the week.” Come home.

“Do you want…” your head snaps up, alarmed.

“Of course I want you to come home. I… I just…” you rub your chest. He wants to melt into this mattress and disappear inside it.

“Are you hurt? Sore?” You shake your head.

“No I just… can’t stop seeing it.” Your head droops, hiding your face, and he holds his breath as your shoulders start to shake. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known better… I k-know well enough when you’re having a nightmare, I messed up, I-.”

“No, honey. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were there for me, an’ I hurt you. I messed up, not you. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice is tear stained, soaked.

It’s a risk, but he reaches for you. A hand hovering in the air, waiting. Hoping.

You wipe your cheeks, and then fold his fingers into his.

He gives you a squeeze. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

“Okay.”

[ninibeingdelulu]

Unwanted emotions ✧

Plot: You’re Sukuna’s new concubine.

A/N: heian era / true form sukuna

In Sukuna's lavish palace chambers, the air was thick with exotic incense and the musky scent of sex.

He lounged on plush silk cushions, his muscular arms draped lazily over the scantily-dressed women squirming against his powerful frame.

One concubine trailed kishy kisses along his chiseled abs, her tongue teasing the strange tendril mouths above his navel.

But Sukuna's gaze drifted in bored disinterest. These women, for all their excessive praise and fake desire, failed to truly ignite that deep, burning hunger he ached for down in his very soul.

Their affections were empty and rehearsed - too afraid to look past the monster and see the conflicted man craving something more than just physical pleasure.

Perhaps that's why his strange red eyes kept wandering over to you, the newest and plainest concubine tucked in the corner.

An unadorned beauty with an innocent charm that somehow snagged his restless focus like nothing else.

The other women put on exaggerated shows of flattery and lust while you seemed sweetly oblivious, simply existing in your natural, unashamed state.

A pure, unpolished gem shining amongst these hollow pretty things.

There was a graceful vulnerability about your naive wonder at everything around you that wormed its way under Sukuna's skin.

Yet the idea that something as delicate and wholesome as your radiant presence could somehow reach the twisted, blackened depths of his cursed spirit felt like blasphemy too vile to entertain.

He was an incarnation of violence and destruction. A bringer of bloody havoc spawned from humanity's darkest fears and malice to reign over their inevitable extinction.

He was meant to corrupt and decimate mere flickering human sparks underfoot...Not wilt under the glow of something so untainted and sacred.

And still, your serene, unguarded gaze would rise innocently to meet his searing crimson stare.

Brimming with curiosity and something that almost looked like shy tenderness stirring in your big, soulful eyes despite the monster boring into you with hungry intensity.

That was when Sukuna felt his carefully constructed walls shake with a tempestuous tide of self-loathing and shameful longing. A maelstrom of ruinous desire echoing tauntingly on repeat:

How does something so frail and hopelessly fragile dare to have a living curse like me think impure thoughts about defiling her light? I who am the embodiment of every vile evil spawned to subjugate what pathetic existence dares to carry on...

Yet this pitiful human woman insists on smiling those soft, clueless little smiles at a monster - far too unholy to feel anything more than wicked temptation to defile her right here in this den of sin...

A rasping snarl ripped from the darkest, most twisted depths of Sukuna's ruined soul.

One clawed, monstrous hand flexed with the urge to reach out and crush the sickening lure of your radiance tempting that last shard of buried humanity entombed in nightmarish lightlessness--

Until that solitary, smoldering ember of depravity flared blinding and all-consuming in the wake of his ravenous yearning.

[teratosfavouritesnack]

minotaur x afab!reader - slightly dub-con, finger fucking, romance, fluff

The minotaur had spent centuries in captivity in that damned labyrinth, all alone with the endless rage he was cursed with, only bothered by stupid glory-seeking warriors or by the eventual human sacrifice thrown in to quench his hunger. He had been lost to his madness, and anger, and misery for so long he didn't think he could be able to feel anything else anymore...

Until you came along. 

He came running towards you, the umpteenth intruder, ready to rip you into pieces with his own hands, only to have you kneeling down on the ground the moment you saw him and announcing out loud that you had no ill intentions.

That was enough to halt him in his tracks and stare down at you with utter bafflement. No one had ever behaved in such a way at his sight; anyone would either raise their sword and attack or run away screaming in fear. But you didn't do either of those things. No. You bowed your head as if to show respect and spoke with a soft and kind voice.

He saw you cower a little when he asked you the reason for your intrusion in his domain, his booming voice echoing through the walls and causing you to tremble yet you answered him nonetheless with that same sweet voice that was starting to make his stomach churn, out of anger or something else, he couldn’t know. 

You explained that you'd always read and hear stories about him, about the legendary minotaur, stories that only talked about how merciless and terrible he was but never once mentioned how lonely he might have felt. You confessed that those stories always made you cry; cry out of pity for him. That's why you had come to the labyrinth, at risk of your own life. That's why you had come to see him... 

To offer him companionship.

Your words had broken the cage shielding his heart. Who could ever feel pity for him? A monster who only knew how to kill and ravage and devour and destroy. He thought he would never know kindness, or empathy, or comfort...

Yet there you were, offering him those exact things without even asking for anything in return.

The way you stared up at him with those big doe eyes, your expression carrying so much sympathy, it made him feel different. He had never felt so weak, as though he could fall prey to your gentle heart. And yet, as he stared down at your outstretched hand, he found himself craving for your touch and reaching out for you to claim it. The way his massive palm completely enveloped your soft and delicate hand caused an odd flutter in his stomach and a rare smile to take form on his face.

He should have probably killed you with one swing of his ax the moment you had stepped into his territory, instead now he was holding your hand and accepting your company with such genuine vulnerability so unknown to him.

He couldn’t understand what was happening, why he was behaving so unlike himself and yet the more he stared at your intertwined hands, at how small and fragile yours looked, at how your fingers perfectly fit in the spaces of his palm, he found his touch grow softer and a thought bloom in his mind: he didn’t wish to hurt you.

He noticed the way you looked at him; your eyes traveling along his form, drinking in every inch of him as if he looked like something out of this world, like a statue perfectly carved out of the most refined marble, just like those he used to marvel at when he was younger. He seemed to find… pleasure in the fact that someone like you could gaze upon him with such admiration and fascination. He felt a spark, feelings he thought he had lost long ago.

He too couldn’t stop himself from admiring you; your small but plump figure, the beauty of your hair that framed your soft face, your fingers gently gliding up his hand. Your presence was weakening him and it was in equal part infuriating and liberating. You were so delicate, so fragile…  He could easily lift you up with one hand, if he so wished. He could do anything to you in his clutches. He could just grab you, cage you in his arms and you wouldn’t be able to fight back. The temptation to do exactly that was overwhelming. That monstrous side of him, the heartless him, the one that knew nothing but death and rage would let his lust get the best of him. He would grab you and take you, to claim you as his own… But the human part of him, the one he had almost forgotten to have, was trying to resist. 

You didn’t make it any easier for him by asking him if there was anything that he had been missing in his solitude, anything in particular that you could offer him. 

He couldn’t ask for more than your presence, which was already much more than he could have ever dreamt for! But you insisted. Your other hand moved to rest upon his and the moment your fingers weaved in the fur of his arm, he shivered. Something about that simple gesture had an intense effect on him. He felt his control slipping. It was taking every ounce of will-power and strength to resist the urge to grab you.

And if your touch wasn’t already enough to make his will falter, those musical giggles that escaped your lips sent ripples of pleasure down his spine and gave cause to that tiny voice inside his head; a voice that was whispering to him all the things he could ask for, taking advantage of your kindness and naivety. The urge to take you was like the urge to breathe, just like his urge to kill. He found himself leaning forward just a bit, almost as if he was testing you, tempting you. 

You didn’t back away.

"I want to feel your warmth." He finally said in a low voice and he took pleasure in the way your eyes widened. The sound of your sweet, innocent voice asking him if he was cold made him smile, and he had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. It had been ages since he had felt like that. It was a different kind of exhilaration that pervaded his body; one not caused by bloodlust, one he hadn’t felt in centuries.

He had always been a furnace of warmth, never had to care about warming up, not even in the coldest seasons, but he couldn’t stop himself from lying to you. It was only half a lie, after all; he had always felt so miserably cold inside…

"...Yes, I’m cold. Come here."

The moment your soft, delicate figure moved closer to his, he let out a quiet satisfied groan as if he was just given a gift. His massive arms reached out and cradled your body, pulling you in close to him until you were nestled tightly in his hold. Your curves molding against his hard muscles were driving him mad. The thought of you there, in his arms, pressed flush against his body was enough to make him lose all reason, all restraints. He had been missing this, exactly this. And you were willing to offer it to him, weren’t you? 

His big hand reached up and brushed your hair back out of your face, gently tucking a strand behind your ear and exposing your neck in which he instantly buried his snout; your sweet scent flooded his senses and caused his muscles to ripple.

His lips brushed against the delicate skin. He kissed it and then licked it with his large tongue. One of his giant, furry hands cupped your rear, holding you firmly against his strong chest, while the other took a different path, one that led it to slowly inch up along your thigh, making its way under your dress. When you clamped your thighs shut in response, he let out a low growl, the noise rumbling from his belly and vibrating against your body.

He kissed your neck again before looking down into your eyes just as his hand started to move again, trying to slip between your legs while his palm on your rear kneaded your soft flesh, coaxing you to relent your clench. You did almost immediately and just enough to give him room to roam between your thighs. His hand quickly slipped in your underwear and he moaned in satisfaction as he felt your whole body tremble at the probing contact. Hearing your soft moans of pleasure made something flip inside him. He ripped your underwear, letting his palm cup your sweet, wet cunt. His touch quickly became rougher, hungrier, eager; he glided his fingers against your soaking folds, eliciting whimpers and tremors, then pushed two inside your tight little hole, grunting in delight at the way your walls clenched around his fingers and your arms clung onto his neck. 

He kept licking your neck, his large flat and warm tongue lapping at your pulse point while your limbs quivered and your pussy fluttered and you babbled mindlessly. If he had this effect on you with only two of his fingers thrusting inside you, he couldn’t imagine how delirious your cries would be when he impaled you with his monstrous cock. His erection throbbed painfully just at the thought of it.

When he hit something within you that made you gasp and clutch desperately at his neck, he made sure to hit it again and again until he felt you spasm violently against him, your fingers tangling in his fur, your eyes rolling back, your body growing limp in his embrace. His own stomach churned at the sight, a wave of ecstasy spreading throughout his entire being had him gritting his teeth and groaning in both pleasure and torment. His hard length sprung from the fur on his hips, leaking and throbbing, tapping lightly at the back of your calf.

The minotaur drank in the sight of you. Your glazed over, watery eyes, your delicate lips twitching as breathy whispers escaped them, your trembling body, your damp skin… You were a vision and he wanted you, he needed you. His love and lust for you only heightened when you leaned in and let your lips lazily brush against his snout. His heart skipped a beat. Something that had never happened to him before. There were truly no words to describe how precious you were. He almost couldn’t believe a creature like you existed. But you did exist, and you were sagged there against his chest, tenderly kissing his nose, your small hands running through the thick bushy fur of his back and sending a pleasant tingle rushing through him. You were not afraid of him, you were touching him. He felt wanted. He felt desired. He felt more human than beast.

He leaned down to gently lick your cheek and his chest rumbled with a pleased growl at the sound of your giggles. A big, dumb smile of contentment crossed his face. His tongue kept licking your cheeks, your neck, your collarbone, before it retreated back into his mouth with a soft hum. His big, powerful arms wrapped around your waist and secured you in his arms.

His eyes stayed on you as he carried you through the labyrinth with unrushed but long steps. He watched you as you briefly glanced around in curiosity, then squeezed your arms tight around his neck and leaned in to plant another soft peck on the side of his snout.

"Where are you taking me?" 

Your soft voice made his heart skip a beat again and he unconsciously picked up the pace.

"To my lair. Where I keep my treasures. Where you belong."

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me

[n1ght0f-nyx]

The Face I Cherish

erik destler x reader

i lost the request by my own stupidity but the basic plot was that one part in the phantom of the opera books, where erik reveals his face to Christine (in this fic, reader) he says something along the lines of 'im a handsome man, arent i", in this version, reader shows him love instead of hatred

tags/warnings- slowish burn, tender angsty fluff

word count- 672 words divider by- floriseu

Erik stood before me, the darkness of the candlelit room casting long, jagged shadows on the stone walls. His breath was ragged, as if he had fought to reveal his face, a battle within himself against a lifetime of torment and disgust. Slowly, with shaking hands, he reached up and tore the mask from his face.

His disfigurement was exposed—half of his face twisted and scarred, the flesh marred by a cruel fate. The other half, though, was breathtakingly beautiful: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, and piercing eyes that flickered with an intensity I had never seen before. He glared at me, challenging me, waiting for my inevitable recoil.

“You see?” His voice wavered, a mixture of bitterness and vulnerability. “Look upon me and behold the monster I truly am.”

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My heart ached for him, for the man who had spent his life hiding behind shadows and masks. His expression darkened as he mistook my silence for disgust.

“I’m a handsome man, aren’t I?” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, mocking his own reflection. He was daring me to lie, to pretend, to do anything but look at him for who he was.

But I didn’t see the hideousness he expected me to recoil from. Instead, I saw the years of loneliness, the pain etched into every scar, and the desperation for love in his eyes. Without thinking, I took a step forward, my hands trembling but not from fear. His sharp inhale was audible, but I ignored it. I reached out, my fingers gently cupping his face—both the unmarred side and the scarred side, treating them both with the same tenderness.

“Yes, you are,” I whispered softly, my thumbs brushing over the rough patches of skin, feeling the warmth beneath them.

Erik froze. His whole body went rigid, as if my touch was something foreign, something he didn’t know how to comprehend. His wide eyes met mine, searching for some hint of cruelty or pity, but there was none.

“You are beautiful, Erik,” I continued, leaning closer. “Not because of this—” I gently touched the scarred side of his face, “—or this—” I moved to trace the smooth lines of the other side. “But because of who you are.”

His lips parted, a sharp intake of breath that he seemed to choke on. His hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push me away or pull me closer.

Before he could decide, I leaned in, pressing my lips to his forehead, just between the ridges of his scar. His skin was warm under my lips, and I could feel him trembling beneath my touch.

I moved to kiss the side of his face, planting soft, lingering kisses along the jagged lines of his scars, treating them with the same reverence I gave to the unmarred parts of him. “You are beautiful, Erik,” I repeated, the words punctuated with each gentle kiss.

Erik’s breath hitched. He stood still, as if he didn’t know how to react, as if my affection was something he had never imagined could be real. Slowly, tentatively, his hands found my wrists, holding me as though I might vanish if he let go.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I murmured, my lips moving to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “You never had to.”

His grip on my wrists tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might pull away, retreat back into the shadows of his mind. But instead, he leaned into my touch, a soft, broken sound escaping him—a sound that was almost like a sob.

“You don’t understand…” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. “I am a monster.”

“No,” I said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You are a man, Erik. A man who deserves to be loved.”

For a moment, his eyes searched mine, filled with disbelief, vulnerability, and something that looked like hope—a hope he had long buried. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. His hands slid down to my waist, holding me as though I were his lifeline.

“I don’t know how…” he whispered, his voice trembling, “to accept that.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” I replied softly, brushing my lips over his in the lightest of kisses. “Just know that it’s true.”

For the first time since he revealed his face to me, Erik didn’t try to hide. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he held me tighter, his scarred face pressed against mine, as if in that moment, he finally believed that he was worthy of love.

[ja3hwa]

♡ 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐊.𝐇𝐉 ♡

Day 18 - Monster under the bed

【Synopsis】 : A creature that feeds off lust and fear finds himself falling for the very prey he was supposed to consume. What a cruel twist of fate.

『Word count』 :  1.33k

-> Genre: 18+ Angst, Suggestive. Dark Romance.   

Pairing: Demon!Boogeyman!Hongjoong x Human!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Fingering. Pet names. Crying. Honjoong is a mess, someone protect this poor baby. This hurt me to write.

Networks: @k-vanity @wonderlandnet @illusionnet @cromernet

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober list | Tip Jar ♡

It started with an odd dream here and there. Your mind picturing a shadowy figure with elegant attire. His grin was sharp and daring, and his eyes were piercing like freshly cut diamonds. He was perfect in every way possible. You would ask for his name, but he would never reply. You would ask where he was from, but he would never reply. No, his hands would find your hot skin, your mind begging for him to wander closer to your aching core. His touch was always gentle, loving even. It was like he spoke a million words with a simple graze of his fingertips. And as he dipped closer and closer to your dripping cunt, your body would jump awake, scanning your bedroom with a battered breath and racing heart.

“Fuck…” You sighed, feeling a wetness pool between your legs.

Nights like that happened often. Falling blissfully into a slumber filled with him, talking to him without a reply. There was dancing, laughter, smiles, and soft lingering touches. He was everything you wished for and a part of you thought this was some cruel trick your brain has decided to play on you. You were cursed in keeping a relationship so your brain has made up a perfect man in your dreams. It was pitiful really. But every time you walked through the archway into the lavish room with him sitting, waiting for you in the centre, who were you to deny such a pleasure.

Little did you know, there was something much darker beneath your lustful dream. A shadowy, monstrous secret lying just beyond your reach, lying quietly under your bed. Not even his little grunts could be heard when you were deep in your dreamland. His long tentacle-like shadow limbs would hold the bed frame as he had to fight himself to pump his cock while he smelt you soak your sheets over and over again. For you see, He is a demonic being feeding off your pretty dreams, getting stronger by each night. His shadowy limbs rubbed against your sleeping figure as you shifted under your sheets. His cold hands danced just where you needed, where he needed. It was like he was buttering up a roast for cooking. Making you reach the right amount of frustration, and with all the pent-up sexual desire he could stomach. You were his perfect little meal, and he was waiting for the right moment to pop you out the oven. Fully baked and ready for his consumption.

And tonight, you were ready. His body slipped from his position that he had held for months. Standing tall at the end of your bed. You looked elegant. The most beautiful little human he has ever seen. Normally he would get exhilarated at the idea of taking another human's life but for a moment as he watched you shift in your sleep, the way your blanket moved, exposing your heaving chest, seeing your shirt had risen, showing your midriff. You were so innocent, and for the first time, he felt guilt.

‘No...I have a job to do.’ The demon shook his head as he slowly crept onto your bed until he was caging you with his shadowy figure. He watched for a moment, the way your nose scrunched and your brows knitted. Your little breaths picking up with each beat of your heart. He took a stray piece of hair that laid on your face, brushing it gently out of the way before leaning down to your ear and whispering, “Wake up, Angel.”

You felt your body shiver at the sound of the nasally voice. Your eyes staring right at the shadow figure in front of you. You tilted your head, “D-did you just speak?”

“Wake up Angel.” The man repeated, you looked around the lavish room, wondering what might be different. Why is he telling you to wake up? What could be wrong, “You need to wake up…”

“But I don’t want to wake up. Not yet. Let me stay here with you for a little longer.” You begged, holding onto his shadowy, ice-cold hands.

“I know you want to stay here my love, but you need to wake up. Trust me.” His voice was unlike what you described to yourself. His voice was better, rich like velvet with a higher tone. You took a deep breath, trusting him. And when you awoke from your slumber, you let out the large gasps as your whole body shook. Your eyes met deep yellow ones. His face finally clear for you to see. His smile was sly, showing off the sharpness of his teeth. He was not human… “Hello, Angel.”

“I…You’re real…How…” You were confused, your mind racing. Your hand found his cold cheek, feeling the softness of his pale skin. He was actually real, your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you.

“That’s a long story. Let's focus on you right now.” He chuckled, his hand moving slowly up your thigh. It was then that you noticed your blanket was thrown off and his knee was pressed tightly between your legs. You gulp, redness painting your face as you stare at him with wide eyes.

“Y-you want to…” You trailed off, feeling embarrassed as if you hadn’t spent months with his man, falling strangely in love with him. “I mean... I just um…”

“It’s okay Angel. Relax. I wanna help you.” His purr in your ear, his fingers dancing around your panties waiting for permission. And once you nodded with a little ‘yes’ his fingers sunk beneath the wet fabric. Your eyes never left his as you felt him sink a finger in finally where you needed him most, in your aching cunt.

“Fuck…” Your hands flew to his shoulders, your legs spreading more so he could sink another finger into you at a steady pace. You felt your body crackle, a familiar yet different feeling pooling in your gut. You bucked your hips needing more and if it was like the demon read your mind—which he did—he sped up his pace adding a third finger. “P-please. Tell me your name…”

The demon sighed, knowing it was forbidden to give out his name. He has normally just given out fake names when his victims have asked but for you. He felt guilty doing that to you. You were different, you deserved to know who he was. Leaning down he whispered gently in your ear as he left you fucked yourself on his fingers, “Hongjoong…My name is Hongjoong.”

“That's a pretty name.” You hiccuped feeling close to the edge. He sat up suddenly looking at you dumbfoundedly.

“P-pretty?” spoke barely above a whisper, feeling his heart twinge with an engulfing amount of sadness.

“Yes. It’s a pretty name. Just like you.” You confessed with a strained voice, reaching for his face again, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheek. Slowly, you pulled him down, lifting your head up to meet him halfway in a kiss but just as your lips brushed against his, it was like a blink and his shadowy figure ran right for the window, through the glass as if he was nothing more than smoke seeping through the cracks…. disappearing into the night.  You sat up suddenly, cold, confused, and heartbroken once again, and left wondering what you could have done wrong.

But unlike your confusion, Hongjong flew for the sky, tears running down his face as the cold air stung his face. Guilt riddled his body, disgust and disdain. He was a monster, a cruel demonic monster and you, his little sweet innocent human, called him pretty. You didn’t deserve the same fate as all the cruel lust-filled trash he consumed. He didn’t deserve the pain of having to know him.

—

© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

[anachronismstellar]

I got something stuck in my head and idk man have this scene I guess

What if SQH were the one finding Liu Qingge in the caves?

Feat Sleep Token - The Summoning

As always no beta we die like Liu Qingge man hidhidf

----

He had no idea when everything had gone wrong, all he could feel was the burning of his meridians and the taste of copper on his lips. Like a fog, screams reached his ears, and in a blink of sanity he understood that it was him, his throat completely ruined as blood dripped down his chin and neck.

It had been days, it had been weeks, it had been-

He didn't know.

He felt his arm swing against monsters that weren't there, whispers crawling up his spine, their biting voices making it impossible for him to identify friend or foe. His vision swam again, darkness dancing at the corner of his eyes as if he were stuck in a forever shadow puppet theater, grasping smokes as he fought to get back to reality, to the caves.

Then the light came.

He wasn't conscious enough to recognize that he had been hallucinating for quite sometime now, but if the past month had taught anything is that he had no allies, he couldn't trust no one. So when glittering white and yellow dashed past him, he did the only thing he could have possible do, rushing with his sword at ready, the light prickling his eyes after spending so long in the dark.

At the back of his mind he heard something that sounded like his name. Didn't feel right, however, as if it were coming from underwater, the burning in his chest unbearable as he did his best to slice his opponent, his strikes being met one by one. Another voice, one that sounded too much like what he would say if he were sane, kept screaming at him, reckless, useless, pitiful, disgraceful-

A hand slapped him with full force against his chest, the searing heat of his core freezing too fast for him to understand what had happened. He gasped, chocking blood as he tried to breathe, his wet heaving sending a wave of despair to his bones.

Another slap and this time his lungs filled with more air than blood, snapping him from his overwhelming fear, tears trickling down his cheeks as he finally saw the person in front of him for the first time.

Liu Qingge wasn't a pious man.

He believed in the Heavens as one believes that the moon and starts could influence destiny and fate, to say not at all.

Still, the first thing his mind could think of was that a High Spirit or a Godly creature was in front of him, their hair disheveled a halo, hands gentle as the morning dew helping him to lay down as his legs failed to hold him up.

But the most striking thing were his eyes, glowing gold like embers in the dark, guiding him as he slowly came back to his surroundings.

Liu Qingge squinted his eyes at the man, his foggy brain struggling to process who was in front of him. It was as if trying to put two images over each other and having them mismatch- the man in front of him shouldn't, couldn't be there, and most of it all the man in front of him wouldn't be capable to go toe to toe with him, qi deviation or not.

"-with me?" Shang Qinghua's voice sounded like rocks gritting against each other, as if the man had been screaming for a long time.

Liu Qingge blinked a couple of times, head tilting to the side as he tried to nod. Shang Qinghua hand went to the back of his neck, holding it in place as he pressed something against Liu Qingge's lips, the liquid so cold it felt as if he were drinking snow. He thought it was water, but the more it washed away the taste of blood, the more he could feel the sweetness of it, the coldness soothing his throat.

"There you go, Shidi, just a bit more," Shang Qinghua tilted the leather canteen slowly, giving time for him to swallow before pouring a bit more on his mouth until he turned his face away.

Heaviness took over his limbs, a different type of fogginess started to cling to his senses, sleep making everything soft around the edges, including his sore bones and muscles. He tried to speak, to ask what was happening, but Shang Qinghua just scratched his scalp with a soft "Shh", not helping him at all to keep him awake.

"Let go, Liu Qingge," and he wanted to stand up, to pay attention because Shang Qinghua had never called him by name like this before, so it must be important, right? He needed to be alert, he- "Shh, I won't let your story to be untold this time."

And that made no sense, no sense at all. What did he mean by this time? Was this man even the real Shang Qinghua? Was he surrendering himself to an impostor? But why save him, why?

"Why..." he mumbled right before sleep dragging him to a kinder darkness, the molten gold eyes guiding him to sleep.

---------

Don't ask, I have no idea either, but I have been listening to Sleep Token non stop since Wednesday and I was feeling a darker vibe than the 12/12 fics.

Look at me, building the Warplane ship one insane fic at a time husdihfuisdf

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the fic! See you around!

[revelboo]

Seeing you in my notifs is always always a treat, I love the stories you've weaved together, seriously. Do you think you'd write a solo skywarp x reader fic by any chance?

Thanks and sure!

Stop Talking

IDW Skywarp x Reader

• Energy crackling through him until his spark is humming with it, until it almost hurts before he lets go to warp to the limit of his line of sight. Wobbling slightly as he reappears there’s always an exhilarating moment of fear between winking out of existence and coming back, of feeling his spark faltering at the strain. Almost going out completely before he’s back, systems humming with something that’s not quite anxiety. Far below, the countryside is a boring green smear sliced up by winding ribbons of asphalt. The warping, the view, none of it’s enough to fully distract him from the fact that now Thundercracker doesn’t even want to fly with him. Star’s been distant for a while now, long before taking the human, but Thundercracker? He’s always fawning over his new pet. And he can’t really get the fascination with something so small and weak. Both of his brothers seem happy, though. No time for him since they’re so focused on their pets. So maybe it’s time he found out why.

• Stretching out, arms lifting above your head to soak up the sun. Headphones blaring rock and roll, you’re dimly aware of a heavy rhythmic thumping. It’s only the shadow suddenly falling across you that makes you lift your head. And then crane your neck even higher, mouth falling open. Unable to fully comprehend what you’re looking at. Because it looks like some of the giant robot nonsense your kid brother is so obsessed with and you���ve apparently gotten way too much sun. Wondering if heat stroke can make you hallucinate as the thing crouches down to stare at you and then grins. “You’ll do,” it growls reaching for you and that shatters the disbelief freezing you. Because nope. Everything about this whole situation. Lunging, you grab one of your sneakers and chuck it at the monster, rolling to your feet and running without even checking to see if it lands.

• Laughing despite himself at your pitiful little attack and attempt to escape, he makes a grab for you, tips of his servos brushing your hip and then you’re pinwheeling your arms and falling sideways into the rectangular pool of water you were laying beside. It’s easy enough to scoop you out as you sputter and slap at his servos. Apparently, this one is half feral, struggling and squirming as he examines it. “You’re going to be fun, aren’t you?” From the nearby building, the front door is opening and he leaps up, turbines roaring and focuses. You’re screaming in his grip as he pictures the base, energy twisting over and through him, and he warps.

• You’re limp in his servos when he reappears just outside the hidden base, startling Vortex who’s supposed to be on guard duty, but appears to be working his way through a bottle of high grade. One of several if the pile the mech tries to nudge out of sight with a ped is any indication. “That a human?” The Combaticon asks, reaching as if to grab you and Skywarp’s wings flick up aggressively. Venting at him, Vortex relents. “Don’t want it, anyway. They’re weird.”

• Striding past, his optics flick to you, servos shifting until he finds the steady beat of your heart to make sure the warp didn’t kill you since he wasn’t sure what it would do to an organic. And how can he unravel what the big deal is if you die so soon? Venting, he carries you to his quarters wondering how hard a human is to care for. Surely it can’t be that bad.

Next

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, emotional abuse, conditioning, hinted loss of voice, objectification, degradation, Adam is his own warning

Today you had to scream. You don't even remember why, perhaps you saw a bug or a spider, something trivial and meaningless, something that shouldn't have been terrifying, not to you - not after everything you've been through.

Yet you have to scream - it is but a physical reaction. And then... nothing. Nothing comes out. Absolutely no sound. Not a murmer, not even a gasp. You feel his hands wrap around you from behind - at first you think that he has covered your mouth, that he has forced his fingers deep inside your throat just like he has done so many times in the past. But no, he's simply hugging you - resting his head against your shoulder.

"Ssh, baby, it's fine. I'll take care of it." Adam whispers before his fist comes crashing down onto the poor little insect, splashing the black - green insides all over the table. You almost felt bad for your initial panic - by now you should know that to him the only answer is violence, always. You have single - handedly brought this fate onto the innocent unsuspecting animal, and all because of your stupid fear.

And even with the guilt, you still want to scream - but this time out of pity. Regret. Out of bitter realization.

"Aww, darling, don't cry." Your captor coos gently, caressing your hair. For a second you can see his long fingers flash before your eyes before they rub your sticky tears into your skin. It's weirdly invasive - you feel naked despite the layers upon layers of clothes you have on. "You know what happens when you cry-" He suddenly grips your chin, squeezing it roughly, but that's hardly a surprise. He loves to see his own fingerprints on your skin. "Don't you?"

You nod. You wish you wouldn't have to. You wish you were still the same naive girl you were a few months ago - a few moments ago, when you could still pretend you didn't understand what was happening. What he was trying to do to you, to your body, little by little; one step at a time.

"Of course you know. My clever girl." His grip softens, but never wavers, and he kisses your hair with feverish content. "You know crying leads to whimpers, and whimpers lead to-" The man smirks in that nasty perverse way you've grown to despise, reaching to fix the bulge in his trousers. "Well, aside from getting my cock fuckin' hard, they sometimes make your throat tighten. It tightens so much you think you're going to choke." His eyes return to you, black like the winter sky. "Isn't that right, baby?"

You're forced to nod again, a fresh new wave of warm tears soaking your collar as you try to ignore the very feeling he's describing to you.

"And then you need to make it unclench, so you speak - well, attempt to." Adam runs a single cold digit across the length of your neck, stopping only to poke at the dent in the middle of your collarbone. "And we both know that's a big no - no, right, baby?" He kisses your neck, a contrast to the cruel, humiliating condescension in his deep, guttural voice. It makes your stomach turn, but you can't do anything. You can't sob. You can't even shout for help - not anymore. "No, no, no." He continues, explaining it as if you're just a silly child. "Worthless little sluts who break their owners' hearts don't get to use big adult words. They remain silent, to be seen and not heard."

He keeps touching you - that's the worst part. He keeps kissing you, embracing you, holding you close just like a lover would. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. It makes you want to cling onto the only creature close to you, even if it's just a monster wearing a human mask - a monster set to hurt you with everything it possesses. A monster, set to build you up every time it breaks you down.

"This little mouth of yours has only one use now - to keep my dick nice and warm." Adam mumbles, keeping you in place once it all gets too much. You struggle against him until you tire yourself out. You're dizzy. You're starving. You haven't slept in days - so realistically you don't stand a chance. But fighting means life. Fighting means you might have lost your voice, but you haven't lost your will. Your humanity. "So go ahead, doll. Entertain me. Scream for me."

And for once you want to obey him - you want to scream from deep within your lungs, so you open your mouth, and then you close it, pretending that your voice could break the fragile glass and reach someone somewhere who cares.

The silence is deafening.

[mayullla]

Title: Princess rescued by the hero

Character(s): Hero (Named character/original work)

Summary: A Hero arrived to save you yet you could not help but fear him more than the villain.

Tags/Warnings: Princess!reader, male!yandere, general yandere themes, implied manipulation, drabble: 680 words

It was a classic tale of a princess, a hero, and a villain. The princess was taken away from her home and family by the villain, only to be trapped within an old and dusty castle, and later saved by a hero.

You thought that they were just stories, nothing more.

Your captor was a man who knew how to use both dark magic and the sword. His subordinates were monsters and shadows that he created to rule over the kingdoms and nations. You wondered what you had done to catch the eyes of such a man, but in the end, there was always a hero.

Someone who would save you from the grasp of the wicked man…

"Thank you for saving me." It was hard for you to breathe as you stood in front of the ruined halls of the old castle and stared at the hero's face. The man who saved you placed a hand on his chest as he got down on one knee along with his team. You couldn't see his face as he looked down, bowing at you in a respectful manner. "You are now safe, princess."

Maybe it was best that you didn't see his face, you thought to yourself as you looked at the hero and his group.

You were still conscious of what happened in the fight. Your hands shivered at the thought when the dark lord turned into a dragon to kill the hero’s group, only to die at the hands of the hero who stabbed his sword into the monster’s chest.

You looked to your side to see the dead dark lord who took you away from your home, or what was left of him. He had turned into nothing but a burnt corpse consumed by the flames that he made.

The fight was still fresh in your mind, the spells that were cast on both sides from the dark lord himself and a wizard from the hero's group. Arrows flew at both sides in such a small space, and the crashes of swords still rang in your ears.

"What is your name? I need to know the hero who saved me." You spoke, holding on to whatever little pride you had. Holding yourself back from stuttering after everything you have gone through till now.

"My name is Vale," he said, his head still down. You didn't want to see his face. You were grateful truly that you were saved, and able to return home, but you could not help but become suspicious of the hero.

The hero who saved you was someone you feared.

"Thank you, Sir Vale, for killing the dark lord and saving me from him," you said as you lowered yourself down to take the man's hand, telling him to stand up and asking him if he was okay. “I will not forget you and your group's sacrifices.”

You didn't have any pity for the dark lord, for he was the one who destroyed homes and killed many. You weren't sympathetic to his death. But the moment when the hero stabbed the dark lord in the chest, the determined look on his face held something else.

You avoided the hero's eyes. Avoided looking at the blood splatter on his clothes. You could not help but wonder if there was something that you didn't know here. His eyes held a certain kind of insanity within them. The overconfidence of knowing that he would win as if this whole scenario was staged from the start.

A stage that was to reach a goal.

And you knew that this had something to do with you. When your eyes met his, you were sure of it as he held your hand tightly, warning but also clinging. The love in his eyes was crazed as he looked at you with so much passion. You were familiar with those eyes of his even before he became a hero, and tried to avoid him. Was he the one who created this stage, you wondered by yourself.

You were a fool, as you have placed yourself right on his hand.

[sun-kissy]

hellooo, hope you’re doing well! could you write a hurt/comfort for poly!marauders with dhampir reader, specifically the headcannon where Remus and reader go on walks and talk about their insecurities regarding their identity. reader talks about their immortality and that they fear the day the marauders are gone, maybe James and Sirius come in and comfort reader? Idk just make it as painful as possible, thank you sm!!

aaaa yes!! thank you so much for the request babe <3 this is my first time writing a poly!marauders fic, so i hope i got the dynamics right :, )

for anyone wondering, the headcanon the anon was referring to can be found here

alone | poly!marauders

tw: two mentions of sex, but absolutely nothing explicit

half-vampire, half-witch!reader, poly!marauders x reader

“Dove,” Remus breathes, a false picture of calmness even though concern seeps into his tone. “Deep breaths, please. Deep breaths for me.”

His thumb continued to apply gentle pressure between your shoulder blades as you sit there, red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Remus thinks he can feel his heart breaking everytime you sniffle, the pitiful sound from deep inside your chest.

The two of you sit by the black lake, the moon lighting up the space. This was almost a weekly occurrence; both of you pulling yourselves out of your other two boyfriends’ sleepy embraces to sneak out and sit together on the expanse of grass.

You’d talk about the blood-thirsty monsters haunting parts of you till the sun started to rise, and fall asleep holding each other’s hands. The next morning, you’d wake up on the grass wrapped in James’ arms with Sirius peppering kisses all over your faces, and everything would be alright again.

This time was different, though; Remus knew it, and he was sure that by some form of instinct, James and Sirius would be able to sense it too despite the distance.

You were absolutely distraught, and he had no idea why. The two of you were sitting in silence when you broke down all of a sudden, and now he was desperate to make you smile again.

He was right — soon enough, the shuffling of leaves and poorly concealed whispers could be heard behind you.

“I told you something was wrong!”

“What? What’s wrong? The only thing wrong here is that they’re getting cosy without us!” Remus can hear Sirius grumbling, unable to stop a small smile from curving his lips despite the situation.

“Pads! She’s crying,” James huffs quietly.

Within seconds, Sirius rushes to crouch down in front of you, his eyes wide with panic. His eyebrows are bunched in concern, mouth set in a frown. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice coming out shriller than he intended to.

You tense and shrug noncommittally, gaze fixed on the ground as you try to blink away the tears blurring your vision. He softens slightly upon seeing the look on your face and gently takes your hands.

Sirius opens his mouth to speak again but James holds a finger to his lips, a silent plea to let you be. He rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth closed, starting to rub your palms with his thumbs.

James looks at Remus quizzically for an explanation, to which he shrugs — he had no idea what had triggered you so terribly. James sighs, and you feel his warmth instantly as he sits down beside you.

“Hi angel,” he murmurs, turning to you with a small smile. He reaches out and brushes a few strands of hair off your face, and you find yourself involuntarily leaning into his touch.

“Hello,” you mumble.

James feels his heart sink at the sound of your defeated voice, and he can tell how much effort it was taking you to hold back tears. “Can you tell us why you’re upset?”

“I… I don’t—“ you warble, “I’m fine, really.”

It takes all of Sirius’ willpower not to roll his eyes at your blatant lie. “Love, you’re crying. Just spit it out.”

Remus and James both turn to glare at Sirius, but he just shrugs and eyes you impatiently. Apparently, Sirius’ goad was all you needed to get you started. “I was just…. I don’t wanna be alone,” you croak pathetically.

Remus’ ministrations on your back still immediately, completely abandoning his project as he drops his arm to the ground. Sirius furrows his eyebrows, looking at you strangely as though you were some sort of crossword puzzle.

“Alone?” James echoed, pouting with puzzlement. “What… what do you mean, alone? You have us, sweetheart. We’re never leaving you.”

“Yeah,” Sirius pipes up, gently lifting one of your hands to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

“But you are,” you insist, and James can hear the desperation in your voice. He tugs you closer to him, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder silently.

“Why would we ever leave you?” Remus speaks up softly, lifting a hand to gently comb through your hair. “What did we do to make you think that we would?”

“It’s not— you guys didn’t—“ you let out a frustrated sob, roughly raking your fingers through your hair. There was no easy way to go about this conversation, and you hated yourself for having to do this to them.

James makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat and starts rubbing your arm encouragingly. He presses a quick kiss to your hairline, feeling more worried by the minute.

Sirius squeezes your hands firmly, applying pressure until it hurt and you finally raise your eyes to look at him. You’re scared of the anger, or worse — disappointment — you’d find, but there’s a bountiful amount of love in his gaze. He looks at you imploringly, saying nothing yet everything with his eyes.

You sigh shakily. “You’re all gonna die one day, and… and you’re gonna leave me here. Alone,” you warble, your voice growing softer with each word until your last one came out as a whisper. “And — and I’ll have to live without you, and I’ll be so loveless, and —“

James can’t take it anymore, and pulls you into his lap without warning, bringing your head to his chest. The walls of your dam start to break as you let out a sob, feeling the fear and sadness pouring out of you. He rubs small circles into your back, nestling his chin in your hair as he glances at his boyfriends worriedly.

You’re scared; to say the least. The three of them had been by your side for years, and your world revolved around them. You didn’t think you knew what else to live for if it wasn’t for them, their bright grins and heartfelt love. The way James crouched slightly to hug you, how Sirius pulled you into his side and peppered kisses all over your face, Remus’ hand in yours as he pressed his lips to your own — you didn’t think you could last a day without them and their endearing little quirks.

Living alone wasn’t something you had in you to do; because it wasn’t really living if it wasn’t with them. The thought of waking up in an empty bed sends a shudder through you as you squeeze your eyes impossibly tighter.

“Baby,” Sirius speaks softly, and your heart clenches at the way his voice cracks. He places a hand on the nape of your neck, slowly rubbing up and down. “Maybe… maybe you won’t have us in the future. But —“

That was the wrong thing to say, as you let out a wail and cling impossibly harder to James. Remus flicks the side of Sirius’ head chidingly as James rolls his eyes. Sirius lets out a sad exhale, blinking away tears. He never knows how to fix things.

The tall boy notices the way Sirius’ head was lowered, and immediately wraps both arms around him, pressing kisses to his hair. James tries not to smile upon seeing Sirius melt into his touch.

He locks eyes with Remus, and nods quietly to let him know he can handle it.

“Angel,” James coaxes softly. “Look up at me, please?”

You sniffle softly, raising your head to meet his gaze. James frowns when he sees your puffy red eyes, reaching out to wipe your tears.

“Do you love us for our bodies?”

The question catches you off guard, your eyebrows arching. Was he joking? In a situation like this? You hear the unmistakable sound of Remus snorting behind you. “What?”

“I said,” James repeated, “do you love us for our bodies?”

“No!” you splutter, some of your melancholy leaving to make way for confusion. “What — why —“

“Exactly,” James says firmly, immediately shutting you up with the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t love us for our bodies, for our physicality. You love us for us, for our love. And let me tell you, our love is something that’s gonna stay with you until the end of time.”

You immediately soften at his words. “But I won’t have you here, you won’t be —“

“We will,” James responds softly, jabbing a finger into the left side of your chest. “We will be here. Right here.”

You feel your heart swell with sad affection; feeling nostalgia towards something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Remus scoots forward to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back snug against his chest. “And we’re here with you now. We’re going to be with you for years, dove. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon, okay?”

You let your eyes flutter closed, let yourself indulge for a moment as you nod blindly. It was impossible for you to stay upset when your boys were comforting you with saccharine voices and sweet touches. Perhaps they were right, they always were.

You hear a sniffle from your left, and open your eyes to look at Sirius. He had tears running down his cheeks, and was looking at you with his mouth open and a heartbroken look on his face. Remus let out a quiet chuckle, and you turn to give him a death glare as you crawl out of his lap and over to Sirius.

Sirius immediately pulls you into a strangling hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he cries. “Why are you crying?” James questions, bemused with the slightest hint of concern in his tone.

“My poor baby, she’s gonna be all alone,” he blubbered, earning a small smile from you. He pulls away and raises his head to look at you, gripping your cheeks with a fervour and desperation you’ve never seen before. “I’m gonna write you a letter everyday, so you can read them all when I’m gone. And… and I’ll make you a scrapbook of my most handsome pictures.”

You smile indulgently at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he blabs on, wiping his nose. “And we can make sex tapes in case you’re extra horny when you’re old, and…”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Remus says loudly, earning a giggle from you as James swats the back of Sirius’ head.

You rest your head on Sirius’ shoulder, feeling James peck your cheek and Remus’ arm wrapping around your waist.

Grief was inevitable, but it was just love coming back to haunt you, wasn’t it? Even after they passed, you’d find them in the way the wind travels on chilly nights, the glimmer of the sun at dawn, and maybe even the occasional sex tape. In everything you see, you would see them.

Their unconditional devotion to you transcended the blurry lines of mortality, and you knew that as long as your heart continued to beat, they would never stop loving you. James was right — they had left the mark of their love in every corner of your heart and home; and weren’t ever going to leave you alone.

[love-toxin]

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're…sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

[pinknipszz]

adagio for strings 1/4

↷ ˊ- true form!ryomen sukuna/f!reader | next >

"you know where to find me, and i know where to look."

(a/n: gift for my baby @mania-sama)

sellers of the market shout at you for standing idly on the edge of the street, their sun-kissed faces pulled taut from age and ire. they kept a keen eye on you as they mutter to themselves over what trouble the illegitimate daughter of a whore and a local businessman would stir.

but you, so bony and brittle, find their fears irrational. how could you possibly be capable of anything else, other than swatting away the mosquitoes that threaten to drink all that you had left?

you thought that the day was too pleasant to waste away, so you had crawled out of the woven walls that keep you cool from the summer haze. it is more like a pile of scraps than a house, but it feels like home. it doesn’t look down on you with hate and pity and everything in between. when nights grow too cold, you pull the walls closer and hug your body. when the sun smiles at you relentlessly, as if it was laughing at your predicament, you push back further into the shade.

home is the only thing you could control, and for that, it is your prized possession. your stomach twists into tight knots at the idea of leaving, but you want to stretch your legs. the calluses on your feet are softening. if you don’t get up and move now, your feet won’t be ready for a sprint down the gravel streets if a mob finally decides to chase you out. so you visit the market, silently greeting their looks of apprehension like an old friend. 

you grip the hatchet that you stole, remembering how the old farmer had chased after you, throwing rocks and curses laced with venom, when he realized that the village vagrant had snatched his favorite tool. that was many years ago. you don’t know how he’s doing now. maybe he found a better one, something sharper to hack bamboo stalks with, and has long forgotten about you. or maybe he hammered a headsman’s block near his front porch, where he sits sharpening his sword, waiting for you to come back. 

mindlessly tracing the grooves in the weathered wood, you limp from stall to stall. the closest seller eyes you warily. her gaze flits between your haggard appearance and the dull weapon at your side, her lips tight and nose turned upwards, most likely upset over your proximity to her precious baskets of fresh pomelos and persimmons. it leaves a bad impression on her more than you. she is an esteemed seller with the finest fruits, and you are people repellent. bad for business.

she watches you with ferocious intensity, half-expecting you to reach for a fruit to quell the gnawing hunger in your gut. she knows how you feel. she could see it in your eyes, in the bones that peek under the dirty robes that you stole from a dead man you had found on the side of the road. she knows about your hunger, but she doesn’t offer a single fruit, even when she has baskets upon baskets to spare, like you are nothing more than a thief or a pauper. if selfishness was a monster, you wondered if it would look like her.

but miraculously, she doesn’t say anything. the feeling never gets old. you don’t know if it is the dull hatchet or the rest of your unsightly figure that frightens her just enough, but it leaves you with sick gratitude for whatever gods are up there. if you could only have a handful of good things in this lifetime, let this moment be one of them. you flee deeper into the market before the seller could reach for something to hit you with.

it is busier than usual today, you realize, limping past a group of giggling kids drawing figures in the dirt. the shouts are louder here. those wise enough to not waste their attention on you continue their hollering, eager to reel in unsuspecting customers with a net spun from deceptive words. you don’t know a lick of business. what it meant or how it worked. based on what you’ve seen, however, is that the loudest caught the most fish. you don’t think twice about the quiet sellers you had seen during your last visit that are no longer here. 

sometimes you think it is just the laws of nature. the strongest survive and forget the weak, who are branded for death the second they leave the womb. it’s a promising thought. the sellers who had been too meek to adapt with their competition had been overturned by the changing tides of an uncertain economy. they were weak, unfit to survive. you don’t know if your assumption is correct, but you find that things in nature can easily be applied in real life. you scratch the itch under your jaw.

further along the path, you see a stranger standing by a stall that sold fowl meat. the stark white of their hair, reminiscent of winter nights, ceases your limping. their robes are clean, and they wear socks with sandals. they aren’t local. you have never seen something so close to snow standing in the heat of summer. briefly, you wonder if thirst and hunger finally caught up with you, until the stranger turns. their muddy eyes rake over your form, picking apart your robes and hatchet and matted hair. they hold a small bag of pomelos.

quite a sight for sore eyes, you think bitterly. while they don’t entirely look like a pompous bastard, anyone with clean clothes and warm food in their belly is sure to look down on you in one way or another. so you continue to watch the interaction in silence, even when the stranger looks away in favor of the butcher, handing him a heavy satchel of gems you never knew existed. then they leave, with a bag of raw meat, for the other side of the market, the opposite of where you are standing. 

you pull yourself to where they stood, dropping your hatchet to hold out your hands. you wait expectantly for your fill. “the hell d’you think yer’ looking at,” the butcher spits, eyes narrowing at you. fury rolls off of him in waves at your audacity. “got a lot of nerve to show up here.” you don’t know why he’s so upset. well, everyone is upset with you, but you don’t know what unsettles him today. perhaps the white-haired stranger was someone important, and you shouldn’t be standing in the footprints they left in the dirt.

“trimmings,” you rasp, your voice curling around each syllable harshly. it is the first word you utter in weeks. it is also the only word you said during your last visit, and the one before that. seriously, you would think that the butcher had it down to routine by now. he scoffs but reaches for the bloodied basket anyway, throwing it in your chest. your weak arms catch it quickly before you peer inside. it is mostly fat, but food is food. you can’t wait to savor it back home. 

“t’s the last time yer’ getting anything from me,” the butcher breathes and leans in to jab a roughened finger into your shoulder. “better get out of here before i hang you on a jointed hook.” the cruel threat falls on deaf ears. you know the butcher wouldn’t do that. not because he is kind, no. far from it. your dead body simply has nothing to offer. there’s no way to make money off of you, unless someone decides to throw your bones to a dog. nonetheless, you retrieve your hatchet and scurry off without saying a thank-you or a goodbye. 

there’s no point in wasting a breath on a man who looks at you with equal hatred. with one arm, you hold the bucket close to your chest protectively, while your other hand holds the hatchet. you follow the path from whence you came. the dirty robes cling to your skin uncomfortably, and your raw feet ache, but you can’t afford to let your guard down, not when you finally have proper food again. the sun dips into the horizon, and sellers are dismantling their stalls. soon, they will reach home, and so will you.

the hatchet continues to work its miracles, warding off evil like a talisman. however, you know deep down that you shouldn’t overdo it. it won't be long until someone calls you out on your bluff. when they realize that you can’t even lift it past your waist, they’ll come rushing towards you with bags over their heads and poison on their pitchforks. you let your mind wander. perhaps you could pay another visit to the butcher and weasel through a hole in his house, tiptoeing around for his favorite cleaver. you quite like the thought.

you hardly hear passing gossip over the pulse in your ears. however, one frantic conversation bleeds through your excitement. you pay no mind to it at first, thinking you are the subject that leaves them so tense, which is nothing out of the ordinary, but the words “white” and “monk” and “curse” stop you in your tracks. you nearly forgot about the uncanny stranger who stood out like a sore thumb, much like you for reasons entirely different.

the hairs behind your neck stand pin-straight, and you tilt your head towards them. it is two ladies who frequent the market often, you realize. their houmongi kimonos juxtapose with the plain wear of village folk. their wealth couldn’t be any more obvious. kamo. the name tastes like metal in your mouth. great. more pompous bastards. you want to resume the walk home, but something in you feels inclined to listen, to eavesdrop on what leaves their pretty little heads spinning.

so you listen and you eavesdrop, keeping yourself a safe distance away to ensure they don’t see you. 

“this is the third time this week,” one who wears a sparkling pin says first. she leans closer to her friend’s side. “you know about the rumors. nothing good comes out of seeing him.” him. for a moment, you think that she’s referring to the white-haired stranger, until you hear what she says next. “the monk-child is just a bad omen. it’s the cursed object we have to worry about.” it comes out of her mouth like a slur. you think it’s a euphemism for something else.

but you don’t have time to dwell. you must return home, so you do.

you like to think that things would have turned out differently if you had stayed at the market a little longer. maybe then, you would have heard them talk more about the supposed monster among men, and how the villagers suspect you having something to do with it. how your sudden appearance somehow aligned with the monk-child, another bad omen second only to you. you would have heard them chortle over the troops they had sent to your home while you had been away. 

maybe then, you would have lifted your hatchet over your waist for the first time in your life, and hack down on their shoulders, through the thick material of their beautiful kimonos, and into unmarred flesh. but no amount of dreaming could save you from the anguish, as the grip around your bucket and hatchet slacken. they fall to the ground, and the fatty meat spills all over. your finger twitches, as well as the edge of your lips, the corner of your eyes, and the base of your spine. the sun is long gone, replaced by moonlight. 

you find it sick how you wouldn't have known who destroyed your humble home if it weren't for the insignia left behind. you recognize the colors. kamo. kamo. kamo. the torn fabric lies above the ashes and taunts you.

your legs give up under you, and you fall to your knees. the sound that leaves you is nothing short of primal. animalistic. closer to grief more than anything, when you grab handfuls of dirt and ash and squeeze hard. you think about the village. about the stranger you are wrongly accused of associating with. about the butcher and the kamo women. the butcher. you wouldn’t be surprised if he had been the one to ask for military intervention, like the goddamn coward he is. you claw at the ground until your nails bleed.

you are too angry to weep. you don’t care about the blood collecting at your knees, seeping into the robes that you had stolen, or around the precious hatchet. is this penance? your soiled hands find purchase in your hair, and they tug at the roots. how could the gods be so cruel? it still smells like smoke. the residual warmth taunts you, as if reminding you what a real fire is like. nothing that a couple of makeshift walls of a home could emulate. you shakily reach for the wooden handle.

you push yourself up, ignoring the protests of your aching body, and bite the inside of your cheek. you are staring hard at the remains when you feel a heavy weight bump into your foot. with the last bits of your patience, you look down. a pomelo. it sways side-to-side before coming to a complete stop, as if someone rolled it towards you. someone did. when you look back up, you find the same muddy eyes that studied you at the market. 

they didn’t say a word then, and they don’t now. they simply watch, hidden between trees in the distance. you reach down for the ripe pomelo and tear it open. when you bite, you realize you don’t like pomelos, but you finish anyways. you're still starving. you throw the tart flesh into the ashes with no intention of returning, before tightening your grip on the hatchet and turning towards the village. you miss the ghost of a smile on the stranger’s face.

“are you pleased with her actions?” they ask the darkness beside them. their words are met with silence.

(masterlist) | listen to adagio for strings!

[lvoryingrid]

Whispers in the Sand

Gaara x fem!Reader

Synopsis: In Sunagakure, (Y/n) befriends Gaara, a boy feared for the beast inside him. Despite the village's scorn, their bond deepens. After Gaara is critically injured, (Y/n) stays by his side. Lady Chiyo sacrifices herself to revive him, and Gaara awakens to (Y/n)'s tearful relief and confession of love, promising a future together.

In the bustling village of Sunagakure, where the sun painted the sandstone buildings in hues of gold, whispers danced like shadows in the dusty streets. Among those murmurs, there lingered a tale that had woven its way into the very fabric of the village—a story of a boy with a beast trapped within him, a tale that had haunted the hearts of the villagers for generations.

(Y/n) had known this story since she was a mere child, her young ears catching the fragments of hushed conversations between elders and the nervous glances exchanged between parents. It was a narrative shrouded in mystery, one that sent shivers down her spine even as she sat by the hearth, listening intently.

The tale spoke of a boy, his name whispered in tones of both fear and pity, who carried within him a beast of unimaginable power. Some said it was a curse bestowed upon him by ancient spirits, while others whispered of dark rituals performed by his own kin. But regardless of its origins, the boy's burden was undeniable—a monstrous force that lay dormant within him, waiting to be unleashed.

His hair blazed like fire, a crimson beacon amidst the mundane, while his eyes, icy and enigmatic, seemed to hold secrets untold. To the villagers, he was the embodiment of fear, a specter of darkness with a name stained by rumors and whispered tales of horror. They whispered of his alleged crimes, of a mother slain by her own son's hand, painting him as a monster lurking in their midst.

Yet, to (Y/n), he was something different. She saw beyond the whispers, beyond the shroud of fear that enveloped him. To her, he was simply a boy, no different from herself, burdened by loneliness and yearning for connection. With courage as fragile as a delicate petal, she approached him one day, her heart pounding against her chest like the drumbeat of a distant storm. Her hand, small and trembling, reached out in a gesture of friendship, offering a lifeline amidst the sea of suspicion and dread.

"Hi, I'm (Y/n)," she uttered softly, her voice a beacon of warmth cutting through the chilling silence that surrounded him like a suffocating mist. In that moment, her smile, genuine and unguarded, illuminated the darkness that had cloaked him for so long, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows of his haunted existence.

In a moment etched in time, he finally surrendered to a glimmer of hope, his lips curving into a smile as he reached out and clasped her hand. In that delicate exchange, a profound bond ignited, weaving their souls together in an unbreakable bond. Despite the relentless storm of disapproval raining down upon them, they stood resolute, united against the world's scorn. Their friendship blossomed, a radiant beacon of resilience amidst the darkness, defying all odds with every shared moment, every whispered secret, every heartfelt laugh.

On that fateful night, the tranquility of the village shattered into chaos as the deafening explosion tore through the air. (Y/n) felt her heart lurch with fear as the ominous sound reverberated through her bones.

The next day, when she laid eyes on him, her heart sank. He was there, but he wasn't the same. The warmth that once radiated from his presence had been extinguished, replaced by an icy, distant demeanor. It was as if a shadow had consumed him, leaving behind only a shell of the person she once knew.

Despite her desperate attempts to reach him, he remained unreachable, lost in the grip of his inner turmoil. His once vibrant eyes now held a haunting emptiness, reflecting the torment of the monster that now consumed him. And as he turned away, ignoring her presence, (Y/n) felt a surge of heartache, realizing that the person she cherished had become the very thing they had all feared.

Years had passed since Gaara of the Desert had become the embodiment of fear in the village, living up to the bleak reputation that the villagers had painted for him. His departure for Konoha to partake in the Chūnin Exams left a bitter taste lingering in the air, with his sand nearly grazing her as she timidly approached to wish him luck.

Upon his return to the village from Konoha, Gaara was scarcely recognizable. The once stoic and aloof figure had softened, radiating an unfamiliar warmth, calmness, and genuine happiness. It was a transformation that caught everyone off guard, especially (Y/n), who had known him in his previous, more hardened state.

Then, one day, he approached her, his eyes betraying a profound sense of remorse and regret. It was a stark contrast to the coldness she had grown accustomed to, and it stirred something within her—a glimmer of hope, perhaps, that there was more to Gaara than the menacing facade he had worn for so long.

"(Y/n)," he spoke, his voice trembling with emotion, each syllable heavy with regret. His words, though soft, echoed with the weight of his remorse. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the apology hanging in the air, laden with the depths of his sorrow.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes as she looked at him, her heart overflowing with emotions. "You were always my friend, no matter what," she whispered, a smile gracing her lips as she reached out to him, her hand finding his.

Tears cascaded down (Y/n)'s cheeks like a relentless waterfall as she stood beside Gaara's motionless form, her heart gripped by a vice of anguish and fear. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the thought of losing him, of never again seeing the warmth in his emerald eyes. Their shared memories rushed back to her, not willing them to die off.

As (Y/n) stood beside Gaara's motionless form, her voice trembled with desperation as she pleaded for him to return. "Gaara, please," she whispered, her words a fragile echo in the silent void that surrounded them. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the sand beneath her feet as she clutched his hand tightly, as if trying to anchor him to the world.

"Come back to us, Gaara," she begged, her voice cracking with emotion. "You're not alone anymore. We're here for you. I'm here for you." Her heart ached with each word, every syllable a testament to the depth of her love and concern for her friend

But Gaara remained still, his form unmoving, as if trapped in a world of his own making. The weight of his inner turmoil seemed insurmountable, a barrier separating him from the world outside.

In the midst of her despair, (Y/n) felt a stirring within her soul as Naruto's voice pierced the heavy silence. His words echoed with a mixture of sadness and anger, mirroring the tumultuous emotions swirling within her own heart.

"Why is it always Gaara?" Naruto's voice rang out, resonating with a raw intensity that demanded attention. He stood beside her, his gaze fixed on Gaara's still form with a depth of emotion that sent shivers down her spine. "How could he die like this?"

As Naruto knelt beside her, his voice quivering with grief and frustration, (Y/n) felt the weight of his words pressing down on her like a heavy burden. She knew the pain he felt, the sense of injustice that threatened to consume them both.

And then, as Lady Chiyo intervened with a voice like the hollow echo of despair "Calm yourself, Uzumaki Naruto." her gaze hollow toward the young boy, (Y/n)'s attention remained fixated on Gaara's pale face, her fingers gently caressing his hair as if to coax him back to consciousness.

But Naruto's anguish erupted into a desperate cry, tearing through the air like a thunderclap. "If you, you damn Sand shinobi didn't put that monster inside Gaara, then..." His accusation hung in the air, a stark reminder of the pain and suffering inflicted upon Gaara by forces beyond his control.

As (Y/n) gently caressed Gaara's fiery red hair, her mind drifted back to a memory not so distant. It was just a while ago when he had shared with her his impending appointment as Kazekage, his eyes alight with determination and hope. "No one deserves it more," she had said, her heart swelling with pride for her friend. But now, as reality settled in, she realized that his newfound responsibilities would inevitably mean less time together.

Her sadness didn't go unnoticed by Gaara, his perceptive gaze catching the subtle shift in her demeanor. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft yet laden with concern as he turned to her.

(Y/n) shook her head, a feeble attempt to mask the turmoil within her heart. "It's nothing," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

But Gaara knew her too well to be deceived by her facade. With a gentle touch, he turned her face towards him, his eyes searching hers for answers. "Please, (Y/n)," he urged, his voice a gentle plea. "You can tell me."

For a moment, (Y/n) hesitated, her cheeks a light tint of pink as the weight of her emotions threatened to spill forth like a torrential downpour. But then, with a resigned sigh, she relented, allowing her walls to crumble in the presence of her trusted friend.

"It's just...," her voice faltered, choked with unspoken fears and regrets. "I'm happy for you, Gaara, truly. But... I can't help but feel a sense of loss knowing that we won't be able to spend as much time together."

Her words hung in the air like a fragile thread, tethering them to the reality of their changing circumstances. And as Gaara listened, a mixture of understanding and sadness flickered in his eyes.

"(Y/n)," he began, his voice gentle yet filled with unwavering resolve. "I may have new responsibilities as Kazekage, but that doesn't mean we have to change. You've always been there for me, through thick and thin, and I intend to do the same for you."

As Gaara's words washed over her with sincerity and conviction, (Y/n) felt a rush of emotions swirling within her heart. His reassurance offered her a lifeline amidst the turbulent sea of uncertainty that stretched out before them. In that fleeting moment, as their eyes locked in silent understanding, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of something more than mere friendship stirring within her soul.

For years, (Y/n) had harbored hidden feelings for Gaara, emotions too complex and profound to put into words. She had watched him from afar, admiring his strength and resilience, yet always keeping her own heart guarded, afraid to acknowledge the depth of her affection.

But now, as their hands met in a tender embrace, the walls she had meticulously built around her heart began to crumble. In the warmth of his touch, she found solace, a sense of belonging that she had long yearned for.

As they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, (Y/n) dared to let her guard down, to allow herself to embrace the truth of her feelings. With each beat of her heart, she felt the walls around her heart melting away, replaced by an overwhelming tide of love and longing.

And as Gaara's gaze softened, mirroring the depth of emotion reflected in her own eyes, (Y/n) knew that she was not alone in her silent confession. In the quiet intimacy of their shared moment, they spoke volumes without uttering a single word, their unspoken bond weaving them together in a tapestry of love and understanding.

As (Y/n) was shaken from her trance, she felt Lady Chiyo's presence kneeling beside her. With tear-stained cheeks, (Y/n) looked at the elder woman, her eyes silently pleading for her to intervene, to do something, anything, to save Gaara. "Please," (Y/n) murmured, her voice trembling with desperation as she reached out a hand towards Lady Chiyo.

The older woman nodded solemnly, understanding the unspoken plea in (Y/n)'s gaze. Motioning for her to move away, Lady Chiyo's hands began to glow with a gentle, healing light as she focused her chakra on Gaara's still form. Naruto, also, kneeled beside him, helping Chiyo.

Lady Chiyo's life force flowed into Gaara, her hands glowing with a soft, healing light. The old puppet master, having made the ultimate sacrifice, had given Gaara a second chance. As Gaara's eyes fluttered open, (Y/n) felt her heart swell with gratitude. "(Y/n)?" Gaara's voice was weak but filled with wonder as he looked at her.

Tears streamed down her face as she knelt beside him, her hand finding his. "I'm here, Gaara," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You're alive. You're safe."

Overwhelmed with relief, she leaned closer, pulling him gently into her arms. She could feel the faint, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a precious reminder that he was truly back. Gaara, still weak, wrapped his arms around her, finding comfort in her embrace.

The world seemed to blur around them, the intensity of the moment creating a bubble of solace amidst the chaos. Naruto and Sakura watched silently, their own eyes filled with tears of joy and relief.

Gaara's voice, though weak, carried a newfound determination. "I... I thought I'd never see you again," he murmured, his fingers tightening around her hand.

(Y/n) pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her heart pounding with a mix of emotions. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, Gaara," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gaara's eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. "I know," he replied quietly, his gaze holding hers with a depth of emotion he had rarely shown. "Thank you, (Y/n). For everything."

She smiled through her tears, her heart overflowing with unspoken words. "We're in this together, Gaara. No matter what."

Masterlist

[teratosfavouritesnack]

mothman x afab!reader - slight dub-con, monster in heat, oviposition, impregnation, belly inflation, lots of cum, intoxication (getting high on his pheromones, kinda)

You've never heard those wailing noises before. You've been living in a cottage in the midst of the woods for a few years now, and while you're used to hearing all kinds of animal sounds, you've never been scared by such high-pitched keening coming from the dense trees that surround your house.

You didn't know what to expect when you decided to follow the sound. Fortunately, it was daytime and you were familiar with the area, so your sole fear was coming across a truly horrific sight.

All your worries vanished as soon as you found out the source of the noise. A towering, imposing creature clothed in fur stood beside a tree, or rather hunched over its trunk. There was nobody else. Only one of the mothfolk you'd heard so much about but had never encountered before. The antennae were furiously shaking, producing that high-pitched sound that had terrified you from a distance but now filled you with something akin to pity. The massive wings, a triumph of red, white, and blue that sparkled in the sunshine pouring through the foliage, twitched and heaved as if the creature's breathing was laboured.

“A-Are you alright...?” you asked hesitantly, your eyes wide in awe and locked onto the trembling figure.

The moth was startled by your voice, turning around to set their huge red eyes on you. You couldn’t help but notice how incredibly beautiful they were. The colors, the long dark hair, the big eyes, the imposing stature... everything about the creature both amazed and astonished you. 

“I... I'm fine,” they managed to say, their voice coming out rough and trembling. “I just... I don't want to hurt you, so please go away.”

Your brow furrowed at his words. 'Hurt'? Why would they hurt you? The mothfolk was among the most peaceful creatures of the forest, or so you’ve always heard. Perhaps they could be dangerous to strangers, attack out of fear or to defend themselves… but this one moth didn’t seem to be scared of you. You watched, puzzled, as their clawed hand reached for the bark of the tree and clung onto it as if to ease his tremors. 

“You look like you’re in pain…”, you said as you warily made one step forward, your worried and curious gaze still locked onto their shaking figure. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A low groan escaped their lips, their voice came out strained and pained as they warned you again. “Please, stay back!” They squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, as if fighting against themselves upon what, you didn’t know. When the eyes opened again, they were glazed with a mix of desperation and shame.

“I... I'm in heat. My body craves... it needs…”, they trailed off just as their gaze raked over your figure before abruptly averting, unable to bring themselves to confess exactly what their body yearned for. “Just stay away.” 

They shifted uncomfortably, turning to support themselves against the trunk and only then did you notice the huge erection poking out from the thick fur covering their hips.

You swallowed and instinctively stepped back, your eyes wide with shock. You understood now why the mothman was so hell-bent on keeping you at distance, why he said he didn’t want to hurt you…

“Oh-! I'm sorry-! I didn't realize-!”

You had no idea what was going on inside of him. A shudder surged through his entire frame as he witnessed your reaction. He knew he must have looked monstrous to you: a freakish creature overcome by heat and driven by primal, animalistic instincts. Humans do not go through it, they cannot understand. The humiliation that gnawed at his insides became stronger, mingling with the furious desire pumping through his veins.

“It's okay,” he forced himself to say, even though nothing about this situation felt remotely close to being okay. “Please, just go... get somewhere safer.” But even as those words left his mouth, his legs trembled with the effort of holding himself back. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to lunge forward, to pin you down - the sole creature that had dared to approach him since this torture began - and claim you as his mate. To pump you full of his seed until you swelled with his offspring.

You should have done that. You should have listened to him and ran away as far as you could... Your instincts were screaming at you to go, urging you to leave but for some reason you didn't. He looked and sounded so desperate and vulnerable... You found yourself pitying him even more than before. You truly were out of your mind to even consider the notion of helping him… Except, he could have easily assaulted you from the minute he spotted you, and yet he didn't; instead, he made every attempt to push you away. That proved to you that he was kind. And a kind creature always deserves to be helped.

“What if I touch you?” you asked him, trying to keep your voice and heartbeat steady and the images of you being fucked sensless by a mothman out of your mind. “Would that be enough?”

“You... you truly wish to help me?” His voice was barely above a whisper yet thick with emotion. “Even though I am... this?” He gestured to his imposing form, to the rigid length of his arousal straining against his fur, as if to persuade you to see reason but you were already advancing. His eyes somehow appeared even larger as he watched you cautiously stepping towards him, until you were only a few feet away from him. From so up close you could see how distraught he truly was; his dishelved hair, his sweaty skin, his ruffled fur. Your heart ached for him. 

“I-It might be enough-,” he admitted with evident hesitation mingled with urgency, swallowing sharply as he called upon all his might to hold back from jumping you. You were so close, he could sense your sweet, tantalizing scent. “Feeling the warmth of your hands could be enough to ease the ache...”

The air seemed to vibrate with tension as you approached his fur with you hand. His breath quickened, his whole body tensing in anticipation. For a moment, he considered pulling away, hiding himself somewhere and suffer through the pain for the next days - but the ache in his loins was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure he could resist it any longer.

Slowly, almost reverently, he extended a clawed hand towards yours, guiding your fingers to the base of his throbbing erection. Even that light contact sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, and he bit back a groan.

“Here…”, his voice cracked with desperation. “Please, will you stroke it for me?”

Your eyes flickered down to watch as the long, dark red proboscis-phallus, stricken with bluish veins, throbbed under the feather-like touch of your fingertips. You felt your skin tingle at the touch, his skin somehow warm and cool at the same time, moist and slippery. 

Your eyes met his again as you started to stroke his cock, avoiding the swollen purplish tip. 

“Like this?”

A low, guttural moan escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered shut while he savoured the sensation of your hand moving along his aching length. "Yes, like that," he breathed, his hips subtly rocking into your touch. "More... please."

His cry boosted your confidence in your strokes, delivering even more waves of comfort and pleasure through his pained body. He opened his eyes to meet yours once again. There was a tenderness in your gaze that touched his soul, and he found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Don't stop," he urged, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close… I’ve been on edge for days…"

You simply nodded in acceptance, feeling as if you would do anything he asked of you at that moment. It felt as if you were losing yourself in his big, mesmerizing eyes, in those glowing pools of crimson as vast and limitless as the universe. You were in awe at the sight of such a magnificent creature… at his raw response to your touch. You felt both powerful and utterly subservient.

When your palm touched his swollen tip and tenderly squeezed, the mothman felt the dam break within him. With a strangled cry, his body convulsed, his cock jerked sharply, and a torrent of eggs erupted from it, flooding your hand and wrist with his warm, slimy discharge.

"Oh Light, I'm sorry!" he gasped, horror and ecstasy warring in his expression as he watched his seed overflow onto your hand. "Too much, I couldn't control it..." Despite his words, he made no move to pull away or stop your ministrations. Instead, he leaned into your touch, his hips still thrusting weakly as the last of his eggs emptied into your waiting hand.

Your jaw dropped in shock as you felt the myriads of tiny slimy eggs surge onto your palm. You instinctively reached out with your other hand to collect them, but you couldn't avoid the sticky goo from staining your clothes and dropping onto the ground. You were panicked, unsure what to do, his apologies barely reaching your ears.

Your dismay deepened when you realized his erection hadn't softened; in fact, it appeared to be growing even harder than before. It turns out that simply touching him wasn't enough to quench his heat after all.

The creature watched in fascination as you scrambled to capture the stream of eggs pouring from his cock, your hands working feverishly to contain the slimy mess. Despite the chaos, a small part of him was thrilled at the sight; it was as if you were trying to protect his precious offspring. His lust-clouded mind could only picture how good of a nurturer you could be for his larvae…

"I-I can't help it," he choked out, fresh tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I need to be inside you..."

Reaching out with trembling hands, he grasped your waist, pulling you closer until your soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body. His rigid cock nudged insistently at your stomach, leaking trails of slick fluid across your clothing.

"Please," he begged brokenly, "let me put them inside you where it's safe... I promise I won't hurt you."

You were so shocked, so speechless that you barely reacted. You were still keeping your hands cupped, stuck in your instinctive yet pathetic intent to save the eggs, when he laid you down on the grass. The slimy mess inevitably dropped all over you, even on your face. A sweet taste similar to nothing you had ever tasted before met your lips, causing your head to spin, your vision to blur and your body to heat up all at once.

"W-what-?" you gasped, your slime-tainted palms grasping blindly for him. The mothman took your eagerness to touch him for consent, and so he pinned you to the ground, dwarfing you with his larger form, and then sought out your mouth, capturing your lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss. His long tongue plundered the warm cavern, savoring the sweet taste of his own sperm mingled with your unique flavor.

Murmuring wordlessly, he ground his pelvis against yours, the tip of his throbbing cock sliding along the crease of your hip. The friction sent jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through his loins, fueling his frenzy. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he peppered your skin with open-mouthed kisses. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading the plush flesh, mapping every unfamiliar curve and valley of your human frame.

“You have to guide me”, he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “I don't want to hurt you, but I need to be deep inside you…”

His huge hands grasped your knees, spreading them wider apart as he notched the head of his cock against your crotch. His body trembled with restraint, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to hold back.

In your blinding and mind-dulling trance, all you could feel was the intense heat pooling between your thighs and the velvety touch of his fur against your clammy skin, and so you clung to those feelings, allowing them to guide you through the fog. One of your hands ventured down to pull your pants past your hips, while the other gripped hard onto his fur. Your panties slid down as well from the force of your tug. With eager movements, you spread your thighs wider for him and stretched your folds open with your fingers offering him a good view of your glistening cunt.

At the sight of your bare, vulnerable sex, the mothman let out a strangled groan, his cock pulsing with renewed urgency. His eyes glazed over, and releasing one of your knees, he brought a hand to caress your inner thigh, his claw tips lightly scraping the tender skin.

The intoxicating scent of your arousal wafted up to him, mingling with the musky fragrance of his own heated pheromones, clouding his senses even further. His sensitive head rubbed across your swollen folds, his keen eyes flickering anxiously from your flesh to your face to gauge your reaction.

Once he figured out you were not in pain but rather eagerly clutching further onto his fur, his control snapped, and with a deep cry he pushed forward, the swollen head of his cock breaching your slick entrance with satisfying ease. His antennae vibrated furiously as he sank into your welcoming warmth, your tightness enveloping him like a glove.

For a moment, he just stayed still, relishing the feeling of being fully sheathed within you, of finally tasting te soothing warmth he had been so desperately craving for days but the urge to claim you, to impregnate you with his offspring, proved too powerful to resist. Slowly, he started thrusting in earnest, each snap of his hips burying him to the hilt inside you. While his fur muffled the rocking of his hips hitting yours, the wet squelch of your arousal filled the air and only encouraged him to rut into you with even wilder abandon.

You were a mess of shameless mewls and whimpers, your fingers driving into his thick fur till you could almost feel the skin beneath, your hips feverishly meeting his in your desperate and blind search for release. A release that was growing at an unfathomable speed within your belly, spurred by the blissful way his inhuman cock filled your every crevice, generating that familiar yet exquisitely new kind of pressure that hit its highest point as his proboscis-phallus jerked and erupted inside you. The phenomenal orgasm that hit you seemed to merge into an even more earth-shattering one when he buried himself deeper inside you. You felt your womb inflate, stretching to accommodate each little gelatinous orb that poured out of his cock and found its home in your warm depths.

The sensation of his eggs taking root inside you, combined with the sheer volume of cum pumped into your fertile womb, sent the mothman spiraling into a euphoric haze. His antennae quivered uncontrollably, brushing against your face as he continued to grind against you, ensuring every last drop took residence in your fertile core. As the last spurt subsided, he collapsed atop you, his panting breaths hot against your neck, his bulk pinning you to the forest floor and his wings wrapping securely around you.

A strangely exhilarating feeling flared up in your womb and propagated throughout the entirety of your body, causing your skin and insides to tingle. You felt no pain; in fact, you had never felt better. The best way you could explain the sensation is as if you were floating in the air among pillowy clouds, cocooned in the warmest embrace. This delightful feeling swiflty dragged you into a peaceful slumber, though not before you felt strong yet soft arms gather your trembling form and a gentle breeze blow through your hair.

a.n.: I feel like this is a weird one... mostly because I've never written about oviposition before and I haven't read much about it either so idk if this is how it's supposed to go lol but I guess this is my take on it, I hope you enjoyed it <3

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Forest desires

George Weasley x reader

Requested by: @georgeweasleywife4566

Request gist: “George and the reader have sex in the forest”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I decided to slow things down and make it a soft sex one (it wasn't really specified so I thought I’d give my little pervert brain a rest). I’ve been in a world of self-pity lately (my dad got to meet the guy who played Percy Weasley, and didn’t invite me to the comic con). I'm also sorry that it's taking me so long to write, I’ve been sucked into RE4 (my hand is glued to the controller)

T/W: unprotected sex, forest sex, mentions of exhibitionism, Goblet of Fire George (it's not a trigger but I didn't want it to get lost in the A/N), teasing, fingering, reader is a little unsure about the situation but George comforts her, George licking your juices (it sounds so unsexy like that), George being a gentle boy,

George could talk you into anything.

From sneaking around the castle late at night to getting frisky under the Quidditch stands, he’d twist your arm. Metaphorically, of course.

But this was a new fantasy he had.

“What if you and I snuck into the Forbidden Forest tonight?”

Knowing George, this wasn’t just a moonlight jaunt. He had something naughty planned. But knowing you, you’d agree to go.

____________________________________________

The sneaky trek down to the forest wasn't new to you or George. He had snuck out many times and sometimes brought you along on a late night pranking mission with Fred.

Before you knew it, he was pulling you by the hand deeper into the dark woods. He pulled you to a small clearing where the tree’s parted, letting the moonlight in. How could the Forbidden Forest be so romantic with all of the centaurs, unicorns, and spiders running around? The thought made you pull George's hand, a little reluctant to get busy in a place that man feared and machinery disappeared (said machinery being the Weasley’s flying Ford Anglia).

George chuckled at your reluctance. He always found it fun to talk you into different situations, like pulling pranks on staff members or messing with the Slytherins that walked to class alone. But when it came to intimate situations, he was the king of persuasion.

“It’s okay, love. You know I’ll always protect you from any scary monsters that hide in the shadows. You’re my girl, remember?”

All it took was the ‘My Girl’ line, and he could convince you to do anything.

He sat on the grass and patted the spot next to him. When you had sat down, he moved a little closer. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, knowing just how to make you relax. One of his hands cupped your cheek, stroking the skin with his thumb, while his other hand moved to your thigh, toying with the fabric of your pyjama shorts.

Your hands found their way to his hair, threading through his ginger locks. You loved that he grew his hair out over the past couple of years but you’d never admit it to his face, not wanting to make his ego any bigger.

George slowly guided you to lay down before laying himself on top of you. His lips reconnected with yours and his tongue slowly swiped across your bottom lip. His hands reached for your shorts, pushing them down to your knees and leaving your underwear. His thumb found your clit through the material to rub light circles over it while his kisses silenced your soft moans and whimpers.

When you bucked your hips to try and gain more friction, he lifted his thumb to deprive you of the friction you were chasing. When he broke the kiss, you whined.

“Georgie, stop teasing. I need you”

“I thought you were worried about being seen, love. Does my dirty girl like the thought of being watched while getting her pretty pussy played with?”

He pulled your underwear to the side and rubbed his thumb around your hole, not giving you what you desperately needed.

“Maybe if you tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you”

His husky voice and sinful words were going to be the death of you one of these days.

“I want you, Georgie. I want you inside of me. Please?”

Or maybe it was your innocent whimpers and doe eyes that would be the death of him instead. His smirk grew, it always did when he got you to reveal that dirty side that you kept hidden beneath that goody two shoes exterior. He pushed his finger inside, curling it to rub against your sensitive G-spot. He could find it quicker than finding a target for his pranks.

His other hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. He pushed another finger in, scissoring them to stretch you out. He could tell that you were trying to hold back your moans, that little voice in your head still telling you that some creature was hiding in the fog. His lips grazed against your cheek.

“It's just us out here. Those pretty noises of yours are for my ears only”

When your walls started to squeeze his fingers, he knew you were close. His thumb rubbed small circles over your clit once again and that's all it took for your orgasm to catch up. This time, you didn't hold your moans back, letting George hear just how good he made you feel.

He pulled his fingers away from your pussy before bringing them to his mouth and licking off your juices from them. He loved the way you tasted.

You moved your hands to his pyjama bottoms this time, surprising him. You pulled them down just enough to pull his cock out. Moving his tip to your entrance, you coated it in your juices before looking up at him with those pleading ‘fuck me’ eyes.

He moved his hips forward, pushing in slowly. He bottomed out, letting you take a moment to adjust to him. He stroked your jaw with gentle fingers.

“Keep those eyes on me, love”

His eyes bore into yours as he slowly pulled his hips back. He kept his thrusts slow and gentle, always treating you as if you were made of glass. You reminded him often that you wouldn't break if he was rough, but he insisted that you were precious.

He slowly slid his cock in and out of your pussy. His gentle grunts and your moans mixed with the soft sounds of the forest at night. Your voice came out in small whimpers.

“Please George, need more”

“You don’t need more baby, I wanna make it last”

His movements remained slow, taking his time to drive you crazy. His hand moved down to your hip, holding you and stopping you from squirming and escaping his torturously slow pace. When he went slow like this, you could feel everything. Every vein, every curve, every twitch. Although you hated how slow his pace was, you loved how full it left you feeling.

“I know you’re close, baby. Cum all over my cock and I’ll fill you up. I know you like to be nice and full”

He knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. You had been so focused on how full you were starting to feel that you hadn't noticed your orgasm creeping up on you. You came on his cock, squeezing it so snuggly and coating it with your juices. He followed soon after, spilling his seed deep inside of your pussy. His thrusts stopped, content with keeping his cum inside of you for now.

He laid himself on top of you, being mindful not to crush you.

“You know love, tomorrow is a Saturday. We could stay out here for another round”

George could always talk you into anything.