#and a terror when looked at from the inside

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 pocus

synopsis: when you're a no-show for your scheduled merienda, katakuri begins to worry. little does he know you're right in the middle of a Big Mom hunger pang, and she seems to be craving your specialty...

cw: fluff, comfort, angst if you squint, katakuri is katakuri, katakuri DOES NOT PLAY ABT YOU, you have six children together, you're relative to his height, you're a baker.

a/n: i know katakuri's not part of my usual content but i'm rewatching wci and i'm inspired sue me <3 besides the man is FIONE

"Patissiers!"

"Yes, sir! We're on our way!" the patissiers bellowed, running at full speed with their large doughnut cart in tow. "We come with your treat for the day!"

Shifting his weight on his legs, the Sweet Commander crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching intently as the small men scurried toward him, the three of them a dark blue blur against the checkered pink of Brûlée's Mirro-World.

"Our selection today is truly special! Lady (y/n) said so herself!"

"I think you'll find it most appropriate!"

"For a man as perfect as you, each treat is made from the perfect ingredients!"

The first one hoisted a huge chocolate-frosted doughnut over his head, beaming proudly.

"We purchased the finest Corioli cacao we could find on the black market and combined it with milk from a cow grazed on a Sky Island whose life was free from stress and woe! The resulting chocolate is rich and ideal to dollop atop this giant doughnut!"

The second one lifted up a chocolate doughnut with strawberry cream, smiling widely.

"And for this one, we whipped the highest grade cream, which we received fresh from the great Minister Opera himself. The icing is meticulously decorated and topped with a strawberry to make this masterpiece a feast for the eyes, before it becomes entombed within your grateful belly!"

The third one raised a yellow doughnut, topped with decadent powdered sugar, slightly wobbling.

"We also prepared a doughnut topped with a sugar favored by Celestial Dragons, which brings out the spiciness of the Meylon Cinnamon baked into its dough, along with this and that and the other thing, too, of course!"

Together they twirled, utterly elated by the fine work you curated.

"And it is all thanks to Lady (y/n)'s unparalleled baking prowess! It is a true honor and privilege to work alongside her in the kitchen! So please enjoy this sublime sweetness!"

But, sadly, Katakuri had completely tuned them out.

Their entire explanation went completely unheard, the Sweet Commander more concerned with your absence than anything else.

Brows furrowing, his eyes quickly flicked around the cart, failing to sense your presence anywhere remotely nearby.

'(y/n)...'

It was routine that you join him for his merienda's everyday, rain or shine.

The patissiers would roll you in along with his ginormous bushel of doughnuts, your smile blinding as you greeted and joined him inside his mochi shrine.

There, you would feed him your sweet treats and whisper sweet nothings as he recounted his day to you, and you yours, resting in each other's embrace as you relished the little time together you two were able to make within your busy lives.

It was the only time of the day the man looked forward to.

And it was being tampered with.

"Where is she?"

His voice was like a wave of ice extinguishing any sort of jovial mood the chefs had established, replace their joy with potent fear.

Instantly, a frigid shiver rolled down their spines, their little bodies going rigid with terror.

"W-Well, you see—!"

"We are sworn to secrecy by the Lady herself!"

"She ordered us to remain silent about her whereabouts as not to disrupt your merienda!"

"We—!"

Abruptly lunging forward, Katakuri yolked up the first chef by the collar of his uniform, the man letting out a fearful yelp as the Sweet Commander pulled him closer with a deadly glare.

He allowed his Conqueror's haki to flow freely from his body, blanketing the entire space under an immense and overwhelming pressure—so much so that it knocked the other two chefs out cold.

His tone was deadly serious, and leaving no room for argument.

"Where. Is. My. Wife?"

"Mocha, honey, keep stirring that curd!" you instructed, frantically, as you added the yeast to the second batch of doughnut scald. "Don't stop 'til it's nice and fluffy!"

"Yes, mama!" your young daughter nodded, expression determined as she fervently mixed the large vat of lemon filling, despite the growing weakness in her arms.

She had been stirring vigorously for the past thirty minutes straight, and there was only so much an eight year-old girl could take.

"We're running out of time!" Soda exclaimed, worried, as he peeked out the window, the rumblings coming from outside shaking the foundation of your large bakery. "Grandma's gonna be here any second!"

"We're working as fast as we can!" Cocoa grunted, finally finishing the third batch of dough.

"I don't understand!" Latte squealed, running to assist her little sister in stirring the curd.

"She was all the way on the north side five minutes ago! How did she get here so fast?!" Frappe added, following after.

"Anything's possible for your grandmother when it comes to dessert," you huffed, finishing up the fourth batch of dough. "I've learned that the hard way."

"Well, we're losing ground fast! Daifuku just got sent flying!" Chai exclaimed, his little eyes wide with horror as he watched his uncle soar through three buildings.

"That's it. I gotta go help," Soda quickly turned, storming toward the door.

"Absolutely not!" you shut down, instantly. "Nothing can stop your grandmother during one of her hunger pangs! You'd be needlessly putting yourself in danger!"

"I have to do something! I'm a minister!"

Soda was your firstborn son, the eldest of your six children and the pride and joy of the Big Mom pirates.

He was a prodigy, his power already nearing that of a Sweet Commander at the young age of twenty-three—he happened across the Fizz-Fizz fruit at a very young age, turning himself into a Carbonation-Man

With a bounty of 850 million, he was powerful enough to be asked out on his own solo missions, as well as join his countless aunts and uncles on their expeditions.

And to put the icing on the cake, he had set the record for youngest minister, having been appointed as the Minister of Fizz two years prior.

Your son was progressing in leaps and bounds, his dream of taking after his father coming to fruition more and more with each passing day.

But... where he took after Katakuri in prowess, he also took after him in his all-encompassing sense of duty.

"Stay here! Keep working on the doughnut!" he exclaimed, rushing out of the bakery. "I'll try and slow her down!"

"Soda!"

"Big brother!"

But he was already gone, leaping into the air to assist Smoothie.

"Mama, mama! The curd is finished!" Mocha reported, running over to tug at your dress.

"Good job, honey," you nodded, patting her on the head. "All right, kids, this is the moment of truth! Your brother's buying us some time so we've gotta hurry!"

"Right!"

"Chai, go get the other two batches of dough out the chiller!"

He nodded, quickly running to the back to go retrieve it.

"Latte! Frappe! Start combining the dough we have out here!"

The twins rushed toward the large bowls, already starting to dump them out onto the flour-covered counter.

"Mocha, go make sure the fryers are hot, then come back and help your brother combine the first batch!"

"You got it, mama!"

She turned and sprinted to the back room, running as fast as her little legs would carry her.

"Cocoa, you're with me! We're gonna finish up the glaze you started earlier!"

"Got it!" Cocoa nodded, running over to the bowl of half-finished glaze she had set aside.

"(y/n)!" Brûlée frantically exclaimed, popping her head out of a mirror in the kitchen. "It's getting bad! Mama's heading right this way!"

"I know! I know! We're moving as fast as we can!" you huffed, frantically stirring the second bowl of glaze.

"Well, it's not fast enough! Mont-d'Or wants to know how much longer this is going to take! This whole island is about to get leveled!"

"If Mama gets a mediocre doughnut then this island really will get leveled!" you scoffed, brows furrowed. "This is my specialty! Just let me handle this and everything'll be—"

"MAMA! GRANDMA'S HERE!" Mocha shrieked, trembling with terror as she stared out the window.

The Yonko's footfalls began to thoroughly shake the bakery, knocking over sacks of flour, breaking tables, and completely destroying shelves.

"No! It's too soon!" you gasped, quickly putting down the bowl and rushing toward the door. "Cocoa, take over! You know what to do!"

"Wha—?! Mom!"

"Don't stop working!"

Frantically, you burst out of the bakery, eyes wide to see that Big Mom was—in fact—right at your doorstep.

"I WANT MY DOUGHNUT! BRING ME MY LEMON DOUGHNUT NOW!"

"Mama!" you shouted, protectively extending your arms out in front of your beloved bakery. "Your doughnut is almost ready! Just give us a little bit more time!"

"WHERE IS MY DOUGHNUT, GIRL! BECAUSE ALL I WANT IS MY DOUGHNUT!"

"We're making it as fast as we can! We just need a few more minutes to get it just right! You have my word!"

"Mom, no!" Soda called, eyes wide with fear as he watched from a distance. "Get out of the way!"

"(y/n), forget it! It's no use!" Smoothie exclaimed. "Run!"

"No! I will not let her destroy everything we've worked for!"

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

In an instant, you were encompassed by an ominous aura, the feeling not at all foreign as you had witnessed the power countless times before.

'Soul Pocus...'

"IS IT LIFE?! OR TREAT?!"

"NO!" Soda shouted, about to rush toward you before Oven and Smoothie grabbed him up, holding him back.

"Not life or treat!" Opera winced.

"She's gonna steal her lifespan away!" Galette cried

"Mama, you can't! She's family! You'll get your dessert soon enough, just hold on!" Mont-d'Or attempted to reason.

"Mama, have mercy!" Smoothie exclaimed.

Brows furrowing, you stood strong, not budging an inch as she stared you down.

"I'm sorry, Mama! But it's just not ready yet!" you stated, cooly.

"Oh, you're gonna be sorry!" she bellowed, her glare intensifying. "I SAID... LIFE OR TREAT!"

Now, on any other day—where it was just you and your troop of bakers—you would have certainly had your soul ripped right out, the fear of your mother-in-law too great to fight off.

But this day was different.

This day... your children were thrown into the mix.

If Big Mom killed you before they finished the doughnut, then they would certainly be slaughtered right alongside.

And with your husband away on the outermost islands of Totto Land, and Soda held back by his uncles, there was no one else left to protect them in that outcome.

So... it didn't matter if it was Kaido, or Big Mom, or whoever.

You were willing to fight off all the emperors at once if it meant keeping your babies safe.

Your brows furrowed, all your fear seeming to dissipate into nothing, molding itself in the shape of pure, unwavering determination.

She wouldn't lay a finger on your children.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Lunging forward, she attempted to grab your soul, but was thoroughly shocked to find that nothing had appeared in her grasp.

Your soul was perfectly intact.

"Your grandchildren are working diligently to bring the doughnut to perfection! If you could only wait just a little while longer!"

"Not necessary!" a familiar voice cut through the tense air, putting you at ease almost instantly.

"Look! Up there!"

"It can't be!"

"But it is!"

"It's...! It's...!"

"IT'S KATAKURI!"

As he soared through the air—humongous doughnut in hand—everyone watched with awe and relief, your husband a marvel to watch as he valiantly swooped in to save the day.

"Mama! Open wide!"

Using his Mochi-Mochi power, he launched his hand forward, harshly shoving the decadent doughnut into his mother's mouth, effectively halting her Soul Pocus.

For a moment... there was a pause.

The entirety of Whole Cake Island stood still, waiting with bated breath for Big Mom's reaction.

"Mama mama! How delicious! This is the best doughnut I've ever tasted!"

Together, everyone let out a unanimous sigh of relief, some even falling out on the floor.

"Mama is successfully subdued! I repeat! Mama is successfully subdued!" Mont-d'Or announced into his transponder snail. "Let's switch gears toward repairing damage. Toot sweet!"

"Lady (y/n) did it!"

"The island is saved!"

"That's our (y/n) for you!"

"Perfect as ever!"

"Oh, thank, God," you exhaled, breathless, as Big Mom's aura finally released you, allowing your legs to buckle.

"(y/n)!" Katakuri quickly landed next to you, catching your limp body before you could fall. "Are you all right?! What happened?!"

"Your mother happened," you sighed, allowing your head to drop against his chest. "One of her hunger pangs."

His eyes widened, a future where things could've gone very wrong flashing through his mind.

"And you didn't call me? I told you to make me aware when a situation like this occurs," he asked, tone rising—more out of fear of what could've been than actual frustration.

"It was time for your merienda... and you've been working so hard lately," you muttered. "I thought you deserved a break from all this."

"Not when it comes to your safety... or the children's," he shook his head. "You all are my utmost priority. More than my merienda."

Realizing your miscalculation, your cheeks warmed, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Sorry, Kuri," you sighed, allowing yourself to melt into his touch. "I dropped the ball, didn't I?"

At the nickname, Katakuri flushed under his scarf, eyes averting from your adorably apologetic expression before he turned even more red.

"I'm just glad you're all right," he caved, all will to chide effectively oozing from his body. "Rest for now."

"Mom!" Soda exclaimed running toward you both. "Are you all right?! That was insane! I've never seen anyone withstand Soul Pocus before!"

You scoffed, shaking your head.

"I assure you, I wouldn't be able to do that again in a million years."

"Soda, ensure your sisters and Chai are all right. Then send for cleanup within a bakery," Katakuri ordered, starting off in the opposite direction. "Assist Mont-d'Or in heading the repair efforts. I'm leaving this mess in your hands."

"You got it!" he nodded, turning around to join the Minister of Cheese in his work.

"Wait... Kuri, I have to help, too," you started, attempting to sit up.

"You have done enough," he denied, tightening his hold on you. "They can take things from here."

"But—"

"No buts... You'll be joining me for the rest of the day."

Confused, you raised a brow, unsure of what he was talking about.

"Joining you? ...For what?"

Knowingly, he glanced down at you, heart pounding against his chest once again at the sight of your perfect face.

How he got so lucky, he would never know.

"We still have time for our merienda. If... you're all right with cold tea?"

Warmed by his shy kindness, you were unable to fight the smile rising to your lips, his ears burning with embarrassment in the adorable way you loved.

He was cute when he wasn't acting all tough.

"Iced tea's perfect... Lead the way."

[ninsiana0]

If we're looking at the definition of a Cozy Mystery (according to Wikipedia: sex and violence occuring offstage, the detective is an amateur sleuth, and the crime and detection take place in a small socially-intimate community) T. Kingfisher embodies Cozy Horror for me.

Several of her books are set in small, isolated communities, and while there is disturbing imagery--sex & violence is absent. And the heroine is a regular person returning to said small town who then stumbles upon The Horrors.

THE HOLLOW PLACES

A young woman discovers a strange portal in her uncle’s house, leading to madness and terror in this gripping new novel.

Pray they are hungry.

Kara finds these words in the mysterious bunker that she’s discovered behind a hole in the wall of her uncle’s house. Freshly divorced and living back at home, Kara now becomes obsessed with these cryptic words and starts exploring the peculiar bunker—only to discover that it holds portals to countless alternate realities. But these places are haunted by creatures that seem to hear thoughts…and the more you fear them, the stronger they become.

THE TWISTED ONES

When a young woman clears out her deceased grandmother’s home in rural North Carolina, she finds long-hidden secrets about a strange colony of beings in the woods.

When Mouse’s dad asks her to clean out her dead grandmother's house, she says yes. After all, how bad could it be?

Answer: pretty bad. Grandma was a hoarder, and her house is stuffed with useless rubbish. That would be horrific enough, but there’s more—Mouse stumbles across her step-grandfather’s journal, which at first seems to be filled with nonsensical rants…until Mouse encounters some of the terrifying things he described for herself.

Alone in the woods with her dog, Mouse finds herself face to face with a series of impossible terrors—because sometimes the things that go bump in the night are real, and they’re looking for you. And if she doesn’t face them head on, she might not survive to tell the tale.

A HOUSE WITH GOOD BONES

"Mom seems off."

Her brother's words echo in Sam Montgomery's ear as she turns onto the quiet North Carolina street where their mother lives alone.

She brushes the thought away as she climbs the front steps. Sam's excited for this rare extended visit, and looking forward to nights with just the two of them, drinking boxed wine, watching murder mystery shows, and guessing who the killer is long before the characters figure it out.

But stepping inside, she quickly realizes home isn’t what it used to be. Gone is the warm, cluttered charm her mom is known for; now the walls are painted a sterile white. Her mom jumps at the smallest noises and looks over her shoulder even when she’s the only person in the room. And when Sam steps out back to clear her head, she finds a jar of teeth hidden beneath the magazine-worthy rose bushes, and vultures are circling the garden from above.

To find out what’s got her mom so frightened in her own home, Sam will go digging for the truth. But some secrets are better left buried.

I've talked about this before but I saw some people talking on bluesky and now I'm even more confused

What the fuck even is "cozy horror"???

It's clearly not just a matter of intention, because I saw someone call the golden age Hammer horror movies cozy. But if it's just a matter of the vibes, then any kind of horror can be cozy. Do you know how many people watch the Saw movies for comfort? (And speaking as someone who's watched some Hammer Horror films and considers them my comfort movies - hell no they aren't cozy to me.)

I don't like starting fights about shit online, I'm too old for that. But I'm annoyed and frustrated by the concept of cozy anything in fiction, truthfully. Maybe someday I'll explain why. Tonight I just want to know what my followers and fellow writers think:

What do you think cozy horror is, and what do you think about the concept itself?

[dameronspector]

Philophobia (part 4)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Stark!Reader

Chapter Summary: You return to DC and stay back at Sam's apartment to fix all the damaged tech. Sam asks Joaquin to stay back with you to keep you company meanwhile Sam and Bucky are visiting someone. You realise that Joaquin is actually not that bad of a company. And you hear a voice you haven’t heard in years.

Warnings: Mentions of Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety Disorder and broken bones, Reader curses like a sailor, Reader is slowly realising that they like like Joaquin, Reader loves to tease Joaquin, Joaquin loves the reader a lot, Bonding time between J+R, Fluff, Pining, Sam being protective over his surrogate children, we meet some characters who are connected to Reader’s past in this hehe. PS: I don’t know anything about tech or the military or American law so pls excuse that. This is a work of fiction.

AN: This is kind of a filler chapter because i wanted Joaquin and Reader to have some more moments together. (please pretend that the gif is Joaquin because that is how he looks at Reader.)

You woke up with a start.

After that terrifying night terror the day before, you surprisingly slept throughout the night peacefully. Which was not only shocking because because usually your night terrors continue for a full week, but also because you had managed to fall asleep in the most uncomfortable position and inside a military plane.

You slept so well that you woke up disoriented. You sluggishly straightened up from your slouched position and let out a sharp wince. There was a lightning pain that shot across your neck, shoulders and back. That was going to manifest into a neck sprain or a back muscle pull, for sure, you thought.

You did some light stretching to loosen your muscles and that's when you registered the piece of clothing that was draped across your shoulders. You removed the black leather jacket and held it in front of you.

"I don't remember wearing this..", you murmured sleepily and squinted your bleary eyes at it.

You tried to recollect if Sam or Bucky had worn a jacket today and it took way too long for your sleep-addled brain to realise that this was Joaquin's jacket.

You gaped at it in surprise. Did he really come back to check on you? You felt your cheeks warm up at the thought of him checking in on you and draping his jacket over you.

You took in a deep breath to calm yourself down-and that's when you caught a whiff of a citrusy cologne and fresh laundry. You paused. You looked around to see if any of them were around. It felt extremely obsessive, creepy and stalkerish but you brought the jacket closer to your nose and gently sniffed it.

Oh.

The smell was coming from the jacket. How did he know these are your favorite smells? He smelled so good. You immediately felt yourself relax.

No wonder you slept so well last night because your aromatherapy oils were in the same citrusy notes and they always helped you relax before sleeping. You heard footsteps approach and you quickly hid the jacket underneath the seat.

"Hey kid, Mornin’", Sam greeted you.

You let out a fake yawn. "Good morning, Sam."

"You sleep well?"

"Yes, surprisingly", you told him while chuckling,

Sam gave you a sincere smile. "That's good. We will touch down in 20 minutes, tops. You can freshen up and pack your stuff. Let us know if you need any help, okay?"

You gave him a half smile. "Yes! I will."

Sam left the room and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

-

You quickly packed your stuff and met them in the hull. As discreetly as possible, you took Joaquin's jacket and draped it over the back of his seat. Just as you were returning back to your seat, you collided with a large body. You let out an oof and an arm held out to steady you.

You looked up and saw that it was Bucky.

"Hey, Kid. In a rush this morning?", he flashed you a big smile with a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him and straightened up before clearing your throat. "Nope, not at all."

Bucky smirked at you. You just know he must've seen something.

"Okay, whatever you say", and left you standing there with a shit-eating grin. Who knew that Bucky Barnes was a mischievous little shit?

You let out a quiet groan when-

"Morning, (Name)." Joaquin.

You turned around to face him. He was not wearing any hair product today and you nearly gasped because his hair looked so gorgeous. He looked like a professional hair product model.

"H-hey. Morning", you murmured back.

He just looked at you with his coffee-brown eyes and let out a sigh before speaking up.

"We are about to land..could you please take your seat", he requested you with that smooth, low voice of his.

You looked at him and gave him a tentative smile. His cheeks were splotched with red. You turned around and made your way to your seat so you didn't notice the way Joaquin scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. Because he had noticed you drape his jacket over his seat.

The thought of you sleeping with his jacket on you for the entire night was enough to send him into dreamland.

You looked really good in his clothes, he thought.

-

After a long and uncomfortable flight, the four of you finally touched down in DC. You, Sam and Bucky made your way to the tarmac while Joaquin finished the deboarding.

"Bucky and I have to meet up with someone. It's uh...kinda classified. But, would you be okay if we dropped you off at my apartment? You could work there and sleep comfortably."

You raised an eyebrow at that and crossed your arms around your chest.

"Classified?"

Sam side eyed Bucky. "Yeah, terminator here doesn't wanna tell me who it is or what it is."

"The last time someone secretly met up with something classified, we fought over a piece of paper and some people were declared as criminals. I hope you guys remember that", you stared at the two of them with narrowed eyes.

They exchanged a guilty look with each other.

"No, don't worry. It's nothing like that, promise", Bucky answers sincerely.

You let out a sigh. "Yeah, okay. My back and neck are killing me, anyways. I would love to crash on a real bed."

Sam clapped his hands. "Great! I'll ask Torres to drop you off-"

"What? I don't need a babysitter! I can read directions, Sam", you cut him off.

Sam clicked his tongue. "How the hell are you gonna carry the tech and your stuff up the apartment? He'll keep you company until we're back", he hit back. "Plus, Rhodey will kill me if I leave you alone..." he muttered the last part under his breath.

You straightened up. "What was that-"

"Yo, what's the plan, now?"

Of course he had to join in right now.

"Joaquin, you are accompanying (Name) to my apartment and you will keep them company until Buck and I return, okay?"

Joaquin's eyes widened.

"Yes!", he responded loudly. You whipped your head to look at him after his mini outburst. He immediately turned red.

"I-I mean, yeah, okay", he cleared his throat.

Bucky and Sam stared at you two with a knowing look in their eyes.

"Anyways...y'all can leave now. Call me if you need anything, okay? If I don't pick up, call Rhodey if you need any thing at all, is that clear?", Sam declared like you were going on a mission.

You scoffed. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Joaquin chuckled under his breath next to you.

"Hope you sleep as well as you did last night, (Name)..", Bucky trailed off, his voice swimming with mirth.

You widened your eyes at him. You were right. This fucker knew. "Shut up, Barnes", you growled.

Bucky let out a chuckle and Sam and Joaquin just watched the exchange in confusion.

"What-"

"Nothing! Don't you guys have important classified stuff to do? I've got to fix your stupid tech as well. Okay, Bye!", you said abruptly and walked away as quickly as possible to stop Bucky from making any more comments on the suspicious blush covering your cheeks.

Joaquin looked at your retreating figure longingly.

Sam called his name and Joaquin whipped his head to look at him.

"Don't ask stupid questions. Don't invade their personal space. Don't discuss anything-"

"-anything personal, Yes, Sam, I remember. We'll have fun, chill", Joaquin replied coolly and shrugged.

Sam squinted his eyes at Joaquin. Sam got whiplash from how quickly you and Joaquin went from flustered to unbothered. He was getting too o-grown for this.

Sam was afraid to admit it, but he felt protective and responsible over you. You have been in a sensitive state of mind for the last few years and Sam did not want to hurt you or be the cause of why you isolate yourself anymore. Call it his genuine concern for you, his training as a counselor or that he felt guilty for whatever happened during and after the Sokovia Accords. Maybe, it was all three of those reasons.

On the other hand, Joaquin was naturally a people's person. He loved talking to people, he loved being around people and he loved when people gave him attention. It's part of the reason why Sam and him got along so well. The two of them were always eager to help people out and were excellent conversationalists which came in handy during negotiations.

It wasn't a bad thing that Joaquin craved for human attention. In fact, that is what made him so lovable because he had so much love to give. It's just that, you and Joaquin were way too different from each other. While Joaquin was an open book, you were a mystery. And Sam didn't blame you for being like that after everything you went through.

Joaquin was like an younger brother to him, Sam wanted the two of you to get along. Not only as teammates, but also outside of that. Sam wanted to help you get more comfortable with people around you, he wanted you to know that you are surrounded by people who cared for you. He just hoped Joaquin wouldn't overwhelm you and make you push them away.

-

You and Joaquin got into the cab and maintained a safe distance between the two of you. It looked like you were two preschoolers who got into a fight over a candy and pressed their noses against the window with a 'hmph'. It was kind of funny.

Joaquin, bless his heart, couldn't sit still for more than 5 minutes and he couldn't shut up for more than 5 seconds.

So, naturally, he spoke up first.

"Uh…do you wanna get breakfast first?"

You turned to look at him with a blank stare.

"Or-or not, I don't mind", he sputtered out, his eyes wide.

You tilted your head slightly.

"Actually, I am hungry. I wouldn't mind", you shrugged.

His face shifted from slight terror to happiness.

"Oh, I know this really cool breakfast spot. It's like- 10 minutes away from Sam's house. Whenever we’re back from an overnight mission, we make sure to stop by and have our breakfast there. It's got a really good menu. I think you'll love it. Especially the pancakes and the breakfast muffins, oh man..", he rambled quickly, making exaggerated hand gestures.

He was so expressive, you were kind of jealous. You had zoned out whatever he was saying for a bit because you were too busy admiring observing the passionate way he talked in. Right from his hand gestures to the perpetual look of awe and wonder in his eyes. It felt like you were in a trance.

You discreetly gave your thigh a pinch and snapped out of it.

"Careful, you're gonna get the food, or the place, pregnant at this point", you teased him.

He quickly shut up and his face got beet red. You are going to be honest to yourself and admit that you loved seeing him get all flustered like that.

"What-no! I-", he rambled and held out his hands to make himself clear.

You let out a giggle.

Joaquin froze.

You giggled. It was soft, but it was audible. But you actually laughed, over something he did. God, he loved that sound. And if it was on the expanse of his self-respect? He'd embarrass himself again and again just to hear it.

"Relax, flyboy. That place does sound real good", you smirked.

Joaquin let out a breathy chuckle. Your ability to make his confident demeanor disappear needed to be studied. And you are so funny.

"Be prepared to have your mind blown", he responded cheekily.

-

You arrived at the breakfast place and were shocked at the line outside. You did not expect it to be so popular.

You had not been in such a crowded space without Rhodey by your side to keep your social anxiety at bay. When you got down from the cab, your legs felt like someone had poured cement all over them. You were suddenly not hungry anymore and just wanted to go home. Just the thought of the entire crowd turning their heads to look at you as you walked in and going through the stress of ordering at the counter made your stomach hurt and your hands sweat. Your hands were shaking and your palms felt cold. In your moment of panic, you didn't notice Joaquin calling out for you.

Joaquin noticed everything about you. And now, he could see very clearly how you had shut down and were blankly staring at the crowd. Fuck. How could he forget that you had social anxiety? What a stupid fucking idea it was to bring a socially anxious person to a popular food joint. Sam was going to kill him.

He stood right next to you and hovered his hand by your arm.

"Hey, (Name), are you okay?", Joaquin asked dumbly because he was felt really bad for bringing you here without giving you an idea about the popularity of the place and he did not know how you were going to react to this.

You swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly to shake yourself out of the daze.

"I'm not hungry, Can I go home?", you murmured.

Joaquin shut his eyes in guilt. You were finally feeling comfortable enough around him and he had already ruined that.

"Yeah, of course, we can do that", he responded quietly.

-

Since the place was only 10 minutes away, the two of you walked to Sam's apartment. It also helped to clear your head as Joaquin had luckily not said a word for 10 minutes.

You finally reached the apartment and as you crossed the threshold of the door, Joaquin helped carry your bags inside and spoke up.

"(Name)?"

You turned around to see he had not fully stepped inside the house.

"Yeah?"

"Uh- would you be okay with being alone for sometime? I've got this really small errand to run. I'll be back in 15-20 minutes, tops."

Your face flickered with an upset look before you controlled it and shrugged.

"Okay." And he was off.

As soon as you closed the door, you shut your eyes tightly and leaned your head against the door. You were not proud of the 'overreaction' you gave back there.

"He must be thinking that I am a fucking weirdo..", you groaned and rubbed your face harshly.

Social interactions were hard. Very hard. You even hate talking on the phone. The only reason why you spoke at galas was because you were always accompanied by someone from your family. This was your first time in a social setting with a new person who did not know how to ground you.

Your social anxiety was not always this bad. Back then, it was manageable and you'd manage to finish the tasks, albeit stuttering your way through it. But ever since you had stopped leaving the house after your dad passed away, you had become somewhat of a recluse. Letting so many people perceive you at once was extremely daunting. It wasn't Joaquin's fault that you were weird like that. You needed to apologise to him. That is, if he came back.

-

You had since then taken a shower, changed into comfortable clothes and were about to unpack. You checked the watch. It must have been 25 minutes since Joaquin left. You were almost sure he wasn't coming back when the doorbell rang and broke your train of thoughts.

You opened the door and Joaquin was standing there, looking cheerful as ever. As if he hadn't just witnessed you having a breakdown earlier. The two of you stared at each other before he gently nudged his way in.

He had a bag full of something in his hands. He went around the couch and set down the bag on the coffee table. You approached him out of curiosity and stood by the arm of the couch.

"So, I got some banana pancakes, an egg breakfast muffin for me and I got a veggie muffin for you because I wasn't sure if you liked to eat eggs for breakfast, some hashbrowns and 2 chocolate milkshakes. I didn't know your coffee order so I just got a normal latte as well. I hope that's okay with you. I know this is a lot but incase you get hungry, we can have some leftovers or order somethin' more." By the time he finished listing off the order, he had unpacked all of the food and set it on the coffee table.

You were frozen to your spot. You thought he had left for the base. You thought he was too weirded out by you and he wouldn't come back.

"You...went back to get breakfast?", you murmured.

He finally looked up and shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"Yeah. We haven't eaten anything since morning. It's almost 12 now. I'm sure you're hungry. Because I know I am", he chuckled.

"But-but why?", you sputtered out, not believing that he stood in that line for 15 minutes just to get you something to eat. He could have easily had his food there and went back home.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'Why'?"

"Joaquin. I literally had a breakdown over standing in a line embarrassed you in front of everyone. You should have had your breakfast and went back-"

"Stop. Listen to me", he held out his hands placatingly.

You paused and he took that as a sign to continue.

"First of all, you didn't embarrass me, (Name). You have a genuine aversion to crowded spaces and that's completely okay. It was my fault for not informing you about how popular the place is. I'm really sorry", he confessed sincerely.

He looked so earnest that it made your eyes tear up.

The reason why you couldn't make friends out of your 'avengers' circle was because everyone thought that you were either a spoilt brat or that you were a weirdo because of your phobias and disorders. Watching Joaquin be so mindful about your problems made you emotional.

You blinked your eyes quickly and sniffled. Stop embarrassing yourself again, you told yourself sternly.

"...I'm still sorry. You didn't have to do all this. How much do I owe you?"

Joaquin looked offended. "Owe me?! Bold of you to think I'm letting you pay back! My mom did not raise me like that! Plus, consider this as an apology from me."

You squinted your eyes at him and he stared right back, challenging you. You eventually backed down.

"Okay, drama queen. But, I'm buying lunch. Or dinner", you offered.

He gave you a lopsided grin and shrugged, "Sure."

The two of you sat down by the coffee table and dug in. You still couldn't stop thinking about how considerate he was to bring you a veggie alternative of the muffin and how he had chosen the chocolate milkshake because that was your favorite.

You took a bite of the pancakes and your eyes widened. Joaquin looked at you and smiled brightly.

"Oh my god, this is so good!", you exclaimed.

"See! I knew you'd love it!"

"It's perfectly sweet and soft, oh man, this is amazing.." you almost moaned.

You closed your eyes and took a moment to chew the pancakes in bliss and didn’t notice how intently Joaquin was looking at you with a smile plastered on his face.

The two of you continued eating in silence until you reached for the chocolate milkshake. “How’d you know I prefer chocolate milkshake?”

Joaquin swallowed his bite and spoke up. “It’s my favourite flavour, so I thought I’d get the same for you.”

You hummed. “A man of taste, I see.”

Joaquin gave you a smirk, “I do have impeccable taste, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, “Oh, I wanna take that back right now.”

“No, no! You can’t, you admitted that I have good taste!”, he chuckled.

“Whatever”, you stuck your tongue out at him and he laughed loudly.

“You wanna share the coffee? I’m pretty full”, you asked him.

“Yeah, sure.”

He was about to reach for the cup and get up before you took it out of his grip. This boy was physically unable to relax for even a moment.

“Sit still for a minute, would you? I’ll transfer it into cups.”

“What if you give yourself the bigger portion?”, he asked with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You gasped dramatically. “How did you read my mind?!”, and went to the kitchen. He let out a soft chuckle. He was so happy that you were feeling comfortable enough to joke around him. It made his stomach flutter.

You made him nervous and he liked that. Every time you let out one of those soft giggles to hide that you had found something funny, it made his chest ache with longing to hear that laugh again.

He would make it his mission to make you laugh as much as possible. And then he went on a little mental trip on how much he loved your quick wit and how you care for everyone even though you try your best not to show it, how you are always so ready to help everyone, albeit begrudgingly. How generous you are. How-

“Here.”

You broke his daydreaming by handing him the cup.

He blinked before accepting the cup with a soft ‘thank you.’

“So…you’re planning to stay back?”, you asked inquisitively.

“Yes, of course. Unless, you don’t want me to”, he added hesitantly.

You pursed your lips and shrugged.

“I mean, I don’t mind. I’ll be busy taking care of Sam’s pet. If anything, you’ll get bored.”

“I’d never get bored with you”, Joaquin murmured under his breath.

You snapped your eyes at him. “What?”

Joaquin sputtered. “Uh- nothing. I mean, I’d never get bored with gadgets… and stuff. I’ll- I’ll help you out.”

You observed him closely before nodding yes.

It was quiet for sometime before you spoke up.

“So…I wanna know why Samuel likes you so much because he’s very picky about who is in his team. Tell me about yourself”, you quirked an eyebrow.

Joaquin let out a chuckle and turned to look at you. One of his legs was bent at the knee and resting on the couch, while the other was dangling from the side of the couch.

“Okay, well, Hi, I am Joaquin Torres”, he began, and stretched his hand out for you to shake and flashed his toothy smile.

You stared at him in amusement before shaking his hand.

Both of you felt like electricity had passed through your body upon contact. His hand was so soft.

You reluctantly removed your hand and cleared your throat.

“Hi, Joaquin Torres”, you said while smiling at him.

His heart stopped. He wanted you to say his name again and again until he was just bones and dust.

He swallowed weakly and let out a breathy chuckle.

“Uh, I’m from Miami. I crossed the border when I was…6 years old. I’m Mexican. I live with my Mom, Esperanza, my grandma Mariana and I have an elder sister as well, her name is Jaritza. I was on the soccer team during school. Fun fact: I’ve broken both of my collarbones while playing soccer AND football and had to wear this really embarrassing brace to support my upper body for a whole year.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.

“No way. How are you even moving right now? Does it not trouble you anymore?”

Joaquin let out a silent laugh.

“Yeah, it does. Sometimes my shoulders get locked up but nothing that a physiotherapy session can’t fix. Anyways, I’m a huge Bruce Lee fan. I took up martial arts classes all thanks to him. I uh…i was- I am a huge nerd so-”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Shut up!”, he laughed. “I actually took up robotics classes in school. That’s where my love for tech kinda grew. Mainly concentrated on infrastructure robotics and then that made me go down into a rabbit hole of artificial intelligence.”

Your eyes widened.

Because what the hell, he was pretty AND was an all-rounder? You had some serious competition. “Whoa. We should totally recruit you. Send your résumé, let me talk to Pepper”, you asked him with genuine interest.

“Oh, you’re too kind”, he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“No, I’m serious, Joaquin. That’s really impressive.”

He blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, I guess. I’m not any better than you though, for sure. It’s just a hobby. And uh- yeah. I enlisted in the Air Force after watching and reading endlessly about Sam. He’s the one who got me through the toughest times in my life and he inspired me to keep pushing to do more. To be better. And now, I’m lucky enough to breathe the same air as him”, he finished fondly.

You gave him a sweet smile.

“And you, by extension”, he added in a shy, quiet voice. You paused.

“Oh shut up-”

“No! Please hear me out. At first I thought you were just another billionaire’s kid who did it for PR. But then I read about you. About your foundation. I attended some of your galas and talks. You are such an eloquent speaker, (Name). All of your speeches have moved me in one way or the other. I thought, they’re my age. If they can do this, so can I. And the way you stand toes in on your morals and principles is so inspiring. The way you’re always trying to give back to the people even if you’re going through some shit in your life…it’s just so admirable. And the grace with which you forgave Bucky- I know it wasn’t his fault- but, if it was someone else, they wouldn’t have been so forgiving. So, thank you for your kindness and your graciousness.”

You blinked at him. It was difficult to see him because your vision was blurry because of the tears.

How can a person be so…beautiful, both inside and out. You haven’t met a person who’s this multi-talented and with such a high emotional intelligence. Especially for a man. He was not only hard working, but he was empathetic and respectful. Caring. Loving. He literally wore his heart on his sleeve. You weren’t religious by any means but you sent out a quick prayer in the universe to ensure happiness, success, safety, comfort and love in his life.

Joaquin’s face shifted in terror.

“Wait. Don’t cry- I’m sorry-”

You let out a shaky laugh.

“No, I’m- thank you, Joaquin”, you replied quietly with tears in your eyes.

Joaquin furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why are you thanking me? And, can you please stop crying, (Name). You’re freaking me out”, he frowned and held out his hands to calm you down.

You let out a giggle and wiped your tears.

“I can see why Sam picked you, flyboy”, you sniffled.

He just stared at you, with a dumbfounded expression on his face. His mouth was gaping like a fish. Like he couldn’t figure out if that was a compliment or a sarcastic joke.

God, he’s such a dumbass.

But oh, how you liked it.

-

After putting away the trash and the dishes, the two of you retreated to the office to begin working on the damaged goods. You handled redwing meanwhile Joaquin offered to look over the vambrace.

“Fucking hell, that girl completely destroyed the inner workings. The main board and the wires are completely crushed. And the display has a clean break. This is going to take so much time”, you groaned and ran a hand through your hair. “Is the vambrace in a better condition?”

“I mean, if you consider a dented display as ‘better’ then, sure”, Joaquin murmured back while dismantling the screen. “The wires are completely fired. Likely short-circuited because of the pressure on it.”

You leaned your head back in frustration. You were about to respond when your phone rang. It was Sam.

“Hey, What’s up?”

“Hey, kid. All good there?”

“Well, yeah. Redwing and your vambrace are in a…delicate condition but otherwise it’s good.”

Sam winced. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Anyways uh, I wanted to ask a favour from you..?”

You quirked an eyebrow. “From me? What for?”

“Well, you see, we got into some shit here.”

You straightened up. “What? Sam, what did you do?”

Joaquin looked at you in worry.

Sam let out a deep sigh. “Well, Bucky got arrested.”

“What?!”

Joaquin rushed to stand next to you. ‘What happened?’, he mouthed.

You let out a sigh and held out a hand to tell him to wait.

“How the hell did that happen, Sam? What are you two upto? And where are you guys?”

“It’s nothing serious, relax. He got arrested because he missed his court mandated therapy session. Nothing else. I just need you to come down to Maryland to sign some papers.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Maryland? What the hell are you doing there? And you’re asking me to join you, now?”

Sam let out another sigh and you could almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose in stress. “Look, I know it’s a lot. But, given your name and everything, they’ll let him off easy. Please, kid. We’re in the middle of finding out some crucial information. We can’t afford another stupid arrest like this.”

You let out a heavy sigh and groaned. “Okay. Fine! I’ll be there. Are you two alright?”

“Yeah. We’re okay. We’ll inform you about the rest once you get here. Is Joaquin with you?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Alright, bring him with you. Tell him about the situation.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

You put down the phone and rested your hands on your hips.

“What’s going on?”, Joaquin ask with his eyebrows scrunched.

“Bucky got arrested. For missing his court mandated therapy session”, you sighed.

Joaquin made a face. “They can arrest you for that?”

You laughed. Loudly. He was so clueless about some things it was really cute.

Joaquin was startled. Did he crack a joke?

“Yes, they can, flyboy. Now come on, we have to go to Maryland to bail his ass and do other adult shit.”

Joaquin shrugged. “Okay, I’ll pack my stuff and book the cab.”

“Oh no, we’re not taking a cab.”

Joaquin’s face twisted in confusion and he titled his head to the right. If his ears were on top of his head he’d look like a puppy.

“We aren’t?”

“Did you forget who’s my father? I have unlimited access to his cars”, you smiled triumphantly.

“Oh!”, Joaquin responded happily.

You quickly opened your phone called up the Head Of Security of Stark Industries. Aka-

“Happy! Listen, can you send the blue BMW to the address that I just texted you? I need it for…research purposes”, you smirked.

Joaquin chuckled in amusement. This was a completely different person from yesterday.

“Happy? Are you there on the line? I swear I called y-”

“(Name)?”

You froze. You felt dizzy and your legs had turned to lead. It felt like you had burned your hand so bad that you were waiting for the pain to register.

Joaquin observed you carefully.

“(Name)? Honey?”

You haven’t heard that voice since the following week after the funeral. Since the day you distanced yourself from them.

You swallowed thickly and stumbled back. Joaquin rushed over to steady you with his hands on your elbows.

“(Name)? Are you okay”, Joaquin asked, concerned.

You whispered a single word.

“M-May?”

-

AN: interesting things are happening…love is in the air…. 😁

Special mention to @wolflikesstuff for his brilliant and thoughtful input about Joaquin and his backstory and for robotics related jargon <3

Please like and reblog! 💜

[call-me-strega]

Frostcup (Jack Frost x Hiccup Horrendous Haddock) has come out of nowhere and consumed my mind. The brain worms are going crazy so please consider:

Human!Jack AU where Jack is a normal shepherd boy who lives on Berk. He's a little older than Hiccup, and even though he's not the most conventional Viking, he's still respected because he's lowkey Gothi's apprentice.

He's got latent magic that the village elder is teaching him to harness (bc I believe she'd be knowledgeable abt that, that old lady is magical, I swear). It's not super obvious, but it's in the ways he's never lost a sheep to a dragon (he's lowkey communing with them like how Valka did with Cloudjumper) or the way he brings stories to life when he's entertaining children in the great hall or the way his mischievous smile sends literal chills down people's spines. Jack is capable and relatively well-liked in the community, if regarded as a bit of an odd-ball.

I imagine he was a bit of an inspiration/role model to the will-be riders, but especially to Hiccup since Jack always defended him when he got picked on for being small and un-viking-like. I think part of the reason Hiccup would be desperate to prove himself bc he wants to impress people like Jack and Astrid, who he views as ideals. I also think he'd go to Jack and try to subtly dig for advice on how to potentially heal or help Toothless, which would make Jack suspicious. He'd investigate and find Hiccup and Toothless in the clearing, but unlike Astrid who confronts them in the movie, he'd pull Hiccup aside and tell him he knows later that night.

Hiccup would panic and ask him not to tell anyone, offering to take him on a ride to prove Toothless isn't dangerous. Jack calms him down enough to point out he hasn't told anyone yet and that he's willing to trust Hiccup on this, but he'll take Hiccup on that ride anyway. He even confesses the reason he's never lost a sheep is because he's never actually tried to fight a dragon, simply convince them to leave.

Later, when Hiccup introduces Jack and Toothless, they get along almost instantly. Toothless is wary at first but Jack approaches him carefully, guided by Hiccup. Once Toothless recognizes that there is magic inside Jack he instantly warms up and in the future Hiccup will complain that his dragon likes Jack more than him. They go for a flight and Jack is convinced. He tells Hiccup he'll support him no matter what happens.

Later on Hiccup is still caught by Astrid, and he repeats the flight tactic since it worked last time, though Toothless decidedly likes Astrid less than Jack. So she still goes with them and finds the nest just sans romantic vibes this time. When the get back he tells her Jack knows and the three of them end up talking about it.

Astrid asks Jack why he didn't say anything and Jack declares that he has faith in Hiccup and agrees dragons aren't all bad. Later, when the adults go looking for the nest Jack and Astrid convince him to do something (and since Jack doesn't have an official dragon yet he makes do with the Terrible Terror from the arena).

Blah Blah Blah stuff goes down, canon ending. Idk about stuff after that but at some point Jack gets a dragon, is asked out by Hiccup, and meets the Bewilderbeast that awakens his latent magic, giving him ice powers, a white streak in his hair, and one of his eyes turns blue. Not necessarily in that order.

Oh and just as an extra Stoick's attitude towards Jack is much like his canon one towards Astrid. He quite likes the boy bc he lowkey reminds him of Valka. At some point he tries to bond with Hiccup and awkwardly asks if he's interested in Astrid. When Hiccup denies this he follows up by asking if he's interested in Jack to which Hiccup promptly turns red. Stoick tells him he's got no reason to be ashamed even claiming that Jack reminds him of his mother, while wishes that the ground would just swallow him up bc he's not talking to his dad about his crush.

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt, Iron, and Lace: A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 1: In the middle of the road

MAIN MASTERLIST Summary: The Wincherster brothers find a girl in the middle of the road. Who is she? From where did she came? Not even her has a clue. SERIES MASTERLIST (not available… yet) Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Word count:+2.2k ⚠️Warnings:Mentions of wounds and blood. Memory loss. A/N: HOLA! So, I'm back. Welcome to my first Supernatural series! Are you excited? Bc I so fuckin' am. Hope you like it! I’m not gonna say any spoilers but get ready for a crossover plot twist in the future of the series!

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

You didn't know where you were. You didn't remember how or when you got there. You didn't even remember who you were. And it scared the shit out of you.

Bloody, bare feet dragged across the cold, wet pavement without direction. The frozen wind burned your cheeks, ears, and eyes as you walked through the dark.

Every part of your body hurt, but at the same time, it felt like you couldn't feel anything. Disoriented. Tired. Scared. Alone.

Suddenly, a sound broke through the emptiness of your path. It began as a low, distant purring, until it transformed into a vibrant roar. A light illuminated the water pooled on the road. Blinding headlights flashed in your eyes, and you raised a hand to shield yourself, trying to figure out what it was.

A car?

Something inside you was replaced with pure terror, and then—you ran. As fast as you could. But it wasn't enough. You heard the car screech to a stop behind you, doors slamming open, followed by two male voices shouting.

"STOP!" they yelled. But you didn't obey.

You kept running, chest burning from the freezing air and exhaustion. A voice in your head kept repeating that if you didn't run faster—further—they'd catch you and finish what they started.

But... what was it they started? You didn't know.

Then, a hand grabbed your forearm, strong fingers digging into your flesh like they meant to reach the bone. You stumbled, misstepped, and slammed into the hard ground. The taste of blood filled your mouth instantly. Your body felt like it was shutting down, and it triggered a flashback of raw emotion. Desperation coursed through your veins. You were about to pass out—and it would mean the end of you.

But you weren't going down that easily.

So you fought. With fists and screams, you fought. You threw punches at whoever was on top of you. You landed a few, but it felt like you were hitting a brick wall.

Then a second man grabbed your arms and pinned them to the pavement. You thrashed and screamed like a wounded animal. Scared. Agonizing.

"CALM DOWN!" the man above you roared, so loud, it actually made you shut the fuck up.

Your breathing was ragged. Every inhale scraped your lungs like broken glass, and your chest heaved beneath the weight of the man pinning you down. His hands were rough, but not cruel.

"Look at me," he said, voice lower now but still commanding.

You didn't. You couldn't. Your entire body was still locked in fight mode, every muscle ready to lash out again.

"I said look at me," he repeated, this time softer. "You're safe now. No one's gonna hurt you."

Safe? The word bounced around your skull like a bad joke. Safe wasn't something you believed in. Not tonight, not ever again.

A second man knelt beside you. You caught a glimpse of green eyes under a furrowed brow, a leather jacket, a shotgun slung across his back. His voice was gentler.

"Dean," he said to the man above you, "ease up, man. She's scared outta her mind."

Dean. That was his name. You latched onto it like it meant something. Like maybe, somehow, you'd heard it before.

Dean shifted his weight off your torso, but he didn't let go of your wrists. "You gonna run again?" he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You hesitated. Not because you trusted him… hell no. But your body was giving up on you. And some deep, buried part of you just wanted to stop fighting.

You shook your head slowly.

Dean nodded and finally let go. The other guy, taller, broader, but with something kind in his eyes, offered you a hand.

You stared at it.

"What's your name?" he asked.

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

You knew about yourself as much as they knew about you. Nada.

And you sure as hell didn't know them.

"You sure you've never seen her before?" Dean asked, keeping one hand near the pistol tucked at his hip, just in case. He wasn't pointing it at you, but he wasn't exactly relaxed either.

Sam shook his head. "No. She doesn't match any of the missing persons cases from the area, either. Not that we've checked them all yet."

You sat on the edge of the Impala's trunk, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. Your knees were scraped raw. The dried blood on your hands was mostly yours… or so they hoped.

You watched them with wide, unblinking eyes. Silent.

"Hey," Sam tried again, crouching down to your level. "Can you talk?"

You opened your mouth. Tried. But the words stuck in your throat like barbed wire.

"It's okay," he added quickly, voice low and calm. "You don't have to say anything. My name is Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We're not gonna hurt you."

Dean, leaning against the car, shot his brother a skeptical look. "We're seriously bringing her with us?"

"You got a better idea? Leave her out here for whatever did this to her to come back?"

Dean exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "I've seen this movie before, Sam. Girl shows up outta nowhere, covered in blood, no memory. Next thing we know, we're waking up in the trunk."

You flinched at that. Maybe from the words, or maybe because deep down, you were afraid he was right.

But Sam shook his head. "She's scared, Dean. That's not an act. Something happened to her."

Dean looked at you again, really looked. Your cracked lips, your swollen eye, the way your hands trembled even beneath the blanket.

Something about you got under his skin.

"Fine," he muttered. "But we're locking the knives up."

He turned to you, eyes hard but not unkind. "You ride with us. We'll take you someplace safe. You try anything, anything, and I won't hesitate. Got it?"

You nodded. Barely.

Because the truth was, you didn't know who you were. But you had a terrible feeling you'd done something awful.

Or worse...

Something had been done to you.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

They brought you to a motel just off the highway, one of those roadside places with flickering neon signs and paper-thin walls. You didn't ask questions. You didn't say a word. Just followed them like a ghost, blanket still wrapped around you, your bare feet leaving faint traces of blood on the carpet.

Inside, Dean tossed his keys on the table and nodded toward the bathroom.

"Go on," he said. "Take your time. We'll keep watch."

Sam offered a soft smile. "There's clean towels in there. Soap, shampoo... everything you need."

You hesitated in the doorway, eyes flicking between the brothers. Still no recognition. No spark of memory. But they hadn't hurt you. Not yet. And that was more than you could say about whoever had left you bleeding in the dark.

The bath was scalding hot, and it stung like hell. But you didn't stop. You scrubbed until your skin felt raw, like you could peel off whatever had happened to you—whatever you were. The water turned red, then pink, then clear.

You stared at your reflection for a long time. The girl looking back at you was a stranger: swollen, teary eyes. Beaten up. Exhausted. You felt pity for her.

That's when you noticed all your clothes were filthy, bloody, ripped to shreds... just as a knock on the bathroom door pulled you out of your thoughts.

Sam's voice came through, hesitant. "I... um, I brought you some clothes."

You hesitated. You were naked, wrapped only in a small towel. You couldn't think of a more vulnerable state to be in.

If they wanted to hurt me, they would've done it already, you thought.

So you cracked the door open halfway, staying hidden behind it, and reached out for the clothes. They were simple: a sports bra, a pair of socks, and high-waisted underwear. A black sweater and a pair of jeans. Everything was oversized, except for the boots, which fit just right.

By the time you came out, the room smelled like fast food and cold rain. Sam was back with a paper bag full of greasy burgers and fries. He slid a tray toward you on the small table without a word.

You ate like you hadn't seen food in years. Hands shaking, mouth full, eyes darting as if someone might rip the plate away at any second. They didn't interrupt. Not even when you licked the salt off your fingers like an animal.

When the food was gone, and your body finally started to calm, you collapsed onto the bed, barely making it under the covers. Sleep took you fast—too fast, like it had been waiting for you to let your guard down.

You didn't hear Dean dialing the phone. Didn't hear Sam pacing by the window.

But Castiel heard.

He arrived sometime past midnight. The motel room dimmed when he stepped inside, like the air around him swallowed the light. You didn't stir.

"She's completely blank," Dean explained to him. "Not a name, not a damn word."

Castiel moved to the bed and looked at you with his head tilted slightly, blue eyes studying your face.

"She is... broken," he said quietly. "But not by natural means."

Sam leaned in. "You think someone wiped her memory?"

"I don't know. Let me look."

He placed two fingers gently against your forehead. The light flickered.

Castiel's brow furrowed.

"There's... nothing. Not even silence. Just a void. Like someone carved her clean. But don't worry, she's not a threat," Castiel said.

"How do you know that?" Dean snapped. "You said there's nothing in her mind. No memories. No thoughts. Just black. That sounds like a normal human to you?"

"Dean," his brother warned.

Dean rubbed a hand down his face and exhaled. "Sorry. I'm just saying… we've seen things. Demons, witches, ghosts. People possessed. I've learned not to trust what looks human." He frowned at Castiel. "So, what? You can't fix it?"

"I can try," Castiel said. "But not tonight. She's too weak. It'd kill her."

As if the word kill had slipped into your dreams, you jolted awake, a gasp escaping your trembling lungs.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the three men staring back at you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, and for a second, you forgot where you were. Again.

Dean raised his hands a little, palms out. "Hey, easy. You're okay."

Sam took a cautious step closer. "You remember us, right? Sam, Dean. We brought you here last night."

You nodded slowly, last night memories bringing back to you.

"This is Castiel," Sam continued, gesturing toward the third man.

He stood near the foot of the bed. Tall, still as a statue, eyes impossibly blue. For some reason, his mere presence felt safe. Heavenly, even.

"Hello," Castiel said simply, his voice low and calm. "I'm not here to harm you."

You didn't respond. You weren't sure if you could.

"He's... not exactly like us," Dean said. "He's an angel."

Your eyes flicked between them, trying to make sense of what you'd just heard. Sam glanced at him, like he was about to scold him for being so blunt.

They usually avoided that kind of explanation with people who weren't hunters, regular people. Demons, angels, and cryptids were topics most wouldn't believe or even begin to understand. But Sam didn't say anything, because he was starting to realize that you certainly weren't most people.

"Yeah," Dean added, catching your expression. "We know how it sounds, but trust me, he's the real deal. Wings, grace, the whole celestial package."

"He can heal you," Sam said gently. "The rest of the pain you're in, he can take it away, if you let him."

Castiel stepped forward. "Only if you want me to."

You stared at him. Part of you still screamed not to trust anyone, but another part, the one that still ached, still trembled every time you blinked, wanted to believe them.

Slowly, you nodded.

Castiel moved to your side and reached out, two fingers raised toward your forehead. His touch was feather-light, barely there, and yet your body jolted at the sudden warmth that spread through you.

It wasn't just the pain that faded.

It was the weight, the cold, the thing inside you that had wrapped around your bones like burning chains.

For the first time, you could breathe.

And for the first time, you felt a tear slip down your cheek, not from fear, but from relief.

When you opened your eyes again, the world looked different. Brighter, somehow. The two men in front of you watched with wide eyes, as if they still hadn't fully gotten used to their angel-friend's powers.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

You nodded, and all three of them exchanged a look—subtle, but laced with quiet disappointment at your continued silence.

Castiel stepped back, his voice low. "She's stable now. But whatever happened to her, it left more than just physical damage."

Dean's jaw tensed at that. "Yeah. We figured."

You flinched on the bed, shame rushing to your face. They were talking about you like you were broken. It made you feel so little. That was the first time Dean really noticed your features. When he truly saw the young woman beneath all that mystery, just a girl with the eyes of a wounded deer.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance. "We just want to help. Whatever happened to you... it might've been supernatural. That's what we do. We hunt things that hurt people."

Your gaze moved between the three of them. You still didn't know who you were. But somehow, deep down, you believed one thing: whatever had hurt you... wasn't done with you yet.

"We live in a bunker not too far from here," Sam continued. "What if you stayed with us until we figure all of this out?"

There wasn't much to think about. You had nothing, not even your name, your age, or your memories. Fuck, you didn't even have a voice. So all you could do was nod.

"Alright," he said, giving you a small smile. "Eat your breakfast and, when you're ready, we're leaving."

NEXT CHAPTER

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Cussing, Medical descriptions, mentions of blood and injures, fluff

Part 32

A Charming Detour - Part 33

The room is brighter today. Sunlight cuts through the blinds in angled slats, laying stripes across Juice's bed and the pale blue hospital blanket pulled to his waist.

Machines still beep steadily, though there’s one less now — the ventilator’s presence looms, but today, it’s being disconnected.

You’re not in the room.

You’ve been pacing just outside the door, a paper cup of untouched coffee cooling in your hands.

Chibs is with you, leaned against the wall, arms folded, silent but grounding. You don’t ask why he hasn’t left your side. You already know. He’s seen this part before — the waking. The pain. The panic.

Inside, nurses prep Juice. The doctor explains what’s happening in that calm, clinical voice that somehow makes it all feel worse.

“You’ll feel pressure. You might gag. Just focus on breathing. We’ve got you.”

Juice’s eyelids flutter, and there’s a sluggish kind of awareness behind them. Heavy, drugged. Confused.

Then they start to pull the tube.

He thrashes.

His body bucks slightly, instinct fighting what his mind hasn’t yet caught up to. Hands strain weakly against the bedrails. A strangled noise escapes his throat — a wet, gasping sound, equal parts terror and pain. His chest convulses once, twice—

Then the tube slides out with a slick, wet sound.

He chokes.

Eyes wide. Watering. Mouth open, dragging in air like a man pulled from drowning. His breaths are harsh and ragged, rasping around a throat raw from silence. His whole body shudders as oxygen finally moves on its own again.

“Jesus Christ...” he gasps hoarsely, voice like gravel dragged over asphalt. “Where— where the hell— what happened—?”

The nurses try to calm him, one hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Ortiz, you’re at St. Thomas. You were on a ventilator. You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?”

He doesn’t hear them.

He’s already panicking.

“Babe?” he croaks, jerking his head weakly to either side, eyes darting around, bloodshot and frantic. “Where’s— where’s my wife? Where is she? Baby?!”

You don’t remember moving, but the next thing you know, you’re at his side. The coffee cup hits the floor and rolls away. You’re breathless. Trembling.

“Juan— I’m here. I’m right here.”

He turns his head toward the sound, eyes catching you. For a second, he freezes — like he’s not sure you’re real. Like his brain can’t accept it.

Then he chokes out something that might be a sob.

“Baby… oh my god… you—” He tries to sit up but can’t. The effort makes his whole body tremble.

You catch his hand and press it to your cheek. It’s cold and dry, the IV still taped to the back. His fingers twitch and grip yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, leaning closer, your forehead almost touching his. “You’re okay now.”

He nods — but tears are already sliding from the corners of his eyes. His voice is rough and breaking.

“They—they grabbed me, babe. Took me— I tried to fight but there were too many and I thought— I thought I wasn’t gonna see you again. I kept thinking about you, like— like maybe if I just held onto you in my head they wouldn’t win, y’know?” His words stumble over each other in a jumble of emotion, frantic and messy.

He’s trying to smile through it, through the pain and the fear and the raspy cough that keeps interrupting him.

“You look—God— you look— so fucking beautiful. You always do. Even when I’m half-dead and probably smell like shit.”

You laugh, watery and cracked, and press your lips to the back of his hand.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper. “I saw them dragging you away. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop them.”

Juice shakes his head slowly, still wheezing a little, but his grip on your hand is stronger now.

Juice’s chest rises and falls unevenly, each breath rasping as it climbs up from lungs still protesting the effort. The ventilator’s gone he looks exhausted, pale under the bruises, dried blood still clinging faintly to the stitches on his arm.

But his eyes haven’t left you once.

Juice is still mid-ramble — frantic, sincere, clumsy in that achingly Juice way.

“Did the guys—did they take care of you? I mean, you didn’t go home alone, right? You ate? I bet you didn’t eat. Baby, you have to eat. Wait—did anyone even tell you I was okay or did they just, like, ride off and leave you pacing the garage like some mob wife in a movie? Not that you’re a mob wife. You’re way prettier. Shit—did that sound creepy?” He pauses, barely a breath between words, and lets out a short, wheezy laugh. “I’ve been out for days and I’m still saying dumb shit.”

You shake your head slowly, your soft little smile breaking just slightly at the edges.

“I’m okay,” you say gently. “We… all came home.”

He exhales, lips parting like he wants to say something else—but hesitation flickers behind his eyes.

That insecure, unsure little twitch of his fingers over the sheets, the way his hand hovers midair before dropping back down like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to ask.

“I just—” His voice cracks a little. “I need to hold you. Is that okay? Or are you—shit, you’re probably scared. I look like Frankenstein’s baby brother. You don’t gotta—if it’s too much, I get it. I just—”

You stop him with a motion so gentle it’s like a ghost moving your hand finds his, and he immediately latches onto it, knuckles white with effort.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say softly. “I was only scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

He opens his mouth, but his lips tremble and close again. And that—that moment of silence from Juice—is maybe more telling than anything else he could’ve said.

You stand slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. Juice watches you like he can’t quite believe what you’re about to do, like maybe he’s hallucinating.

Your weight dips the mattress gently as you climb up, legs folding delicately beside his hip, your upper body draping carefully along the edge of the bed, hand tentatively on his chest.

He shifts with a wince to make space, one arm half-wrapped around your back despite the tangle of IV lines and bruised ribs. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, where his skin still smells faintly like antiseptic and blood and him underneath it all.

Juice exhales shakily.

His fingers, weak but desperate, trace small aimless patterns along your back—like he needs constant contact to remind himself you’re here.

“Baby…” His voice is barely audible now, breath warm against your hair. “God, I missed you. Everything hurt but that was the worst part. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

You press your lips to his collarbone and feel his pulse flutter.

“Me too,” you whisper.

He’s quiet for a long moment—until a nervous laugh breaks free.

“They’re gonna yell at us for this, huh? Me all tubed up and stitched together, you crawling into bed like a scene outta Grey’s Anatomy. I love it.” He chuckles, then groans as it pulls at his bruises. “Okay, laughing? Bad idea.”

You smile against his skin, letting the silence settle, letting his heartbeat thud beneath your ear.

But beneath the tenderness, his fingers still twitch now and then — not from pain, but from that nagging anxiety that always lives in him.

The room is wrapped in half-light — the dimmed glow of fluorescent bulbs and the shifting silver of passing headlights through the blinds. Machines hum a low mechanical lullaby beside the hospital bed, soft and constant, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

You’re curled into Juice’s side, your body finally surrendered to sleep for the first time since they took him.

Your face is tucked into his shoulder, one small hand resting just over the gauze taped to his ribs.

Your breathing is slow, even, the kind of sleep that only comes after fear has wrung every drop of strength from you.

And Juice — battered and bruised, tubes trailing from his arms, his head still aching — can’t stop looking at you.

His fingers twitch where they rest on the curve of your waist. Not from pain. From awe.

"Baby," he whispers, voice still raw and hoarse, “you’re really here��”

Your lashes don’t even flutter.

You're out cold.

And he swallows thickly because that alone breaks something in him. That you probably didn’t sleep until now.

Juice blinks up at the ceiling for a long moment, then lets his gaze drift back down to you — every inch of you like a balm to his beaten body.

His hand curls gently around your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse, as if he still needs to make sure you’re real.

“I don’t even know how I got this lucky.” His voice is a hush. “Like, what the hell were you doing with someone like me? You could’ve had normal. Safe. Some guy with a desk job and a Labrador, not—” his voice catches, “—not a guy who drags you into this world. Into this.”

Your breathing doesn’t change. You’re still somewhere deep inside dreams that don’t hurt. And he’s thankful for that. You shouldn’t have to carry the nightmares too.

“They hurt me, baby,” he says, more to himself than to you now. “But that wasn’t the worst part. It was thinkin’ I wouldn’t get back to you. That I’d die there on that floor and you’d never know how much I—”

He cuts off, biting his lower lip so hard it almost bleeds. The words sit on his tongue like a razor blade.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing the lightest kiss to your temple — gentle, reverent, like he’s terrified to wake you.

“I love you—god—so fucking much babe” he whispers so soft it might not even reach your ears.

Your fingers twitch slightly in your sleep, brushing his side.

He stills completely, watching you with wide eyes, half-expecting you to wake up and call him out on the mess of his soul.

But you don’t.

You just snuggle closer, your body molded against his like you were meant to be there.

Juice exhales, his eyes glassy now.

He closes them for a moment, letting himself rest into the warmth of you — letting the fear go, piece by piece, like bleeding it out of his bones.

The room is still dim, the blinds half-drawn against the world outside. The machines keep their steady rhythm beside the hospital bed, a soft mechanical reminder— beat by beat, breath by breath.

You haven’t moved.

Curled into Juice like a second skin, your small frame fits perfectly against his side, your cheek resting just below his collarbone. His arm, bruised and hooked to IVs, is draped protectively around your waist, his thumb moving in slow, idle circles over your shirt — a nervous comfort, maybe for you… maybe for him.

His eyes haven’t left your face in over an hour.

He watches the rise and fall of your breath like a lifeline.

His face, usually animated and fidgety, is unusually still — soft in a way only the most vulnerable moments allow.

For the first time since the warehouse, there’s no fear of slipping into darkness.

Not while you’re here.

Not while you’re safe.

The door creaks open.

Boots scuff the linoleum, followed by a low murmur of voices. Jax enters first, followed by Chibs and Tig. The latter two glance at the bed and halt mid-step.

"Shit…" Tig breathes under his breath, gaze flicking from Juice’s wired-up body to your sleeping form.

Jax smiles faintly, eyes tired but soft. “Hey, man. Good to see you awake.”

Juice turns his head, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. He looks dazed, but the second he sees them, his brows knit with something like relief.

"Aww, look at this little cuddle puddle,” Tig mutters with a half-smile.

“Didn’t think Juicy had it in him.”— not loud, but enough to make Juice flinch.

"Hey—shhh, shhh—" Juice whispers quickly, almost panicked. He tugs his arm tighter around you, his hand smoothing down your back.

“Don’t wake her, man—please.” His voice is cracked from the ventilator, but urgent. “She fell asleep. She must be exhausted.” He swallows, emotion knotting his throat.

The room stills. Chibs exchanges a long glance with Tig. Neither of them say anything. They don’t have to. They’d seen it too—the wreck of you after the warehouse, the way your hands didn’t shake when they should’ve, the way you stood in the blood like you'd forgotten how to breathe.

But Juice doesn’t know.

Not yet.

Juice looks over, blinking blearily, and then gestures with his chin toward the armchair in the corner. “Blanket. There. Can you—can someone grab it? She runs cold. Always forgets her jacket.”

Tig hesitates. For a second, he looks like he might say something smartass, something sharp to deflect the knot tightening in his chest.

But then he sees how Juice is looking at you.

Like you’re sacred, untouched, and his whole goddamn world.

So Tig just nods and steps forward, unfolding the thin blanket. Juice lifts his arm slightly — a wince in his jaw as he moves — and Tig drapes the blanket carefully over your back.

“Thanks, man,” Juice whispers, smoothing it out gently with fingers that tremble a little more than they should.

He leans down, presses a kiss to your temple again, murmuring something that sounds like “warm enough, baby?”

You don’t stir.

But you shift just the tiniest bit closer.

And Juice lets out a slow breath, like your body moving was the only answer he needed.

Chibs, still watching, crosses his arms, his usual smirk softened by something almost paternal.

“Yer lass is tougher than she looks, Juicy” he says quietly.

Juice nods, not catching the subtext. Just agreeing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking down at you like you hung the damn stars. “But she shouldn’t have to be."

Juice carefully tucks the blanket up beneath your chin. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick, you've got enough to worry about already.”

Jax nods, jaw tight.

Chibs glances away, jaw working like he might say something — but doesn't.

Tig just stares.

They all remember the image of you with the crowbar. Blood across your face. Rage in your eyes. The screams.

But here you are now, tucked up in Juice’s arms like you’re made of porcelain and air.

Juice doesn’t know. Not yet.

And none of them have the heart to shatter the version of you he’s still clinging to. Not when he looks like that — like you’re the only thing keeping his broken body from falling apart all over again.

[neontokyoo]

Ooh can I request a tavstarion one shot?? F!Tav and Astarion are married and at a party to celebrate the heroes of Baldurs gate. Tav keeps getting hit on all night and Astarion decides he has to do something about it 🤔 Completely open to your interpretation, NSFW or not!!

This one took a while, I apologize for the wait!

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav Genre: I actually don't know Summary: It's been a few weeks since the events of the game, and Tav and Astarion are now happily married. But when they get invited to a party celebrating the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, Astarion finds it difficult to control himself. Warnings: none

Like this post? Feel free to join my community!

Have something on your mind? Don't hesitate to send a request!

It’s been a couple weeks since everything went down. The Absolute was no more, the illithids weren’t terrorizing the city—or anyone else—anymore, and everyone who was infected with the tadpoles were now cured. But this didn’t mean it was over.

Within these short couple of weeks, Tav and Astarion had finally gotten married, and they now lived together in a cute little house in the city. They were enjoying their new life, free from past worries, and the chaos of the world. But while their adventure was over, it still hadn’t completely vanished. People were still talking about it, still celebrating, and still bombarding the group of adventurers that had saved the city.

And now, they were all at a party they didn’t want to be at. A party made specifically for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. And we’re not just talking about the certain group of adventurers that saved the city, but anyone who had done something in their lifetime to help protect the city and the people inside of it. Which meant there were a lot more people there than the couple was expecting.

Tav was trying her best to enjoy the party, the company, the music, the food. Whether she wanted to be there or not, she was always going at finding the best in the worst situations.

Astarion, however, was not a fan. It felt as if all eyes were on his wife, the brave, talented hero who saved them all. It made the vampire sick. Though, he couldn’t blame them, as his wife was a sight for sore eyes, who had somehow managed to make a place for herself in his undead heart. But every flirtatious remark from strangers, every glance, it all seemed to irritate the elf.

He tried his best to not get in the way of his wife. She had every right to socialize and have fun. But he had finally lost control when someone decided to really try flirting with Tav. The way they looked at her, the way their voice sounded sweet as honey, the way they shook her hand. He knew it all too well. After spending two centuries manipulating people with his honeyed words and lots of practice in the art of seduction, Astarion knew what it was like to be really flirting with someone. And the vampire had no doubt that this was exactly what the stranger was doing.

The vampire slowly started to make his way towards his wife, trying his best to hide the nasty scowl that was trying to take over his face. He could hear it more clearly now, and it was more than enough to make his blood boil.

“I must say, Tav, it’s quite an honor to finally meet the famous heroic adventurer in all her glory,” said the stranger with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone as charming as yourself.”

Tav, finally processing what the stranger was trying to do, was starting to grow just a little bit uncomfortable. But a feeling of relief had washed over her when she saw her husband coming closer.

She mustered a fake, but genuine-looking smile. “The pleasure is all yours.”

And it didn’t take long until Astarion showed up. The vampire kept his unbothered façade as he held Tav’s hand. “I apologize, but it’s been a pleasure to meet you,” he said to the stranger with a voice that seemed genuinely sweet, but he and Tav both knew that it was dripping with venom, “but I’m afraid my dear, sweet, wife of mine and I have other business to attend to.”

Before neither the stranger nor Tav could say anything, Astarion had pulled his lover into a short, yet somewhat passionate kiss. Nothing to scandalous, and nothing to draw any unwanted attention, but enough to show the stranger who Tav truly belonged to. He wasn’t even hiding his hatred as he shot the stranger a nasty look during the kiss, earning a look of disgust and anger from the man.

Tav on the other hand, had no idea what to say, as it all had happened so quickly and she wasn’t sure what was going on. Once they broke the kiss, the couple watched the stranger walk away until he was lost in the crowd.

“Well, looks like someone was jealous,” Tav said teasingly, gently jabbing the rogue in his side.

Astarion smiled slightly as he met his wife’s gaze. “Not jealous, darling,” he corrected her. “I was simply just making a statement.”

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (22)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, ages are based on current Ateez rather than the time at which the actual episode was filmed, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

< last chapter | masterlist

The moment the first of the zombies start flooding through the doors to the gymnasium, you start to realize the depth of the hole you’ve dug for yourself and your co-conspirators.

Once they start coming, they don’t stop.

You expected five from the first hall, maybe twenty from the second and third floors.

There are dozens.

You and the guys are hugging the wall, trying to go unnoticed, growing readily more panicked as the large gymnasium is abruptly filling to what seems like near capacity.

Dozens and dozens of zombies, flooding through the doors, growling with animalistic hunger, crowding each other for space and stumbling into a writhing, sprawling pile that just seems to grow and grow.

You can see the panic on Wooyoung’s face as he looks at you, eyes wide and frightened. Hongjoong grabs his arm, pulling him further along the wall, gesturing to the door to the men’s showers.

There’s no going back the way you came, not at this point. They’re still coming in droves, searching wildly for the prey they followed in here.

Searching for you.

You follow the guys, keeping your gaze locked on the teeming mass of predators in the center of the room. They’re pushing each other towards the walls, quickly closing in.

The stampede has to keep moving, and as they run over their own numbers, stomping zombies to the ground in their path, they’re only moments away from finding you by sheer accident.

Hongjoong grasps the door and throws it open, pushing Wooyoung inside. You’re quick on their heels, scrambling to keep up, but your ankle buckles at the last second and you stumble. The top of your bare foot scuffs the polished floor of the gymnasium, and you feel the burn of friction, but you ignore it and keep running.

That half second of instability was enough.

A grasping, clawing hand strikes your back and scrapes a fiery trail down your spine. The cry that breaks from your throat is involuntary, and enough to turn the entire hoard towards you.

You’re just a step away from clearing the threshold, watching the rolling white eyes land on you from every direction, and your heart pounds so hard you think it’s bruising itself against your ribs. Hongjoong leans out of the doorway, reaching for you.

A body tumbles into you, a mouth falling to sink teeth into your hip, just as Hongjoong gets a grip on your hand and yanks you through. Flesh rips from your hip around the bite of the zombie and you fall screaming into the men’s showers.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong scramble to push at the charging throng, trying to strong arm zombies back enough to get the door shut.

The creatures are inconceivably strong, all physical inhibitions removed by the parasites controlling them, and above you, the legs of your friends are stumbling back towards you.

“I can’t get them back!”

It’s Wooyoung’s voice, tight with terror.

“Just keep pushing—” Hongjoong breaks off with a shout, his feet slipping. “Keep pushing! Keep pushing! I can almost get the door!”

You push yourself to your feet and throw yourself into the mess next to Wooyoung, snapping your trusty towel off your shoulder and thrusting it like a clothesline at the throat-level of the shoving and grasping zombies.

It keeps their teeth far enough away, but their hands are still free to claw and scrape. Nails grip your sides, your chest, your hips, and you hear yourself screaming as one of them catches your fresh bite.

Wooyoung kicks the chest of the one who’s making the most headway and then grabs one end of the towel from you in both hands. “Push! Push!”

You adjust your hold to grasp your end in both hands as well, pushing and kicking and just barely managing to keep your footing before Hongjoong swings the door shut on you and knocks both you and Wooyoung back into the room.

The door slams shut, clicking in the latch.

Your hands and wrists are throbbing where it hit you, your entire torso on fire with brand new scratches.

“Oh…” Wooyoung groans, sprawled on the floor next to you. “Fuck.” He drops the towel.

“Are you guys okay?” Hongjoong is gasping, sliding down the door to sit heavily on his butt, his own shirt torn practically to shreds. “That was fucking way too close.”

You agree.

Pulling yourself upright, you take a moment to catch your breath and take stock. Your newish sweater is torn and bloodied, your ankle throbbing, the top of your foot scraped and thoroughly friction burned.

Next to you, Wooyoung’s shirt is in tatters, and you can see the same claw marks that must cover your own chest and sides. He’s gasping, trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

“Wooyoung?” You lean closer and touch your hand to his shoulder. “Woo, are you hurt?”

His eyes open slowly, and a stream of tears spills over his cheeks. “I’m fine.” He grits through clenched teeth. “Fine.”

He’s not, but you give him a minute and let your gaze move to Hongjoong. “How about you? Anything broken?”

The leader shakes his head, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. He’s pale, scared, but whole. “One of them bit my arm but I think it’s okay. I’m not infected, right? I’ve been bitten kind of a lot.”

You shake your head, happy to share at least a little good news. “It’s not infectious, they’re just trying to eat us.”

Okay, it doesn’t sound like good news when you say it out loud.

“Great.” Hongjoong mutters. “What a relief.” He tilts his head back against the door, listening to the slamming and pounding happening on the other side. Then he shoots you a look. “Wait, how do you know?”

That’s the bad news.

“It’s not a virus.” You tell him. “It’s parasites. You’re safe as long as you don’t get stung by any giant wasps.”

“What the fuck?”

“I’m serious.”

“Fucking…how big are we talking? What if I got stung without realizing it?” Hongjoong starts searching himself, pulling up his shirt and sleeves and pant legs, looking for stings.

“Big.” You say flatly. “You can’t miss it. It would be like getting stabbed with a steak knife.” Memories of Jimin’s punctured leg come back to you, and your stomach cramps with worry.

“Were you—or someone—”

“Jimin.” Your heart clenches. “Jimin got stung. And it’s not really a sting, it’s…” you really, really don’t want to say the word ‘eggs’ again because you think you might throw up. “Anyway, Jimin found a load of documents up in the control room. Apparently we’ve been used as some kind of experiment. The parasites were planted. In my team, in our van crews—and whoever the fuck else all of those people are. Where did they even come from?”

“What the fuck.” Hongjoong stares at you. “Someone did this to us? Who?”

“I don’t know. They locked us in here with those things. It’s all some shit experiment to see how the parasites complete their life cycle in a ‘controlled environment’.”

“Does this feel fucking controlled to you?”

“It wasn’t me, Hongjoong. This wasn’t us. I don’t know who did this to us. I don’t know why this is happening.” You’re tired, weary of trying to think your way through the hows and whys of this entire situation, and you don’t have answers.

A choked sob sounds from beside you.

Wooyoung’s hands are clamped over his face, his body heaving as he weeps through clenched teeth.

“Woo.” Hongjoong gets to his feet, hurrying over to grab his brother’s arms, but Wooyoung shakes him off.

“I’m fine!” He snaps, pushing himself backwards to sit against the wall. “I’m fine, just—shit, I mean, what is this? Why is this happening? Why did they pick us? I can’t—“ his voice strangles out with another sob and he covers his face again.

Heart breaking at the sight of him falling apart, you quietly slide yourself over to sit next to him. “Breathe, Wooyoung.” You say softly. “Just breathe for a second.”

He sucks in shuddering breaths, shoulders jerking with each swell of emotion. “I can’t do this. It’s too fucking much. We almost died just now. We almost—”

“Breathe, Woo.” You try touching him, and this time he lets your hand wrap around his arm. It’s like someone’s scooping your heart out with a spoon, watching him sob next to you. “You’ve got this, Woo. If anyone can beat this, it’s you.”

“I can’t.” He hisses, grinding his palms into his eyes. “I can’t go out there again. We can’t get out of here with so many of them.”

Hongjoong’s eyes meet yours, and you see the same pain in them that you feel.

“Listen to me, Wooyoung.” You hold his arm tighter, pressing your side into his. “We’re going to get out of here because we have to. Even if we wait all night for them to fall asleep or whatever the hell they do when they’re tired, we’re going to get out of here. We’ve got each other’s backs. You’re not here alone.”

His hands fall from his face, his red and teary eyes blinking at you desperately. “I’m so fucking scared.”

You snort. “Yeah, me too. It’s okay. We should be fucking scared.” Your hand moves in comforting strokes along his arm. “Now’s the best time to decompress, so just let it happen. We’re safe right now. Yeah?”

He rolls his eyes, hiccupping with sobs, and he looks to Hongjoong. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry, I just can’t stop—“

Hongjoong is quick to silence his guilt for falling apart. “It’s okay. You’re fine. If you didn’t have a breakdown, I would have. It’s okay, Woo.” He reaches out and squeezes the younger man’s knee.

“I just need a minute.” Wooyoung says, sniffling and trying desperately to quiet himself.

“You’re good.” You say, and lift your hand. “Want me to get out of your space?”

He shakes his head almost frantically and reaches for your hand. “Can you stay? I’m sorry, can you stay?”

You want nothing less than to get up and leave him crying by himself. “Of course. Come here?” You open your arms to him and he slumps into them, breathing heavily into your shoulder.

You’re reminded of all the times you’ve done this for your family. Comforting Jimin when he’s crushing himself under the weight of believing himself not good enough for your team; holding Jisoo when some miscreant breaks her heart; holding Taehyung when he shows up to practices so homesick he can’t focus; sitting with Namjoon, long hours into the night when he crumbles under the pressure of leadership; cuddling up for a teary movie with Jungkook when he works himself so hard for your programs that he can’t take care of himself anymore.

This is your job, taking your family into your protection when they need strength and comfort.

This is what helps you know that you have something to offer them, that there’s something you can do for them when they put their entire lives into this job that you have tried so hard to cultivate.

Holding Wooyoung to your chest so he can let out some of the tension from this torturous night gives you just enough peace to breathe again.

You ignore when your hands come back bloody from rubbing soft circles into his back. You ignore the ache of his chin pressing on the inflammation around your first bite. You ignore the pinch in your back at the position you’re twisted into.

As long as he can take some comfort from you, you’ll give up all of yours.

Any amount of discomfort is better than watching him cry like this.

After a few long moments of squeezing him, running your hands down his back as gently as you can, his breathing finally settles. “You smell like Yeosang.”

Hongjoong’s face scrunches in confusion, finally easing out of the heartache he feels for Wooyoung. “Why do you smell like Yeosang?”

You don’t really know.

You’re wearing clothes from a lost and found box. You’d spent the hour sitting as far away from him as you could without being close to the dead bodies in the room.

By all accounts, you shouldn’t—

Oh.

It was the control room. When he took on the job of holding you back as Jimin suffered in front of you.

You hadn’t realized.

Wooyoung leans out of your arms, wiping the tears from his face, finally quieted. He smiles softly at you. “I can see why he’s been glued to you all night.”

Every ounce of blood that had previously drained from your face during the chase comes rushing back with hot intensity. “Dude, knock it off.”

He giggles as he dodges your half-hearted smack.

Fucking giggles.

You have to get out of here. “Okay, well, if you’re feeling better—” you go to push yourself to your feet, only to be dragged back down to your ass as Wooyoung slings his arm firmly around your back and traps you to his side.

“No, no, no, there’s nowhere to go.” He sniffles, the last of his emotional outburst beginning to fade as he grins at you and then turns his attention to his leader. “Our girl, here, has caught our Yeosang’s attention.”

Hongjoong’s eyes go wide, eyebrows climbing as you whine and struggle to get free.

To no fucking avail. “I did not just let you snot into my shirt so you could humiliate me in front of my client.”

Hongjoong snorts. “Oh, honey, we are well past a client-company relationship. We’re trauma bonded for life. Hope you’re ready for group therapy sessions and long nights of drinking the nightmares away after this.”

Wooyoung tightens his grip on your arm, but he’s leaning into you companionably as he laughs. “Oh for fucking sure. Like hell are we writing this experience off as an isolated incident. Who else are you going to find to talk to about this shit?”

Nobody. You won’t be talking to anybody about this, not after what you’ve discovered about yourself tonight. Not after what you’ve become tonight. “Yeah, alright.” You bluff. “First round of drinks on me.”

Whatever will distract them from this tangent that Wooyoung’s fixed on.

He won’t be deterred. “So, tell us, Sugar Baby, how was your lockdown experience?”

Hongjoong looks disgusted. “Don’t call her Sugar Baby. She’s not a piece of candy. She has a real name.”

“Just Sugar is fine.” You interrupt. “It’s my stage name for a reason. Everybody calls me Sugar.”

“Wait. What did you do during the lockdown? Because I was under a desk the whole time, and—oh my god, don’t tell me you smell like Yeosang because—”

“Stop!” You cannot possibly blush any harder. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Wooyoung dissolves into giggles all over again. “Hyung, you should have been there, Jesus. We were all gathered in the stairwell, about to come out here and apparently sacrifice our lives for those fuckers, and she goes to say goodbye to him and he says—” here Wooyoung lowers his voice in a comical imitation of Yeosang’s rich baritone. “‘Protect Wooyoung with your life.’ And then he fucking sent her off.”

He’s laughing, but you’re not.

You were wrong. You can blush harder. And it feels like being punched in the gut. “He didn’t say that.” You mutter.

“He did not say that!” Hongjoong agrees, shocked.

“Oh he did.” Wooyoung’s laughter settles. “He was fucking terrified, is what he was.” He gives you a nudge. “You know he was just freaking, right?”

You try to smile, and you’re pretty sure it’s the most hollow caricature of human emotion they’ve ever seen. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion, Woo. But if you need to create a fairytale right now to distract from the horrors, go right ahead.”

“Shit.” Wooyoung mutters, straightening next to you. “You don’t actually think that’s all he meant to say, right? You don’t think —”

“Woo.” Hongjoong is watching your face, seeing right past the worst acting you’ve ever done. “Don’t push her.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and you have to laugh. You have to. You have to do something to dismantle this pitiful tragic love story that Wooyoung is trying to fabricate out of thin air. “Guys. Seriously. It’s not like that, at all. I went to talk to him because we were both supposed to be fronting the group. I had to let him know he was on his own in the lead.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Sure. So, tell us about lockdown.” That devilish grin is back on his face, his elbow jostling you playfully. “Did you kiss? I won’t tell him you told me. Come on, he’s great, right?”

Once again, you try to fight your way out of his hold.

How did your comforting embrace turn into a bear trap?

“Would you stop? No, we didn’t kiss. We killed fucking giant wasps and sat in traumatized silence.” Well. That’s not true. But now that you’ve said it, anything else you say makes it sounds like you’re covering something up.

“Ohhhh, they trauma bonded.” Hongjoong breathes, looking enlightened. “Did he cry? Did you cry? Did you hug him like this?”

“What? No—no, I just said—“

“God, look at you squirm.” Wooyoung is entirely distracted from his mental breakdown now. “Come on, Sugar, just tell us. He’s hot as hell and you want to jump his bones. We won’t tell him. Okay, Hongjoong won’t tell him.”

No part of this conversation is making you want to return to the group you left behind. You don’t want to talk about the things you thought about during the lockdown, or the way you got a rude awakening when he sent you off with just a couple of firmly worded instructions to guard Wooyoung with your life.

You don’t want to talk about how it made you feel so crushingly alone and pathetically disillusioned.

“This is inappropriate. The program may be over and the world may be ending, but I’m still—”

“You’re not our goddamn cruise director anymore, Sugar, let it go.” Wooyoung grumbles with a punishing pinch to your arm.

You yelp, jolting away from him. “Hey!”

He smiles at you, but it’s softer this time, more friendly than the teasing one before. “You can clock out now. We’d rather be here with you as our friend than you as our contractual babysitter.” He looks a little relieved when you don’t say anything to argue, and you feel his thumb brush up and down your arm. “But really, you gotta know, Yeosang’s not an asshole.”

“Okay.” Your lips tighten, your expression shuttering completely. “Wooyoung, may I please get up? I’m hurt and the wall is grating against a new bite, so I would like to stand up for a minute.”

His arm drops from your back immediately, and he flips him around to his knees and helps you get to your feet. He’s doting, wide-eyed, gentle with you, even though you’re intentionally trying to escape him and his persistent ribbing. Allowing him to ease you upright, you step away and press your palms to your abdomen, feeling the instant sting of a number of new wounds marring your skin.

You find a mirror mounted to the wall, one of many, and lift the hem of your top to observe the damage.

Hongjoong and Wooyoung politely look away.

Claw marks split your flesh, from your ribs to your waistband, curling around your obliques, ripping up your sides. You turn, tenderly peeking over your shoulder, and find the four jagged streaks where that first zombie had slashed all the way down your spine. “Goddammit.” You breathe, dropping your sweater again.

Finally, you turn and lower the waistband of your pants to see the newest bite on your hip, torn and bleeding a spreading patch through your sweatpants. It hurts like hell.

“Bite marks and a scratched up back aren’t quite so charming like this, are they?” Wooyoung’s voice speaks up lightly, a playful but reverent tone carrying the words. “Are you okay, Sugar?”

They have much the same injuries as you do, but they’re both looking at you like you’ve just crawled out of a wood chipper.

You feel like you’ve just crawled out of a wood chipper.

“I won’t be rocking any two piece swimsuits anymore, that’s for sure.” You flash them a brave smile and turn away from the mirror, leaning against the nearest wall.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Wooyoung is standing now, too, frowning at all the splotches of blood seeping through your clothes. “Scars are badass and sexy.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Whatever you say.”

Hongjoong gets up and joins you, staring at you with heavy concern. “God.” He whispers. He looks at Jin’s bite on your neck, and then the one from the classroom on your arm, and finally the blood soaked patch on your hip. His hand lifts and pushes your sleeve up to see the one on your arm. “When did this happen?”

“Just before the lockdown.” You follow his eyes, wincing at the puckered flesh and trails of dried blood. “Some of them had Yeosang and Yunho pinned. I…” You clear your throat and look away. “Got in the way.”

“What happened?” Wooyoung asks, somber attentiveness in his eyes. “When we found you, you and Yunho were kind of tense. And the way everybody was talking, it seemed like there was more to it than him kicking you out of our group.”

Hongjoong’s face flashes with regret. “That never should have happened, Sugar, I’m sorry.”

You wave his apology away, leaning yourself deeper into the corner. A few seconds pass in silence as you run your mind back through the evening, flashing through the events that have changed you at your core—the fear that gripped you like a vice when you were trapped. “Yunho and Yeosang, when the zombies had them pinned…they were losing. They were losing ground and losing strength, and I just…”

“You jumped in.” Wooyoung guesses. “I bet you tackled those fuckers.”

A wry laugh curls your lips. “I did, yeah. Stupidly. And once I did, then there were others. They were everywhere, and I—” You used one of them as a human shield and bathed in his blood as he was torn to pieces on top of you. “I was underneath them.”

Hongjoong’s mouth falls open, incredulity marking his features.

“Anyway, one of them got to my arm before Yeosang got me out of there.” You look away as Wooyoung’s eyes light up again. “He went against Yunho. When I went in there to help them, Yunho still didn’t trust me. He made Yeosang leave me there.” Your throat squeezes with emotion, the residual panic and fright seeping into your bones as you traverse the memories once again. You close your eyes before the tears can reach them.

You can’t break down here.

You can’t pile more panic and suffering on top of everything else.

You can’t make Hongjoong be the strong one alone.

“Yunho left you with them?” Hongjoong repeats in disbelief. “No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He couldn’t trust me.” You laugh quietly, pressing your hand over your eyes. You cannot cry right now. “He thought he was protecting Yeosang.”

“Okay, so maybe we’re not all at our best under pressure.” Wooyoung mutters. “Yunho means well. I know he was just scared and trying to protect Yeosang. He wouldn’t have wanted you dead.”

You can’t talk about this either. It’s too much to try to stand here and analyze whether or not Yunho hated you in that moment, or if he regrets it truly now, or if he even likes you at this point, because it doesn’t matter. What you did while under pressure is what matters.

“After Yeosang came after me, the lockdown started. That’s when we found out about the parasites. They ate their way out of the bodies of the zombies that we—that I killed, and we realized what they were. He killed them. We sat and killed time. We played tic-tac-toe and hangman on the chalkboard. The lockdown lifted. End of story.”

Wooyoung slides his hand into yours and waits until you open your eyes to look at him. “You didn’t kill those guys, Noona. They were already dead.”

“I didn’t know that.” You murmur. “I didn’t know that when I chose my life over theirs.”

“They were zombies, Noona.”

“They were men. And women. People we worked with. My best friends are zombies, too, does that remove the life we had together? Does that make it okay for me to force them to be torn apart to save my own skin? My own fucking worthless skin—those people who came out here for our program and got turned into cannibalistic monsters died and I’m just fucking standing here. For what? To find my way home and spend the next few weeks on LinkedIn, looking for another job? To go shopping for goddamn groceries and pay my taxes and complain about the weather? Why the fuck did I choose myself over them?”

Wooyoung just stares at you, new tears brimming in his eyes. “To be with us, for one.” He chokes. “It was your idea to save Jimin. Your idea to save the guys in the stairwell. You’re here with us now, being a goddamn comfort while you’re bleeding from just about every inch of skin. Don’t talk like the world would have been better served by letting yourself be slaughtered in some classroom set. You protected yourself from creatures trying to kill you, and you’ve used every minute of your survival since then to take care of us.”

You turn away from him, the words bouncing off the thick shell of your inner defenses. Because you can’t just go out and live your life. You can’t just pretend that none of this happened, that you didn’t have a hand in bloodshed.

There’s no part of your life that’s worth being held at a higher priority than anyone else’s. Your team is gone. Your family is gone. Namjoon can scrape up what’s left of his career and get back to work. Jimin might not even make it through the night.

You have nothing left.

Nothing worth saving.

“That’s my job.” You force a smile at Wooyoung. “Somebody’s gotta keep you knuckleheads alive.”

Except now, standing in the men’s showers of a fake high school gymnasium, surrounded by the crashing bodies of innumerable zombies, you’re not sure anyone can ensure their safety anymore.

< last chapter | masterlist

@mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

[novelconcepts]

Jokes aside, I really do like what they did with Agatha and Rio all the way through. They really are antagonists; Rio’s trying to do her job, fulfill the function of nature’s balance, and Agatha’s whole deal is to outrun her like the wind. Immortality, power, a refusal to play by the rules is Agatha’s MO, and here comes Death, falling in love with her.

Death, whom Agatha assists time and time again by killing everyone she comes into contact with—and who blames her still, for taking her child, even though Rio fully broke her own rules by giving him a number of years in the first place—and who still believes she’s better than dying, despite it all. And of course, in a way, she is! Death is in love with her! She’s in love with Death! That in itself is balance, and it throws the whole system desperately out of wack at the same time, because how do you love Death and still prioritize immortality so much that you’d give anything, sacrifice anyone, to keep running? For centuries! They’ve been doing this dance for centuries! This is the one person Agatha can’t con, can’t steal from, and still! Of course! Of course she still manages to pull a fast one, because Death has fallen in love with the ultimate con woman. Because they are, in a way, equal and opposite, balanced and forever unstable. Because Death cannot stop for love, not even for you, Agatha Harkness. Death cannot stop for love, but she can maybe run a little slower. And, when she catches you, she can perhaps turn her head from the life she’s made bloom out of your bones…and let you slip free one last time.

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — Sukuna watched as you tended to the herbs just outside his temple, your movements carrying that same gentleness as always. You hummed softly while working, a melody that seemed to make even the weeds lean towards you. The swell of your stomach was prominent now, a visible reminder of how you had changed everything, and something in him always urged him to be closer to you- a possessiveness that had only grown over the past few months. 

He hated it. But above all, he hated the way his curse energy would flow around the surrounding area, like a protective shroud meant solely for you… And he refused to acknowledge how his multiple eyes would track every subtle shift in your expression…

"Ryomen! Look at this one!" your voice held nothing but genuine delight as you held up a particularly vibrant herb. 

"Tch. Still wasting your time with these worthless weeds?" he scoffed, but his eyes never left your form. He took notice of the way your fingers carefully caressed the delicate thing and the small smile that tugged at your lips, and it was only then did he realize that your hair had grown a little longer... 

"One day," he heard you murmur, your voice carrying in the evening breeze, "you might need these."  

The mere suggestion that he, the king of curses, might need such mundane remedies should have enraged him, and to a certain degree it did, but he was so transfixed on your fingers, the same fingers that always dared to trace his black markings, that his retort lacked it’s usual venom. 

"Someone like me has no use for such worthless things." the mouth on his stomach grinned, "You are aware of the difference between us, aren't you? Or has that brat inside of you softened that brain of yours?"

His gaze flickered to your stomach, where his child grew stronger each day.

That’s when you turned to him with that damn smile, it was like freshly fallen snow, untouched and pure… And it always awakened two warring instincts within him. The first was to destroy you, to corrupt, and to taint that purity until nothing remained and you were left bloody in his arms… And then there was the second, the newer, more terrifying one that made him want to preserve it at all costs…

"Oh? No use for such worthless things?" you tilted your head playfully, reminding him of that first day in the forest where he met you, "Hmm~ Is that why you still wear my scarf? If you have no use for such worthless things, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I took it back."

The memory of how you had wrapped it around him had been burned into his memory... like a fucking curse. How you approached him in the forest while bodies lay scattered around him, your eyes full of concern rather than terror. He didn’t know at the time the men he slaughtered were after you- didn’t know that his fun little killing spree would leave him stuck with you like a thorn in a wound. 

A thorn he couldn't be bothered with removing...

"You’re bleeding," you had said then, as if he were some ordinary injured traveler. Before he could slice that pretty head of yours clean off, you had already removed your scarf, standing on your tiptoes, tongue sticking out in concentration as you tended to the wound and wrapped it around his neck even though it would heal in moments…   

His four arms hung beside him at your audacity, as you dared to care for the King of Curses.

"It’s not much," you had whispered, "but it should help keep the wound clean until it heals" then you had smiled- that same one you wore now. 

So lost in the memory, Sukuna hadn’t even noticed you were now standing before him, reaching out towards him with the intent of tugging your scarf free from his body and he reacted. Faster than he should have been and snatched your hand away before you could even graze the fabric. 

"Do. Not." 

His eyes were narrowed, and his voice was low, a growl that echoed across the temple grounds, but you had become immune to the sound. His other hand unconsciously rose to touch the now worn fabric at his neck, it still carried traces of your scent after all this time.

"Watch yourself, woman. I could still slice that fragile neck of yours. Devour you where you stand. Don't be mistaken, you're not safe just because you're carrying my child."

"Mmhmm," you hummed, entirely unafraid as you leaned into him so that you could place a chaste kiss against his jawline, "Is that why you let me sleep in your bed? Why you allow only i to say your real name... And why you-" 

"Be silent." he spat, and yet his grip on your hand loosened, allowing your fingers to slip through his and intertwine, "Insolent creature…" but his other hands were merciful as they settled on your waist.

"If you wanted to kill me, Ryomen, you would have done so a long time ago." 

"You think too highly of yourself. You're a means to an end, a tool."

Your smile never wavered for a second, "Is that so? Then I must be a very special tool. I don't believe anyone else would get away with the things I do."

"Foolish little lamb." He let out a low grunt, pressing his forehead to yours in a gesture that had become as natural as breathing, "I will admit," his lips curled into a smirk as he pulled you flush against his body, "you've made the last few months a little less boring. But if I tire of your presence, I won't hesitate to kill you." 

"Your foolish woman." You corrected, and with a soft chuckle, you pulled back slightly so that you could cup his face, "And you won’t kill me before the baby is born, right? That would be a shame."

Sukuna scowled, "Don't test me."

"Never." you promised sweetly, but he knew you’d continue to do so regardless.

The King of Curses would never admit it, but the thought of you dead- the thought of anyone daring to harm you or his child was enough to awaken a a whole new kind of bloodlust, unlike anything he had felt in centuries. He would paint the lands red with the blood of any who tried, would hang their entrails from the highest trees as a warning, would burn the world to ash before letting harm come to what was his.

Prt 3.

[monstersholygrail]

oh to be a mouse hybrid toyed with by a cat hybrid who just wants to see you squirm in every way

Ooh when the Cat Hybrid’s owners told him they were getting him a new little friend, you, a Mouse Hybrid were by far the last thing he was expecting.

He wanted another cat to mess with, to play with… to mate with. But he couldn’t stop himself from noticing your plump round form scurrying about the house or the constant skittish look in your eye as you surveyed your new home. Perhaps you would do.

From that day on he would terrorize you mercilessly. Chasing you around the around the house when your owners were gone, saying he was gonna devour you when he finally got his claws into you. Backing you into corners just to see the delicious terror in your eyes. Plopping his large form right on top of you so that you couldn’t escape him even as you scrambled desperately to get away.

It was never ending and as much as you wanted to say you hated it, it felt far too good. The Cat hybrid severely underestimated you, forgetting you too were a hybrid with all the same perks. You could smell his desire in the air every time he chased you. And you had grown addicted to the scent. To feel so wanted and yearned for, especially during the chase, nothing else could compare.

He would only ever mess with you when he felt like it so you figured you might need to give him a little push. Using yourself as bait you use your owners creaky stairs to your advantage. As soon as the first step creaks, the Cat hybrid’s head snaps up from where he’s perched. His eyes meet your wide ones for only a moment before you’re bolting down the stairs.

As soon as you hear the pounding of paws behind you, you smirk wickedly knowing your plan had worked. Cute little squeaks leave your mouth as you run throughout the house, narrowly trying to avoid being caught. He should’ve realized how much you like this. You’re much faster than him after all.

After rounding the next corner you wait a moment for him to catch up. Seeing a flash of fur and then you’re off. The Cat Hybrid pauses for a moment as he realizes what you had just done. What you’ve actually been doing this entire time.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he chases you at lightning speed. He’s catching up to you in no time and by the look of genuine alarm in your eye he knows this wasn’t a trick. Instead of his usual antics he pounces on you, sending you both tumbling to the floor.

“You messin’ with me, little mouse?” He growls in your ear, his body pinning you to the hard wood floor. You don’t even bother to squirm, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare up at him.

Before you can even blink he’s shoving his hand down your pants and swiping his fingers through your folds, your slick drenching them with how aroused you are. He chuckles lowly, rumbling purrs vibrating into your chest and straight to your core.

“So this has been a game to you, huh? A bit of foreplay before I inevitably snap and fuck you dumb.”

You find you can’t even answer, panting breaths escaping you as you rock with his hand that’s slowly rubbing against all the right places. He devilishly smiles and pushes two fingers deep inside you, causing your hips to jolt as you cry out.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve done it. I’ve snapped,” he says with a menacing snarl as he pumps his fingers roughly against your walls, his claws just barely scraping them and setting your nerves on fire.

You try and be as good as you can, staying perfectly still for him as he fucks you with his fingers, but your small reaction only seems to infuriate him further. He picks up pace, licking and nipping at your throat until you too break and your moans echo throughout the empty house. A secret smirk plays on lips.

That is until the Cat Hybrid plays a trick of his own. Pumping his fingers inside you, drawing you closer and closer till you’re just about to fall off that edge when he suddenly stops and withdraws. You whine, squirming now as you begin to beg for more.

“I see through you now, sweet prey. You won’t be winning this one.”

You only start to realize your mistake as he starts fucking you with his cock, the large length stretching you so good. The natural curve hitting the soft spot inside you perfectly. Then he starts doing to you exactly what he did with his fingers. Bringing you up to the edge and then pulling you right back.

He’s as merciless as he is when terrorizing you and in a way he’s doing just that but in a whole new way that drives you more insane than the chasing ever did. Eventually you’re a sobbing mess, your tears and your arousal forming two separate puddles on the floor with how in need you are right now as he starts up again.

You jump as the sudden sensation of his wet nose nuzzling into your neck, his purrs even louder now. You immediately cling to him, meeting his thrusts and trying to chase your growing orgasm before it’s taken away again.

“Do you think you’ve earned the right to cum for me now?” The Cat Hybrid asks and you whine, nodding rapidly.

You feel his grin against your skin before he pulls out and starts slamming his cock deep inside your cunt. His intent clear before he even says a word. But when he does it’s like music to your ears.

“I agree. Cum for me, mate.”

This time as you get closer and closer to the finish, he doesn’t stop. Instead, his hands slips down and rubs tight circles into your clit. Your orgasm breaks through almost instantly and you scream as you milk his cock for all it’s worth, sending him right into ecstasy with you.

But the sound of the car door doesn’t leave either of you much time to bask in pleasure coursing through you. Luckily the Cat hybrid takes the lead, maneuvering you both as he curls around you, keeping you stuffed full of his cock but hiding any of the evidence. You’re too weak to do anything but shift into how he molds you. Making it appear as if you two are asleep and cuddling in the hall.

“Aw, look at them. Finally getting along,” you hear your owners say who are none the wiser to what’s really going on.

Cat Hybrid bf rocks his hips, snapping them back inside you quietly and forcing a squeak from your throat. He chuckles under his breath and nuzzles into you, not planning on moving away from you for hours. Wondering how many more orgasms he can rip from your tight pussy.

[ozzgin]

Definition: a total withdrawal from society and seeking extreme degrees of social isolation and confinement. content: gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors

Yandere!Hikikomori can't stop replaying your fateful encounter, the beginning of a blooming romance. He stared in terror at the notification that his package was - for once - delivered to someone else. An exceptional situation for which he had not been prepared. He kept rehearsing his speech, gathering his courage, planning for the potential dangers outside, when-

"Y-yes?" he answered meekly, peeking from behind the door.

"Is this your package? It's been sitting in my hallway for two months already."

Good Lord. What voice, what stance. He was completely stunned by your kindness, your benevolence to aid a stranger without expecting anything in return. Even more outrageous: you looked him right in the eye, for five whole seconds. He counted. It couldn't have been without meaning.

Yandere!Hikikomori often daydreams about your life together. Are you this much of a flirt with everyone else? No, such daring behaviors can only be reserved for one's soulmate. He'll pace back and forth inside his narrow room and theatrically reenact his ardent hopes of a future with you.

"What? A teal sofa?" he glances at the empty space, picturing your next to him as you both enthusiastically discuss your new home.

"It's fashionable, you say? You're the expert. I'll be happy with anything you choose," he reassures 'you' with a giddy smile.

Yandere!Hikikomori wishes he could see how your day unfolds. He toyed with the idea of stalking you, dutifully tracing your steps and guarding you from a distance, maybe snapping a photo or two in order to commemorate the precious little details. Alas, he hasn't stepped outside in years. He has no idea how the world works anymore.

The farthest he's ever gone was to the common staircase, where he was suddenly overwhelmed by a great panic. He ran back home, puked his guts out, then sat in bed and recalled the sight of your back as you hurried down, heading out for work.

"That looks nice," he mumbles to himself, checking the selfie you posted on social media. Is that your favorite coffee? Is it on the way to your workplace? How often do you stop there to grab a drink?

One day, he vows. One day, he'll make it outside. Well, at least long enough to talk to you. Perhaps he could convince you to a life indoors, ideally.

[More Yandere Stories]

[whimsyvixen]

𝔼𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕪 𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤

Silent Hill Fic Rating: 18+ Pairing: Pyramid Head x Female Reader Synopsis/Excerpt: His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, blood play, heavy NSFW, teratophilia(?), monster/human, choking, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, tummy bulge, creampie, very obvious size difference. ⚠️ READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags (no minors). ⚠️

A/N: I had to make sure to finish this one before Halloween! Sorry for the long wait, you guys! I got no tricks with me so I'm just going to hand over this little treat right here ! 🍬

You hid beneath a large table, hands over your mouth to control your breathing as the floor shook. You could feel your heart beating intensely, the organ wanting to burst out of your chest as pure terror seized you when the footsteps paused near your hiding spot.

He was right in front of you. The only being you encountered in the desolate town of Silent Hill.

The monster. 

~

He had emerged out of an alley, swarmed by bugs as he trudged his way through, his massive frame freezing you in place. His head was encumbered by a steel frame, pyramid in its shape and heavy in appearance if his tortured groans were anything to go by. His scarred torso and bulging arms were bare, showcasing the immense power he held as he dragged a massive knife behind him.

You couldn't contain your gasp when you caught sight of it.

His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you.

Fuck!

You bolted then, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to get away from him. With the amount of blood soaking him and those unnerving growls, you weren't willing to take a chance and find out what he would do to you. Too afraid to look back, you continued running in the abandoned town, losing sight of where you were as you tried to find somewhere to hide. 

What buildings you could make out were old and rundown, their windows smashed and doors creaking ominously. They would not provide you with the cover you needed. You could faintly hear him behind you, breaking into a cold sweat when you turned your head and couldn't spot him in the dense fog. 

When you caught sight of the abandoned school, your lungs felt like bursting and your legs ached from overexerting yourself to run. Your body needed to rest before you collapsed from the fatigue. It was a large enough building that finding you would be a tasking ordeal for the monster. Perhaps he would give up his search for you and allow you to find a way out of this hellish place. You could only hope that you lost him earlier and he wouldn’t know where you crawled off to. 

Running up the steps to the entrance, you were met with the despairing sight of chains wrapped around the steel doors. 

“No, no, no…” you pleaded, grabbing onto the chains in hopes they were loose enough to open the doors. Luck was on your side, because they were– chains pulling taut around the doors, opening just enough to allow someone to squeeze through with some difficulty. Struggling to wiggle your way through, you pushed with all your might and breathed a sigh of relief when you fell inside. 

Taking deep breaths, you looked around and tried to make sense of your surroundings. Needing to squint your eyes to adjust seeing in the dark, you could see a narrow hallway with dirty and rusty lockers lined along the walls. It was an uncanny sight, the broken down doors of the classrooms and splintering wood of the floor making you realize how decrepit this place was. It was so unkempt and old that you flinched when the floorboards creaked with every step you took. You felt like dying every time the floor protested your weight and critters ran spooked by the noise.

The hall turned a sharp corner to the left, more lockers and doors appearing on either side of the walls as before. It was then you noticed the broken elevator, the metal frame twisted in sharp angles and torn cables dangling from tears in the ceiling. If there was an elevator here, then that must mean there was a way up! 

Not caring this time about the noise you made, you hurried to the end of the hall trying to see if you could find some way to get to the second floor. If you could just get there, you would have the advantage of viewing who (or what) was below you on the ground. Maybe even spot a route or path out of this place. Passing by the restrooms, you nearly gagged when a putrid stench hit your nose. The buzzing of flies and roaches in the area made you squeamish, your face scrunching into a disgusted grimace at the dirty facilities before continuing your trek forward.

Finding the stairs was a much harder task than you expected. Faced with multiple locked areas of the building, you were forced to backtrack and navigate through other sections of the building to find another way up. It seemed like a dead end everywhere you turned. 

Just when you were about to give up, you finally spotted stairs leading to the upper floor. 

“Finally,” you muttered in exasperation. Your turtle neck shirt was damp with your sweat, clinging to your body so uncomfortably that you would definitely need a shower soon. Placing a hand on the cracked wall nearest you, you took a breather, closing your eyes as you tried to get your energy back up again. 

“Just a little bit more. Don’t give up yet.” 

Forcing your aching feet to move, you headed tiredly towards the stairs. Once you reached them, you walked up to the landing, turning left to continue climbing forward when you noticed something. 

“You have got to be kidding me?!”

A disbelieving look crossed your face. In front of you was a dilemma that nearly made you scream in frustration. The only way to the upper floor was barricaded with chairs and tables, furniture piled up haphazardly along the second set of stairs as if to ensure no one could get by it. It effectively put a stop to your plans. 

Maybe you could climb over the obstruction? No, you couldn’t risk something falling out of place and crushing you with its weight, causing you harm in the end. You thought about using the railing to skip past the hurdle of furniture, but hearing the creak of the brittle handrail when you held it had you rethinking that idea. Placing your hands on your hips, you tried thinking of how to get past this obstacle. Maybe taking it apart little by little would help?

Seeing as you had no choice, you started dismantling the barricade one chair at a time. The tables were too heavy and had your arms shaking from the effort of pulling them so you left them for last. Once you piled up enough chairs to give you room to move one of the tables, you shook your hands to prepare them to take the brunt of the weight. 

While you were busy with this task, you didn’t know you damned yourself.

What you didn’t know was when you squeezed through the gap of the entrance, your sweater caught on an edge and tore a strip of the pink cloth. You didn’t know it was like a beacon, its vibrant color contrasting from the dull and bleak setting of the school. You didn’t know he held it in his bloodied hand, bringing it to his hidden face as if to smell you. You didn’t see the shudder that went through him. You also didn't see him bursting through the shackled entrance of the school, breaking the chain to pieces as the steel doors lay bent beneath his foot.

However, you did feel the building shake following a loud crash. 

Startled at the muffled explosion, you released the legs of the table you were holding, crouching as you looked around wildly. The echoed sounds of doors being forced open could then be heard even from a distance. Lockers were slammed and torn off the walls, the clash of metal producing an awful screeching sound that resonated across the empty building.

What?! What was that?! You panicked internally, palms sweating as you hid behind the railing. What could’ve made that thunderous sound? Was it him?! It couldn’t be, could it? Trembling with fear, you realized you were a sitting duck. You couldn't go back the way you came or you’ll risk facing what caused that loud commotion.

When you heard a familiar growl, you couldn’t stop the tiny sob escaping your lips. It was HIM! When his steps edged closer to your location, your eyes wandered desperately around your cornered space and spotted a clothed table at the bottom of the stairs. Running down the stairs, you all but crawled beneath the table, tucking your feet in as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. You didn’t have any other option. The cloth provided you with enough cover to pull off not being seen and you could only pray you weren't found.

Eyes wide with fear, you held your breath when he turned the corner, the floor trembling with every heavy step of his boots. You could also hear the scrape of the giant sword he dragged with him, the shrill sound hurting your ears. You nearly bolted when you heard the locker doors being opened one by one before getting slammed shut.

Oh God, please, don't let him find me. Please, please, please. You shut your eyes tightly, clasping your hands against your mouth as you tried to keep as quiet as you could. The corner of your eyes teared up, a lump in your throat wanting to give way to sobs of distress the closer he got.

~

His trudging steps slowed as he surveyed the area. 

Pyramid Head tilted his head curiously, his helmet creaking with the action. He didn’t know where you hid but he could sense you near. When he pressed that piece of fabric to his helmed head, your intoxicating aroma set his nerves of fire, twisting his mind into a lustful haze–the urge to pillage and kill you getting stronger by the minute. 

When he heard that soft gasp earlier in the alley, he was stunned by your feminine form mere meters away from him. You were a small thing compared to him, the top of your head not even reaching his chest. Whatever surprise he felt was momentary, desire quickly flooding his veins as he drank in your lovely shape. How long since a pretty thing like you entered this infernal domain? How easy would it be to subdue you and make you a slave to his lust? What sounds could he coax from those wet lips of yours? His member twitched to life beneath his withered skirt, the thought of possessing you clouding his mind with lascivious images of your naked body beneath him.

When he took a step towards you, you ran like a frightened lamb.

Watching you turn around to flee– the distance growing between you with every passing second– Pyramid Head gripped his weapon tightly, anger consuming him as he followed right after you. 

As if he would allow you to escape him. 

He would take you. Tarnish that soft flesh and desecrate your soul until you were nothing but a bloody heap beneath him. 

He just needed to catch you first. 

Opening the lockers one by one, he couldn’t suppress his frustrated grumbles when you weren’t there. Where were you? He shifted his attention to the familiar clutter of furniture on the staircase, noting how neatly some chairs were piled in a corner–knowing that the times he’s ventured here, the chairs were never tampered in such a way. 

Realizing how close he must be to capturing you, he started up the stairs, dropping his weapon without a care as he tore down the barricade in a frenzy to find you. 

When his search proved fruitless, the veins in his arms and neck became more prominent from his fury. WHERE WERE YOU? Blind with rage, he smashed his fists against the broken furniture and the rotting walls, tearing everything in his wake as he roared loud enough to make his helmet vibrate violently from the sound. It hurt enough to cause him to rupture something and bleed, trails of blood dripping down his neck to mix with the blood of his other victims.

As he stood breathing heavily on the landing of the stairs, trying to shake off the cloud of anger consuming him, a faint creak was heard downstairs. He twisted his body to look behind him, crazily observing the area where he heard it from. 

There was a lone table. The once white cloth adorning it was an ugly shade of brown, time not being kind to as it had torn holes ruining it. He could care less about the useless piece of cloth. What had his undivided attention was the dainty fingers that could be seen poking out beneath it. 

There was a moment of silence before he charged down the stairs. 

Gripping the sides of the table, he flung it across the hall, old wood shattering to pieces when it smacked against the railing of the stairs. He paid little mind to the destruction he created, his focus landing entirely on your meek figure below him. A look of horror crossed your face, mouth open in shock as you stared up at him. A rumble of contentment echoed within his helmet having finally found his prize, quickly dropping down to his knees to grab you and pin you between his legs.

It didn’t take much to overpower you, Pyramid Head sitting on your thighs to lessen your squirming. Bunching the pink fabric in his hands, he tore your sweater apart like paper, your startled scream doing little to deter him. His bloodied hands groped the exposed flesh hungrily, smudging your torso with the red substance as you shrieked in disgust. The way the softness of your tummy gave under his firm hands had him addicted. He loved how weak and pliant your flesh was.

Your mounds were a sight too, spilling off the cups of the small band around your chest. He tore that off easily too, your bust jiggling from the action and making him groan at the sight. Much to his pleasure, he saw your skin pebble with goosebumps, the cool air of the room turning your nipples into tight buds.

His hands moved, thick fingers stroking over your breasts to test the doughy texture. You gasped, arching from the pressure, unknowingly pushing your chest against his palms. Much to your chagrin, the rough pads of his fingers sent a fire bolt careening from your nipples and through your quivering belly to ignite heat into your core. You bit your lip, ignoring the sensation as you tried shoving his hands away with your feeble strength. When he tugged harshly on the tips of your breasts, you let out a pained whine, the kittenish sound sending a shock of pleasure down his spine. He wished to tear you apart, bathe in your essence as he drank up your tortured cries.

He was reluctant to pull his hands away from you, your body smeared in a beautiful canvas of blood, but his need to fully claim you could not be denied.  Pyramid Head removed his hands from your breasts with a final rough squeeze, shifting one to rub his erection to alleviate some of his need, while the other hand trailed down to caress your clothed hip possessively.

He was bewitched by you, reverently stroking your skin with bloodied hands to dirty your purity. Shielding your breasts from his view, you were a vision with your head turned to the side, choking on a sob as you realized that despite how your mind protested his brutish touches, your body betrayed you when slickness dripped between your thighs.

At war with yourself, you didn't pay attention when his attention turned to the last article of clothing preserving your modesty.

Easing up on his weight, he shifted his body down to tug at your black jeans. When the tight fabric stuck around your hips, he grew irritated at the minor inconvenience. Before you could voice out a protest, he roughly flipped you over onto your stomach, shock coursing through you when he tore the denim to shreds at your sides, dragging the rest of it down your legs and taking your panties and shoes with them.

You could feel the heat in your face at the state of your nudity. He caressed your ass then– forcing an undignified yelp from you at the offensive touch– squeezing the globes on either palm, his nails digging into the fat hard enough to leave lasting bruises on your unblemished skin. 

"N-no! You're hurting me!" 

You hissed between your teeth, sharp aches blossoming from where his fingers pressed on your ass. You shivered with disgust when the blood on his hands dirtied your globes, matching it with the mess of your front.

Brushing a calloused finger along your vulva, he was met with the heat of your pussy. It had your body jerking to attention, the blood draining from your face in an instant. When he tried to insert the bloody finger inside you, you shook erratically, your hands scrambling for purchase on the floor to get away from him. 

Tired of your antics, he twisted you to your back, uncaring of the yelp that left you when the back of your head hit the floor with a loud thud. Holding you down with one hand around your neck, he nearly choked you as he began pulling impatiently at the fastenings of his long skirt to jerk himself free with his other. His body shook with excitement, enticed by your naked flesh even as you begged sweetly under him. 

He paid little mind to your frantic scratching on his arm, the pain miniscule when compared to the hard throbbing of his cock— the twitching member pulsating so strongly that it had his mind blazing from the painful pressure, a groan of distress escaping him the longer it was kept confined. Pain that would only be soothed once he was encompassed by the tight walls of your pussy. 

~

The state of your mind went into a panic when you saw it. What lay between those muscled thighs was a monstrosity. It would bring you nothing but pure anguish and misery, the way it could barely spring upward with its heavy weight. Accompanied by an equally heavy set of balls and prominent veins lining the length of it– it was more of an instrument of pain than that of pleasure, meant to punish and brutalize those that fell victim to it. 

A whimper left you before you started thrashing in earnest, clawing away at his arm to get away from that. 

"LET GO OF ME! NO! Y-YOU CAN'T-!" 

You didn't care that he could snap your neck in a second, didn't care that he could rip you limb from limb or crush your head with his bare hands. Those were much better options than the alternative he was hellbent on pursuing. 

What the hell?! How can he be that bi-!!? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt monstrous hands grip your knees and pull them apart savagely, screaming at the painful ache in your pelvis following the rough motion. He knelt between your spread legs, his large thighs forcing you open and leaving you unable to close your legs.

"W-wait! Wait! Think about what you're doing, please?! It's not possi-?!" 

The blunt head of his cock tapped your entrance, the pearl of precum mixing with your wetness as he tried to nudge his way in. His size proved too much for your smaller frame, his dick sliding up your vulva in a failed attempt to penetrate you. The insistent push of his hips had you holding your breath, body freezing in place when the head of his cock threatened to breach your cunt only to slide along your labia once more. 

The rough motion had you panting, the repeated nudging on your clit causing your pelvis to twitch from the erotic stimulation. You couldn’t stop your body’s reaction to him, a pulsating heat shimmering beneath your skin. Taking a glance down, you shuddered at the sight of his cock sandwiched between your spread lips. It had your feminine channel burning for him despite your fear of him. Shame accompanied your arousal as you felt more of your natural fluids coating the underside of his dick and flowing down your ass in rivulets.

While you lay gasping at the dizzying sensation, you were ignorant to his growing agitation when he missed his mark again. He raised your hips higher, giving himself a better view of your leaking hole before grabbing his wet shaft with one hand and lining himself up once more. This time he was determined to properly defile you.

Your eyes fluttered open when he adjusted you, looking up at him in confusion as you tried to clear your mind. The momentary pleasure he had given you was obliterated in a second when you felt the press of his cock head stab its first inch inside your dripping pussy. 

Like a bucket of cold water hitting your face, you shrieked when the reality of your situation set in. Flinching from his touch, you tried twisting your hips away from him hoping to dislodge the stiff cock from its journey inside you. 

"No! You won't fit!"

Bucking your hips uselessly, you failed to realize that your swirling hips moved pleasantly around the tip, a dribble of cum shooting out of his cock to coat your insides– making you gasp when you felt it and him shudder strongly at the feel of your sweet cunt. Seeing how you were so lubricated for him, he repositioned himself above you, bracing a foot on the floor while keeping the other leg bent at the knee. Grabbing the back of your knees, he pushed them forward near your head, effectively placing you in a mating press of sorts.

Not giving you any time to protest, he thrusted half of himself in one diligent push.

You yelped at the sudden pain, eyes nearly popping out of your face as you felt your pussy stretch beyond its limit. Glimmer of tears rushed to your eyes, the pain making your mouth wobble as he pulled away– the drag of his cock against your inner walls nearly causing you to faint– only to cry out when he thrusted back in with more force. More of his cock violated your sore insides, rendering you a screaming mess as he continued to plunder your wrecked form. Too scared to look at the damage between your legs, you pushed against his firm stomach, pleading for him to stop or he'll kill you. 

A sharp jab into your swollen flesh had you crying out, arching your back as tears trailed down your face. No manner of preparation could’ve made his passage bearable, the stark difference between his gargantuan size and your regular size evident as you struggled to accommodate him.

He took you like a brute. Not caring about your distressed wails.

It hurt.

Maybe the pain was making you delirious, but beneath the agony, there was a thread of pleasure seeping through the cracks. You refused to believe it, the thought of your body betraying you in such a way nearly crumbling you.

…

…

 Then why were your hips moving timidly alongside his?

~

His hands bit into your sides, Pyramid Head lifting your lower body off the floor to smack against him, driving the rest of his cock inside your spasming pussy with a low groan.

It was a tight fit. 

Once the entirety of his throbbing cock was seathed inside your warm heat, he took the time to glance down at you. You were a sweaty mess of blood and tears, pained gasps emerging from your trembling lips as your body twitched uncontrollably from his claiming of you. Your entrance was stretched taut around his engorged cock, the blood smeared on your pelvis making him wonder if it was yours or from him. 

He was immune to your choked sobs, not feeling the least bit remorseful of his violent taking of you. Rather, he was pleased you survived. Many didn’t make it past this stage, but you proved to be a pleasant surprise. 

The snug walls of your cunt suddenly clenched around his dick, nearly making him cum on the spot. 

He pulled his hips back, hissing when your walls clamped down on him, making the task difficult before driving forward with purpose. Before long, your soaked entrance made his movements easier, his dick sliding much faster inside your straining pussy. Pained cries turned into soft mewls, your hips eventually moving in tandem with his with every brush of your clit. 

He paused midthrust to stare at the bulge in your tummy in fascination. It was a ghastly sight– the way your lower belly distended from his cock penetrating you. He pressed on the bump in an inquisitive manner, jolting in shock when your channel clenched around him erratically, a stream of fluid splashing on his lower belly following your loud shriek. 

The shock was momentary, Pyramid Head rubbing your secretion between his fingers to play with the strings. Bringing them beneath the helm of his helmet, he was overtaken with the smell of your lust. Even though you couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel him staring at you in a hungry manner. He gave you little time to be embarrassed, hunching over you to place your legs above his elbows, spreading you further and spearing into you with brutal thrusts.

He couldn't stop the rapid succession of thrusts, driving into you faster and faster as his release built up with every plunge inside you.

~

You twisted helplessly, opening your mouth to voice out your pleasure as fire spread throughout your body. His fierce pace had you writhing wildly beneath him, shaking your head at the growing tension in your stomach– signaling another approaching orgasm. You didn’t want him to stop. Your womb clenched with every harsh jab of his monstrous dick against it, the pressure escalating with every second of your ruin.

“O-oh! Please, please, please–!!” You sobbed, not knowing if you wanted him to stop his rough onslaught on your poor body or begging for more as his hips collided violently between the juncture of your thighs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed along the hall, your passionate cries and his low groans forever imprinted on your mind. Your legs grew tired, falling lax on either side of him, unable to keep up with his vigorous pace. 

He used you like nothing more than a cocksleeve, molding the shape of his cock in your tight pussy, his sac slapping lewdly against your ass.

It became too much. 

Your mind went blank when the knot in your belly finally snapped, letting out a scream of completion when intense heat spread throughout your shaking body. Your vaginal walls gripped him tightly, trying to milk him for all his worth, the sudden tightness forcing a growl to emerge from him. Tears escaped you, the painful pleasure driving you mad in his embrace.

White lights danced behind your eyelids, your orgasm turning you into a puddled mess of ecstasy even as he continued to ravage you.

The last thing you felt before closing your eyes in exhaustion was a scorching heat filling your insides, calloused fingers rubbing the bump in your tummy in wonder.

❣️🖤❣️Thank you for reading~! ❣️🖤❣️

I got another treat for my dear followers! You gotta know I'm posting NSFW Art to go with my fics as well~ (*^ ‿ <*)♡

🎃Happy Halloween, you guys! Stay safe out there!🎃

Full NSFW Art here ---> (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

[flowersforjude]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | After surviving the Cauldron’s brutal transformation, you struggle to reconcile the person you once were, all while grappling with an unexplainable pull toward Azriel.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6,813

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Nightmares, Emotional hurt/comfort, Training, Angsty mating bond things, Unhealthy sister dynamics, Protective sisters Nesta and Feyre, Good friend Rhys, Kisses. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Here’s the promised part two of To Keep You From Breaking. It is a long one so grab a snack and buckle up!

masterlist | part one

The water was everywhere.

It filled your lungs, choking you as cold, unrelenting talons dragged you beneath the surface. You thrashed and kicked, but it didn’t matter. Your limbs were useless against the force pulling you deeper and deeper and deeper. The water seemed to whisper to you, taunt you with your weakness, curling around your ears like a lover’s breath, soft and cruel. 

You tried to scream, but the sound drowned in the inky black water. Your body burned; you could feel everything changing, shifting despite your inner pleas for it to stop. Bones stretched, skin seared, and something inside you broke, cracking like fragile glass. 

I never wanted this!

Your thoughts spiraled, desperate and wild, even as the Cauldron’s magic seeped through your veins. It poured into the hollow spaces of your mortal heart, reshaping you into something else—something eternal.

You were sinking.

Down, down, down—until the surface above was gone. Nothing but shadow.

And then you saw it. 

A clawed hand, pale as snow, reaching its talons from the depths, curling towards your ankle—

You shot up in bed, gasping down greedy breaths of air. The room was quiet; too quiet, you could hear your heart beating against your ribs. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from your brow. Your chest rising and falling in rapid, dizzying bursts.

The embers in the hearth glowed just faintly, not enough to warm your frigid skin. Stiff fingers fisted the blanket in your lap, gripping it tightly as you tried to shake the remnants of your nightmare. 

The Cauldron’s water still seemed to surround you. Flowing up through your nose each time you took in a shaky breath. Trying to dispel the leaden water from your lungs was almost always impossible. 

Almost impossible if it weren't for—

A soft knock sliced through the silence.

You couldn’t help it as you flinched at the sound, turning towards the door. You already knew who it was. Seconds after your mind had conjured the thought of him…you knew. 

“Azriel?” Your voice wavered even with your attempt to mask the anxiety in it.

The door creaked open, and there he stood on the threshold. Shadowed and still, large wings looming behind him. He looked so familiar standing in your doorway. Like he belonged here, anywhere you were really. Ever since the moment you shared with him in this very space when he offered you the first solid comfort you experienced since…everything. 

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes scanned the room like he could feel the traces of terror from your nightmare. One of his shadows slipped around his shoulder, darting forward.

It brushed along your cheek in a soothing manner that made you want to lean into it. You could see Azriel’s readiness to call it back if you so wished, could see his hope that you wouldn’t just as well. You wouldn’t, and he knew that, but in the weeks of your growing friendship, he had promised to uphold all limits you set forth. 

Truthfully though, it was rather hard to keep his shadows at bay around you. Their odd behavior had coaxed many laughs from you in the last few weeks. The Shadowsinger had become increasingly more irritated with his sentient companions. It was almost as if he thought they were doing it on purpose. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You spoke the apology as the shadow weaved itself between each of your fingers. 

“You didn’t.” Azriel said, his voice rich and seeping with warmth. “They did.” He gestured to his shadows as he stepped inside the room. The door whispered shut behind him, as soft as his voice. 

“They felt your fear.” He explained upon seeing your confused expression. The way he spoke the words sounded so natural, so right. As if the pieces of himself—his shadows, his quiet presence—belonged to you as much as they did to him.

You didn’t know how to respond to that yet. This odd pull between you and Azriel was something you still couldn’t wrap your head around. And he offered no explanation to any of the strangeness. 

He crossed the room with the same silent grace he always carried. His shadows didn’t hover close to him. Instead they lingered at the edge of the bed, rolling over the mattress, like mist reaching for the sun. He knelt by the bed rather than sit on it, his wings folded at his back. A few wisps of shadows curled up your arm, gentle and slow as they offered their comfort. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Azriel asked, his voice sonorous, but hesitant.

Your throat tightened at the softness in his tone. He wasn’t pressing, never. He would leave if you asked him. If you insisted you were fine. 

But you weren’t. 

And he knew that.

“Yes…” The word felt as fragile as you did. 

It took him a single heartbeat, and then he stood. Settling himself beside you in the bed as you moved over an inch or so. His back rested against the headboard, and his wings shifted, dark and broad, as he curved them slightly around you both. 

His shadows trailed lazily along the bed, blanketing the mattress as they floated towards you. As if craving the closeness. Azriel didn’t call them back either. As if he wanted to siphon off some of the proximity to you for himself. The thought filled your mind with a fuzzy, silly notion.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The quietness wasn’t unbearable with him. You both often sat in silence with each other, content enough to just have one another for a moment. But blame it on your nightmare; something about it tonight left you restless. You shifted a bit, your hand brushing his for a split second. 

You froze when he whipped his head to face you. His fingers grabbed hold of yours. It was the most forward he had been with you so far.

“Mother! Your skin is like ice.” He exclaimed, thumb ghosting over the back of your hand. “Is it always like this for you?” Something in his voice had shifted, taking on a more rougher tone.

You swallowed, willing your hand not to tremble in his grasp. “I–I guess.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, some emotions he wouldn’t let you see long enough to decipher, stirring faintly in his expression. 

“Come here.” He murmured at last, the words soft but edged with steady resolve. “Please.”

You hesitated, but whether it was his plea or his hand already curling tighter around yours, you allowed him to pull you to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you to lean into him until your head rested lightly against his chest. His wings curved slightly, draping like a shield against the cold air.

Everything felt so right. Correct in a way that you didn’t know existed. His warmth bleeds into you, slow and all-consuming. Azriel’s hand slid over your arm, careful as his thumb brushed absently against your skin—soft, reassuring, as if grounding you to this moment. 

As your breathing evened out, and the claws of your nightmare drifted, you felt that all too familiar tugging upon your heart. Something picked at the thread in your chest, making you shudder. The ache that always followed its arrival settled, causing you to question once more what it was that hummed between you.

—

“What are you doing?”

The deep male voice behind you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You gasped, stepping back slightly, placing a hand to your heart in an attempt to steady it as you spun around—only to find Azriel standing there.

You were momentarily surprised that you hadn’t heard him approach or that his shadows hadn’t raced away from him to greet you first like they often did. 

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, his hazel eyes flickering with a small amount of amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, forcing a small, sheepish smile.

You turned away from him, shifting your focus back to the training yard below. Feyre and Cassian moved in fluid, practiced strikes, their sparring a dance of strength and precision. It was mesmerizing—the way your sister met Cassian’s blows with calculated ease, her newfound power woven into every step, every block. 

Your sister was back from the Spring Court, having dismantled it from the inside, exposing Tamlin’s allegiance to Hybern for the betrayal it was. It was good to see her again, truly. You think you would have been used to Feyre leaving and coming back by now. But you found yourself still missing her each time. Her stay in the faerie lands the first time around had left you missing her, even when Nesta told you not to because she wasn’t coming back. And now, even with you all back together again, she was still High Lady, still someone with a world on her shoulders.

You had missed her.

You missed all of them even if Nesta and Elain were still in the same house as you. 

You really did love your sisters, all three of them, even if it didn’t come across that way sometimes. Things between the four of you had been…tense to say the least. Even before everything had changed. Nesta and Elain, like you, were still coming to terms with what had happened to you all. And Feyre playing her role as High Lady of the Night Court left her with a never-ending list of duties.

Even with your sisters always surrounding you, you felt alone so often. Alone and weak. It had been months since the Cauldron remade you, but there were still days, too many days, when you felt like you were dying and being reborn all over again. Still days when you looked at your hands and barely recognized them, when your own body felt like something borrowed rather than something yours.

It was pathetic.

Nesta had her anger and icy resolve to help her through. Elain had her quiet grace and subtle strength. And Feyre had…well Feyre seemed like she had everything. You were happy for her; she deserved nothing less than the happiness she found here in the Night Court.

But you…you had nothing it seemed. 

A booming laugh sounded from below as Cassian guffawed at Feyre managing to sweep his feet out from under him. Graceful and quick and powerful. 

Your fingers curled over the balcony railing. You wanted that. The skill, the confidence, the ability to protect yourself. You didn’t want to fight, just to know how if you ever found yourself in the position of having to defend yourself or your sisters again.

Azriel’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You want to train.” It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing statement, one spoken as if he had reached inside you and plucked the truth from your mind.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the yard below. “Yes,” you relented. “But I don’t ever want to have to fight someone…hurt them. So it would be useless for me to learn.”

He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second skin. His shadows curled at the edges of your vision, shifting restlessly, as if they had something to say on the matter. Finally, he spoke. “Knowing how to protect yourself isn’t the same as wanting to fight.”

You glanced at him, at the way the wind tousled strands of his dark hair, at the flickering torchlight casting golden glows against the sharp angles of his face. His expression was leading, like he was coaxing you to the decision he knew you wanted to make. And his voice—his voice—was nothing but gentleness and patience. 

“I know,” you admitted, looking away. “I just…I've already changed so much.”

Azriel exhaled softly, the sound barely audible over the howl of wind and the distant grunts below. He came to stand beside you, close enough that his wings brushed your shoulders and his warmth seeped into you as his scent of night-chilled wind and cedar wrapped around you. 

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” he said quietly. “But we are likely going to war soon.” His wings shifted slightly, a sure sign of some internal debate, and his fingers flexed against the stone railing. Then, carefully—hesitantly—he spoke. “I would feel better if you at least learned the basics of defense.”

Your breath caught slightly.

When he looked at you, there was something attentive in his eyes. Measured, as if he was weighing every word as he said them. There was no demand or expectation in his voice. Just gentle concern, wrapped in a layer of caution, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d take it. 

You paused, not because you disagreed, but because the idea of it—the idea of war, of needing to know how to fight—made your stomach tighten.

“I don’t know if I can,” you confessed, voice softer now. “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone, Azriel.”

His expression shifted, not to pity like you would expect from anyone else, but to a kind of hushed anguish. Like he was pained by the thought of you being forced into yet another thing you didn’t want. 

“You won’t,” he said, and though his voice was still careful, there was something firm beneath it. “It’s just to be sure no one can hurt you.” He went silent again, only for a single beat this time, before something resolute took root in his eyes. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose you before you ever get the chance to see how strong you really are.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you could do nothing but look at him. 

Azriel, who barely knew you, not really, not yet. Azriel, who kept his distance unless you gave him explicit permission to come closer, who treaded so lightly around you like he was afraid of pushing too hard. Azriel, who had just admitted—however indirectly—that the thought of something happening to you was something he thought about.

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. Grimacing as that pull in your chest flared again. If his words hadn’t stolen your breath away, the tugging around your heart would have. 

“Okay,” you whispered at last. “You’ll be training me, though, right?

His shoulders seemed to relax. He allowed his lips to turn up just a bit at the corners in a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to teach you,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.” And even though his voice was as steady as ever, you could hear something else beneath it.

Relief.

—

You weren’t sure what to expect the next morning when you met Azriel in the training yard. He was already there when you arrived, the sky just barely touched with the first hints of the sunrise. He stood at the center of the ring, wings tucked in but still imposing in the most alluring way, his cobalt siphons catching the pale morning light. He didn’t say anything as you approached, but his shadows stretched out towards you in greeting.

“To start, I need to see what you’re capable of.” He was all business today, apparently. His voice held an air of detachment in it that you hadn’t heard from him yet. But there was something about the way he watched you, the way his shoulders remained a little too stiff. His shadows curling more instinctively around your wrists, your ankles—like they weren’t entirely convinced this was a good idea.

Both them and their master seemed…nervous.

Azriel started towards you, closing the distance between you to catch your wrist in his tight grip. “Lesson one,” he murmured. “Try to pull away.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your face neutral, your heart hammering as you looked up at him. His eyes were unreadable, but the warmth of his skin, even through his fingerless leather gloves, was startling against your own.

“Try to pull away,” he demanded again. 

You jerked your arm back, not surprised when nothing happened. He didn’t tighten his hold, he didn’t need to—he simply absorbed the force like you weighed nothing.

You huffed in mild frustration. This was going to be a long morning. 

Azriel’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Again.”

You did as he instructed, yanking, pulling, and jerkering against his grip on your wrist. It did nothing. After your fourth failed attempt, you scowled. “This seems unfair.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t let you go, didn’t even loosen his hold. “Most things in a fight are.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting on your feet. You hated feeling weak. Hated how easy it was for him to hold you in place, to remind you just how little control you had over your own body.

He must have sensed your frustration because his voice softened slightly. “You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Strength alone won’t get you out of this.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what will?”

He finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space to breathe. “Leverage.” He reached for your wrist again, this time slower, and you let him take it.

He guided your free hand up to press against his own, showing you where to aim. “If someone grabs you like this, don’t pull back. Use their grip against them.” He tightened his hold slightly. “Step in, twist your arm—like this—and push against the thumb.”

You hesitated but followed his instructions, stepping into his space and twisting just as he’d shown you. To your shock, his grip broke. You stumbled back a step, blinking. “I—”

He nodded in approval. “Again.”

You swallowed and let him take your wrist once more, forcing yourself to ignore how effortlessly he handled you. This time, you moved faster, following his guidance until you wrenched free in a smooth motion.

A slow smile—real this time—curled at the edge of his lips. “Good.”

Something warm flickered in your chest. 

He stepped back and lifted a hand. “Now, try to hit me.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel’s expression remained calm, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You won’t hurt me.” That wasn’t what you were worried about.

You hesitated, flexing your fingers. “I’ve never hit anyone before.” You paused. “Well, unless I could count that time when I was ten and I punched a boy for picking on Elain.”

His brows arched in barely concealed amusement. “Did it work?”

You scrunch your nose in distaste. “Not really. I mean, he cried, but Nesta had to handle the rest.”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t let the moment linger for too long. He lifted his hands, palms open in a silent invitation. “Consider this your first fight then.”

Your stomach twisted, but despite that, you lifted your hands in an awkward stance.

Azriel studied you, his gaze flicking over your posture, assessing. You braced yourself for some harsh critique, for him to tell you that you weren’t ready, that you weren’t strong enough—

But he only nodded. “Relax your shoulders. Keep your weight balanced.”

You did as he said, exhaling slowly as you adjusted your footing.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, hit me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You want me to punch you?”

A glimmer of challenge crossed his features. “I want to see what you’re capable of.”

You scowled, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw a punch. He dodged it effortlessly.

Your fist cut through the empty space where he had been a heartbeat ago, and then—before you could react—his hand caught your wrist and twisted gently behind your back, guiding you into a hold you had no hope of escaping.

Your breath caught as his chest brushed against your shoulder, his wings shifting behind you. He didn’t press too hard, didn’t restrain you in a way that felt overwhelming, but—Mother above, he was close.

“Too slow,” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low rasp.

You barely heard him over the roaring in your own head. The same warmth that always flickered to life when you were with him—the same inexplicable pull—tightened in your chest like a thread being wound too taut. And he tensed behind you just for a moment, but it was there you were sure of it. Like he felt it as well. 

You felt like you were overheating. Wherever his body pressed against yours was blazing like a wildfire, even with the thick leathers separating you both. You couldn’t speak, but it wasn’t like the way your throat closed up when the Cauldron’s waters drowned you over and over again. It was because your very soul seemed to thrill at his touch, and if one word was spoken, it would shatter this marvelous moment.

The only thing you could think was yes! This is right. You and him. This close…sharing the same breath. 

“What is going on?” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Azriel had moved before you could even register the sound of your sister’s voice. One second, his warmth was pressed against your back, his breath feathering against your ear, his hands carefully but firmly locking you in place. The next there was nothing.

A rush of cool air filled the space he had occupied, and you barely had time to blink before you turned and found him standing a few paces away, his expression once again unreadable, his shadows curling tightly around his shoulders as if he’d reined them in at the last second.

Nesta’s piercing gaze swept between the two of you, her arms crossed, suspicion and scrutiny written all over her face. “I thought you said he was training you,” she drawled, arching a brow.

You swallowed, willing your pulse to slow as you turned to face her fully. “He is.”

“And that is what training looks like to you?” She snapped, her voice like a whip. Her eyes went to Azriel, hard as tempered steel. “I suppose you told her it was all alright.”

Your face flamed, but before you could say anything, Azriel spoke up. “Nothing untoward was happening.”

Nesta scoffed, taking a step closer, her expression twisting. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure you painted a grand picture of bravery and glory all so you could sink your hooks into her,” she hissed. “You fae males are all the same. You think I don’t see the way you follow her around with that love sick puppy routine, how your shadows are always twisting and curling around her. She doesn’t need to train like some warrior; she needs you to leave her be!”

“Stop it!” You shouted, unable to bear hearing her further degrade Azriel and his intentions. “Azriel told me I could train, yes, but I asked him to be the one to do it.” You took a deep breath as Nesta surprisingly kept silent. “And he’s been a wonderful teacher so far,” you continued. “I want to do this, Nes. I have to, for myself most of all. I cannot feel weak anymore; I won’t.”

Your sister simply blinked at you, her eyes showing no recognition or understanding of your emotions. “You’re throwing yourself into something you don’t understand.” Without another glance at either of you, she left. 

You could only stare after her, her last words ringing through your head. You couldn’t help but feel like she was right in some way. You didn’t understand. Not this new world you had to call home, not this body that didn’t truly feel like yours anymore, and certainly not whatever was between you and Azriel. 

You didn’t understand the way his presence soothed you. Didn’t understand the way his shadows wrapped around you with a possessiveness they didn’t show to others. Didn’t understand why you felt like you needed him close, like your very bones ached in his absence.

And he hadn’t explained it either. Almost like he refused to. 

The silence that lingered after Nesta left was heavier than a thousand bricks, pressing against your ribs, weighing down your breath. Azriel stood beside you, unmoving, his shadows curling at the edges of the ring like they weren’t sure if they should reach for you or retreat entirely. His face was carefully neutral, but there was something dark flickering in his hazel eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. And you had seen that expression of his before.

Your throat tightened. You should have let it go. Should have taken a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and moved on. But you couldn’t.

Not when your sister’s words still rang in your head. Not when doubt curled in your gut like a living thing. Not when that pull—that strange, unrelenting tether between you and him—had been thrumming inside you since the moment his hands had touched you. 

You turned to face him fully, lifting your chin. “Why didn’t you tell her she was wrong?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered, but his expression remained guarded. “Would it have made a difference?”

You clenched your jaw. “That’s not the point.”

His wings shifted. “Then what is the point?”

You exhaled sharply. “That she thinks you have some ulterior motive. That you’re manipulating me into—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm. 

You swallowed, something hot crawling up your throat. “I know that.” But that wasn’t what you were really asking. And from the way his shadows coiled tighter, from the way his gaze searched yours as if trying to decide how much to say—he knew it too. Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step closer. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Everything around you went still. 

You met his eyes, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, voice bordering on pained. “Why do you feel so… familiar to me? Why is it easier to breathe when you're around? Why are you able to comfort me more than my own sisters?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why?” You cried.

His breath came slow and measured, but you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was forcing himself not to.

You took another step forward, desperate now. “Azriel—”

“I can’t,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a slap as your stomach twisted. “You can’t?” You asked. “You can’t what?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to take the words back. But he didn’t. He only exhaled sharply and took a step away. The space between you was small, but it felt like a chasm. “I need to go,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper of despair. 

Something in your chest cracked. You could feel it opening up like a split in the earth. Before you could say anything, before you could ask, beg, or plead—he was gone, shadows swallowing him whole. And you were left standing there, fists clenched, your heart aching with a truth you couldn’t grapple with.

—

Azriel

The past days had been unbearable. Every hour without you—without your voice, without your presence—felt like something had been carved out of him, leaving only raw, open space where you should be.

And yet, he had stayed away; he had made himself stay away.

Because if he got too close, if he let himself give in to the pull of the bond—the bond you didn’t know about—he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from spilling from his lips. And he had convinced himself that you weren’t ready for that truth. He had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing.

But now, standing in the town house library, facing Rhysand’s scrutinizing stare, Azriel was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one brow arching in a way that said he had already figured out why Azriel was here before he even opened his mouth. “You look like hell.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

Rhys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me guess—it’s due to you and a certain pretty Archeron sister still avoiding each other? I’m sure it’s been nothing short of agony for you.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not just me.”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly. “I know.”

A shift in the air made Azriel glance toward the doorway—just as Feyre stepped inside, her gaze not unkind but determined. His stomach twisted; of course she was here. You were her sister after all. 

“Feyre, darling.” Rhys cautioned his mate. 

She didn’t spare him a second glance as she settled her gaze on Azriel. “She’s in pain.” She said directly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked down in shame, unable to find the right words to say. 

Feyre sighed, her voice more subdued but no less forceful. "I won’t say anything about it to her, Az. It’s not my place, but she’s my sister, and she’s hurting. You have the power to stop that, so stop it.”

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. Because he knew. He knew you were hurting. Knew you were confused and aching and searching for answers that only he could give you. But still, he waited, shied away from telling you the truth. That you were his mate, the one made for him just as he was made for you. The one who he would move mountains and oceans and cities for.

Rhys watched him carefully, his violet eyes sharp with understanding. “You’re afraid she won’t accept it.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit it, but the truth was written all over his face.

Feyre exhaled, shaking her head as she moved closer, her expression shifting from stern to something gentler. “It’s alright to be scared.” She hesitated, then softer, “I know what it’s like to have a bond dropped on you before you’re ready. But she’s already suffering trying to figure out what’s happening between you two. You can’t keep avoiding her.”

Rhys studied him from where he sat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You know she’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Azriel nodded along. “She shouldn’t have to figure it out on her own.”

“Then tell her.” His brother said simply.

He turned away, tension rolling off him in waves. “She just got thrown into this world. We’re on the brink of war. She’s still trying to find her footing. How am I supposed to burden her with this?”

Feyre scoffed, exasperation flashing across her face. “Do you hear yourself? The only thing burdening her is not knowing why she feels the way she does around you. I see it, Az. She looks for you everywhere. And when you’re not there, she just looks…lost.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, guilt lancing through his chest like a dagger.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Rhys added.

He turned, frustration sharpening his voice. “What if she doesn’t want it? What if she doesn’t want me?” You were still reeling from everything, from the Cauldron, from the war that loomed over them all. What if adding this to your plate made you resent him for keeping it from you?

Feyre softened slightly. “She already trusts you more than anyone.”

He swallowed hard.

Rhys sighed. “Look, we’re not telling you to confess your undying love for her, but at least tell her what this is. What you are to her. Let her decide what to do with that.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, battling with himself on what he should do.

Rhys leaned back again. “Or, you could keep avoiding her, letting her think she’s losing her mind over something she doesn’t understand.” He arched a brow. “Your choice.”

Azriel glared at him. But he knew the longer he waited, the more he risked losing you. And that thought—losing you before he even had the chance to try—was something he didn’t think he could bear.

—

The window seat in your room seemed to be your favorite place in moments of personal crises. You couldn’t draw yourself away from the pane of glass; there wasn’t even anything interesting to look at out of it. But your body remained rooted in place, your nails picking and pulling at your cuticles on their own accord.

When a knock sounded at the door, you felt a sense of deja vu come over you. But you weren’t foolish enough to believe it was him again. Not when he’d been running away from you so intensely. You had spent the past few days in a haze, going through the motions, trying to shove down the ache that had settled in your chest. The absence of Azriel had been practically unbearable. You hadn't even realized how much of your world he had become until he was gone.

You had searched for him everywhere. Looked for him in the training yard, in the halls of the House of Wind, in the shadows that used to brush against your skin as if they missed you, too. But he had been avoiding you.

And it hurts.

You swallowed, your throat tight as you stared at the door. You didn’t want to get your hopes up that it was him. But maybe…"Come in," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

The door opened slowly, and your heart felt like it might give out. But then Azriel stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a gentleness that felt deliberate. His wings were tucked in tightly, his shadows curling and shifting at his feet, restless and uneasy. He looked… exhausted. Tiredness lined his hazel eyes, his jaw taut as if he had spent days grinding his teeth.

You sat up a little straighter on the window seat, hands clenched in your lap. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You’ve been gone.” You said, hating how fragile your voice sounded. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something pained flashing through his eyes before he schooled his features into neutrality. He stepped further into the room, but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to give you the answers you so desperately wanted. “I thought it was for the best,” he said quietly. 

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “For who?”

He flinched, just barely. You saw it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his wings tensed ever so slightly. “For you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Because I—” He exhaled sharply. “Because there’s something I need to tell you, and I didn’t know how.”

Your heart pounded, that strange pull tightening in your chest like an invisible thread being drawn taut. “Tell me now,” you said, the words coming out more like a plea than you intended.

Azriel stared at you, searching your face, his expression unreadable. And then, as if coming to some silent decision, he moved. He crossed the room in two strides, sinking to his knees in front of you. The sight of him like that—kneeling—stole the breath from your lungs. His hand lifted, hovering inches from yours, as if he wanted to take it but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"You've felt it," he murmured. "Haven't you?"

Your breath hitched. Felt what? The way his presence soothed you like no one else could? The way your body seemed to recognize him before your mind even had the chance to? The way your soul ached in his absence? "Azriel," you whispered.

His eyes were burning embers as he finally—finally—took your hand. His thumb brushed along your skin, a barely-there touch that sent shivers up your spine. “There is a bond between us,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “A mating bond.”

The words hit you like a physical force, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared at him, your heart slamming against your ribs, your mind reeling. A mating bond.

You were Azriel’s mate.

The world tilted. Everything—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every unspoken word—suddenly made sense. You felt like a fool for not putting the pieces together before. “You knew,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, his grip on your hand tightening. “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, a storm of emotions swirling inside you. “For how long?”

His throat bobbed. “Since the moment I had to watch them toss you into that cauldron, not being able to stop it.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. A sharp breath rattled out of you, and suddenly, the room felt smaller—too small. The walls pressing in, the air too thick. Memories surged forward, slamming into you with the force of a tidal wave. You had tried so hard to bury them, to pretend they were nothing but fading nightmares, but at his words, the dam broke.

You saw it all.

The dark, swirling water.

Nesta’s screams.

Elain’s hand torn from yours.

The hands shoving you forward, forcing you down, down, down.

But you also remembered through the haze of terror there was him. He’d been lying on the ground; you remembered him crying out in pain. His body and wings were wrecked from whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him. You hadn’t registered it at the time, but now in your memories you swore you’d seen him try to crawl to you. You had been too lost in your own fear, too overwhelmed by what was going on. 

“That long,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper now, filled with something jagged, something broken. "I had to watch them take you, hear you scream, and I didn’t know why it tore me apart. And then I felt the bond snap into place as you were dragged from the waters.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. The thought of him going through that all on his own. Injured, in pain, and then discovering his mate had just been brutalized. You couldn’t imagine how he felt. But still, he kept it from you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking around the words. “Afraid it would be too much for you. Afraid you wouldn’t want it.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger—from the sheer weight of it all. “I thought I was going crazy,” you choked out. “I didn’t understand why I felt this way, why I needed you and hated being away from you. Why I—” You broke off, shaking your head. “You should have told me.”

“I know.” His voice broke. “I know, and I’m so—” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I thought I was protecting you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring at him—the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, on his knees before you, looking every bit like the man who had spent centuries breaking and putting himself back together again. And now you understood why it had always felt like you were breaking with him.

Azriel lifted his gaze to yours, and the raw vulnerability in his hazel eyes nearly undid you. “Say something,” he whispered. “Please.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. So instead, you did the only thing that made sense. You surged forward, capturing his face in your hands, and kissed him.

He froze, his body going rigid, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But then he moved, his hands grasping your waist, pulling you against him like he had been starving for this. His lips were soft but urgent, reverent but desperate, and you met him with equal fervor. Because you had been starving. Starving for this, for him, for the truth neither of you had spoken aloud. Azriel made a low sound in the back of his throat, his shadows curling around you both like a cocoon, like they wanted to keep you like this forever. 

The bond between you flared, roared—a golden tether that snapped into place, no longer quiet, no longer hidden. And you felt it. All of it.

Tears burned in your eyes as you parted. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re my mate.”

“And you’re mine.” His voice was raw as his grip on your waist tightened. He kissed you again, again, again—like he needed to memorize every part of you, like he needed to prove to himself that this was actually happening.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, falling to your lips, making the kiss taste salty. But you didn’t care because for the first time since that Cauldron had stolen your mortal life, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt found.

﹙taglist﹚ @daughterofthemoons-stuff @babypeapoddd @shadowdaddysposts @judig92 @thecraziestcrayon

I played with the timeline a bit to draw things out longer, so it doesn't completely line up with the book. But it's so subtle I think it'd be easy to ignore.

I hope you all enjoyed this and it was worth the long wait! <3

[bookshelftreasures]

Jealous Shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst

Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,066

Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.

You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.

"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.

You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.

The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.

You blink in surprise.

He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.

"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.

And then you feel it.

A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.

Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.

Your stomach flips.

You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.

You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.

One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.

"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."

Azriel stills.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.

Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."

Something cold coils around your ankles.

Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.

Your breath catches.

His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.

You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.

Azriel's shadows have started to shift.

Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.

You shiver, pulse skittering.

Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"

The shadows snap toward him.

Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.

You swear you hear them hiss.

Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"

Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.

Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.

And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.

You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"

Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"

His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."

You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.

Azriel glares at it.

Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."

His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.

Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"

"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.

Silence.

His throat bobs.

And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.

A name.

Your name.

And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.

Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.

Which is just unacceptable.

You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."

Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.

Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."

A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.

The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.

"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."

Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.

You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."

Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."

"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."

As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.

Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."

You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"

He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.

And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."

Your breath catches.

Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"

Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

You grin. "And you love it."

He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩ ✩⁺₊✩☽⋆⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.

"I knew it!" He boasts.

Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.

And you?

You just laugh.

Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?

They don't lie.

[cowgirlvi]

Jinx who has sexsomnia…

mdni. needy sub-bottom jinx. fem-top reader. dub con. somno. sexsomnia. short drabble.

jinx masterlist

jinx has always had a vivid imagination. her creative yet chaotic mind is something she’ll never be rid of, so it makes sense when that transfers over into her REM state of sleep.

she used to have night terrors—relentless, haunting things that made sleep feel like a battleground. but since meeting you, she says the nightmares have subsided. as long as you’re sleeping beside her, jinx’s dreams are nothing more than a quiet, endless void—a darkness that, for once, feels safe.

but you have an inkling as to what she really dreams about now. because every night, once she drifts deep enough, her hips begin shifting, moving lazily against your leg. 

it starts off languid, almost imperceptible, but the further her dreams pull her under, her movements grow more insistent, more intense. soft whines escape her chapped lips, her breath hitching as she unconsciously seeks out friction. even in her sleep, she's desperate for something just out of reach, lost in a world of sensation she won't remember in the morning.

you can feel it—the heat of her pussy, the dampness seeping through her thin, pink panties, smearing against your bare thigh. she’s soaked, wet and sticky, sloppy in her haste to make herself come.

her fingers twitch where they rest on the sheets, grasping at nothing, moaning sleepily, “uhh, uhh, mmm.”

you tense your thigh, helping to create more pleasurable friction while jinx humps you like a dumb mutt, and you wonder what she’s dreaming about. is she remembering how you stuffed her needy pussy full of cock earlier that day? how you fingered her in that gross, grimy alleyway the other week, making her cry?

her slutty body is completely debauched while her face is peaceful with sleep, mirroring a fallen angel. the juxtaposition is amusing—funny almost—and so is the way jinx’s pussy always needs your constant attention, even in a state of rest.

she’s teasing you and she doesn’t even know it.

every night she only sleeps in a little pair of panties, her legs and torso bare, pink nipples pebbled due to the bite of chilly air. and right now, all you want is to push her panties to the side, to stuff your nose inside her cunt until her pheromones make you feel drunk, to kitten-lick her little hole while her arousal soaks your chin like honey nectar, to feel her spongy walls cling to your fingers like a corset drawn too tight.

her nose is wiggling like a bunny, pink tongue sticking out between her parted lips. you imagine she’s dreaming of kissing you now, of how you fuck your tongue inside her mouth until she grows dumb, how all she can do is hang onto you for comfort while you ravage her sweet lips.

she’s such a needy little thing, always relying on you to make her grow stupid and mindless.

jinx looks so sexy like this; vulnerable and trusting, unaware of the depraved thoughts running through her own mind. the bed is starting to creak and shake with the strength behind her thrusts and you’re surprised she hasn’t woken up yet.

you know she’s getting close because she’s humping against you sloppy and staccato now. her panties are nothing more than a sopping, squelching mess every time they make contact with your thigh. you can hear the obscene sound clearly in the quiet of your bedroom, the way the soaked fabric clings and sticks to jinx’s swollen pussy lips, only to peel away with a lewd, wet schlick.

her eyebrows are creased and she’s panting with more desperation. your own cunt throbs in sympathy.

”that’s it, baby. let it out, there ya go,” you murmur, brushing her bangs from her eyes. 

and she listens to you—despite her unconscious state—because she comes against your thigh suddenly. her back arches like a drawn bow and her pussy is scalding hot like lava, a fresh flood of arousal gushing out of her tight hole.

her pink tongue lolls out, dripping down her chin with drool as she pants and mewls, drowning in the sensations that consume her dreaming mind. and as quickly as it began, it's over. jinx goes limp, collapsing against the mattress like a puppet with its strings cut. her little chest heaves as she gulps down air, her skin flushed in the darkness.

she settles back into the mattress, one of her thighs still thrown carelessly over your hip, pinning you in place. you don’t mind, finding a perverse sense of comfort in jinx’s claim on you, even in her sleep.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @girlbeatings, @blackdykegirlblogger, @thatgrlnany, @imfckngfantastic, @f3ralpuppyg1rl

(2/16/25)