#i feel like there’s something in my chest violently trying to claw out

[writeriguess]

Beyond Stars // Sylus x fem!reader

author's note: just something I had in my mind.

The endless expanse of stars stretches out before you, a cosmic canvas of glittering diamonds against the dark velvet of the universe. The hum of your ship’s engines is a steady, comforting presence, though in the vast silence of space, it almost feels too loud. Your fingers hover over the controls, eyes scanning the radar for any sign of danger, but tonight, something feels different. The battle ahead isn’t just another routine patrol. The tension in the air is palpable, an undercurrent of unease you can’t quite shake.

You try to push it down, focusing on the task at hand. But it’s impossible to ignore. Something is off. You can feel it in your bones, in the weight of every second that ticks by.

And then, your comms crackle to life.

“Stay sharp,” comes the voice you know so well. Calm, steady, always reassuring. “I’m picking up something on my scanners. We might be in for more than we expected.”

You don’t need to look to know it’s Sylus. His voice is familiar, the sound of it a reminder that no matter what happens, he’s always there, always watching your back.

“Understood,” you reply, your fingers already dancing across the control panel as you pull your ship into a sharper turn, keeping your eyes on the enemy's last known position. The lights of distant ships flicker like fireflies, just out of reach. There’s a chill in your gut, an instinct that tells you the danger is closing in.

“Keep your distance,” Sylus advises. His voice is quiet but firm. “We’ll need to work together on this.”

You nod to yourself, though there’s no one else in the cockpit. A quiet promise that you’ll do your part. You’re not just a pilot—you’re a fighter. And tonight, you’re not facing this alone.

The enemy ships come into view, their silhouettes cutting through the dark of space like sharp knives. A dozen or so, darting through the void with unnerving precision. It’s not just a skirmish. This is an ambush. A coordinated attack.

You reach for your weapons, engaging the enemy with a swift, deadly strike. Your ship’s cannons fire with a satisfying roar, and an enemy ship explodes in a burst of light. But they keep coming—more of them, closing in, faster than you anticipated. Your pulse quickens. You can feel the pressure mounting.

"Break off now!" Sylus orders, his tone sharp, urgent. “You need to pull back. This isn’t a fight we can win head-on.”

You grit your teeth, unwilling to retreat. "I’ve got this," you mutter, weaving through the chaos of the battlefield. There’s no turning back now. You won’t leave this fight unfinished.

But then, a blast hits. Your ship shudders violently, the jolt of it throwing you against your seat. The warning lights blink urgently. Your shields are down. Your engines sputter. You struggle to regain control as your ship veers off course. The next shot would be your last.

“Get out of there!” Sylus’s voice cracks through the comm, sharper than ever. "Move! Now!”

Panic claws at your chest as the realization settles in. You can’t do this on your own anymore. Your hands fumble for the throttle, but the controls are unresponsive. The enemy ships are closing in on you, their targeting systems locking on, preparing to fire. You know it’s only a matter of seconds before they land the killing blow.

And then—through the haze of panic, you see it. A flash of silver and blue, cutting through the blackness like a predator on the hunt. Sylus. His ship. He’s here.

His presence brings an unexpected wave of relief, but you don’t have time to breathe just yet. His ship moves with fluid precision, dodging enemy fire like it’s nothing. He fires back with deadly accuracy, taking out the closest enemy ships in an instant. But still, the rest close in.

“No!” you shout, trying to regain control, but the damage is already too great. You can’t fight anymore.

“Stay with me,” Sylus says, his voice low but urgent. "I’m not losing you."

His ship positions itself between you and the enemy, taking the brunt of the fire aimed at you. His shields flare with every hit, but they hold. His cannons light up the darkness, tearing through the enemy ranks with unrelenting force.

You can’t help but watch in awe, even as the danger presses in. Sylus doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. He’s a force of nature in the void. The precision with which he operates—every shot, every move, calculated, deliberate—it’s as though he’s part of the very fabric of space itself.

“Get ready to move,” Sylus commands, his voice steady even as the chaos of battle rages around you. “I’m giving you a window. Take it.”

You don’t need to be told twice. With his protection, you push the throttle to the limit, feeling the briefest rush of relief as your ship surges forward. Sylus follows closely behind, keeping pace with you, blocking incoming fire with his own ship.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the rhythm of it all. You’re fighting together. No hesitation. No fear. Just trust. Trust that Sylus will keep you safe, trust that you can hold your own, trust that no matter what happens, you’ll make it through this—together.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the enemy begins to break apart. The remaining ships scatter, retreating into the dark abyss of space. The battle is over. For now.

You breathe in deep, the weight of the fight lifting from your shoulders. The ship’s systems are still damaged, but you’re alive. And that, at least, is something to hold on to.

"Thanks," you murmur, your voice hoarse, though you know he can hear you.

Sylus’s voice crackles through the comm, softer now, but still full of that steady resolve. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

You let his words sink in, a comfort in the quiet aftermath of the battle. There’s no need for more. You know him, and he knows you. That’s all that matters.

Your ship drifts beside his, the two of you moving through the silent void as the stars glitter around you. There’s no real danger now. No more enemies to face. Just the stillness of space.

“Looks like we make a pretty good team,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting into a small smile.

“We always have,” Sylus replies. “And we always will.”

As you float together, amidst the stars, you realize that with him by your side, you can face anything. No matter how vast, how dangerous the universe becomes, you will always have each other.

In the cold, infinite stretch of space, you’ve found something that feels like home.

[reveryfics]

Symbiotic

Eddie Brock x Male reader

Summary: Eddie hadn't heard from you in months, little does he know, you now have your own symbiote problem.

A/N: I feel like I'm not doing my best compared to when I first started, so hopefully getting back into Eddie Brock fics helps.

The alleyway reeked of stale beer and something metallic, the scent clinging to the damp air like a shroud. Rain lashed down, each drop exploding against the grimy pavement, mirroring the frantic hammering of your own heart. Your body, slick with sweat and the icy rain, writhed against the unforgiving concrete. A sob tore from your throat, raw and guttural, as your lungs seized, gasping for air like a drowning man.

Panic clawed at your throat, a cold, icy tendril squeezing the life from you. Your vision swam, the world blurring into an abstract canvas of grey and black. Each breath was a battle, a desperate struggle against an unseen force constricting your chest. It felt as though something alien, something monstrous, was burrowing beneath your skin, twisting and turning within your very core.

A wave of nausea washed over you, and a thick, oily substance bubbled from your mouth, tasting of iron and decay. It slithered back down your throat, leaving an acrid taste that burned like fire. You could feel it, a subtle, insidious movement beneath your skin, a dark pulse throbbing in rhythm with your own terrified heartbeat. It was moving, slithering towards your center, a malevolent presence taking root within you.

Then, a wave of icy numbness washed over you, extinguishing the fire in your veins. Your body went rigid, every muscle seizing.

You jolted upright, clawing at the brick wall, nails digging into the rough surface, leaving bloody crescents. You gasped for air, your lungs burning, your heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. It felt like a fever dream, a hallucinatory nightmare birthed from the depths of your own psyche.

Shaking, you stumbled out of the alleyway, the rain plastering your hair to your face. You passed Mrs. Chen's convenience store, her worried calls falling on deaf ears. Her voice, however, was distorted, warped into a mocking echo, a grotesque parody of concern. It was as if something else was speaking through her, trying to familiarize itself with you, to claim you as its own.

Keys fumbled in your trembling hands, finally slipping into the lock of your apartment door. You stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind you with a violent thud that shook the very foundation of the building. Rushing to the bathroom, you collapsed to your knees before the toilet, a torrent of thick, black liquid erupting from your throat.

The world spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of colors. You felt lightheaded, weak, as if the very ground beneath you was shifting and swaying. Desperate, you tore off your clothes, the sodden fabric hitting the floor with a sickening thud. You turned on the shower, the icy water a stark contrast to the burning sensation that consumed you.

As the water cascaded over your skin, washing away the grime and the chilling fear, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. A wave of horror washed over you. Black, veiny tendrils, like the roots of some monstrous plant, pulsed beneath your skin, then vanished as quickly as they appeared.

"I'm going crazy," you whispered, your voice hoarse and trembling. "It's just… it's just in my head."

You stood beneath the icy spray, the cold water doing little to soothe the burning sensation within. Then, the insistent ringing of your phone shattered the silence. You fumbled for it, your fingers clumsy and trembling. The caller ID displayed "Eddie." You hesitated, fear gripping you. Answering felt like an act of defiance, like inviting the unseen entity within you to take control.

You hung up, the sharp, metallic taste of fear filling your mouth. You glanced back at the mirror, your breath catching in your throat. Something was watching you, a malevolent intelligence lurking behind your own reflection. A scream, raw and primal, erupted from your lips as you stumbled backward, your head colliding violently with the tile wall.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed overhead, casting long, skeletal shadows across the aisles. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm raging inside you. It had been months since the incident, a gaping wound in the fabric of your life. You'd become a recluse, your apartment a tomb where you barely slept, the only excursions forced by the gnawing hunger that clawed at your insides.

Weight had melted away, leaving you gaunt and hollow-eyed. Your voice, once a vibrant melody, was now a hoarse croak, a testament to the silent screams that echoed within. Eddie's calls went unanswered, his texts unanswered, his knocks on the door met with the cold, dead silence of an empty apartment. You'd even changed the locks, a desperate attempt to keep him away, to keep yourself hidden from his concerned gaze, from the pity that would surely drown you.

Sleep offered no respite. Nightmares, vivid and terrifying, haunted your dreams. You'd wake drenched in sweat, gasping for air, the memory of the…thing…still fresh in your mind. The thought of seeking help was paralyzing. They'd lock you away, label you delusional, a victim of your own fragile mind. But then, you saw it. Agony, as it called itself, a grotesque alien entity, a symbiote that had chosen you as its host.

Your body, weak and broken, was the only vessel it could find. A desperate act of survival. And despite the agonizing toll it took, you became the perfect host, a conduit for its otherworldly power.

Months later, you found yourself on the sidewalk, a plastic bag overflowing with groceries from Mrs. Chen's clutched tightly in your numb fingers. "Hey!" A voice, familiar and yet distant, sliced through the air.

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. Slowly, you turned, your eyes meeting Eddie's. He was breathless, his face a mask of worry, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and something akin to…fear? "Jesus Christ, I thought you were dead!" he gasped, his voice cracking.

"Eddie…" you whispered, the word catching in your throat. Guilt, a suffocating weight, pressed down on you. How could you possibly explain? How could you tell your best friend that you were now host to an alien entity? "I'm so…"

"Sorry?!" Eddie's voice was a raw, wounded thing. "Sorry is all you have to say?"

You took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a trembling hand towards him. Words failed you, so you simply took his hand, your fingers interlacing with his, and pulled him towards your apartment.

Inside, Eddie paced like a caged animal, his voice a torrent of anguish as he poured out his frustration. "Months! You disappeared for months without a word!" He was unlike anything you'd ever seen him – vulnerable, raw, utterly heartbroken. And it hurt. It hurt knowing that you were the cause of this pain.

He stopped pacing, his gaze locking with yours. "I…I have this…" you began, your voice trailing off.

And then, it happened. Agony, its form shifting and coalescing, materialized before you, its head emerging from your shoulder. But it wasn't alone. From Eddie's chest, another symbiote, sleek and obsidian, erupted, mirroring Agony's movements.

Eddie's eyes widened in disbelief. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to become a host. He'd always been so cautious, so protective of you. He'd even kept his distance at the beginning of his and Venom's symbiosis, terrified of hurting you, of becoming the reason for your demise. "H-how?" he whispered, his voice thick with shock.

You recounted that night, the agonizing pain, the suffocating fear that had consumed you for months. You didn't care what happened to you. You just wanted to survive. You didn't want to hurt him. But you had no idea he was also…bonded.

You sat in a heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken emotions. You talked, not just about the symbiotes, not just about the pain and fear, but about everything. About your lives, your dreams, your fears. And then, you said it. "I…I love you, Eddie."

He was speechless, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "I…I…" He stammered, unable to find the words.

"Eddie," Venom hissed inside his mind, its voice a low growl. "You are being a complete pussy! Tell him! We love him!"

Eddie rubbed his face, his gaze finally meeting yours. "We…I…I love you too," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "That's why I never said anything. I was scared. Scared of ruining things. Like I did with Annie."

You nodded, understanding the fear that mirrored your own. "I understand, Eddie. I do."

Another silence fell, heavy and awkward. Then, his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. "Interspecies boyfriends?" he joked, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through the gloom that had settled over you.

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, a different kind of storm was brewing – a storm of hope, of love, of a future that, despite the challenges, held the promise of something beautiful.

[person4924]

listening to julien baker with both earbuds in is what death feels like right

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Bump P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n Velaryon (Pregnant Wife) Rating - Sweet AF Word Count - 2957

Warning - childbirth / gore / horror elements

Jacaerys goes out with Daemon for the afternoon, the two go out and climb the jagged and impressive cliffs and valleys of the hot volcanic island, all to fetch a dragon egg for him and Y/n's baby. The two chatted and had some real conversations, the likes of which he hadn't really ever, had as stepson and stepdad. However, when they returned to the castle a sweet bright blue Dragon Egg selected a maid and rushed down the hall towards them,

"Prince Jacaerys!" The maid yelled, "Prince Jacaerys!"

Jacaerys' head turns sharply confused as to why this maid was running to them, "Yes, what is it?"

"it's Y/n -" the maid gasps,

Jacaerys' stomach drops to his feet at these words, but he forces himself to remain calm. "What has happened to my wife?" he demanded an answer,

"She has begun her labours Prince Jacaerys," The maid said,

Jacaerys' heart skips a beat as if he suddenly cannot breathe. He forces himself to remain calm, even if he feels like punching the wall, or throwing up, or any number of other things. "How long ago did this begin?"

"A meer our after you left," the maid said.

Jacaerys feels his heart drop at this news, suddenly feeling a deep sense of shame that he had been gone so long in this crucial time. If something had gone wrong... He shakes the thought out of his head and forces himself to remain calm. "Who has been with her, this whole time?"

"the maester. And maids. And the queen" The maid explained

Jacaerys nods and begins racing through the halls as quickly as he can, He keeps walking with Daemon and the maid, trying his best to hold a serious face and not let his tears flood. Y/n was in good hands, but he still desired to be there and see their son being born. His heart still races within his chest, however, flooded with adrenaline from the situation.

finally, they reach his and Y/n's chambers both the maid and daemon rush inside without a second thought but for a moment Jacaerys stops in the doorway, the sound of muted screams from within the chambers causing his heart to race even quicker. He grips his hands, nervous to step inside the chambers. He knows he should enter, but the thought of it terrifies him. He has to go in. He has to be there, for his wife. He steps inside.

Their bed is crowded with maids, the maester, his mother with Daemon at her side all of them arguing and debating the methods to be used. But all of it is mere background noise as all Jacaerys can focus on is his wife.

Y/n sits with her back against the headboard her knees on the bed so she's almost crouching on it, her sky blue nightie around her drenched in blood and sweat, her hair a matted sweaty mess, her eyes full of tears, her mouth hung open to scream, her hands ball up her nightie clawing at her own thighs in her agony. The sounds she made were enough to chill his very soul, they reminded him of the cries in violent pain that a dragon screams out when hurt and she seemed just as vicious and dangerous

"Where is my husband!" She screams,

Jacaerys cannot believe what he is seeing. He runs towards his wife's side, and stares at her with a mix of horror and concern. He cannot help but notice the blood, the sweat, in the state she is in. His first reaction is to reach out for her, to comfort his love, hold her, comfort her, to hold her close. But... her pain is immense, and her cries of agony are almost violent. Jacaerys feels like he is watching her being tortured. Jacaerys feels as if this statement cuts him deeper than any sword. " I... I'm here, my love..."

she grabbed him by the hand her grip tight and yet weak at the same time proving her exhaustion. "Jace... They wouldn't tell me where you were, they wouldn't find you, they wouldn't let me see you... I was so worried something might have happened to you" she cried hysterically

Jacaerys' heart was struck a blow. She had been concerned for his well-being. After the hours and hours she had been through, she was still thinking of him, his well-being. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at her words. He squeezes her hand tightly. "I am here now, my love. Nothing could stop me. I am okay, do not worry about me. I am so glad to be with you now..."

"I ask one thing of you, my love"

Jacaerys looks into her eyes, kissing her hand and meeting her gaze nervously. "Anything."

"get. These. People. Out! Of! Our chambers!"

"Are you sure? All of them know more than we do."

"NOW!" she screamed, 

Jacaerys nods instantly. He would do anything to ensure his wife's comfort, and to see her pain end as quickly as possible, "Everyone out. Leave my wife to me,"

"Jacaerys-" His mother began,

"Now. She wants you gone just go." He demanded, 

the room clears of everyone but Y/n and jacaerys, which calms her slightly she kneels on the bed still gripping her thighs as she gasps

Jacaerys takes a seat next to her on the bed. He reaches out and places his hands on her shoulders, stroking her carefully. “Calm yourself, my love. This too shall pass. Do not worry about the pain. What you are experiencing is a natural part of life, my sweet. There is no need to fear it…” Jace smiles, hoping to comfort her, even though he knew well how difficult childbirth could be. He was only trying to ease her mind.

"I am so frightened... I'm am so so scared" she muttered between her tears

Jacaerys rubs her back gently, trying to comfort her. “I promise you, my love, nothing bad will happen to you. I have never seen a stronger woman than you, and I know, deep in my heart, that you can do this. You are going to be a mother.” Jace smiles, and squeezes her hands. Nothing bad will happen. “I am here, for you.”

she grabs his shirt as another contraction forces it's way through her and she screams loudly her voice echoing off the stone walls of Dragonstone

Jacaerys grips her hands, squeezing them tightly as he watches her suffer this pain. He fights the urge to call someone in, as he knew that more people would be of no help at all. But... he feels so useless, watching her writhe in pain. He wants to help. He wants it to stop. He wants his son to be born, too, but he hates seeing Y/n suffer like this.

"Jace... It's happening. It's happening the baby!" She screamed tears flooding down her face as she clawed as her thighs and her body shaking as she goes though this intense pain she screams louder then anything he has ever heard cursing and swearing at the child inside her as it forces her body to conform. She grabs Jace by the hair and puts her forehead to his as she cries and screams violently

Jacaerys grits his teeth, trying his best to remain strong for his wife. He squeezes her hands, tries to calm her, but cannot find the words. Her screams fill him with fear and worry. He doesn't want her to suffer like this, but he has no way to take away the pain. It is worse, by far, than anything he could have ever imagined for her with childbirth. He is almost helpless as he pulls her head down against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight.

she screamed and leaned back clawing her thighs as she pulls up her nightie and as she does he sees the strange both beautiful and deeply horrifying sight of the birth of his child. Jace had only briefly seen the birth of his younger brothers but this moment was never something he had witnessed, he knew of course how children were born of course but he supposed in his mind he always imagined just crying, screaming and then being handed his beautiful baby, his idea was this was a beautiful and magical moment and in some ways it was but... It was also the sight of his wife convulsing with pain, screaming, clawing her thighs to the point of blood, as the blood and fluid covered head of Thier child ripped her open

Jacaerys stares as his wife experiences the worst pain he could imagine. A beautiful moment, indeed, but one filled with pain and a mess of blood and fluids. His face contorts as he watches this process, the screams of his lover filling his ears. He is filled with fear, seeing the woman he loves in so much pain. Jace looks away, but cannot help but look back at the process. It is almost like a horrific wreck, where you must watch. A mixture of beauty and horror, something that has no equal.

she is unable to stop now even if her body is tired even if she can't handle any more her body is physically unable to stop now, leaving her to cry hysterically and scream out a long scream that took her whole breath, she demanded Jace to take a blanket which he did as it was sudden. The baby's head appeared then it's neck, then it's shoulders and once past the shoulders the baby dropped out like an apple from a tree have quickly picked up the baby in the blanket wrapping it up,

Jace’s entire body is filled with shock and relief as he sees his child born, wrapped in the blanket. A surge of relief washes over him, and he breathes a sigh of gratitude to every god above, thankful that his wife and his son are both well. He stares, amazed, at the sight of the child. It is a mixture of awe and fear, the tiny life which he brought forth with Y/n. The baby moves in the blanket, still covered in fluid and blood. Jacaerys takes a step back, almost mesmerized and overwhelmed by emotions.

the baby whined and coughed bringing the first little cry

Jacaerys cannot help but smile at the first noises from the baby. The sounds are weak and hoarse at first, but begin to get stronger with every moment. He wants nothing more in that moment than to hold the tiny life that he helped bring to this world in his arms. However, he is too fearful to go any closer towards the child, as the fluid and blood which still cover him are not an inviting sight. He is unsure now which emotion is winning inside him: fear or relief.

Y/n doesn't even have time to react to their child as the process of the after birth strikes her but luckily given the agony she just went through this pain felt to her like nothing more then a stomach cramp and luckily goes off without a hitch, the after birth is quickly delivered and she flops on her back on the bed covered in her own blood and sweat as she holds her stomach "Is he okay..."

Jacaerys lets out a sigh as the afterbirth is delivered, The sounds of the baby’s cries grow stronger with each moment. Jacaerys turns to face his wife, still nervous by the sight of her covered in blood and bodily fluids, but he forces himself to focus on the positive. He cannot hold back a smile, one filled with relief and gratitude, “Yes, my love. He is okay. He is beautiful, and I cannot even describe how much I love his cry.” Jacaerys tries to look past the blood on her body, instead focusing on her face and looking for a smile. He wants to see her joy, her happiness at having given birth, to see that she is okay. His hands clench into fists as he looks at her, wanting so badly to hold her close but not wanting to make things worse by coming too near.

she smiled and opened her arms wanting to hold their baby

Jacaerys smiles in response, and watches as his wife reaches out her limbs towards their child. His heart flutters, as he realizes how much she is already loving the baby. He walks closer, and gently pulls the blanket away so she can hold him in her arms. Jacaerys also can finally take a good look at the small life he helped to create, his son, Lucaerys, which is now lying safely in Y/n’s arms.

Y/n holds the baby against her bare skin, the widest smile on her lips, she cares so life the blood and fluids that coat the both of them she kisses the head of baby Lucaerys and lets a tear slip as he cries

Jacaerys smiles wide at the scene of his wife with his baby in her arms. The tears of joy, the gentle, protective kisses she is placing on Lucaerys’ head... it is almost enough to make him cry as well. As the baby cries, Jacaarys comes forward again, and wraps his hands around Y/n, holding her tightly against him once more, wanting to comfort her, protect her, and comfort himself. He wants to be there for her, and their son. He wants to comfort them both.

"he's perfect. So very perfect." She muttered "our little boy, I praise all the gods in this universe for him"

“He's beautiful, Y/n. So beautiful.” Jace smiles softly as the baby cries. “Our little Lucaerys... he even has your eyes, I think.” Jace strokes his hands over her hair slightly, taking her in and realizing that he too was filled with that same sense of relief from seeing that she was well.

"he's perfect. So very perfect." She muttered "our little boy, I praise all the gods in this universe for him"

He wraps his arms around her again, pulling her and the baby into him, embracing his family. She smiled and laid her head on Jaces shoulder as she made sure they could both cradle baby Luke. Jace smiled, enjoying the sweet feeling of all three of them sharing that special, beautiful moment. He held her close, caressed her head once more, then looked down at their baby boy. The boy had calmed somewhat. He was still crying, but not as frantic as before. Jacaerys felt the most content he had ever been in his life, as he sat there, holding his wife and his son against himself.

The two share kisses and sweet words cooing over their baby for hours Y/n rests on the bed and jacaerys paces the room bouncing baby Luke in his arms as he once saw his father do to his brother's

Jace bounces the baby, trying his best to soothe him. He speaks kindly to him, uses a voice that he hopes would be calming and sweet. He whispers to him with words of encouragement, hoping that the child would be soothed. Eventually, his efforts pay off as the baby grows quieter. The baby stops crying, and only his light breathing could now be heard. Jace feels a rush of relief wash over him as he continues to bounce and hum to the baby, not wanting to put him back into Y/n's arms just yet.

"ohh ‘he's’ tired. I feel somewhat offended" Y/n chuckled as she noticed Luke fell asleep in jaces arms

Jace laughs at her comment, amused at her reaction. “The audacity of him,” He joked and He continues to hold Luke, not wanting to give him up just yet. There is something about holding your own child that is so precious and special. Jace knows he must return him to Y/n soon, but he cannot help but enjoy this time with little Lucaerys. He continues to hum songs quietly to the baby, holding him close to his chest.

"you have to put him in his crib sometime, Jace" she teased him

Jace rolls his eyes, chuckling. “Yes, my love. I suppose that is true. Though... I enjoy holding him. I have not let him go at all since he arrived. I wish I could carry him everywhere.” Jace laughed, holding him close.

"umm my boys, my sweet boys" she cooed at them enjoying the sight of her husband and son together, "come on, let me have a cuddle" she cooed opening her arms

Jace’s face flushes red slightly, as he knows he cannot deny that request. He looks to Lucaerys for a moment, then smiles and hands him over to Y/n. He loves to see her with their son.

"ohh hello little man, yes hello. Your daddy is giving you all the attention today. I get the feeling he shall spoil you" she cooed to baby Luke

Jace chuckles, watching her love their baby with such intensity. He knows she is going to provide him with the most love and attention, and he could not ask for a more perfect mother for his child. Jace takes a seat next to her, watching her with the baby, as she speaks. He does not want to break her focus from the child, but he also wants to be close to them both.

"You were so much trouble. So much trouble for such a little boy" she chuckled "worth it though. A thousand times over"

Jace laughed, his chest filling with warmth when he heard that. What was this feeling within him? Pure joy, mixed with the pride of being a father to such a beautiful child. He was proud of Y/n, for what she had gone through, for how well she handled it all. All of his previous fears had evaporated. “He was worth everything in this world, my love.”

This was not a moment to be afraid, but rather to celebrate the miracle of birth.

[aliorsboxostuff]

Can I request grey house x male reader fluff or smut is fine , if that's not too much

Yessss honestly i was in the mood to write some fluff but if this turns out slightly bitter sweet erm,,,, i can only apologize hgdhdghjfjgh i can only write House so much before he goes out of character HAHAHA 

Within his arms.

Tags: Greg House x M!reader, Greg House, male!Reader, doctor!reader, Allison Cameron, Robert Chase, Eric Foreman, fluff, slight OOC on House's side whoops, Cuddling, Bantering, just pure cuteness and maybe bittersweet at the end.

The tests are done, and the results are on House’s desk. Surely he wouldn't mind you taking a short nap before checking in with the patient, right?

—

It was midnight, precisely 15 minutes past 12 AM. 

For the past 3 days, the current patient House’s team is diagnosing has been going from stable to unstable in a matter of hours. With each problem they solved, another pop-up, and with the week ending it seems like you'd have to cancel your weekend plans if the patient's condition keeps deteriorating. 

You’ve just finished the last batch of blood tests, eyes grimy as you try to blink away the claws of sleep. There were a couple of times where you had to violently jerk yourself away, and then hold the urge to stick a needle of adrenaline into yourself just to keep testing stuff.

Somewhere in your head, about a couple of hours ago, Cameron came by to tell you that House might still be in his office until late. She was the only other doctor who knew of your little crush on the diagnostician, and pity you for it. You don't blame her. After knowing what the girl went through with him, you can't help but be sympathetic, though, despite her blatant warning, your heart can't seem to stop doing flips whenever House is around. 

A machine beeps. You grumble, standing from where you sat to retrieve the result.

“I should check in on House…” You mumble, betting on him still being around. 

Stumbling through the halls, you finally made it to your Boss’ office, and while it’s disappointing, you're not surprised he’s no longer present. The man must've gone home ages ago, he probably was packing up when Cameron informed you of his overtime possibility. You sigh, dropping the results of the blood tests on his desk before your eyes glance at the couch, enticing you with its soft cushions. 

The tests are done, and the results are on House’s desk. Surely he wouldn't mind you taking a short nap before checking in with the patient, right?

You check the perimeters, around the office and into the hall. House is nowhere to be seen. The night shift nurses as milling about, busy with their patients to monitor. Finally, you nudge the door to close softly, the glass making a short clink, before you drape your aching body onto the sofa. After hours of testing and sitting hunched on the stool, the sofa comforts your back. Groaning as you stretch your arms above your head, fringe dropping slightly as your head leans back.

You sigh, relieved, a mixture of boredom and sleepyness a toxic concoction luring you to close your heavy eyes. You drape your arms around yourself, your lab coat long forgotten somewhere in the office. Bringing your legs to your chest, you lean slightly to your left, resting your cheek on the headrest, eyes fluttering close. Surely House, if he was still even here, wouldn't mind, right? 

If he did he would've shouted at me by now, that was the last thought you had before darkness slowly engulfed your vision, even the insistent tapping of a familiar cane didn't wake you.

—

“–ow are they so comfortable together? That couch is way too small,” 

“And House is all long limbs and- Honestly its impressive,” 

“Can't you two just hurry up and grab my phone? I can take a picture of them!” 

Soft light slowly penetrates your grogginess, eyes blinking open, trying to adjust to your slow-awakening nerves. You yawn, sighing at the feeling of being well-rested, it felt comfy and warm, something soft draped over your body, and someone’s long arms wrapped around you. Leaning back slightly to try and greedily soak up what is left of the person's warmth, a small smile makes it way to your lips when-

Wait. Someone? 

“Are you three going to keep gawking or should I test how hard I can throw my cane?” House’s voice snaps at your senses, vibrating through you as your ears are pressed beneath his collarbone. You hear the man behind you groan, knowing House he probably gave the team the worst eye roll known to mankind. 

“I thought I asked for the test results last night? I don't see them on my desk,” His tone drops lower. Instead of seeing, you hear a quick sequence of shuffling and shoes shuffling on carpeted floors, knowing it must be your other co-workers hurrying out of the office. 

You gulp, finally finding your voice after you're sure it won't crack. “The results are already on your desk, know…”

House nods above you. His chin rests atop your head. “I’ve read through them.” 

He pauses. “You got the PTT wrong.”

“No? I’m sure it didn't…” Your voice fades.

You feel House shift. He moves your legs to drape over the couch’s armrest, alleviating more of his limped leg. “No, but I just bought us another half an hour, so unless you want to go back to acting professional, I suggest you-”

“No,” You croak out. “No it’s…. Fine. Thanks,” 

You feel House sighs. Either way, you decide to push your luck as you lean deeper into the doctor's neck, sighing, and pull at the blanket further. Something deep in you worries, a ball of anxiety growing steadily. You don't know if House knows of your little infatuation, if he resents it or lets it fester to consume you whole. He and his puzzles are too advanced for you to understand, though eventually, it boils down to his entertainment. Is he letting you do this to see how far you’ll go? 

Suddenly, you feel House’s hand rest on your shoulder, one finger tapping gently. “You lucky I was also staying late last night,”

You hum, relief settles in. Despite the outcome of this predicament, sleeping in House’s embrace while the man himself seems content enough to let you off the hook, you cherish this and compile it into your memory. 

Requests are open! Reblogs appreciated <3

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

The Witches’ Road

Taglist- @skittlebum @circe143 @quailbagutte

Masterlist

Summary: Your gone!, Agatha's been through different eras with you gone, but are you really? -Chapter VI

===============================

The morning light seeped through the forest canopy in fractured beams, creating a patchwork of gold and shadow on the soft earth below. The world was quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves swaying in the breeze.

Agatha stirred, her dreams dissolving into the edges of wakefulness. Her hand moved instinctively to the small, warm body that had been nestled beside her the night before.

Her fingers met only the cold fabric of the blanket.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Darling?” she called softly, her voice still thick with sleep as she turned her head. The blanket lay empty, the faint imprint of a small body still pressed into the folds. She reached out, brushing her hand over it as if the warmth might somehow still linger.

It didn’t.

She sat up slowly, her heart beginning to race. “Darling?” she called again, louder this time. Her gaze darted around the clearing—the remnants of their campfire, the pile of kindling they had gathered together, the cloak her child had been using as a pillow.

Nothing else.

A cold dread washed over her. She scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat. “Darling!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the trees. She spun in place, searching for any sign—any sound—that might lead her to them.

Her magic flared instinctively, and she thrust her hands forward, palms open, eyes glowing with desperation.

“Show me where they are!” she commanded, her voice trembling as tendrils of purple energy rippled outward from her fingertips. The magic spread like roots, snaking across the ground and into the air, searching for the faint spark of life that was her child.

For a moment, she thought she felt something—a flicker of warmth on the edge of her awareness. Her breath hitched, and she poured more of herself into the spell, her veins alight with power.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered, her voice tight with hope and fear.

But the flicker vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only emptiness. The connection that had always been there—bright and steady, like a candle in the darkness—was gone.

“No…” Agatha gasped, stumbling backward. She clutched her chest as if trying to hold herself together, tears streaming down her face.

“Again,” she muttered, her hands trembling as she raised them once more. She cast another spell, her magic surging outward in a wild burst. This time, she forced her senses to stretch farther, pushing past the boundaries of the forest, beyond where her power would normally reach.

It was no use. The emptiness remained.

Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the forest floor, her hands clawing at the dirt as her breath came in short, panicked gasps. “No, no, no…” she whispered, shaking her head violently as tears began to blur her vision.

“Rio!” she screamed, her voice breaking. “You can’t take them! They’re mine! I need more time!” Her cry rang out, raw and desperate, swallowed by the vastness of the forest.

Her mind raced, memories flashing before her eyes—her child’s laughter as they splashed in a stream, their small hand slipping into hers as they walked together, their voice calling her “Mama” for the first time.

“I can’t feel you…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t feel you…my baby!...” She pressed her hand to her chest as though she could will the bond back into existence. But there was nothing. Just a hollow, aching emptiness.

The minutes passed, then hours. Agatha remained on the ground, her body trembling as she wept into the soil. She had always known this day would come—Rio’s shadow had loomed over them since the moment of their child’s birth. But knowing hadn’t prepared her for the unbearable weight of it.

When her tears finally subsided, she wiped her face with trembling hands and forced herself to stand. Her legs felt like lead, but she couldn’t stay there, couldn’t sit in her despair.

As she turned, something caught her eye—a glint of sunlight reflecting off a small object nestled against a rock. She moved toward it, her breath catching when she saw what it was.

A single strand of hair, glinting gold in the sunlight.

Her child’s hair.

She knelt down, her hands trembling as she picked it up. It was so fine, so delicate, and yet it felt heavier than the world itself.

“Oh, my darling…” she whispered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Her hand moved to the brooch she always wore around her neck—a simple, circular locket that she had enchanted long ago. With careful hands, she opened it, revealing the empty space inside. Slowly, reverently, she placed the strand of hair within, sealing it with a whispered spell.

“There,” she murmured, her fingers brushing over the brooch. “You’ll stay with me. Always.”

She gripped her chest as the fear turned to sorrow. Rio had taken them. Rio had taken her child in the night, as she’d feared.

Her eyes burned with tears, and she pulled herself up from the forest floor, feeling the weight of loss pressing heavily on her heart. The urge to do something, anything, overwhelmed her. She stumbled toward the clearing, her hands shaking as she began to form a small tomb.

When the small mound was complete, Agatha knelt before it, her body trembling. Gathering flowers close by.

She carried them to the small mound of earth she had formed earlier—a symbolic grave for the child she could no longer hold. The sight of it made her heart ache anew, but she placed the flowers atop it with quiet reverence.

Then, softly, she began to sing:

♪ This road is cruel and wild

I bury my own heart

Here with you, my child…" ♪

Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, the melody rising like a fragile thread in the air:

♪ "If one be gone, we carry on

But every mile I go

With every bend

Beyond the end

Your mother loves you so…" ♪

The song ended in a whisper, the final note lingering in the stillness. Agatha stood motionless, the weight of her grief pressing down on her.

Her sobs punctuated the final notes, her hands gripping the earth as though it could somehow anchor her to the remnants of her child.

It was then a voice broke the silence.

“You must know the way, then?”

Agatha’s head snapped up, her grief momentarily replaced by fury. A woman stood at the edge of the clearing, her presence unassuming but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

“How dare you!” Agatha hissed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

The woman raised her hands in surrender. “Forgive me,” she said, her tone soft. “I heard your singing. I thought you might know the way.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “The way to what?”

The woman hesitated, then said with a slight bow of her head, “The Witches’ Road.”

And in that moment, an idea sparked in Agatha’s mind—a way to channel her grief, her rage, into something purposeful. If witches were drawn to the idea of the Witches’ Road, then she would give it life.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Witches' Road was a lie—a beautiful, treacherous lie whispered into the ears of desperate witches across the ages. It was born from Agatha’s grief, her desperate attempt to mask the agony of losing her child. Every tear she shed became another thread in the intricate web of deceit, a tale spun so expertly that it transcended time and culture. Agatha became both the architect and the phantom of the myth, promising what witches desired most in exchange for their ultimate downfall.

The Victorian Era: A Dance of Deception

It began in a grand manor, lit by flickering gas lamps and the soft glow of enchanted crystals. The coven gathered there was one of the most prestigious in England, a secret society of women who controlled vast wealth and influence. They believed themselves untouchable, their magic unmatched.

Agatha arrived in the guise of a grieving mother, her black dress modest but elegant, her face pale and hollowed by feigned sorrow. She knocked on the manor’s towering doors during a rainstorm, her soaked figure trembling as she was ushered inside.

“I have nowhere else to turn,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “My child is gone, stolen from me by powers I cannot fight. Please, I beg you, help me find the Witches’ Road.”

The coven leader, a tall woman with steel-gray hair and piercing eyes, frowned. “The Witches’ Road? That’s a myth, a story told to scare the foolish.”

Agatha’s gaze sharpened, though her tears continued to fall. “No,” she insisted, her voice trembling with desperation. “It’s real. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt its call. But I can’t find it on my own.”

Her conviction planted seeds of doubt and curiosity in the witches’ minds. Over the following nights, Agatha spun tales of a mystical road that led to the fulfillment of one’s deepest desires. Power, immortality, revenge—whatever they sought, the Witches’ Road promised it all.

Under Agatha’s guidance, the coven performed elaborate rituals, convinced they were on the cusp of unlocking the road’s secrets. But when they least expected it, Agatha struck. She drained them one by one, her power swelling as the coven fell, leaving no witnesses to tell the tale.

The manor burned that night, and the whispers of the Witches’ Road only grew louder.

---

The Roaring Twenties: A Jazz Age Mirage

In the heart of New Orleans, a speakeasy thrummed with the energy of forbidden jazz and hidden magic. Here, witches mingled with mortals, their spells woven into the music and the cocktails they served.

Agatha entered the smoky room wearing a sleek black dress, her lips painted crimson. She commanded attention with her confident stride and the mysterious aura she carried.

The witches in the speakeasy were younger, more reckless, drawn to the idea of magic as entertainment. Agatha played on their ambitions, weaving her tale with the sultry rhythm of the jazz band in the background.

“The Witches’ Road,” she said, her voice low and enticing, “is not just a path. It’s an invitation. It chooses those who are destined for greatness.”

A young witch with golden curls leaned forward, her eyes wide with fascination. “How do you know it’s real?”

Agatha smiled, her expression enigmatic. “Because I’ve walked it,” she lied. “And I’m here to show you the way.”

Over the next few nights, Agatha lured the witches into her fold, promising them a ritual that would reveal the road’s entrance. They gathered in the bayou under a crescent moon, their laughter turning to screams as Agatha drained their power, leaving their bodies to sink into the swamp.

By the time the speakeasy’s patrons noticed the witches’ absence, Agatha was long gone, her legend spreading like wildfire.

---

The Medieval Era: The Healer’s Trap

In a small European village, whispers of a healer who could cure any ailment reached the ears of a struggling coven. They sought her out, desperate for help after a series of mysterious deaths within their ranks.

Agatha greeted them in a humble cottage, her appearance modest and her demeanor kind. She listened to their woes with feigned compassion, offering remedies and advice that earned their trust.

When the coven confided in her about their fears of a rival group, Agatha’s eyes gleamed with hidden delight. “Have you heard of the Witches’ Road?” she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

The witches shook their heads, their curiosity piqued.

“It’s said to be a place where all wrongs are righted,” Agatha continued. “A path that grants the strength to overcome any obstacle. But it is not for the faint of heart.”

The coven, hungry for a solution, begged Agatha to guide them. She led them into the woods under the pretense of performing an ancient ritual. As they chanted and cast their spells, Agatha revealed her true intentions.

“You’ve walked right into my trap,” she said coldly, her magic flaring. “The Witches’ Road doesn’t exist, but your power will serve me well.”

The forest echoed with their cries as Agatha drained them, leaving their lifeless forms behind as she disappeared into the night.

---

The 1980s: Suburban Sorcery

In a quiet suburban neighborhood, a group of witches gathered in secret, hiding their magic behind the façade of PTA meetings and bake sales. They were cautious, wary of strangers, but Agatha had perfected her act over centuries.

She appeared as a desperate mother once again, her story tailored to the modern era. “My daughter,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “She’s gone. I’ve tried everything, but the Witches’ Road is my only hope.”

The suburban witches, touched by her sorrow, invited her into their circle. Agatha praised their magic, subtly planting the idea that they were destined for greater things.

When she finally proposed the ritual to open the Witches’ Road, they eagerly agreed. The ritual took place in a dimly lit basement, candles flickering as the witches chanted.

Agatha waited until their defenses were lowered, their magic focused on the task at hand. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she turned their power against them, draining them in an instant.

As she walked away from the quiet suburban street, her lips curved into a satisfied smile. The Witches’ Road myth had claimed yet another coven.

---

In the end It all lead to a Never-Ending Cycle

For centuries, Agatha moved from era to era, adapting her story to suit the times. The lie of the Witches’ Road grew stronger with each coven she destroyed, its legend whispered among witches who never knew the truth.

And Agatha, carrying the weight of her grief, continued her hunt. Each coven she drained brought her further from the child she had lost, yet she could not stop.

“This is for you, my darling,” she whispered into the night, her voice carrying the echoes of a mother’s love and the shadows of a predator’s deceit. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep your memory alive.”

===============================

A/n: I made it longer this time cuz why not <3 how was your day leave a comment, mine was shit so... yeah new chap for a happy day or night?<3

[revelboo]

I love your writing and I love that you’re having fun with it even more! It baffles me how good you are with coming up with different dynamics for each of your storylines and they all work so well. My favorite has to be tfp megs. Maybe it’s a guilty pleasure but something about the fake hating or the taboo codependency really scratches a specific itch on my brain.

I know it’s a very satisfying dynamic to write. This one is a bit earlier than I’d planned, but I wanted to get it down while it was in my head.

And you guys crack me up sometimes. I’ve seen one of y’all call Optimus ‘Pee Paw’ in reblog tags and now TFP Megs is ‘Space Crack Grandpa.’

Broken Arrow Pt 9

TFP Megatron x Reader

• You’re frozen against him, body arching into his where his denta are gripping you. He’s shocked you so badly you don’t know how to respond apparently. There’s a faint unease at your stillness, that maybe he finally pushed a bit too hard. It’s only when he bites just a tiny bit harder that you snap out of it and smack a palm against the side of his helm. “Get off, you jerk. Who bites someone?” And there’s the anger he enjoys so much. Laughing again as you try to shove his head away and he lets you, aware of your soft, warm hands gripping his helm, your face red and furious.

• And he’s laughing again, so messed up he finds your frustration hilarious as you keep your grip on his helm to keep him from trying to bite you again. That bare prick of his denta on you had broken through the shock of the not entirely unpleasant feel of that bite. “You shouldn’t do that crap,” you mutter, trying to maintain that frustrated anger, but worry creeping in to your tone. “At this rate, the Autobots won’t have to do anything. You’re so messed up, you’ll probably fall out of the ship and do it for them.”

• Those hands are unbelievably soft on him, fingers gripping his helm to try and keep his face out of biting range as you scowl up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he asks, grinning as he catches one of your wrists and feels you immediately try to tug loose as he considers nipping those little fingers. Wanting to just because he can, just to feel you shudder against him again.

• Trying to get your hand back, you plant the other one in the center of his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,”you mutter. “I’d shove you myself if I could.” He’s not letting go, but there’s a new, calculating gleam in his optics that makes your skin prickle all over. Because on that stuff? There’s no telling where his processor just went or what he might do. Like rasp the claws of his other hand down his chest, those armor panels shifting to reveal something pulsing with light, something alive that pulls at you and you realize it’s his bare spark. ‘That’s how you end a Cybertronian,’ his words come back to you and you suddenly want loose. Want him to close those panels up, because seeing this is uncomfortably intimate. “Cut it out.”

• “Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart, pet?” Servos tightening on your wrist to force your hand closer to his spark, you suck in a sharp breath and try to lean away, eyes widening in alarm. “Don’t you still want to end me?” Knows he should stop, let go. Because you’re not playing along, there’s something very much like real panic in your eyes as you struggle against him, then shudder violently when his spark reacts. Reaching out a tendril of energy to meet your shaking fingers and now he’s frozen.

• Warmth spins through you at that contact, you can feel him as those tendrils of spark energy curl about your fingers. And you’re not fighting to get away anymore, you’re surrendering to that feeling of falling into him like plunging into deep, still waters that are churning violently just under the surface. Fractured sensations and memories spin you about, too chaotic and alive for you make any sense of. Just knowing that this is him, all of him. Drowning in him, feeling your heart struggling, missing beats. Hurting.

• That contact runs electric through him until he’s jerking you closer to strengthen it without even thinking. He’d only meant to make you angry, to provoke you, but as awareness washes over him in a warm fall like summer rain, he’s suddenly painfully sober. You’re only a human, but he can sense something there that’s not a spark, but close. Something even more achingly fragile than you are as your head falls forward against his shoulder and he can’t move even though he needs to break that contact, shove you away to save himself. You’re just a sparkless organic. And what he feels isn’t a spark, but something that might as well be one entangling with him, slipping soft as a sigh through him as his servos tighten against you. Realizing just how bad a mistake he’d just made.

Previous

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[newkatzkafe2023]

How about y/n as like Aphrodite or athena?( if you chose athena she's like the goddess of war, pretty much the strategy and if you chose Aphrodite, she's like the goddess of beauty and the most beautiful woman, no matter her appearence?, chubby, skinny or any!, but you chose)

Ok then

(Lmk Wukong)(Monkey Athena Y/n) You guys have been together for centuries, I mean were do you think he got his war plans from. You have met when you fought in a mini war against some heaven Soldiers, and he's been interested in you ever since. You quickly became his lover in arms, as you would fight together on the battlefield. In battle is where you also shared your first kiss as well.

(HIB Wukong)(Aphorodite Monkey Y/n) MY My Myyyyyyy his face and whole body would be red when he meets you. You would flirt, cuddle and snuggle with him as you purred into his muscular chest. Wukong head would be spinning as he's never had pretty monkey woman be so affectionate with him. God forbid if you dare to call him something hot like beefcake or stud muffin, he would be on his back at the end of it all.

(NR Wukong)(Aphorodite Monkey Y/N) God you were so hot when he first met you, you were an tall adorable monkey with a.....very curvy thick body. Wukong purr and drool over you as he flirts with you, while you would giggle at his antics. You to would flirt and scratch his chin making his brain melt out his ears, as you would even smother him with kisses. Wukong's never felt so lucky in his immortal life.

(MKR Wukong)(Monkey Athena Y/n) He trust you with everything he's got, especially during combat. You were highly intelligent and strategic as you had no problem thinking on your feet. Wukong also loved how Violent you sometimes get especially when the Opponent had crossed you horribly, and you would give in to your vengeful side. Wukong had a boner of fear and arousal as it was so sexy covered in blood.

(Netflix Wukong)(Athena Monkey Y/n) Oh my god a match made in heaven especially on the battlefield, Wukong was wrapped around your finger from the start. You were rubbing his chest Praising him so sweetly, giving him all your attention. Wukong would melt in your hands especially with the chin Scratches making him purr and chirp, Wukong had never felt so turned on in his life. Wukong would for once try to control himself but it's not working out.

(BMW Wukong)(Aphorodite/Athena Monkey Y/n) You were a so beautiful and powerful and ever so deadly, you were everything he wants in a woman. Wukong would purr and chirp when you had threatened his life, having a blush on his face. Wukong would do everything he could come up with, just to woe you over wanting badly for you to be your mate. He would do anything for you even KILL along with you.

(Destined one)(Aphorodite/Athena Monkey Y/n) The destined one had your attention for a long time, and it's you who come over to him and woe him. You cooed over him giving him your undivided attention on him, the destined one face was priceless. You couldn't keep your claws to yourself especially with how strong you actually are. The Destined one fell hard for you especially with the combined Head and chin Scratches, His brain activity is non Existent at the moment.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[hotchscoffeecup]

savoring the moment

summary: it’s hotch’s first case back after recovering from being attacked. he returns home to find you caught in the throes of a panic attack. he guides you through it and takes care of you afterwards.

rating: t to be safe

tags: panic attack, hyperventilating, crying, minor blood, implied sex (at the very end), scars

word count: 2.3k

pairing: hotch x reader

the idea to have reader having a panic attack and being comforted by hotch was submitted to me anonymously. thank you for the request! and as a reminder, my fic requests are open!

Pulling your knees against your chest, you wrap your arms around them and rest your forehead against your knees.

“He’s okay,” you tell yourself, repeating it like a mantra. “He’s okay. He’s okay.”

Rain patters against the windowpane and you try to focus on the sound, trying to let it ground you back to reality and failing to do so as the pounding of your own heart threatens to drown out the sound of everything else around you.

These are the early onset symptoms of a panic attack and you know it’s only a matter of time until it hits you with the full force of a storm like the one that’s raging outside. They’d been far and few between lately, but this was his first case back in the field since he’d been attacked and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. You know the risks, and you know he’s capable of keeping himself safe. The team always has each other’s backs and they’ll do anything to keep one another safe. Why hasn’t he called?

You take in a shuddering breath and exhale it just as shakily. Your hands tremble as you swipe them through your hair.

Water. Maybe a glass of water will help. You slide out of bed and stand. The blood rushes to your head, which causes you to waver on the spot.

“He’s okay,” you whisper to yourself. You clench the hem of your sweater, rubbing the fibers between your fingers. “Five things I can see,” you whisper to yourself as you move towards the bathroom. As you reach for the empty glass on the bathroom counter, you take a shaky breath and speak on the exhale. “Counter, cup, mirror,” your eyes flick up and meet yours, the purple rings under them more like bruises. “Myself, sink.”

You take another breath and try to keep moving through the exercise that your therapist taught you. Twisting the knob on the faucet, you place the glass underneath and watch it fill. “Four…four things I can hear.” You struggle to turn the water off for the shaking in your hands. “Rain, the air conditioner…” you pause and try to strain your ears, failing to pick up on any other distinct noises. That’s when you become aware of your racing heartbeat again. It’s so fast; slamming up against your ribcage. You envision the organ bursting free of your chest and your hands start to shake so violently that you drop the glass. It shatters against the bathroom tile and you gasp, cursing as you kneel down to pick up the pieces.

You try to be careful, but your hand slips and a shard of glass slices into your palm. Immediately, you clutch your hand with the other and roll onto your hip. As you watch the blood drip between your fingers, a vision of his blood staining the hardwood flashes in your mind’s eye and suddenly you’re back in the hospital waiting room waiting for him to come out of surgery. The dam bursts then and you can’t fight the monster inside of you that is the anxiety. It bites and claws at your insides until it bursts free from you in an explosion of tears and guttural sobs. You struggle to take in a full breath as you begin to hyperventilate. You’re not sure how long you sit there feeling wave after wave of panic crashing over you, holding you under and dragging you further and further away from yourself, lost in the throes of an aggressive undertow. Your vision starts to blacken around the corners and you don’t even register the hands on your shoulders or the man kneeling in front of you.

Your pupils rapidly dart back and forth, desperately trying to make sense of your surroundings but all you can make out is your name. It's faint and faraway, like a ghost whispering on a midnight wind.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to focus on the sound of your name until it becomes clearer. It’s Aaron.

Aaron. Aaron. Your partner. Your fiance. Aaron, yes, Aaron. You swallow hard and open your eyes, vision blurring momentarily before clearing. He’s on his knees in front of you, brown eyes warm albeit concerned. He’s holding a rag against your bloody hand. He applies pressure to the wound to stem the bleeding and the pain oddly brings you closer to baseline. It’s something real and tangible you can hold onto as the panic tries to pull you back under.

“Honey, breathe,” Hotch prompts. “Listen to my voice. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You reach for him, cupping his cheek in your uninjured hand. Stroking your thumb against the cut of his jaw, you find solace in the depths of his eyes. It’s him. It’s really him. Your lip quivers and you fall into him. His name rattles out of your mouth as you collapse into him. You throw your arms around him and sob into the crook of his neck, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you.

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing his hand in circles against your back. “Deep breaths,” he says and you feel him inhale beneath you. He exhales and inhales again, modeling the pattern you need to follow to reach baseline.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “You didn’t call. I was—” You breathe in and release a shaky breath. “I was so afraid that—”

Hotch cradles you against him, one arm looped around your waist while his opposite hand tangles into your hair to hold you close. “My phone died. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” He guides you through several more long deep breaths and your temples pound from the dehydration that comes with crying from a place so deep inside yourself.

As your heart rate finally drops back down to normal, the weight of exhaustion slams into you and you feel it dragging at all of your bones leaving all of your limbs feeling leaden.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me, hmm?” Hotch asks gently.

You nod against his chest, feeling the sticky sheen of tears wetting your cheeks. He helps you up and helps you sit on top of the closed toilet seat. He cranks on the shower and disappears out of the room for only a second before returning with a small broom and dustpan. Steam is billowing out from behind the shower curtain by the time he finishes cleaning up the broken glass. He helps you shrug out of your sweater and while he undoes his tie and dress shirt, you shimmy out of your sweatpants. When you step under the steady stream of hot water, you hiss as it stings the open cut in your palm. Blood washes down your hand, swirling down the drain in diluted pink rivulets.

Hotch joins you in the shower, stepping behind you to let you enjoy as much of the warm water as possible. “Let me help,” he says, taking your hand in his. After lathering the soap bar in his hand, he gently cleans the inflamed area. You wince and he apologizes, “I know it hurts.” He rinses your hand and leans out of the shower to grab another washcloth off of the rack. He presses it into your hand and softly instructs you to hold pressure to it.

You laugh weakly, “Aaron, I’m going to ruin all the washcloths.”

He bends down and kisses your forehead. “I’ll buy more. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He turns you around and presses himself against your back, threading his arms through yours and holding you close to him. You just stand like that, under the steady flow of warm water.. You close your eyes and lean back against his chest. Aaron hums and rocks you gently.

“I love you,” you murmur after a while.

You feel him smile against your hairline. “I love you, too.”

You turn then, holding your injured hand over his shoulder out of the stream of water while your other splays against his chest. You feel the raised scar tissue under your hand, bumpy and rough. Your eyes trail down the length of his torso, identifying each scar. Hotch places his fingertips beneath your chin, tilting your face up so that you can look at him. His features are relaxed, his gaze steady. “Honey,” he says, almost sternly. “I’m okay.”

You nod, “I know that.”

“Then let me help you be okay, hmm? Does that sound alright?”

Again, you nod.

He spends the next fifteen minutes taking careful care to wash and condition your hair, massaging your scalp and combing through your hair before rinsing it out. He lathers soap against your skin after, using the palms of his hands to smooth it over every curve and fold of your body; littering kisses across your skin as he does so. For himself, he takes very little time; just a quick scrub and wash of his hair before he cranks the water off.

He wraps you in a fluffy towel before wrapping one around his waist. He dips into your shared bedroom and returns moments later with your robe and the first aid kit you keep in the hall closet. You finish towel drying your hair before letting him help you into your robe, which he loosely ties around your waist. You sit on the edge of your bed and let Hotch work on your hand.

“The bleeding stopped, that’s good” He observes after peeling away the wash cloth. He applies a small bit of antibiotic gel across the length of the cut and places a fresh gauze pad against it, which he then secures by wrapping a roller bandage around your palm and wrist.

“Have you ever thought about quitting the BAU and becoming a paramedic?”

Aaron breathes out a laugh as he tucks the tail end of the bandage in. “Definitely not.”

You pout, sticking out your lower lip. “But you’d look so sexy in that uniform.”

He laughs and shakes his head before placing a quick peck against your cheek. “There’s that sense of humor I love so much.”

He stands and discards the soiled rag and paper wrappings in the bathroom trash can. He washes his hands and uses the towel around his waist to dry them. He puts on a pair of sweats, the words FBI ACADEMY faded and worn running down the one leg.

“How does tea and ice cream sound?”

You smile, and for the first time that evening it feels genuine. “That sounds perfect.”

While he busies himself out in the kitchen, you tie your hair up in a loose knot on top of your head and finish your skincare routine.

As you’re crawling under the covers, Aaron enters the room. He’s cradling two bowls against his chest with one arm while he holds two steaming mugs by their handles in the opposite hand. He crouches awkwardly by the bed, safely placing the bowls of ice cream on the nightstand. He rises to his full height and passes the mug to you.

“Sleepy time tea?” you ask, recognizing the smell.

“I felt like you could use the extra help tonight.”

He tosses the covers back and climbs into bed beside you, placing his own mug down on the nightstand. He lets you take a sip before he takes your cup and sets it beside his.

Taking your hands in his, he strokes his thumb along the back of your uninjured hand. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am now that you’re home.”

His eyebrows turn, “Honey, I can take some vacation time. I know you’ve been doing better since my attack, but it makes sense that my return to work would serve as a trigger and—”

“Aaron,” you chide. “You’re profiling me.”

He presses his lips together and smiles apologetically. “All I’m saying is if my going back right now is too much for you, I can try to limit my presence in the field.”

You eye him knowingly, “Yeah, because that worked so well when your ear was damaged in that explosion.” Your brow pinches as you regard your fiance. “Well, that’s not something every couple can say, huh?”

Aaron chuckles and stretches an arm around your shoulders, drawing you in close to his side. “Definitely not, but nothing about our relationship has ever been normal, has it?”

You lean into him and press a kiss against his jaw. “I’ll be okay, Aaron, really. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a panic attack like that. I think it was just because it was your first case back since…” You hesitate. “…the incident.” You reach over him and grab the two bowls of ice cream off of his nightstand, handing one to him before settling back against the pillows.

You dig your spoon into the vanilla ice cream, stirring it some before taking a bite. You close your eyes and savor its sweetness.

“Are you sure?” Aaron asks.

You open your eyes and look up at him from beneath your lashes. “I’m sure. I’m working with my therapist. I’m coping. I’m taking it day by day, just like I know you are.”

“One day at a time.” He leans down and kisses you softly. “Mmm, you taste like vanilla.”

You smile against his lips. “My therapist did advise us to prioritize living in the present moment.

He sets his bowl of ice cream aside and loops his arms around your waist, heaving you onto his lap. “Did they now?”

You laugh and feel it deep in your belly, the panic you’d felt earlier seeming so far away now. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

He pulls at the tie on your robe. “Oh, I bet I can think of something.”

You dip your spoon back into your bowl of ice cream, an idea of your own coming to mind. “You said you like the taste of vanilla?” You slip the spoon between your lips, amusement glinting in your eyes.

Aaron nods, taking the bowl from your hands and capturing your lips with his. As his hands fold around your body, you feel him smile against your lips. “I love the taste of vanilla.”

And you’ve never felt safer than in his arms right then, savoring the moment.

[greenandsorrow]

Morning Wood.

rut!Alastor x gn!reader

☞ I had some leftover smut scenes from the first chapter of "The price for misbehaving" and so, I decided to combine them with a slightly different depiction of Alastor. He's all fuzzy, basically covered in deer fur -anthropomorphic animal vibes and not the cartoonish, bright red guy we all know!

☞ You don't need to have read the actual multi chap in order to enjoy and understand this. However, I did keep the rutting/mating season theme. I love it when fictional men act pathetic -and the fact that I'm the one determining that in my silly, not so little, fics.

☞ Lots of horniness and hormones. Pet names. Masturbation and a blowjob, but make it goofy and playful! The reader is full of sass. Alastor is eepy and needy. Pre-established relationship. You're his mate!

🪻

Alastor is a mess.

A mess of sharp edges.

And antlers.

Antlers that bear little nicks along their edges.

His wiry frame is covered in patches of scruffy fur that cling to his body in a disarray. It's a chaotic blend of rough textures and soft tufts. His chest and arms are a map of scars, faint reminders of a past that seems to be trying to hide beneath some of the fluffiest tufts.

His tail is twitching with restless energy.

Somewhere on the upper floors of the hotel, his bedroom is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the radio dial of a fancy antique. Alastor is sitting perched on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide and claws digging into the mattress beneath him. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths.

The air is heavy with the dizzying scent of his rut.

He lets out a low growl, his usual composure cracked by the haze of primal need that's clouding his mind. His cock is already in his hand, long, throbbing and impossibly hard, with veins pulsing. The fur at its base is damp with sweat and precum. His heavy balls are drawn tight against his body.

Alastor squeezes the base of his cock and the sound that escapes him comes out unbidden, raw and guttural. He can feel it... The unbearable heat coursing through him, a wild and instinctual drive he can't suppress.

He pumps his shaft, slowly and deliberately at first, as he tries to maintain an ounce of control. But his rut isn't something he can just ignore... And soon his pace quickens, his hips bucking into his hand.

"F~ fffuck~" he hisses through gritted teeth, his free hand gripping his thigh -in an attempt to not tear the poor bedding. His thoughts are filled with glimpses of you... The way you tease him with that infuriating smirk, the way your hands feel on his chest, your breath ghosting over his neck.

It only makes things worse.

His cock twitches violently in his hand, precum running down the length in sticky lines. His clawed hand grazes the sensitive skin of his cock head just enough to sting, but the pain only spurs him on more.

"Why now?" he growls, his voice gravelly.

His tail thrashes behind him.

Alastor is imagining you beneath him, your hands exploring every inch of his furred body while your voice whispers filthy encouragements in his ear.

The thought alone sends him over the edge. With a strangled cry, his body tenses, his hips jerking forward as his release spills on his hand in thick, hot ropes. His vision blurs for a moment, the intensity of his orgasm leaving him trembling.

The room is now silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. Alastor slumps forward, claw still sticky and cock softening slowly. He grimaces, dragging a hand down his flushed face before letting out a defeated sigh.

"Disgraceful" he mutters to himself -though the shame is only fleeting. The rut isn't done with him yet and he knows it's only a matter of time before the unbearable ache returns.

Had you found him like that... What would have happened?

For now, though, he allows himself a moment of tranquility.

You said it'll only be four days... He can go four days without you, right? Pfft. Sure, he can. That was literally day two.

The morning light filters through opac curtains and the hotel fills with the familiar sounds of its guests going about their day.

Alastor stirs on the couch, his lanky frame sprawled across the cushions, tail twitching lazily. He lets out a small groan, rubbing at his chest absentmindedly.

The Radio Demon is practically draped across the couch like he invented the concept of fatigue. His shirt is half-tucked, the fabric wrinkled like he's been sleeping in it for days. His legs dangle off the arm of the sofa, one hoof idly moving to some rhythm only he can hear. His hair sticks out in every direction, defying both gravity and logic.

That's when he feels it.

"Oh, dear" he mutters, blinking, as he shifts his hips and feels the unyielding pressure against the front of his slacks. His cock, half-hard when he fell asleep, is now achingly stiff...

Alastor gives an exasperated sigh, though it is also tinged with some embarrassment. He shifts his long legs awkwardly, but the motion only heightens the friction, earning an involuntary hiss from him.

"Of all the things to wake up to" he says under his breath, voice carrying its usual cadence despite the situation.

One hand is already slithering near his waist before he thinks better of it... But he decides to resist.

It's no use.

His cock throbs, demanding attention, the weight of his balls adding to the torture. Alastor whines softly, while his tail is moving erratically against the cushions of the couch.

That's the sight you walk in on -Alastor spread on the couch, red-faced and visibly aroused, brows furrowed in sleepy distress. You lean against the doorway, taking a moment to soak in the ridiculousness of it all.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine." you begin, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you've got a… pressing issue in your hands."

Alastor's head snaps up, his wide eyes widening even more. He had forgotten it was today you were coming back.

"Wha-?!", he struggles to sit up.

You toss a pillow at him. He doesn't dodge -it smacks him in the chest and he groans theatrically, clutching it like it has wounded him mortally.

"Careful!" he pouts, half-lidded eyes gazing at you under messy bangs. "I'm already frightfully weak. Don't make it worse."

You rollyour eyes. "You're always weak when you want something, Al. So spit it out. What do you need?"

Alastor stretches, the movement languid and a bit too purposeful as his shirt rides up, exposing his lean, scarred stomach and the dip of his hip bones.

"Well", he drawls in a tone full of fake innocence, "since you're offering…"

He really is weak.... He hates but simultaneously loves how lust dictates his decisions.

His ears flatten against his head, hands moving to shield himself, though it does little to mask the twitching outline beneath the thin fabric of his slacks.

"Relax." you say, stepping closer with an amused smirk. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. Though, I'll admit… you look particularly needy this morning."

"I- I wasn't expecting company s- so soon again..." he stammers, his usual smoothness nowhere to be found as his tail continues to flick nervously behind him.

You raise a brow, letting your gaze drift deliberately downward.

"Clearly. But hey, I'm here now, so why don't I help you… ease into your morning?"

It's obscene, the way his cock is straining against the fabric like it is fighting to break free. The outline is clear -a fat dick, slightly curved and frankly, too big for him to be this embarrassed about it. His trousers don't stand a chance... The poor button at the top looks like it's holding on for dear life.

"Wow" you observe, crossing your arms. "When you called to say you were 'resting', I didn't realize you meant that. I guess you really were up all night."

His lips part in protest, but the words get caught in his throat when you kneel between his legs, smiling up at him.

"Don't act so shocked... You always do that." you tease, dragging your palms up his hairy thighs. "Y'know Alastor, you look like you could use a hand -or a mouth."

"Y- You are positively scandalous" he manages out, though his voice wavers -probably from the excruciating anticipation for your touch.

"Yeah, yeah" you quip, tugging at the waistband of his slacks. "Now shut up and let me work."

He can't help but make a strangled, static-laced whine at your order.

The moment his cock springs free, it hits his stomach with a thud, the thick shaft flushed and throbbing with need. A soft, furry, happy trail goes down till the base -where his balls rest against the couch, each movement causing them to shift enticingly.

You let out a low whistle, leaning in close. "Well, aren't you a pretty buck."

"This whole ordeal is utterly flawed!"

"Oh, I wouldn't use that word. It's more like an opportunity."

Alastor's right ear twitches at that, his breath ragged. "A- An opportunity for what, exactly?"

Grinning wickedly, you answer. "To see just how needy the great Alastor can get."

Alastor freezes... like a deer caught in headlights, the eternal grin faltering. He shifts his limbs, trying to compose himself, but there's no hiding it -there he is, the Radio Demon, infamous and terrifying… now looking like prey that has wandered into a very compromising situation.

And oh, is it compromising.

Your newly acquainted mate's cheeks flush a deeper crimson, his grin stretching unnaturally wide in a desperate attempt to assert himself. "Ah, well, you see- It's not- !"

"Save it. You're not fooling anyone, stag boy. Look at you... All scruffy and needy... Rocking an erection on your favourite vintage couch."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I- I assure you, it's entirely… involuntary!"

"Yeah?" you quirk an eyebrow, letting your hand trail up his chest and then back down his stomach, relishing in the feel of his muscles clenching underneath your fingertips.

"Sh- shocking behavior! I- I don't know what you're-"

"Alastor" you cut him off sharply. "Stop talking."

He did.

The trembling demon's shaft isn't just stiff -it's... raging, twitching as if annoyed that it's not already getting attention. And oh, the head. Flushed an angry red, it's bulbous, slick with an impossible amount of precum that's dripping lazily down the sides. It is cartoonishly swollen to say the least.

"Good lord. How can you always wake up like this?"

Alastor squirms, his grin trembling. "I- I am a creature of many talents, my dear!"

His hand grips the armrest of the couch so tightly that the fabric starts to fray.

"Right" you mutter, your fingers finally wrapping around him. The moment you touch him, he lets out a static-filled gasp and the hotel's lights all flicker, his whole body jerking as though he hasn't been touched in centuries. It's been four days.

His cock is hot to the touch. The contrast between the smooth head and the slightly fuzzy base is oddly satisfying under your palm. You give him a little squeeze. He twitches violently in response, tail flicking and ears flattening again.

"Eager, huh?" you tease, stroking slowly. Alastor's sharp teeth clench, his head falling back against the couch as he lets out a broken groan.

"N- nothing like that! I- I'm always prepared!" he babbles, his voice breaking into static again.

"Sure, sure."

That earns you a petulant glare.

The smell of him -something earthy and musky- fills your senses. You let your tongue dart out, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock, slowly, tasting the salty precum that has been pooling at the tip.

Alastor lets out a sound that can only be described as pathetic, his sharp claws scratching the couch (aka the real victim) in a vain attempt to ground himself.

"Prepared?" you mock, your breath falling on his slick glans. "You're shaking like a leaf,u freckled sweetie. I'd say you're anything but prepared."

Alastor whimpers, an uncharacteristic noise for someone so smug. His deer tail is lashing furiously now, the coarse fur of his thighs brushing against you as he shifts in place.

You wrap your lips around him in one swift motion, taking him just far enough to feel the weight of him on your tongue. The ridges along his shaft catch against the wet heat of your mouth as you slide down his length. His claws dig into the couch, again.

He almost chokes... His grown antlers momentarily catch on the backrest. His chest is heaving.

Meanwhile, your lips remain around his hot cock. You hum, the vibration making him jerk so hard he nearly bucks into your mouth. He spills even more precum, coating your tongue.

Pulling back just enough to tease, you let your lips part with a wet pop, his shiny length gleaming.

His ears are still pinned back, his teeth biting into his lip as he struggles -and fails- to suppress a shuddering moan.

You don't wait for him to recover. Instead, you lower your mouth back onto him, taking him even deeper this time. His cock twitches and twitches, the veins pulsing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard.

"Ah- !", static again.

You pause to look up at him, his sweaty and flushed face making you feel oddly proud. Alastor's response to your simple gaze is a little pat on your head. He appreciates what you do, even if it brings him equal amounts of relief and torture.

An incoherent and strangled series of moans leave his open mouth as you work him over with a mix of slow strokes and hard sucks. His legs tense, the fur along his thighs bristling as he teeters on the edge.

"P- Please" he begs, his voice cracking in a way that makes heat pool in your stomach. His usual bravado has vanished completely, leaving him dazed, needy... and utterly at your mercy.

You hum again, the sound sending a shockwave through his body. His cock pulses hard in your mouth and you can feel him getting closer with every ragged breath and broken moan.

You shift your position on the rug slightly, your hand slipping lower to cup his balls. They are heavy and warm in your palm, fuzzy with coarse fur -like the rest of him. You give them a teasing squeeze. Alastor practically yelps, his thighs snapping shut for a moment before falling open again, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to you.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" you comment, rolling them gently between your fingers. His cock twitches violently in response, a bead of precum spilling onto your lips as you kiss the base of his shaft.

Alastor's hands claw at the couch helplessly, his sharp nails ripping the fabric. (🛋️RIP)

"I- I can't take this anymore!", his voice breaks into a high-pitched whine. His antlers clatter against the backrest, as his head tips back, neck taut and exposed.

"Oh, but you can, deer boy" you murmur, your voice sultry. "And you will."

As if spurred by your words, his hips jerk forward, his instincts betraying him. The movement is sudden, sharp and almost frantic, his cock sliding further into your mouth as he begins to rut against your face. His balls slap against your chin with each desperate thrust, their weight a reminder of just how pent-up he truly is when he's in musth.

"G- Goodness gracious, I- ah- oh my~!"

His fur bristles everywhere now -all over his back, his arms and chest- and his ears are spasming.

Static crackles in the air.

You tighten your grip on his base, your free hand moving to steady his hips.

"Easy there, mister buck" you say, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. "Getting ahead of yourself, don't you think?"

"F- forgive me... I really c- can't help it!" he stammers, eyes glazed over with a mix of embarrassment and raw, animalistic need. "You're- you're too good! And frankly, I missed you!"

You chuckle.

Then, you lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the very tip, savoring the way he shudders. "Oh, I know", you say smugly. "Now, be a good little deer and stay still, or I might stop altogether."

The threat makes him whine again, the sound almost pitiful -but he forces himself to stay still. His thighs tremble, the tension in his body visible.

Satisfied with his obedience, you take him back into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip before sliding down to the base. His hips twitch despite himself, his cock pulsing hard as you swallow him down.

His breathing grows extremely ragged.

"I- I'm... ah! I'm so close" he chokes out. His balls have drawn up tight against your palm, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm -making you moan around him.

Simply, that's enough.

With a desperate cry, Alastor comes undone, his cock throbbing violently as he spills into your waiting mouth. You swallow it, the salty heat flooding your senses as he slumps against the couch, his body trembling with aftershocks.

When you finally pull back, he is even more of a mess than you found him -his hair disheveled and wet, his chest heaving rapidly and his face flushed with a mix of exertion and satisfaction. You lick your lips, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you look up at him.

"Feeling better, bucko?" you ask, your tone smug but with an undertone of affection.

Alastor's ears rise on top of his head and he gives you a sheepish, toothy smile. "I… suppose you could say that", he admits, still breathless.

You laugh, the sound light.

You stand up and give his lips a peck."Good. You look cute like this... completely wrecked and at my mercy."

"The couch looks worse."

Thank you for reading!🪻

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~ My Hazbin Hotel masterlist ~

This work is part of the nymph's daily gifts! 💌

The dividers are by @saradika-graphics.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Wrong One 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Raymond Smith

Summary: You get caught up in the double lives of your employers.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You hitch up the cloth bag on your shoulder, another in your hand, flat soles scuffing over the geometric stonework of the walkway. You take the single step up and pass between the perfectly trimmed hedges. You press your phone between cheek and shoulder as you key in the code to the punch pad with definitive beeps.

"Yes, Mrs. Malfort would like the delivery tomorrow morning," you confirm, "yes, please... mhmm."

You push inside and set the bag in your hand on the side table. You slip the other down your arm and put it with the other. You rest your phone between them, gripping the edge as you lift a foot to unlace your shoe.

You look up as you sense movement in the mirror mounted above the table and gasp. Suddenly, you're taken off your feet as a man in a mask clamps his gloved hand over your mouth. You squeak into the leather paw and kick you as you grasp his wrist. What the hell is going on?

The man grunts as you wriggle against him, his other arm hooking around your middle. Another man appears from the next doorway and grabs your legs. Your panic surges as you claw and writhe. You don't understand what's going on.

"Christ," the one at your back growls through his throat, "this one's fiesty."

"Stop fucking around," the other deliberately lowers his voice an octave.

"Tell me to stop, eh?" The first man brings his thick arm around your neck, flexing against your throat until you're breathless.

"Now, sweetheart, you just be still and close your eyes," the other purrs, "I'm sure ya do it all the time for yer old man."

Your eyes round and you whimper, tugging at the forearm beneath your chin. Your eyes fill with tears as adrenaline floods your veins. You don't understand. You just went to get groceries.

You squeak as a prick jabs through your jeans. You spasm, frantically trying to free yourself as an acidic heat seeps into you. No, no, what did he just do. There's a tink against the floor as the man nearly loses hold of your ankles.

"Fuck!" The one by your head grits out.

"Won't take the long," the other assures, "give her a minute."

You shudder as you feel the heaviness spread through you. Your muscles ache and your vision blurs. This can't be happening. It's not happening!

You blink, black spots speckling before you as you go limp between the man. You hang between them, twitching as you fight the rising tide of darkness. Your eyes roll back and your head pulses violently. You succumb to the void, terrified you might never see light again.

➰️

There's a thick sheet between you and the world. Lights are fuzzy, colours are dull, and all you can hear is your own heartbeat. The steady tempo breaks only as your breaths rise and fall shallowly. Your muscles tingle, toes numb, fingers throbbing.

You groan and try to move, your head lolling as you lack the strength to lift it. You cough through your dry throat, lashes fluttering, blinking through the fog. You manage to open them fully, staring at your own lap.

A tight restraint bites into your wrists and each ankle. You slump in the chair, arms drawn behind you. Your chest racks as you suck down air and try to find some semblance of strength.

You wince as something clicks. You shiver as the cool air seeps through your cotton polo, raising bumps on your exposed arms. A door swings open with the soft whisper of hinges and measured footsteps approach.

A hand reaches to lift your chin and your head wobbles as you look up at a masked figure. The scene crashes into you like a wave. If you weren't tied to a chair, it would knock you on your ass.

Through the slits of the dark mask, blue eyes gleam and the man leans in. He has broad shoulders and smells of lavender and sandalwood. He searches your face as you try to do the same to him, finding only the ribbed black fabric over obscured features.

"Shit," he whispers as he lets you go. Your head droops back down and he backs up hurriedly, "oi, morons."

The door slams blocking out his holler and you moan. Everything hurts. The world is like an echo of itself. Distant and bleary.

Silence. It's only you and the dark room, lit by a single lamp that casts shadows over covered furniture. White sheets over lumpy shapes that could be sofas, chairs, and tables. The walls are laid with antiquated wallpaper and dark walnut siding. In another lifetime, this room was cozy and welcoming.

The door opens again, jarring you from your dazed wanderings. You look up, getting your head a little higher than before. Three men in masks near and stop before you.

"Are you sure it's the wrong one, boss?" The man, the tallest of the bunch, on the right asks.

"I'm fucking sure," the center one retorts, "Did you even look at her?"

"Well, she walked in the front door so--"

"So you assumed?" The middle one snarls, "what the fuck am I supposed to do with..." he waves his hands towards you. He huffs and steps closer, bending to look you in the eye, "who the fuck are ya?"

You lift your head a little higher and quiver, reciting your name clumsily.

"And why the fuck are you strolling around the Malforts'?" He sneers.

"I..." you murmur and flick your lashes up, "I'm the maid."

He stands straight and spins, throwing up his hands, "the fucking maid!" He smacks the men as he passes between them and storms out.

The men look over at each other through the slits of their masks.

"So what d'ya think we do with her?" The left one asks.

"Good question..." the other sucks his teeth, "s'pose we let him cool down and ask.”

[knoepfl]

No One Can Take What’s Mine

Okay this time it's not an anime character from my Hero Akademia this time it's Pennywise! I really love Horror-Movies so I thought I'd bring that in here too! Again this was inspired by @devotion-disorder so check them out! If you want to see more check out the Masterlist and if you have any specific character in mind you'd like to see just text me^^

Masterlist

---

The room smelled of rot and iron, and the dim light flickered weakly overhead. Pennywise the Dancing Clown stood in the middle of the cramped space, his unsettling grin twitching at the edges as he stared at the walls.

They were plastered with pictures—hundreds of them—each one showing you with someone else.

In every image, you smiled at that stranger, leaned close to them, held their hand, and laughed as if they were the only person in the world. The same kind of happiness you once showed only to him. And now it was theirs.

For a moment, Pennywise tilted his head, trying to process the scene with eerie curiosity. His golden eyes burned as they traced over every photo. His painted grin faltered slightly, exposing rows of sharp teeth beneath cracked red lips.

"This… This is funny," he muttered to himself, his voice shrill and breathy.

But no one else was laughing.

5 Minutes in:

Pennywise scratched his head, the frills of his collar crinkling as he shifted uncomfortably. His claws scraped lightly against the paper walls, tapping the photos as he swayed in place.

"Is this… a joke? A trick?" he whispered, his brows furrowing in confusion. His yellow eyes flickered with annoyance.

At first, he wanted to laugh—he’s a clown after all! But the joke wasn’t funny. Not to him. Something cold curled in his chest, a feeling far more unsettling than his usual hunger.

He ran a claw along one photo of you, tracing your smiling face. You looked so happy—but it wasn’t with him. His claw twitched violently, slicing through the paper with ease.

A growl bubbled in his throat, deep and guttural. His smile drooped further.

1 Hour in:

The walls seemed to press in closer, trapping Pennywise in an unfamiliar storm of emotions. He crouched low to the ground, gnawing on his gloved fingers while his golden eyes darted across the photos. His claws twitched, scraping the floor with jittery movements.

"Who… Who do they think they are?" he whispered, his voice soft, crackling with frustration. "Do they think they can take you away from me?"

He giggled—a high-pitched, erratic sound that echoed through the room. But the giggles quickly turned into ragged breaths, his entire body trembling as his mind spun in circles. The stranger in the pictures was everywhere, their hands on you, their face next to yours.

His claws clenched into fists, shaking with rage. "No, no, no… That’s not right! That’s not how it goes!" he snarled, his voice cracking. "You’re mine!”

But the pictures… they told a different story.

3 Hours in:

The grin was gone now—replaced by twitching lips and wide, frantic eyes. His chest heaved as he rocked back and forth on the dirty floor, his claws scratching at the back of his neck. The rage in his mind grew louder and louder, like the pounding of a drum he couldn’t escape.

"Not real… It’s not real… Right?" he whispered, his voice fragile, almost childlike.

His fingers fumbled over one of the photos. He crumpled it in his palm, but the moment he looked away, the image burned itself into his brain. The thought of someone else touching you—it made his skin crawl.

He let out a shuddering breath. “I can’t breathe…” He clawed at his chest, gasping. “I… I can’t—” His breath hitched, and a sharp, wheezing laugh escaped his throat.

His golden eyes twitched. His mind split open, unraveling at the seams. The clown inside him squirmed in agony, desperate to claim what was his.

6+ Hours in:

By now, Pennywise was on all fours, trembling violently, his yellow eyes glowing in the dim light. His claws tore through the photos one by one, shredding them with frantic energy. “It’s not real!" he shouted, the words bouncing off the walls. "It’s not real! It’s not—”

But what if it was?

His breaths came in ragged gasps, a twisted grin returning to his face as his sanity broke completely. “If it is real…” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, “…then I’ll make them disappear.”

He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with each eerie laugh. His mind twisted, and thoughts of you flooded every corner of it. You were supposed to be his. The way you smiled, the way you laughed—it all belonged to him.

And if someone else thought they could have you?

Well… he’d just have to show them why no one crosses the Dancing Clown.

The Aftermath:

It didn’t take long for Pennywise to find you.

The moment you entered the room, his hulking form loomed in the shadows, his bright eyes glowing with a predatory glint. He moved closer with an unsettling grace, his cracked grin spreading wide as if nothing were wrong.

“There you are,” he whispered, voice as sweet as poison. “I was so worried about you.”

You barely had time to react before his long fingers curled around your wrist. The pressure wasn’t painful—but it was firm. Possessive.

“Where have you been?” he cooed, his grin never faltering. His eyes, however, told a different story—something far more dangerous simmered beneath the surface. “You know… I don’t like sharing.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he placed a finger against your lips, silencing you. His other hand caressed your cheek, his claws gentle but threatening.

“Shh, shh,” he murmured, “it’s alright now. You’re back where you belong.”

And in that moment, you knew—there was no escaping him.

Pennywise's twisted obsession wasn’t born out of love. It was possession. A need to control. And now that he had you back, he wasn’t going to let you go. Not ever.

Because in his mind, you were his.

Forever.

---

[byullielle]

The Drag Down // Changbin x Fem!Reader

Bin hits it from the back and as you slowly crawl away to stop the overstimulation he manhandles you back into position.

Tags: Smut (drabble), Manhandling, Slight Overstimulation, Doggy Style, Petnames (baby, princess, bunny), Dirty Talk

Disclaimer: inspired by something from rule34 i accidentally saw. pretty short but also pretty filthy. MINORS DNI. NSFW Content.

You've already cum one. Binnie was in between your legs just a few minutes ago sucking, nipping, and licking at your clit and wet folds to the point of your climax yet you find yourself clawing at the sheets for a reprieve as Changbin slowly grinds his hips against yours, dick buried inside you while you face the pillows. "That feel good bunny?" Changbin asks and it takes you a while to process, a mewl escaping your lips as you fist the sheets. "M–Mhm," you shakily let out, feeling your body tremble under his touch as this is the 2nd cut off orgasm you've had. "Bin," you whine as he grinds down at the spongy spot, making you moan loudly, profanities escaping you as you tug at the sheets, slowly crawling away subconsciously.

"Where are you going princess?" Bin asks, amused at the sight below him before he reaches out and grabs you by the hips, pulling you towards him as you nearly crash face-first into the bed before the loudest moan gets punched out of you, speared right back onto Bin's dick. "Oh fuck!" you moan out before he starts to continue at a steady pace, sounds of your whines and mewls melding with his own groans and hisses and skin slapping making your pussy drool on his cock.

"Shit, baby, you're clenching so tight," he grits his teeth, grip on your hips tightening so much you couldn't pull yourself out. You were stuck in his hold, being used like a sex toy, a fleshlight existing just for Seo Changbin's pleasure. And he could see that, doing you a favor as he points it out while you helplessly try to writhe out of his hold.

"My princess can't escape huh?" he teases with a grunt, cacophony of sticky slapping rendering you cock dumb, "You like it when you can't escape?" he abruptly stops, a loud and open-mouthed gasp escaping you. He stopped, his cockhead nestled directly on your g-spot, simply grinding slowly. He removes one hand from your hips, running it against your waist, then torso as it makes you shudder in excitement. Laying his hand against your sternum, he lifts you up effortlessly despite your lack of strength to even hold your head up.

He presses a kiss on your ear, making you whimper as you feel like the softest touch could make you see stars. "My cute little fleshlight," he whispers against your ear, "You like that?"

It takes you a moment, a few seconds before your brain catches up, "Y-Yes. Oh god, please," you whine, now wanting the delicious and violent friction back into your hole. "Please what bunny?"

"Please," you whine again, grinding your hips against him, "Like bein' your fleshlight. Please Binnie," you desperately claw at his arm, "Use me, touch me, anything," you cry out, just wanting to untangle that knot in your core.

He chuckles against you, chest pressed against your back as you feel it vibrate. "Needy princess," he let's go of your sternum, guiding you back down before pulling out, only to tighten his grip on your hips with both hands before pulling you towards him, knees running against the sheets before he thrusts his cock inside your dripping cunt.

With a groan accompanied by a chuckle, he looks down at you, hands still gripping the sheets arms length away, "My cute little hole,"

[quest-for-pluto]

Sparkles

Ao’nung x Human!Female!Reader

← Prev Chapter Index

Summary: You work as maintenance at base 36, a testing facility used for unethical experiments on captured local Na’vi. One day when the base’s power supply melts down and explodes, you’re caught in the flaming crossfire. In a split second decision, you also decide to free the panicking Na’vi in his glass cell.

Aged up!Aonung to 21 and reader is 20

Chapter 2: the giant blue alien in the room

You woke up to the pleasant feeling of burning agony, like you'd just skinny dipped in molten hot lava.

"G-guhhhh—" you choked out, fingers twitching and trembling against the floor as you struggled to gain some semblance of motor control. Tears burned your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. You writhed violently on your side as wave after wave of excruciating, searing pain washed over you.

Breathe, you told yourself. Just breathe through it, Y/n.

That was a lot more difficult than it sounded, especially when all you could hear was a continuous, tortured scream in your head. Your nails scraped at the cold concrete that did nothing to cool you down, trying to grasp onto something for support but only finding air between your fingers.

Never had you experienced anything so intense and all-consuming in your life. On a scale of 'Oh shit, that was a spicy cheeto' to 'Fuck I think my face is melting off', you were probably at a respectable 'I want to amputate all of my limbs and live in a freezer for the rest of my life'. Your vision dimmed and blurred as you fought to stay awake.

It was a strangled choking sound that broke you slightly out of your delirium. Your head turned slowly to see a giant blue body not too far from you, the skin on his right arm and leg raised in a pattern of angry looking blisters, but that wasn't what caught your attention. It was the frantic wheezing sounds he was making, grabbing desperately at his throat.

Somewhere in your foggy mind it occurred to you that oh yeah, that's right, his kind were not meant to breathe in your air.

Get up, Y/n, you chided yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. You need to do something.

With all of the strength you could muster, you rolled over, your vision nearly going white from the blinding pain. Slowly you staggered to your feet, pausing as a wave of nausea washed over you.

You blinked through your titling vision, eyes scanning the room for a possible solution. The only thing you could see were the supplies you had originally found, although some of them were admittedly pretty burnt now. Rebreather masks would be useless to him as well. Shit.

That left only one option. You had to figure out how to bring the native air from outside into the room.

Your eyes rose to the two, tiny windows in the room, located way higher than you could reach. You knew that every single window in base 36 was mandated to be bulletproof, so the chances of you being able to break it were thin, but—you had to try.

Staggering to your pile of supplies, you dropped to your knees, hands frantically combing through the items until they closed around the handle of the rifle you had discovered earlier. You quickly snatched a rebreather mask from the floor and secured it on your face. With a shuddering breath, you aimed the barrel at the right window, flicking off the safety and hastily pulling the trigger.

Bang.

The bullet ricocheted off of the surface, imbedding itself into the wall just over your shoulder. You inhaled sharply, turning to blink at it in shock. That was...way too close.

By now, the Na'vi had given up clawing at his throat. He laid sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and terror-filled as his chest rose and fell rapidly in short, convulsing breaths.

Damn, damn, damn. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Don't worry," you articulated the best you could, which was probably a barely understandable slur. "I won't—I won't let you die."

With renewed determination, you lifted the barrel to aim at the window again. You pulled the trigger.

Bang.

"Ah, fuck!" You cried, stumbling backwards. The bullet had grazed your burnt arm. Damn that stung like a motherfucker.

You grabbed the wound, clenching your jaw as you put pressure on it. Warm, thick blood escaped from between your fingers, trickling down your skin in rivulets.

"Okay," you breathed to yourself, supporting your injured arm with your other hand. Your whole body trembled from the pulsing pain. "You can do this, come on."

You pulled the trigger.

With a cry, you dropped the gun, clutching onto your arm in pain from the recoil.

The bullet imbedded itself in the window. You panted, watching with wide eyes as cracks began to quickly spread from the point of impact.

It shattered, pieces of glass exploding outwards and clattering onto the floor. You lowered your gaze, sighing in relief.

Your eyes flickered to the trembling form to your left. He was in terrible shape, but he hadn't passed out yet. He would survive.

You sunk carelessly to your knees, hands pressing into the floor as you struggled to catch your breath. Was it you, or was it getting suffocatingly humid in here?

Wait.

You took a deep, experimental breath, horrified to find that it didn't quite fill your lungs. Your hands quickly shot up to your mask, grasping blindly until you froze, cold realization washing over you as your thumb ran over a noticeable crack.

No, no, no. You couldn't possible be this much of an idiot.

Except you were.

You'd forgotten to properly check your own oxygen supply in your haste to make sure that the potentially homicidal alien didn't suffocate next to you. Now you were about to suffocate instead. Fantastic.

You dove back into the scattered pile of junk with desperation, your heart sinking as one by one, the rebreather masks turned up cracked or burnt. Completely unusable.

This can't be happening, you thought hysterically, a sob threatening to burst from your throat.

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, your eyelids fluttering with the effort of staying open. It was at that moment when you finally spotted it lying on the floor, maybe a dozen or so steps away.

A completely intact mask.

Your eyes widened as you staggered forward, hand reaching out desperately. You took about two steps before your vision swam dangerously, your gaze titling quickly towards the ground.

You landed harshly on the concrete, you could tell by the way your teeth clacked and the hard jolt in your wrists, but you barely felt any pain. The only thing you could feel was the burning in your lungs and the thrumming wooziness in your head that was making everything spin.

Come on, you gritted your teeth, using the last of your strength to shimmy yourself forward, your mouth gaping open in rapid, heavy pants.

Come on....

Your vision darkened at the edges as your head collapsed against the floor, your body finally giving in to violent convulsions. You panted shallowly, your fingers twitching out to reach for something—someone.

The last thing you remembered was the feeling of your body floating steadily in the air, before relief quenched the unbearable burning in your lungs. You blinked blearily, the last of your energy drained as your eyes finally slid shut.

You dreamt of the ocean. Sea mist in your hair and salt water on your lips.

****

Sunlight shone through your lids, making you groan.

Your eyelids fluttered in irritation, before finally blinking open in defeat, giving up on the hope of getting any more sleep.

You were...not in your your room. Your eyes widened as you jolted upright in shock—or, well at least you tried to. An overwhelming throbbing pain across your chest, knees, right forearm and head knocked you flat on your back again, wheezing for air.

The second thing you noticed was the mask on your face, your breath fogging up the clear surface in small puffs. Why were you wearing a mask inside the base? What was going on?

The base collapsing in the fire. Saving the blue alien. Getting knocked unconscious by the explosion. Struggling to breathe—

Your breath shuddered as you brought your left hand up to grasp at your neck at the phantom feelings of suffocation, your fingers drifting upwards to skim the tender bruise at the back of your skull. Your heart hammered frantically in your chest.

Then, if you were here, that meant...

Your head slowly craned over to the other side of the room, a gasp leaving your throat at the sight of your new roommate slumped against the wall.

Now that you were no longer in survival mode, you could truly take in his incredible stature. It was exactly like the stories you'd been told, he had to be at least ten feet tall, if not a little more. Lucky for him though, the ceilings in the storage room were just barely high enough to accommodate him at his full height.

His skin was not the same shade of blue everywhere. You noticed that it was a lighter, sky blue color nearing the center of his body like his torso and his face, and a darker, marine blue color at the extremities. There also seemed to be a distinct stripe like pattern that you were pretty sure was natural for his species. The dark, tattoo-like markings all over his body were a different story of course. The swirling shapes and symbols extended down his biceps and climbed delicately up his neck, but seemed to be the most intricate around his left temple.

Large blue eyes suddenly snapped open, catching your stare with startling intensity. You almost scrambled backwards in a jolt of fear, but caught yourself at the last second, holding carefully still.

You didn't even dare to breathe as he narrowed his eyes at you, making no move to come closer. His right arm hung limply at his side, the blistered skin probably making it very painful to move it at all. Not that you were much better off.

If you were to take a guess, you probably had second degree burns scattered in patches across the front of your body. The only thing keeping the bile in your throat from rising any further was your immobility.

After a few tense moments his gaze flickered away, growing disinterested in your little staring competition. You felt the air escape from your lungs, your tense shoulders loosening in a discreet sigh of relief. Right, you probably didn't register as much of a threat when you were sprawled across the floor like a rag doll.

You turned your gaze back towards the ceiling, staring thoughtfully at the condensation on your mask as you contemplated your situation. The rations you'd found earlier were probably salvageable, being packed safely inside thick bags meant to withstand the elements of Pandora. As for water...well, you were just happy it rained often here. You'd have to find a way to capture the water from the tiny windows much too high for you to reach, but that was a problem for later you. As for now...

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to push up to a sitting position. Your eyes watered immediately at the intense burning pain. Okay, no, your pain tolerance wasn't that high. Gritting your teeth, you tried rolling over instead, the stretch of your skin making your jaw clench so hard you were surprised a tooth didn't crack under the pressure.

You were so concentrated on the movement that you didn't feel your stomach roiling tumultuously, or the warm bile climbing up your throat until it was too late. As you pushed yourself up on a shaky arm, your eyes widened as you felt your body violently expel your last meal. You shoved off your mask in the nick of time, turning your head to the side as gunk splattered on the floor next to you in an acrid, chunky pile.

You wiped your face with your good arm, spitting out the residue in your mouth with a grimace. Gross.

The Na'vi was eyeing you in disgust, and you were pretty sure that he would've moved away if he wasn't already sitting as far as he possibly could from you. You returned your own glare. Well, if it weren't for you, he'd currently be an extra crispy dino-sized potato chip, so he shouldn't be complaining about vomit.

Readjusting your mask, you glanced carefully around the room, your gaze sharpening on a first aid kit poking out of a ration bag. Well, patching yourself up was priority number one. You were not looking to deal with an infection on top of second degree burns.

You hissed a breath through your teeth, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Your arms shook from the strain, tears welling up in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

Twenty feet felt like two miles, and by the time you'd managed to drag yourself across the floor, you were pretty sure forty-five minutes had passed. The whole time, you felt a piercing stare burning into your back. You ignored it, not having the energy for another useless stare down.

Coughing wetly, you grabbed the duffel bag with trembling fingers, pulling it closer to you. It took you a few tries to pull the zipper open, but you finally managed the motion on the fourth try, freeing the white box of medical supplies from its confines.

You undid the clasps, flipping it open carefully. Bandaids, gauze, plasters, soap, alcohol wipes, sterile gloves, tweezers, antibiotic ointment, scissors, needle and thread. Perfect.

Carefully scooting yourself to a seated position and wincing at every tiny agonizing motion, you pulled on the latex gloves with a snap. A muted snarl broke you out of your concentration, making you pause.

Your alien roommate was not a happy camper, judging by his curled upper lip that exposed his giant, bat-like fangs. Okay, that was definitely not good. Those things could probably bite your leg clean off if you weren't careful.

The rumors you heard about his species still very much freaked you out, if you were being honest.

"Hey," you said lowly, raising your gloved hands. You flinched as his snarl grew more intense, eyeing the unnatural blue color on your skin in evident distrust.

Jesus Christ, you'd really done it now, hadn't you? Why couldn't you have just acted like a normal human being with self preservation instincts and only saved yourself? Now you had to deal with...whatever the hell this headache was.

"They're gloves," you emphasized helplessly, knowing that he couldn't understand you but still trying to convey meaning through your tone. "They're harmless, see?" You brought your hands down to pat your shoulders, hiding a wince at the movement. You put on your most convincing (although slightly strained), harmless smile for extra effect. A rogue muscle jumped under your eye.

His glare didn't relent but the hard line of his scowl relaxed a little. Okay rude, what did he even think you were capable of doing in this sorry ass state? Plus, if you wanted him dead you would have just let him be.

Struggling not to roll your eyes, you pointed at one of the nastier burns on your chest, where your shirt was torn to shreds and practically fusing with the reddened, bloody skin. "I'm hurt," you exaggerated the word, widening your eyes meaningfully and frowning. "This will help me heal." You pointed at the contents of the first aid kit, before pointing back at your wound with a raised brow.

The Na'vi snorted at your slowed tone, rolling his shoulder in dismissal before occupying himself with something on a distant wall.

Annoyance surged through you, but it was brief and you let it go quickly with a sigh. Whatever, it was a good thing his suffocating attention was off of you now.

He never turned his back to you though, you noticed. Even now, you could tell he was still keeping tabs on you by the tension in his shoulders.

Well, maybe it was better that he still saw you as somewhat of a threat.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you grabbed a water bottle, soap solution and some gauze, bracing yourself for how much this was going to make you want to shit yourself. And you were pretty sure that the Na'vi would muster up the last of his strength and kill you himself if that actually happened, judging by his utter disgust and displeasure at your vomit.

Wetting a piece of gauze with water and soap, you brought it gingerly to the skin over your collarbone. Striking pain erupted at the point of contact, your jaw flexing to keep in any sounds.

Patting the gauze lower, you couldn't help but screech at the utter agony of it connecting with your open wound. Fuckity fuck fuck, that hurt like bitch on steroids.

When you blinked away the confetti in your vision, you caught the Na'vi's alarmed gaze, the space where his eyebrows should have been now furrowed and pointed ears pricked up and facing you.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you muttered under your breath, before gritting your teeth as you forced your trembling hands to press the gauze pad over the rest of your wound. It took awhile and several rolls, but now every wound was cleaned, dressed, and if needed—stitched. Your head still throbbed uncontrollably in what was most definitely a nasty concussion, but you couldn't really ice it like you wanted to. By the time you were done, the sun had already started to set in the sky.

Your stomach rumbled in protest, and you grimaced. The intense pain had made you forget that you unfortunately needed sustenance to survive.

Time to take stock of your supply.

You dug through the duffle bag on your side, pulling out MRE kits and other field rations. You also found some plastic utensils and more water bottles and filters. Some of them were weirdly misshaped though, probably warped from the heat of the explosion.

You discarded those ones to the side with a frown. What a waste.

Ripping open an MRE pack, you mourned your microwave as you took a bite of room temperature tortellini. You just hoped that those in charge of the outer ring of base 36 came to your rescue sooner rather than later.

The rapidly familiarizing feeling of a piercing stare on you caused you to look up, your gaze locking onto narrowed baby blues. But they looked more curious than distrustful, this time.

You held up your meal pack, gesturing at him. "You want some?" You shook it in his direction meaningfully. "It's good." Lie, but he didn't need to know that.

Like most other living creatures, you were 99% sure he needed to eat to stay alive. And as far as you knew, he'd eaten nothing since you were both trapped. As long as he didn't try to eat you, you didn't mind sharing your rations. There was still quite a lot left, and you were pretty hopeful sure your fellow humans would have paid you a visit before you inevitably ran out.

His eyes widened minutely at the package, and you could see the barest predatory flash in his widening pupils, before he huffed, shooting you a disgusted look.

Your raised hand lowered as you gave him a deadpanned look. What a brat. Whatever, you shrugged, taking a quick breath as you lifted your mask. More for you then.

It was not even thirty minutes later that you realized your second dilemma.

That being, you had to tinkle. Real bad.

Goddamnit, this was embarrassing. You chanced a grimacing look at your companion, who was once again busy staring at a wall, but one ear was still turned towards you. No matter how weird this situation was, you had no desire to contribute to that factor by getting naked in front of a volatile, giant blue alien.

But you were nothing if not resourceful.

Goodbye, dignity, you sighed as you began hoisting yourself behind the pile of supplies and duffel bags you'd both stacked to take cover from the fire. You felt the Na'vi's wary gaze on you as you moved, but he hadn't felt the need to come and investigate, which you counted as a blessing.

Grabbing one of the warped water bottles, you poured out the toxic liquid on the concrete, before getting into position. Closing your eyes, you tried your hardest to pretend that you weren't trapped in a room with a strange alien man less than twenty feet away from you. You pictured your small, but warm toned bathroom, your toiletries lined neatly on the counter and a painting hanging over the towel rack.

Pretty soon you felt sweet relief as your aching bladder finally emptied its contents into the bottle. Your eyes blinked open, and you quickly cleaned yourself up, grimacing in embarrassment and disgust as you screwed back on the lid to the bottle and shoved it away from sight.

Well, that was over with.

By now, the room was bathed only in moon and starlight, the walls almost taking up a luminescence you would never be privy to on earth.

Your expression soured at the thought of your home planet. You didn't typically enjoy revisiting those memories, mostly because they were tainted with constant misery. The ashy smoke in the air, the dirt on your skin, the pangs of hunger deep into the night—you didn't want to think about it. You were far, far away from that life.

Although, you weren't quite sure if your current situation was much better.

With a wince, you scooted forward, peeking curiously around your makeshift wall of privacy. The Na'vi was curled on his side, still facing you, but now—surprisingly, his eyes had drifted shut, his expression finally peaceful in slumber. You held your breath, taking a moment to admire him.

Now that you weren't actively fearing for your life, you could really appreciate the wild beauty of this planet's native humanoid species. He looked like a mythical creature from a fantasy story, aqua blue skin shining like the glimmering shallow waters on a beach under the sunlight. You blinked a couple of times in shock, resisting the urge to rub them. No—wait, he was actually glowing.

At first you had thought it was the moonlight shining on his skin, but he seemed to be generating his own variation of bioluminescence instead. A beacon of otherworldly beauty, just like the rest of Pandora.

Incredible, you thought to yourself in awe, unable to look away. Your fingers itched with the sudden urge to start sketching him.

Suddenly, a pale, opalescent eye snapped open, glaring at you furiously. You yelped, almost falling backwards on your elbows.

His lip curled to reveal a snarl, his ears pinning down flat against his head in warning and his thick tail whipping restlessly in the air. The message was clear: mind your own business before I come over there and gouge your tiny eyes out. I'll do it—

"Okay, okay," you sighed, raising your hands in surrender. "I get it, I'm leaving."

You scooted away, back into your little alcove of duffel bags and random burnt junk. Lowering yourself onto the fluffiest looking one, you sighed, squirming uncomfortably as you stared at the scorched ceiling.

It didn't take long before your blinks became heavier and more frequent, your eyelids lowering more with each one. It seemed you were more exhausted that you thought.

When your breathing finally evened out, it was to the distinct feeling of a strong, steady heartbeat thrumming beneath you.

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

Y'all, I had way too much fun writing Ao'nung's pissy attitude XD. I can't picture his aggressive side eye without cracking up. Don't worry though, he'll eventually come around ;)

MRE: Meals ready to eat. Packaged meals meant for quick, convenient consumption. Used in the military.

If you’re not in the taglist already and you’d like to be, just let me know in the comments and I’ll tag you in the next part :)

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[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 28

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The field was dark, an abyss of blackness swallowing any trace of light. Your heart thundered in your ears. Breath came in ragged, desperate gasps as if you had been fleeing for miles. You clutched a tree for support, the bark’s roughness biting into your fingertips as you bent over, gasping. Your chest seared with pain, each inhale tinged with the metallic taste of blood.

Staggering forward into the field, your legs quivered, each step a monumental effort, your feet sinking heavily into the tall grass. The grass, whispering and swaying in the chilling breeze, brushed against your knees. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling your heart’s wild, erratic beat as you struggled to steady your breath.

The eerie, rustling sound of leaves, like hushed whispers, filled the air around you. Your eyes darted frantically, expecting to see something—anything—lurking in the shadows of the trees encircling you. 

You ventured further into the field, muscles screaming for respite, when a chilling sensation crawled up your spine. Instinctively, you glanced back, and there, in the sinister darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes stared back from the shadows of the trees. The sight sent a jolt of terror surging through you, as if a bird had taken flight in your chest, its wings battering your ribs. You gasped, fear tightening your throat.

Panic gripped you as you forced your legs into a shaky sprint, each step a struggle against the fatigue dragging at your limbs. You dared another glance over your shoulder—the eyes had vanished, replaced by the void, more terrifying than their malevolent glare. Turning back, your blood ran cold as the eyes reappeared across the field, burning with an insatiable hunger.

You froze, heart pounding wildly, your feet slipping out from under you as you crashed backward into the tall grass. The world vanished behind a screen of fluffy stalks, now ominous tendrils obscuring your vision. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed across the field, growing louder, closer, and faster than you thought possible. You clawed at the ground, desperately trying to regain your footing, but before you could rise, a cold grip seized your collar.

The ground fell away as you were yanked violently into the air, your body dangling helplessly. You weighed nothing to this creature, its immense strength holding you suspended. Your breath caught, and you turned, eyes wide with terror, to face your captor.

Its reflection loomed before you, a nightmarish visage—a gaping, cavernous mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth, stretching wider, wider. Massive wings unfurled behind it, casting an ominous shadow that swallowed the field. You saw yourself in the gleaming eyes, a tiny, helpless figure about to be devoured. The monstrous jaws closed in, your scream cut off as you were plunged into the darkness of the beast’s maw.

—

Your eyes flashed open as your final scream tore from your lungs, a raw, desperate sound that scraped painfully against your burning throat. Thrashing wildly, you felt the cool night air kiss your sweat-drenched forehead, your hair plastered to your clammy skin. Your breaths came in short, hoarse gasps. As your vision focused, you saw Azriel perched on the edge of your bed, his eyes wide with concern, his wings pulled tight in behind him.

Azriel’s face softened, etched with a delicate mix of worry and compassion as he leaned closer. You screamed again, your heart racing, your body trembling as you clutched the blankets tighter around you. The monstrous image from your nightmare lingered, making Azriel’s silhouette against the dim room seem almost surreal. 

Azriel lifted his hands slowly, palms facing you in a gesture of peace. His bare chest heaved with deep breaths as he spoke gently, “It’s okay. You’re safe.” He called, as he attempted to fight against the tempest of your fear, though your heart continued to beat furiously, struggling to distinguish between dream and reality.

Maintaining his distance, Azriel’s expression became calmer, though his eyes retained their deep concern. “Y/N, just breathe. It’s me, Azriel. You’re safe,” he murmured softly,

Your breaths began to slow, each inhale still shaky and uneven. Azriel remained motionless, a living statue in his spot, watching you intently. As your head finally dropped forward, he lowered his hands and edged closer to you. Kneeling at the side of the bed, his scarred hands reached up to cradle your face, his eyes searching yours with tender worry as his thumbs traced gentle lines down your cheeks. “Just breathe,” he whispered again, his tone laced with what felt like sugar. 

Taking a few trembling breaths, you felt a modicum of calm returning. “Good. You’re okay. It’s okay,” Azriel reassured, his voice a soft murmur. You placed your hands over his, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed poised to pull back, but your firm grip kept him in place. His hands readjusted, fingers slipping behind your ears for a steadier hold.

You leaned into his touch, your forehead brushing against his. Azriel’s curls mingled with your hair as he gently pressed his forehead to yours, your labored breaths mingling in the shared space. “Just keep breathing,” he reminded you softly.

Your breaths transformed into sobs, the first wretched sound tearing from your throat. Azriel pulled back slightly, eyes wide with concern. “Oh no,” he crooned, his voice thick with empathy. “What’s wrong?”

The weight in your chest seemed to sink to your feet as your sobs grew louder, each one a release of the suffocating anguish. Azriel hesitated, his hands faltering as he sought to comfort you. You pressed harder against his hands, refusing to let go. Azriel, taken aback by your need for his touch, quickly resumed his tender caresses, his forehead returning to rest against yours.

As your sobs wracked your body, Azriel lifted his chin, shifting to rest it on top of your head. You moved, leaning the side of your face against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your ear. Slowly, you slid out of the bed, collapsing onto the floor beside him. Azriel adjusted seamlessly, pulling you into his lap so that you sat nestled within his crossed legs. Your legs curled up, resting on his thigh as he cradled your back, your face buried in the crook of his neck. Another sob escaped you, muffled against his warm skin.

Azriel rocked gently back and forth, his arms encircling you. His earlier questions faded into a soft, comforting silence, replaced by the gentle sway of his embrace. His hand traced soothing patterns across your upper back while the other wrapped securely around your knees, holding you close. Your own hands clenched into fists in your lap.

Azriel’s whispers became a steady murmur, his voice a tender caress amidst the tears. “You’re okay,” he repeated, his breath warm against your temple. He held you through the storm of your sobs, as you shook through remnants of your nightmare. As your sobs subsided into hiccups and your breathing steadied, Azriel continued to rock you gently.

After what felt like hours, Azriel finally shifted slightly to look down at you, as though to check if you were asleep. You peered up at him under your lashes as he smiled lightly. “Hi,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered back.

He merely smiled again. “Don’t be. This is part of the healing.”

You turned your face back to his chest, relishing the warmth radiating from him. “I don’t want to heal anymore,” you said weakly, exhaustion allowing some of your deepest thoughts to surface. “I want to feel like I want to live again.”

You felt Azriel’s heart jump momentarily, but all he whispered in response was, “I know. It’s really, really hard.”

Your eyes remained wide open as you asked, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Azriel resumed his gentle rocking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You felt the words spilling out faster than you could contain them. “I was a child, and she just left me. She took me away from everyone and left me alone.”

Azriel squeezed you slightly tighter. “I know.”

“I just wanted someone to love me,” you continued, your voice breaking. “Anyone who would love me. I just wanted someone who would stay.”

“I know,” he whispered back.

“I thought things were going to get better. And then they didn’t. He was cruel to me every single day. And I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the torment anymore. I thought the only way out was to escape or die. So I chose to escape.”

“You did the right thing,” he murmured.

“Anthea, she died because of me,” you whispered again.

“Y/N, no,” Azriel tried to stop you, but you kept going.

“I don’t know why I felt like I could take him on. My mate was beating me relentlessly and I never fought back, and then all of a sudden I’m brave enough to do it for someone else? And she still died.”

Azriel continued to murmur encouragements to you.

“And then after she died, I went on living like nothing had happened. I just let her die, and I found someone else to love, and then he died. And now I’m going to live my life afraid of the dark,” you squeaked out.

“Y/N,” Azriel started, “I swear to you that this isn’t going to be how you always feel.”

You shrugged lightly. “It’s what the Mother decided I deserved.”

��The Mother is not cruel enough to do that.”

“Then why did this happen? Why was it decided I would be mated to him? Or that Anthea would be allowed to wallow in that camp? Or that Kai would die because of being with me?”

“It isn’t for us to know why the Mother does what she will.”

“So I just have to live knowing my life will always hurt? Or be afraid that even if I get better, it’s going to hurt again?”

Azriel leaned back slightly to look at you, his black curls illuminated blue by the light of the moon as his hazel eyes gazed down at you, laced with pain. “Y/N, if it’s up to me, I’ll never let you get hurt again.”

“No one can promise that.”

Azriel’s face scanned yours. “The world is full of horrible, terrible things, and it’s full of those who want to harm one another. They do it to people who don’t deserve it. They do it for control, for pleasure, for insecurity. And the people it happens to don’t deserve any of it. The poor, little girl who felt left behind didn’t deserve to have a mother who would do that. The young female who fell in love quickly and had a strong urge to fulfill a natural bond doesn’t deserve to be punished by the person she devoted her love to. And the female in front of me now didn’t deserve to watch that same male slaughter someone she cared deeply about. But you don’t deserve to have to witness or feel any of that. And gods, Y/N, when I say that I know what that feels like, to witness terror and anguish and feel like you earned that pain, you aren’t alone in it. But you aren’t going to feel this way forever. And I swear to you, on the Mother, the Cauldron, and whoever is listening, that if for the rest of your life you never experience pain again, it will be too soon. Because you deserve to be happy, to love, and to feel joy without the fear that it’s going to be taken from you. You were dealt a terrible hand, and the world seems like it’s against you, but you have to know that I am your ally in this. I am on your side. And if I could share this burden with you, if I could take even a second of that pain so you could sleep, I would.”

You looked up at him as he finished, blinking slowly as you took him in.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

“Do what?” Azriel asked, his head tilting.

“Why do you care for me like this?” you questioned. “You’ve helped me heal, you’ve let me stay, you’ve convinced your family to help me. And I never did anything for you.” You shook your head in confusion.

Azriel gave you a tight-lipped smile, thinking for a moment. “Because I had never seen anyone more determined to live than you,” he whispered. You didn’t respond, just looking at him. “Everything has been against you, everything has hurt, burned, or scorned you. And yet you fight to live and survive, and never in my centuries of life have I seen someone with a passion to live like yours. You choose to keep surviving and living. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you live.” He whispered. And in that moment, something shifted, as though the cement weight in your stomach lifted and then fell back down. But you felt yourself leaning into his chest, your lips parting softly as you felt his warm skin heat your face. Azriel curled into you, his chin pressing into your head as he began rocking again. “I want to see you live,” he whispered once more.

You felt the chill of the wind hit your bare ankles, and you shivered lightly. Azriel, noticing this, shifted his weight forward and was suddenly on his feet as he picked you up, your legs falling over his arms as he lay you down in the bed, pulling up the blankets on you. When you paused him, “Wait,” you said, your hand hitting his wrist. “Can you stay a while?” you asked.

Azriel’s face bloomed slightly as you asked, and he nodded. “Of course.”

You scooted over in the bed slightly, the sheets pulling with you as you pulled back the covers. Azriel lifted one leg tentatively in, the other following behind as he sat with his back against the headboard. You moved in closer as he shimmied down until his neck was craned against the top of the bed. You rested your head on his chest, his heartbeat ringing through your head as you felt its pace quicken slightly. Azriel let his hand fall to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles on the exposed skin as the other rested behind his head. Without thinking, you allowed one leg and arm to drape over him, nearly both extending before finding the other side of him. You stared ahead, across the room as you felt a fog lift slightly, and as you pushed down the guilt that rose in your throat. For this one moment, you chose to let the world feel safe again, one moment, before you might slam that door shut again.

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