#midnights prompt list

[fleursbae]

midnights prompt list!

i've decided to make another prompt list based off my favorite songs from midnights, taylor swift’s álbum that came out last year, you can request any of these prompts via the ask button!

gentle reminder that i’m currently writing for: daniel ricciardo, charles leclerc, george russell, lewis hamilton and others! please check my guidelines before submitting.

lavender haze — talk your talk and go viral, i just need this love spiral

maroon — and i lost you, the one i was dancing with in new york

anti-hero — i wake up screaming from dreaming one day i'll watch as you're leaving ‘cause you got tired of my scheming

snow on the beach — i can’t speak afraid to jinx it

midnight rain — i guess sometimes we all get just what we wanted, just what we wanted and he never thinks of me

question…? — can i ask you a question? did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room?

labyrinth — uh oh, i’m falling in love. oh no, i'm falling in love again

karma — karma is the guy on the screen coming straight home to me

sweet nothing — all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing

mastermind — what if i you none of it was accidental and the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me?

the great war — that was the night i nearly lost you, i really thought i lost you

paris — romance is not dead if you keep it just yours

high infidelity — do you really want to know where i was april 29th?

that’s it everyone! please, submit your prompt with the one person you would like! also, please let me know if you guys would like a prompt list based off speak now (since taylor’s version is coming in july!)

[luna-the-cretar]

I also want to write maybe a few oneshots for Valentines Day, for a variety of LoA ships, and I’m struggling to find fluffy prompts I like. So, if yall want, you can recommend a prompt you’d like to see written (can’t guarantee I’d be able to get to all of them, but I can try). Romantic, platonic, doesn’t matter. Can be for a specific ship, or you can let me decide who is A and who is B. Any AU is fine too.

Just nothing smutty, if you can help it :)

(Also, preferably for Once Upon a Witchlight, Edge of Midnight, Icebound, and/or Curse of Strahdanya, since those are the campaigns I’m caught up in/have gone far enough in to feel decently comfortable enough to write a fluffy oneshot for)

[miracleonice87]

17 w barzy pls! i feel like he only ever gets smut or fluff written w him

from m's midnights prompt list

warnings (cw / tw): miscarriage, pregnancy loss, mourning... this one's a doozy, folks 😔 please don't read if these subjects are triggering or sensitive for you

word count: ~2,100

17. Bigger Than The Whole Sky

---

It started as the most typical Isles weekday gameday. Mat woke up an hour before morning skate, kissed your forehead, and rolled out of bed as you snoozed away for just a few more minutes, the early-pregnancy exhaustion hitting you hard the last several weeks. He made himself a coffee, you an Earl Grey, and carried both back to the bedroom where he found you just beginning to stir. You both sipped at your drinks as you went through your morning grooming and threw on athleticwear. Soon, after a playful kiss in the hallway, you were both headed out the door, Mat to the rink and you to the Lees’ to workout with Grace in their home gym. 

At least, with the intention to workout with Grace. 

Instead, your world as you knew it and your greatest dream came crashing down during the short drive to the Lee house.

What started as light cramping quickly gave way to sharp, stabbing pains that had you doubled over in Grace’s doorway by the time you reached their stately home. She knowingly shuffled you inside, alarm bells blaring in her head even as she used her calmest tone and did everything she could to soothe you. Her babysitter quickly led the girls away from the scene, distracting them with an invitation to play princess dress-up in the toyroom down the hall, away from your intensifying sobs.

As Grace guided you toward her car in the garage, your hands gripping hers with knuckles white as you leaned into her for strength, she noticed a figment of every expectant parent’s worst fear… the seat of your grey leggings stained with an unsettlingly substantial amount of blood. 

“Is this it?” you cried. “Is this what it feels like?”

The pit deepened in her gut, her maternal instincts screaming yes. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she answered softly. “We’re gonna go find out, okay? Together.” 

“A-and Mat…”

“I know. Of course.” 

You reached the passenger door, and with one hand Grace opened the adjacent rear door, grabbed one of the girls’ pink travel pillows, and tossed it onto your seat in the hope that it would somehow make you more comfortable on the drive to the hospital. She got you settled into the passenger seat and seconds later, was already rolling down her driveway at a speed faster than she ever hit on a normal day, making an impossible phone call via her hands-free navigation. 

At the other end of that call was her sweet husband, who thank god had gotten caught up talking to one of the assistant coaches about gameplans and hadn’t yet stepped onto the ice for morning skate as Mat had minutes ago. 

Anders looked at his phone with a furrowed brow and a knot in his stomach… Grace never called him when she knew he was at the rink.

“G? What’s going on?” 

That’s when she told him it was you, not herself, who was the reason for the call. 

“Shit… is she…”

“I don’t know. She’s in a lot of pain, Anders.” Which he already knew from your muffled sobs on the speakerphone. He’d never heard you cry before. “She’s bleeding. Get Mat off the ice now and tell him to meet us at the hospital.” 

“Fuck. Okay. Be careful – I’m-I’m hanging up.” 

“Okay. I’ll call you.”

“Yeah.” 

Anders tapped the red button and sat in silence at his stall for the briefest of seconds, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath through pursed lips, absolutely dreading what he had to do next. 

He made his way down the tunnel, stopping at the bench instead of immediately hopping out onto the ice. Lane noticed and caught his eye. Anders closed the short gap between himself and his head coach, ducked his head, and explained the situation as quietly and briefly as he could. Lane’s expression went cold, and he offered a slow, single nod, then cleared his throat. 

“I’ll do it if you want me to, but I think you should maybe be the one to…”

Anders cut him off, shaking his head. 

“No… no, he should hear it from me.”

Lane set his jaw, clapped the captain’s shoulder, and fixed his gaze back across the ice with a pained exhale. 

Anders shuffled to the end of the bench at its opening and waited a few moments for Mat to skate past him on a loop. When he did, he called, “Barz.” Hoarse, somber, short. The younger player immediately skidded to a stop, sending snow flying from beneath his blades. 

“What’s up?” he asked, panting. 

Anders swallowed, tucking his chin to his chest for a moment. 

“Leezy? What’s up?” Mat repeated, brow furrowing. 

Anders met Mat’s eyes again and sighed. 

“You gotta go to the hospital, bud,” he said softly, unable to keep his voice from shaking. “Grace just called, and-”

Mat didn’t even let Anders finish his thought before he jumped the threshold and ran down the tunnel, shedding his gear as he went, trying to hold it all in his hands and beneath his arms. Anders followed close behind. 

“Barzy, bud, are you good to drive?”

Mat nodded furiously without so much as a glance Anders’ way. 

“I’ll drive you if you want.”

Mat shook his head. 

“You call me if you need anything, you hear me?”

He was nodding again, and simultaneously busting through the doors of the locker room, where he threw all his gear into his bag, pried off his skates, and tugged on his crewneck and sweats in the blink of an eye before heading for the exit with just his keys and his phone… but he stopped in front of his friend before he could make it that far. 

Anders could see the red already rimming his eyes, and he felt his own throat constricting as he heard Mat’s breath coming in short, stuttering gasps. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, man,” Mat managed between breaths. 

All Anders could do was grab Mat in a crushing hug, the sounds of him clapping Mat’s back echoing in the empty locker room. 

“It never is. I’m sorry.” 

No words appear before me in the aftermath

Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears

Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness

'Cause it's all over now, all out to sea…

The ultrasound screen had been turned off for at least half an hour by now, you and Mat left alone by the doctor for nearly as long, but you still lay flat on your back, wet cheek pressed to the ugly pleather exam table, willing the black screen to turn back on and tell you something different than it already had. Willing this nightmare to end, willing yourself to wake up, willing it not to be true, to be some giant, cruel misunderstanding. 

No words came to your lips, though thousands of them hummed incessantly between your ears, intrusive thoughts even louder than they’d been all morning in the now-silent room. You heard Mat sniffling behind you, felt his lips kissing the back of your hand every few seconds. Before he’d arrived, you had thought you could not possibly ever feel the sting of devastation more acutely than when the doctor had uttered the words “I’m so sorry; you’re miscarrying.” But good god, the second Mat ran through those sliding glass doors in an utter panic, hair wild no doubt from pulling it throughout the entire drive to the hospital, eyes and nose and cheeks pink from crying, lips parted and shoulders rising and falling as he attempted to catch his breath… you realized how wrong you’d been. 

You could handle the pain this would inflict upon you. But seeing Mat suffering just as much… that made you want to crawl in a hole and never see the light of day again. And since that moment, after he’d gathered you in his arms, you’d tried your damndest to avoid making eye contact with him altogether. 

He was sad because of you. Mourning because of you. Depressed and angry and sick and childless because of you. 

And that was simply too much to bear. 

So it was nearly an hour since he’d gotten there and you had yet to look him in the face again. And while looking him in the face was killing you, you not looking him in the face was killing him. 

Nobody won in this situation. It was a lose-lose-lose. 

“Honey, look at me. Please look at me?” Mat begged from your side. 

Unsurprisingly, he was met with silence, and no motion.

“It’s not your fault. Alright? It’s not your fault, babe,” he said firmly, squeezing your hand. “I need you to hear that.”

More silence. It wasn’t even that you wouldn’t speak, it was that you simply couldn’t. 

Mat sighed, using his free hand to swipe at the never-ending tears streaming down his cheeks. Then, he trailed his palm along the length of your arm. 

“You can be as quiet as you want for as long as you want, baby, because this is an awful fucking thing that’s just happened to us, to you,” he spoke, voice wavering. “But I’m gonna keep talking because I’ve gotta make sure you know that this isn’t because of anything you did, or didn’t do. Like the doctor said, these things happen for reasons we’ll never know. And I’m not upset with you. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. I love you.” 

You closed your eyes, swearing your eyelids were suddenly outfitted with weights. It was all sinking in… the reality of it, the heaviness, the emptiness. You just wanted to sleep.

You finally opened your mouth, feeling how dry and cotton it had become. You didn’t have the strength to debate him on why this had happened, how it had to be your fault somehow, but you mustered enough to give him what you knew he needed. 

“I love you,” you whispered, unnerved by how weak and small your own voice sounded in the sterile room. 

Behind you, you heard Mat rise up from the uncomfortable vinyl chair. He bent over you, pushing some hair back from your damp face, and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, relieved and grateful to have gotten any response, any sign of human function, from you at all. Then, he patted your shoulder and said the very thing you’d been dreading.

“Come on… let’s go home.”

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

You were bigger than the whole sky

You were more than just a short time…

Mat didn’t know how he’d found himself in the nursery or how long he'd been there, but after laying with you in your bed and softly stroking your hair as you finally fell into a much-needed slumber, that’s where his aimless wandering had eventually led. He didn’t bother to turn on the light; the afternoon sun streaming through the still untreated windows cast a golden glow on everything in the room. 

It had once felt so cozy, a representation of all that the two of you had to look forward to in the weeks and months to come. He loved sitting in the room all alone when he arrived home from a road trip, late at night when you were already sound asleep, dreaming about who your baby would look like, what they would sound like, who they would someday grow to be. 

With you losing your pregnancy so soon into it, the material items in the room were still few. As he ran his fingertips along the covers of the gifted copies of “Goodnight, Moon,” “On The Night You Were Born,” and “Love You Forever,” and over the stuffed Sparky the Dragon next to them on the shelf, his eyes filled with fresh tears, realizing that he would never get to snuggle his first baby earthside, read to them with Sparky tucked in their lap. He leaned wearily against the railing of the crib he had just put together mere days ago, and as he looked toward the tiny “13” jersey laying on the still plastic-wrapped mattress, a sob escaped his throat and he let himself fall completely apart for the very first time, without needing to remind himself to hold it together in your presence. He turned and sunk down to the floor, leaning against the solid oak frame of the crib, and buried his head in his hands, crying as he never had in all his life.

Eventually, there would be conversations about the next steps to take for your health, whether or not to try again, and when, and whether to leave the nursery as it was or pack it up until, hopefully, you were pregnant once more. But for now, there was just sheer sadness as you and Mat grieved the little one that just wasn’t to be. 

And I've got a lot to pine about

I've got a lot to live without

I'm never gonna meet

What could've been, would've been

What should've been you…

[nythtak]

Thought it'd be fun to do a little drabble soooo-

Cattonquick Oxford Days - the first cigarette

(This is based in the Maneater AU - unless I change my mind on details later - but can be read as in canon universe)

The lighter fails to catch the first couple of times Felix tries it. But after a final, despairing shake of the crappy thing, the flame sputters to life.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles around the ciggie, and hurriedly brings the lighter up. April’s swung in with far too much chill, because fuck England, right? No spring for them, nooope. Just horrible grey rainy days, where even brief lulls like this evening are tarnished by cold winds.

He’s regretting not grabbing a jacket when he had chance to, and he eyes Oliver’s long-sleeves jealously. They’re on their way back from the pub, and it’s still early enough that most streetlights feel unnecessary. After a of couple hours there Felix realised he just wasn’t feeling it tonight, that stickiness of going through the motions and not enjoying himself like usual, where even a few pints couldn’t soften it up.

So when Oliver gave him a nudge, mentioned he has an essay he really needs to work on, Felix leapt at the chance to head out. He has his own pile of coursework to dive into before the Easter holidays start. Maybe speed through a chunk of it tonight, get that late night focus on, and then he can decide how much is usable tomorrow.

He’s glad he decided to stick it out at Oxford over the coming break. Originally it was more about keeping his word on staying at university all year, rather than nipping home every holiday - or even every other weekend, like some silly sods do. He went as far as to swear off a trip abroad this school year, fully committed to the uni life, which means no fluttering off to sunnier skies.

He aims a glower up at the dark clouds far above them. Curse thy existence.

“Felix?”

Felix’s head snaps down, and down, and he has to grin. Oliver is so short. Like, okay, so he’s not actually super-duper short. A bit below average, perhaps, and around the height of most girls. But he’s a lot shorter than Felix, which is what really matters.

It means he’s the perfect height - practically made for it - for Felix to sling an arm around his shoulders and drag him into his side. Oliver runs a bit cool, but he’s still a damn sight warmer than the nippy evening air.

“Yeah, mate?” Felix takes a pull from the ciggie, careful not to blow it all in Oliver’s face. Would be awfully rude. But that does get him thinking about how Oliver doesn’t smoke, and he frowns at him. “You know, I don’t think you ever said why you don’t smoke.”

Could it be something to do with his family? Cigarettes are a huge leap from heroin and meth and whatever else, but traumas can be multi-layered, can’t they? A full-on aversion to anything even related. But Oliver is clearly battling through it, going to the pub and clubs where alcohol abounds, not even flinching at all the casual drug use their group gets up to.

“Just not keen.” Oliver shrugs slightly, and it’s interesting to feel the motion of it under his arm. Makes him want to squeeze Oliver a bit. His hand slides down to cup Oliver’s bicep rather than hanging loosely, but he holds off on the full grabby. For now.

“So you’ve tried one before?”

Oliver hesitates, but shakes his head. He’s looking ahead rather than at Felix, and while he does have lovely thick hair, that isn’t quite the view Felix wants currently.

So he brings them to a stop, Oliver stumbling into him a bit and looking up questioningly. There it is. Christ, Oliver’s eyes seem to get bluer every time Felix catches a glimpse. Like, with each additional second he knows Oliver, he’s able to see more of him. Another droplet of paint on the colour palette, swirled in with patient brush strokes.

“If you’ve never tried it…” Felix puts the ciggie between his lips, just so he can flip his hand and pluck it out again. Holding it filter-first toward Oliver with an inviting smile. “How can you know you won’t like it?”

Now, Felix would never pressure anyone into doing something they don’t want to. That would be terrible manners. All he’s doing here is giving Oliver the chance to expand his horizons. Indulge in a little fun, like he’s clearly not had chance to- well, probably in his whole life.

Felix has been making up for that. He’s fully embraced showing Oliver the highlights of uni life, and it’s been an absolute blast so far. Letting Oliver have a go at smoking is just another part of that.

“I dunno, mate.” The corner of Oliver’s mouth ticks up as he looks from the ciggie to Felix. “They’re not great for your health, right?”

The little right? at the end softens what might’ve been an annoying admonishment, to something that makes Felix smirk. “All part of the appeal. If we only did what was healthy, we’d be a proper dull lot.” He raises his eyebrows and tips the cigarette closer to Oliver’s lips, his pinky finger grazing Oliver’s chin. “You’re not dull, are you, Ollie?”

He knows most of his friends think Oliver is boring. That he outlived any novelty within the first week; Felix’s unlikely saviour from a tutorial scolding, the scholarship boy with the funny accent. Farleigh has certainly made his opinion clear, his pissy attitude the real bore around here.

They just don’t get Oliver. None of them.

Nah, Felix is the only one who gets the real Ollie, the one Oliver trusts and opens up to. They’re already best mates, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. And the way Oliver looks at him - yeah, it can get a bit much at times, but it’s all part of Oliver’s charm, really. He’s completely genuine and clearly thinks the world of Felix, so obviously he can’t filter that intensity down. Felix would never ask him to. He accepts Oliver exactly as he is.

Oliver takes the cigarette, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he eyes it like it might bite him. Or give him lung cancer.

Felix would give him a drumroll if he could. He settles for an encouraging shake and cheering, “Go oooooon, Oll-aaaaay!”

And Oliver does.

Not that there was ever any doubt. But it��s still satisfying in a warm, buzzy way to watch Oliver take a drag, lips pursed and the shadows on his cheeks deepening a little. Takes it like a pro, his Ollie, and it’s only once Oliver’s eyes close that Felix realises they’ve been locked in a staredown.

Then Oliver breathes out, and Felix is hit by a faceful of smoke.

The moment his coughing fit is done, he grabs a hastily apologising Oliver by the shoulder, snatches the ciggie back, and gets revenge.

[runefactorynonsense]

Cozytober - Day 7 - Flannel Shirt

Can we make uncle one, too?

[starbear36768]

troutober day 1

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[midnightenigmados]

It was a crude drawing made of blood. 

It appeared to be a pentagram made of individual symbols and flourishes, except the symbols themselves were messy and disordered and the lines they created were sloppy. Placed in the center of the drawing, Tim could spot multiple splotches and smears where someone must have accidentally brushed upon the floor with the still drying blood.

His kidnappers may be skilled in their tricks to capture him, but artistry, they were not. 

Alas, he figures, it is not often that his guard is let down as it had been tonight, they must have jumped at the chance and rushed to complete whatever preparations previously made.

A chemical attack by the Riddler set an entire apartment ablaze and Tim had been tasked to rescue those inside. The suddenness of the blast had left many unaware and left him no choice but to sacrifice not only his spare gas masks but his own personal one as he came upon entire families stranded within the burning building.

Practical he may be, but he cannot simply leave a child to the whims of carbon dioxide as he takes their siblings to safety.

With the combination of the odd mix of chemicals and carbon dioxide, it was no wonder the cultists found him easy pickings when he finally found respite in the nearby alley.

At least he had the sense in him to place a tracker on one of the attackers before he was taken and stripped of his equipment. For now he’d have to bide his time until his family would be free of the Riddler to assist in his own escape.

That is, if he could get his mouth to move.

The heavy scent of iron mixed with the sage, juniper, and myrrh burning from the candles placed strategically around and outside the circle penetrated Tim’s nostrils even as he avoided breathing through them.

Purification herbs.

He wondered if their main purpose was to cleanse him before sacrifice or to simply hide the drugs laced within the candles.

An odd choice of incense if it was the latter.

The candles themselves were an odd assortment. The majority were the typical long candelabra ones, flipping between black and red in placement, but Tim could spot the odd thicker one one the outside with black wax that dripped over a red base as well as–

Was that a hand?

Tim supposed it was a nice mix up to the usual skull based adornments.

The little red duck candle at his feet was cute at least, if a bit out of place.

…Maybe he was hallucinating.

He blinked.

Next thing he knew there were twenty robed people standing around the circle, one for each candle. Every third robe sat yet another candle between them. This one in the shape of a black skull with triquetras engraved on the forehead and decorated throughout.

So much for the mix up.

When had they even gotten there? Tim was slipping. The air grew heavy as the chanting began. To give credit where credit was due, some of the people there actually seemed quite proficient in the not-latin, not-spanish language, but it was clear not all.

Despite his muddled state, Tim could hear the stutters clear as day as they attempted to speak in unison. Such is the fate of a natural polyglot. He knew not the language they spoke, nor was he able to make out the words as his world began to tilt, but he could hear the inconsistencies, the uncertainties, the anxieties.

Or maybe that was something else.

The lights stuttered and flickered to green, the trails of red on the ground grew luminescent and erupted into their own emerald flame, growing larger but the second and startling a few of the cultists backwards.

Tim was just starting to ponder if the drugs were getting to his head when he found himself afloat over a large Lazurus pit. One that swirled instead of bubbled.

He couldn’t find it in himself to react.

Tim really hoped this was the drugs.

A massive claw emerged below him, easily the size of his torso. Covered in black scales with an iridescent shine, it could easily eclipse his form if it held him.

An eternity passed, or possibly a few seconds, but a second claw soon followed. The waters rippled where they were disturbed and Tim watched as they traveled further and further away from their starting point to meet their sisters in the center of the pool. Tim waited with baited breath for the resulting disruption of the waves, but instead the very pool beneath him glowed a fierce neon.

It was then that Tim watched before his very eyes as a head that appeared to be a mix between a snake and a lion materialized beneath him, lifting itself further upwards until it sat directly in front of him. 

It was then that he belatedly realized that in the course of the portal appearing, that his restraints had disappeared and that he was floating freely some twenty feet in the air. His freedom mattered not, however, as he found himself fully unable to move in the gaze of the creature before him. Its five eyes seemed to hold the universe in them, with its greens and purples and blues. Its scales continued to cover its body here, although its face was much more of that of a lion, with its muzzle and teeth. A mane of brilliant white flowed down its serpentine body until it stopped just before the body disappeared beneath the portal. 

Tim held its gaze, captivated in the pure pressure its presence gave off. Time held still as it seemed to hold his very soul but eventually it passed its judgment with a tilt of its head.

A rather innocent gesture for something so terrifying to behold.

Eternity turned to moments and moments to seconds and suddenly the creature had surrounded him, blocking Tim from the cultist’s view. Its body, long and scaly, gave off a gentle glow. Six magnificent wings emerged from its back as four more pairs of limbs allowed it to rest upon the ground and the portal faded away.

Tim found himself floating closer to the ground as the walls of fire diminished to simple flames flickering at the summoner’s feet. The fog lifted from his mind as the forces holding him deposited him softly onto the newly exposed floor, but his body still refused to cooperate.

All he could be certain of in the moment was that the creature they had summoned here had decided to spare him for whatever reason.

Who dares summon me?

The voice did not come from any direction. Tim struggled to call it a voice at all. It resonated in his head, deep within his soul, with a power so intrinsic to its existence that Tim could feel the instinctual need to bow where he lay, had his body been capable of such.

The ruffle of fabric, however, deemed the cultists in full capacity to follow such soul bearing orders, even if Tim was unable to see them at the moment.

“Forgive us, Your Everlasting Majesty” The relatively normal voice, on the other hand, was a shock to his system in comparison,” we are the Sons and Daughters of the Darkness.”

Tim really wished he could roll his eyes at the moment.

“We have long since heard of the predicament you have been in and sought to free you of your shackles of slumber such that you may take reign in your rightful place in this world once again. As you can tell, we have done much research and devoted our very being to your cause.”

Shackles of slumber? Pray tell, mortal, could you be discussing of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep?

“Indeed, O Powerful One! Have we not freed you of your prison?”

And what have you to gain, from such endeavors?

“Nothing, Your Fearsomeness, but fulfillment of our most true desires. To pledge our infinite fealty to, Your Highness, Pariah Dark! The namesake of our clan!”

And you wished to do so with purifying herbs and symbols?

“Wha-”

No, do not speak. I fear your feeble brain may not be able to handle the speed of which you open your mouth.

There was a shifting of the body surrounding him as the being seemed to adjust.

You. Wherefore did you acquire this knowledge?

“I-in the ruins o-of a little town called Am-Amity, Your Unholiness.” The voice shook as she spoke, unable to find stability in the pressure surrounding her.

There was a pause as the creature seemed to take in this information, but Tim could feel the moment it had made its decision.

Burn thy knowledge and cease this foolishness at once. Pray that we never cross paths again for this Pariah Dark you speak of is no more.

There was a great flash and Tim found himself suddenly capable of movement. The air cleared up and the wall of scales disappeared, allowing him insight to the rest of the room.

It was empty.

The cultists were long gone with no trace of their existence in the first place. The ethereal green flames of the candles had died down to a simmering red and the circle itself had faded back to its dry blood appearance. Even the creature, massive that it was, was nowhere to be found.

In their place stood a boy.

A teenager young enough to be in high school with blinding white hair that flowed without gravity and eyes brighter than the portal that had nearly swallowed Tim whole mere moments prior. A crown of ice floated gently above his head as frost floated down and encompassed his head, refracting the flickers of candle light around them to create a sort of halo outside of his soft aura. A cape sewn from the stars itself danced at his feet as he stood at the side of the circle examining three floating candles in front of him.

It had almost appeared regal, if not for the words that escaped the boy's mouth.

“I brought you myrrh,” He mimicked under his breath, “Myrrh-der.”

“Judas, no.” Out of instinct, Tim replied, immediately regretting it as his eyes locked onto Tim’s.

For a moment, Tim felt as if he was under the gaze of a microscope, more acute and more pointed than Batman could ever hope to achieve. As if the heaven’s above were watching him and passing judgment.

For a moment, Tim felt the very same pressure as he had upon the gaze of the creature.

But, then the kid smiled and it all disappeared, as if it was never really there in the first place. Yet another trick of his mind.

Tim had a headache.

This boy…could he possibly be…?

He certainly appeared ethereal enough, but quoting vine references?

The kid was talking again, an unnatural echo bouncing through the air as he floated towards him.

“-od, I was worried you were unconscious. You okay now?” His face held a gentle smirk as he leaned over in a pseudo bow with his hand extended for Tim to take.

The change in the manner of speech nearly gave Tim whiplash, throwing him off further, and he narrowed his eyes at the hand before ignoring it in favor of the warehouse. 

He was perfectly fine on the floor, thank you very much.

“I’m good, thanks,” He replied absentmindedly, fighting off any reactions to the waves of pain the simple action of speaking gave him, “Where are the cultists?”

The kid paid no heed, but kept his arm extended as he tilted his head in thought, wisps of hair flickering around his head, “Arabia, I think. Don’t worry, I’m well aware of Batsy’s rule. No killing in Gotham.”

Tim snapped his eyes up to the boy, biting down his instinct to cower in the face of the glowing green eyes, “So, you’ll kill them in Arabia instead?”

He flinched back in disgust, the movement small but precise, “I don’t plan on killing them at all? All souls will come to me eventually, there’s no reason to rush an inevitability. I just didn’t want them here.”

That…didn’t really make Tim feel much better.

But, he didn’t seem to hold any malice at the moment, “Who are you?” He asked, because if the kid was going to be cooperative, the very least Tim could do was get some answers.

The smirk was back again, “You may call me Phantom,” He wiggled his fingers.

Tim took his hand.

It was then that the skylights burst in.

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[these-lovely-monsters]

Mating Season

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: m!werewolf x f!reader

Content: hunting, primal behavior, predator/prey, sex, p in v, knotting, claiming bite, possessiveness, mild dubcon

#13 Mating/Hunting Season from @ozzgin's Monstertober 2024 prompt list

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

It’s werewolf mating season in your village and it’s a full moon which means it’s time for the hunt.

It’s almost midnight and all the eligible women have been gathered in the town square to prepare for the event. You stand amongst the group, everyone dressed in thin gowns and barefooted. A cool breeze causes you to shiver or maybe it’s just the anticipation of the activities to come.

The soft murmurs of the crowd are punctuated by howls in the distance. The werewolves are prowling through the darkness, eagerly awaiting their prey. Under the bright moonlight, the women around you glance at each other with mixtures of nervousness and excitement.

When the first midnight bell rings out over the square, everyone jumps, and the crowd surges forward. At first it’s a tangled mess of jostling limbs as everyone heads for the gates at the town’s entrance. But once you’re all through, the mass of bodies disperse in different directions and you take off sprinting into the darkness.

You’re racing through the trees, leaping over logs and boulders as you try to ignore the pain in your feet and the sharp scrapes and nicks from nearby branches. Your heart is pounding in your chest and your breaths are coming heavy. Over the roar in your ears, you hear the snarls and howls of the werewolves stalking their prey, mixed with the shrieks and moans of those already caught.

Your legs are beginning to ache as you zig zag in no particular direction. So you slow down, wondering if you’ve gone too far. But then you hear a twig snap in the trees behind you. Your heart lurches into overdrive and you sprint forward again.

Moving as fast as you can, you recall the only instructions you were given. “Run.”

Your predator is close on your heels, his paws thudding softly on the ground as he nimbly trails you through the forest. Just as you turn to look over your shoulder, you catch sight of a giant, black werewolf leaping out from between the trees.

When he collides with your body, you let out a soft “Oof,” and you both go tumbling to the ground. He deftly rolls you so that he takes the brunt of the fall and when you come to a stop, he’s hovering over you, pinning your body to the cold hard ground.

Although his form is mostly humanoid, he’s covered from head to toe in thick, dark fur. His head is also the shape of a wolf’s and he has a long tail that swishes behind him. His massive claw-tipped hands are buried into the dirt on either side of your head and his heavy breaths wash across your skin.

Baring his teeth in your face, he starts to rock his hips against your naked pussy and you gasp. When he shifts his weight so his cock is dragging against your clit, you let out a soft moan and he snarls at the sound.

Faster than you can track, he swipes his claws at your gown, shredding the material and leaving faint red scratches where his nails nicked you. He stares down at you for a moment, his pupils dilating as he watches your exposed skin pebble in the cold air.

He bends his head to lick at your breasts, his tongue flicking out to tease your nipples, causing your back to arch off the ground. Then he lowers himself down so his hot body is draped over yours. Before you can appreciate the warmth, he shifts his hips so that the tip of his cock is nudging at your already slick entrance and you groan in anticipation.

Opening your legs wider in invitation, you grip his fur and tug. With a growl, he sheaths himself fully inside you until his hips are flush with your thighs. You cry out at the sudden fullness and he pauses to let you adjust. When your body begins to relax, he pulls out and then thrusts back in. He does it again and again until he’s setting a brutal pace, fucking you hard into the dirt.

You quickly become lost in the exquisite sensations as your back scrapes against the rock-strewn ground while his massive cock stretches and fills you to the brim. He’s snarling and wild-eyed above you as he ruts into you in a wild frenzy, unable to control himself at the feel of your hot cunt squeezing him so tightly.

When your orgasm climbs higher and higher, almost at its peak, his movements become jerky as he meets you at the top. Right before you tip over the edge, you feel his massive knot pushing against your entrance, trying to stretch your pussy impossibly wide.

Before you can protest, he lowers his mouth to your shoulder and growls one guttural word against your skin.

“Mine.”

And then his teeth are sinking into your flesh in a vicious claiming bite at the same time his knot pushes past your tight walls and you scream.

You’re launched into another stratosphere as your eyes roll back in your head and your entire body seizes up. Hot cum spurts inside you, filling you up endlessly until it starts to seep out around his knot and drip down your thighs. His hips are still jerking erratically as he rides out his orgasm, dragging your own out with it, until eventually he’s completely spent.

───

You must have passed out at some point because when you awake, he’s carrying you in his arms as he trudges through the forest.

“Where are we going?” You ask groggily.

���To my den,” comes a deep gravelly voice above you. “I’m going to fuck you until my cum is a part of your essence and everyone knows that you belong to me.”

Tip Jar :)

[novelbear]

"call me up at midnight" -late night call dialogue

prompt list by @novelbear ᵔᴥᵔ

"did i wake you?"

"i missed hearing your voice.."

"when can i see you again?"

"i just left like five minutes ago." "yeah, but i miss you already."

"sing to me."

"your voice is so relaxing."

"if i fall asleep, don't hang up." "i never do, love."

"i wish you were here."

"can we talk?"

"is everything okay?" "i just need a distraction.."

"how was your day? i want to hear everything."

"it's getting late, darling."

"are you falling asleep?" "...." "alright."

"you won't believe what i heard from [name]."

"what's wrong? you're never up this late."

"talk to me. what's going on."

"i'll see you in the morning, 'kay?"

"i know you didn't just hang up on me without saying 'i love you'."

"you're the only one i'll talk to this late at night, you know that?"

"only a few more weeks, i promise."

[miracleonice87]

Lavender Haze with my favorite lovie aka Sidney Crosby 🥹🥹

from m's midnights prompt list

warnings: online / social media bullying, swearing, implied 10 year age gap between Sid (age 36) and reader insert (age 26)

word count: ~4,100

1. Lavender Haze: “Staring at the ceiling with you / Oh, you don’t ever say too much / And you don’t really read into my melancholia / I been under scrutiny / You handle it beautifully / All this shit is new to me” 

---

“Alright, guys, thanks for your patience today – everybody did a great job with media today and all year, and now you finally get a break for a couple months,” Jen told the team with a smirk, earning a few stray whoops and hollers from around the locker room, the loudest from one Evgeni Malkin. It went without saying that locker room clean-out day was one of his favorite days of the year. Many of the guys thanked Jen in return as they packed up the remnants of their lockers and prepared to head to their respective homes for the summer. “Have a great offseason, call me if you need me, and I’ll see you guys in August,” she added as she did one last pass through the semi-circle of stalls, then stopped at the last one before the exit.

“Sid, can you stop by my office before you head out, please?” she asked, softly enough that only the veteran superstar could hear as he bent over his hockey bag. 

He stood up straight in front of his stall and nodded slowly. Jen gave him an oddly tight smile that felt forced before turning to walk out the dressing room doors. 

What was that all about…

Sidney’s brows knit together slightly as he wondered why she had addressed him so seriously. Considering his long tenure as captain and, therefore, the primary spokesperson for the players, it wasn’t at all uncommon for Jen to pull him aside for a brief one-on-one to discuss upcoming appearances or media needs that pertained only to him. It was uncommon, though, for her to do so in such a subdued and solemn manner, as though whatever she had to say to him was a sensitive matter. 

He rarely felt uneasy, but Jen’s request had certainly set him on edge. He silently packed up the final contents of his locker and made sure to bid farewell to each member of the team he hadn’t yet, his mind elsewhere all the while. Ten minutes later, he threw his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his bundle of sticks, and headed to Jen’s office. 

Sidney used a single knuckle to knock on her half-open door, where he could hear her speaking to someone else, in a hushed tone. 

Seriously, what the fuck is going on here…

“Come in,” she called out to him before returning to her previous volume. “Yeah, he just got here,” she said into her office phone. “Yep, I’ll tell him. Thanks.” She hung up the receiver and sighed heavily, folding her arms in front of her on the glass-topped desk. “Will you close the door?” she asked him.

“Jen, what the hell-”

“I know, Sid,” she said, shaking her head sadly, her eyes cast downward. “This isn’t how I wanted to go into the summer, but this needs to be addressed before you go home.” 

Sid passed by her desk in favor of leaning against her windowsill, unable to actually take a seat in the middle of the discomfort. 

“What’s going on?” he asked firmly, crossing his arms against his chest. 

Jen pursed her lips and took a beat before answering. Sid could see her switching from friend-mode to PR-mode before his very eyes, which rarely happened these days. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time it had. 

When the next two words out of her mouth were “it’s…” followed by your name, he felt every muscle in his body tense. His brows shot skyward and his eyes went wide, rendered utterly speechless as Jen quickly continued. “I don’t even know if this is something she’s aware of yet, but it’s something you need to be,” she told him. “The social team brought it to my attention earlier today. You know it’s par for the course for us to get a few dozen, sometimes even a couple hundred, stupid comments about you on a post, particularly at the end of a season. But this is… it’s just something we really haven’t had to deal with to this extent before.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, though he certainly didn’t actually want to know the answer to that question. 

“So we posted your final media availability from this morning as a standalone on Instagram,” she began. “It started out with just a couple of random comments, blaming her for the early exit. Just stupid shit like that. But… things have escalated. It’s become something of a… I don’t know, a trend? …to tag her handle in the comment section. And it’s gained some momentum, unfortunately. Seemingly primarily by Philly and Boston fans, which isn’t necessarily shocking.”

Sid tensed and flexed his fingers against the cool window frame. “How much ‘momentum’ are we talking about here?” he asked, voice cool. 

There was a long pause. One far too long for comfort. 

“About 14,000. Kind of… going viral, at least by our standards.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jen,” he spat.

“I know.”

“This is exactly why I never engaged in this social media bullshit.”

“I know.”

“But she didn’t, either. Her account is fucking private. Family and friends only.”

“I know.”

“I never wanted to ask her to shut it down.”

“I know.” 

Sid sighed, his head falling backwards as he closed his eyes, trying to calm his rapidly firing nerve endings. Eventually, he pushed away from the window and held out his hand. 

“Let me see.” He nodded toward Jen’s work iPhone, which was currently buzzing so frequently that it was about to fall off the edge of her desk. 

“Sid, I really don’t-”

“Let… me see.” 

Jen heaved a sigh, glancing upward, before picking up, unlocking, and, after scrolling in her camera roll to her most recent screenshots, handing over the phone.

We’re blaming Sid’s new gf. He had to spend too much time helping her with her algebra homework this year

⮑ How much do you think he pays her per season

⮑ For what, prostitution or her daycare?

She’s gotta be his cover

No wonder he’s lost a step, can’t keep up on the ice AND chase after his toddler

Watch out, Sid. She might run off with Nate. Much closer to her age

From Crybaby Crosby to Sugar Daddy Crosby

Gonna pull a Wayno and request a trade to LA because his girl wants to be famous

⮑ Or end up like Mario when she gets pregnant and traps him

That one made him chuckle darkly. “Yeah, because Mario was so miserable that he’s stayed married to Nathalie for 30-some years and had three more children,” he said bitterly.

⮑ For real, make sure you keep it wrapped, 87

⮑ She's also only as old as Mario's youngest kid. Like let that sink in

Wonder if G’s and Tanger’s girls have to take her to the playground

⮑ Anna and Catherine are so fucking fine, and then there’s her. Blegh

⮑ At least she’s well endowed

⮑ That’s just because she’s chubby

Was hoping she was just a one night stand but apparently not. Hope he doesn’t wife her

Dumb gold digging wh*re

⮑ We want prenup

Hope she dies in a car crash

What’s her @? I don’t wanna f*ck her, just wanna make her life a living hell

⮑ Found her - @yourusername - ig do yo thang!

⮑ Thanks for nothing @yourusername you stupid bitch

And on and on it went from there.

Phone still in hand, fingers gripped tightly around it, Sid met Jen’s concerned eyes. He swallowed hard.

“Is that it?” Please, god, let that be it…

With a single shake of her head, she instructed, “Scroll to the left.” 

He did as she said, and a meme from a widely-followed hockey rumor account appeared. 

SID’S MUCH YOUNGER GIRL GETS ANNIHILATED ON SOCIAL, BLAMED FOR PENS MISSING PLAYOFFS, the first slide read in bold red letters printed above a photo of her, which he knew had been pulled from the account of one of the other Pens’ partners, sporting her “87” beanie at the Winter Classic in January. The following slides in the post were screenshots highlighting some of the nastiest comments from the original post. 

“So that’s the main reason I’m calling this to your attention,” Jen said as he scrolled reluctantly, waves of nausea rolling in his gut. “It might have flown under the radar if it had stayed contained in our comments, but this account picked it up and ran with it. So it’s being more widely discussed.”

Sid inhaled and exhaled slowly, then muttered, “fuck,” as he returned Jen’s phone, letting his hands fall to the leather seatback in front of him. “So what can we do?” he asked.

“We can release a statement,” she said as she clicked the phone locked and placed it back on her desk. “If you want to. Management is fine with that and supports whatever decision you make.” 

Sid nodded, grateful for that sentiment, but still unsure that that was the best course of action. 

“Anybody say what they’d do in this situation?” he asked. 

Jen couldn’t help but smirk. 

“Yeah, one of them said they’d go full Will Smith. ‘Keep my wife’s name out your fuckin’ mouth,’” she told him. “He didn’t actually say that part, but… I’ll let you guess who.”

Sid breathed a slight chuckle. “Sounds like Sully.”

Jen nodded. “It was him on the phone when you walked in,” she informed him. “He didn’t want to say it in front of everyone, but he wanted me to tell you to call him if you need him. Unfortunately, he’s familiar with situations like yours because of Charlie and Kiley, so don’t hesitate to reach out to him - or to any of them - if you need some advice.”

He exhaled forcefully, glancing at his shoes. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He looked back up toward Jen, one of his most trusted companions and confidants. “What would you do? If you were me.”

Jen pursed her lips and leaned her palms against her desk. 

“I’d go talk to my partner first.”

___

It was a quick drive from PPG to your condo in the Strip District. Door to door was typically about seven minutes, ten with traffic. 

Today, though, it felt like it took hours. 

Sid hadn’t told you he was coming over. He planned to make use of the spare key you had given him months ago. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to catch you off-guard for once, make it so you wouldn’t have time to pull yourself together or freshen up or plaster a grin on your face, as he had a sneaking suspicion that you sometimes did in an attempt to put on a brave front for him.

He simply wanted to meet you, literally, right where you were. He didn’t know how aware you even were of the situation, if at all, so determining that was first on his priority list.

With a nod to the security guard at the front desk, who recognized him not only as a Penguin but from his frequent visits to the building, usually hand-in-hand with you, Sid made his way to the elevator, then to your floor.

Upon reaching your place, he called out to you through the door, before he even unlocked it and turned the handle, so as not to frighten you in what could be considered a fragile time, no matter how you might actually be feeling currently.

“It’s me,” he announced. “I’m coming in.”

This certainly didn’t come as a surprise to you. You didn’t make a move, but instead called out, “In the living room.” 

Sid pushed the door open, then closed and locked it behind him, kicked off his shoes, and left his ball cap in the entryway. He slowly made his way down the hall toward the living room. As he approached, he saw you lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with your head propped on a throw pillow from the nearby sofa. The sliding glass door leading to your private terrace was open, and the light breeze danced through the gauzy drapes that hung in the threshold.

“Hi, love,” he greeted quietly. 

You forced yourself to look up at him, although your expression was unreadable. 

“Hi,” you replied. “I’ve kind of been expecting you,” you told him as you fixed your eyes upward again. 

Sid nodded, grabbing a pillow for himself before crouching down next to you. Although he leaned over to kiss your forehead, a warm and welcome gesture in the midst of your inner turmoil, he didn’t say anything else right away. He didn't have to. He knew what you needed, and that was just for him to be there with you. To be in it with you. 

And you didn’t say anything, either. Sid didn’t really read into it – you didn’t need to say so out loud for him to understand that this wasn’t about him, or your relationship from the inside out.

It was just about the outsiders, the pathetic trolls who had spent the last several hours taking unnecessary and unprompted shots at you online. 

This scrutiny you were currently under wasn’t necessarily shocking. When you thought back on it, you supposed you had been bracing yourself for it ever since you had agreed to that very first date with Sid over a year ago now after being introduced by mutual friends. He had been the primary face of the league, the Canadian golden boy in every sense of the word, for two decades now, simultaneously adored and hated by literal millions of people, which would never be a figure you’d be able to fully wrap your brain around.

And you’d never shown Sidney the hundreds of message requests that piled up in your inbox from week to week, until you remembered to go in and delete them, and while you made it a point not to read them, it was damn near impossible for your eyes not to catch words such as “hooker,” “slut,” “clout chaser” and worse before tapping Delete All and doing your best to move on with your day with a positive attitude. You’d never told him about the obscene things that people would nearly fall out their car windows to scream at you as you made the short walk from the downtown bars near the arena, on the few nights that you opted to meet the girls or your family for a drink before the games rather than enter the arena through the comfort of the private garage attached to the venue. You’d never mentioned the dozens of times you’d watched partners of the guys on the team mutter and cluck their tongues in disgust while deleting hateful comments about you from their own posts in the past year, which was always followed up by tapping Report and Block in quick succession.

So no, it wasn’t shocking. What it was, though, was hurtful, no matter how far removed from reality the comments and messages actually were. 

Finally, Sidney moved beside you, rolling his head to the side to study you intently, still silent for a long while. He knew this couldn’t be the first time you’d been hurt, even if indirectly, because of his profession. But it was the first time he’d seen you dwell on it before his very eyes, and it shattered him.

“You doing okay?” he asked gently.

You, too, let your head fall to the side to meet his gaze. 

“Who, me? Oh, never better,” you teased, opting for humor. 

Sid let out a singular, sad chuckle, then reached his thumb to smooth across your cheekbone. 

“So much for the lavender haze, huh?” you sighed, curling into his touch as he opened his palm to caress your face. 

“Doesn’t change a goddamn thing about the way I feel about you,” he asserted. “About how crazy I am about you. How much I adore you.” 

You nodded, grasping his forearm and giving it an affectionate squeeze. You kissed the fleshy crease of his hand.

“I know that,” you said. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you either, it’s just…” You sighed, and he took this opportunity to open his arms and invite you closer. You rolled onto your side and rested your head on his chest, and he wound his arms around you as tightly as he possibly could. “All this shit is new to me, Sid,” you said in a small voice. 

He gave your waist a squeeze and used his fingertips to trace up and down your arm soothingly, then pressed a kiss to your hairline. 

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry you have to deal with it at all. It’s because of me. And I hate that more than anything.”

You reached to cup your hand against his neck. 

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you protested. “I don’t want you to be. It’s not your fault”

He sighed. “Maybe not, but, still…” 

He trailed off, and you let his words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “Well, for what it’s worth, you handle it beautifully.”

You looked up at him adoringly. He returned the gesture, smiling down at you softly as his thumb tapped your shoulder appreciatively.

You settled back against him, eyes fixed on the shelf of plants across the room, unable to look at him for this next part. You swallowed hard.

“I think I’m gonna shut down my acc-”

“I don’t want you to do that,” he said immediately, shaking his head. He had never spoken to you so sharply. “Not because of this. Not because of me. We can’t let people win. That's exactly what they want.”

Your voice wavered as you tried your best to argue. “It’s not just this one time, Sid,” you admitted, but didn’t elaborate any further. “I don’t want people talking about you like that-”

“I don’t give a damn what people say,” he said, his volume rising. “Let them fucking talk all the shit they want. It’ll never change the way I look at you, the way I feel about you. And that’s what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to poke holes in this where there are none. Let’s not give them any more power than they already think they have.”

You didn’t have a comeback for that one. Instead, silence fell over the room once again as you lay in his strong arms. About five minutes later, after replaying his little monologue again and again in his head, he kissed your temple. 

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, lips still pressed to your skin. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I just need you to know that you’re more important to me than any of this shit. You’re the most important thing in my life, and it’s not close.”

You lifted yourself from your prone position in favor of straddling Sid’s waist, not in a sexual way, but simply in one that kept him close. He reached for your hands to entangle your fingers in his, and you leaned down to kiss him.

“Once again, no need to apologize, but I do appreciate it,” you said, sitting back up. “You know you’re the only thing that truly matters to me, too. We’ll get through this – we’re way stronger than the shit they’re trying to throw at us.” Below you, Sid nodded, smoothing the back of your hands with his thumb. “But I, for one, am ready to take a break from talking about this for right now, and I’m starving. Can I order us some delivery?” you asked, climbing off of him. Sid, too, stood up. 

“Let me order,” he insisted, bringing you in with a hand at the small of your back. “What sounds good to you?”

You barely needed a moment to respond. “Pizza?” you suggested. 

“Pizza it is,” he agreed. “I’ll call Milano.”

You grinned at the mention of your favorite local joint and pushed yourself up to kiss him. 

“Sounds perfect,” you said. “Thank you. I’m gonna go put on some sweats. I’ll be right back,” you said, kissing him one more time before disappearing into your bedroom. 

Sid's gaze followed you as you entered your closet, grateful that you’d unwittingly fallen for his plan to be able to nonchalantly check his phone. He pulled it from his pocket as he walked out onto the terrace. On his screen were notifications of dozens of calls and texts, but a few names stood out from the rest. 

Sully - iMessage: Sid - Jen has kept me up to speed on the situation this afternoon. I'm sorry that you both are dealing with this nonsense. With the way this has escalated, I would encourage you to strongly consider allowing her team to make a statement. That being said, I understand and support whatever decision you make, and I know you’ll do what’s best for the both of you. Always in your corner. - MS

Geno - iMessage: Anna told me what happened. Bullshit!!!!! Make Jen write statement, NOW!!!!!

Jen - iMessage: I already have a few sentences drafted based on our conversation earlier. If you’d like to move forward, just say the word. For now, just take care of her.

Sidney turned and quietly slid the terrace door shut behind him, then tapped Jen’s contact number and pressed the phone to his ear. It rang only one-and-a-half times before…

“Thought I might hear from you.”

“Thought you might say that,” Sid retorted, eyes trailing across the cityscape below. 

“How is she?” Jen asked. 

Sid blew out a long breath. “Honestly, better than I expected. It was a little rough when I first got here, but you know her, nothing keeps her down for too long.”

Jen offered a sound of approval. “Yep, that’s my girl. So… what’s up?”

“I wanna put out a statement,” he said confidently. “Not from me, but from the team, if that’s possible.”

“It’s more than possible - it’s what I was going to suggest if you decided to go this route,” she replied. “Like I said, I already have something started, so I’ll continue to work on that.”

“Send me a draft beforehand, okay? I’d like to offer input,” Sidney requested, glancing over his shoulder to ensure you hadn’t yet emerged from your bedroom, lest you grow suspicious of his clandestine phone conversation.

“Of course,” said Jen. “I’d never release without your approval.” 

“That’s why you’re the best in the biz,” he told her jokingly, though genuinely. “Could you just email it to me rather than read it over the phone like normal? I haven’t, uh, exactly told her I’m doing this yet.” 

“Understood,” she responded immediately. “Give me 20 and I’ll shoot something your way.” 

“Thanks, Jen. Truly,” he said. “I’m really grateful to you and your team.” 

“Always in your corner, Sid,” she said, calling back to mind the same promise from his head coach via text just hours ago. “You’re easy to defend. Talk soon. Bye.” 

“Bye, Jen.”

- - -

The next morning…

A statement from the Pittsburgh Penguins:

The Pittsburgh Penguins are aware of and do not condone the despicable and disparaging comments made online recently regarding a member of our captain’s family. Involving and attempting to implicate our players’ families in discussions about the results of our season and the future of our organization is simply heinous and unacceptable. While our organization does not typically respond to immature and ill-informed social media comments, we are unable to stand by and allow these words to go unchecked. We will not allow so-called fans of this game to post unfair and patently untrue accusations against our players’ loved ones without publicly denouncing them ourselves. We applaud the dignity and grace with which our players’ families approach these difficult situations, and our organization fully supports and stands with them.

- - -

“I read it,” Sidney heard from the open French doors of his office half an hour after Jen told him the statement had gone live.

Apparently, it was his turn for a visit previously unannounced.

He spun in his chair to find you standing in front of him, arms crossed tightly against your chest, eyes rimmed with red but also with a small smile on your lips. "I was already on my way here anyway, but..."

“Come here,” he invited, pushing his chair back from his desk. You obliged, crossing the room toward him and taking a seat on his lap as he circled his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to the back of your arm, eyes closing in reverence as his lips lingered against your skin. 

You rested the side of your head against the top of his. “‘A member of your family,’ huh?” you asked softly, unable to keep the wide grin from your face. 

Sid pressed a few more quick kisses to your skin before shifting you slightly in his lap so that he could meet your eyes. He looked up at you reverently, pushing some of your hair away from your face. 

“That verbiage was my choice,” he informed you firmly. “Because that’s what you are to me. You are my family,” he said, conviction in every syllable. “Yes, you’re my girlfriend for now, but in time, you’ll be my fiancé, my wife, the mother of my children. You know that. ‘Girlfriend’ or even ‘partner’ just didn’t feel like enough. You’re… you’re my everything. I love you.” 

You nodded. With more tears forming in your eyes, you pressed your hand to his smooth cheek and leaned down to kiss him. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered against his lips as he cupped the back of your head in his hand. “Thank you.”

[cuz-reasons]

Gotta say, the series function on ao3 is great cuz I love organizing

[ozzgin]

I decided to make a separate list for all my monster works so that they're all in one place.

Folklore/Mythology/Urban Legends

Yandere!Werewolf x GN!Reader

Yandere!Werewolf x Fem!Reader Headcanons

Short: Werewolf mate who marks you before leaving

Yandere!Vampire x GN!Reader

Yandere!Shapeshifter x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Shapeshifter x Fem!Reader 2

Yandere!Aka Manto x GN!Reader

Yandere!Devil x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Merman x GN!Reader

Monster Short: The Wolf x Fem!Reader

Yandere!Orc Siblings x GN!Reader [Prompt + Doodle]

Short: Orc Stepbrother (GN Reader) + Orc Stepdad

Short: Orc!Secretary (GN Reader)

Short: Mothman x Crybaby!GN!Reader

Naga x Smartass!GN!Reader

Short: Fae x GN!Reader

Delinquent!Fairy x GN!Reader

Short: Delinquent Fairy and Children

Short: Delinquent!Fairy Pollen

Short: Biblically Accurate Angels (GN Reader)

Asks: [Shapeshifter] Daily life, [Werewolf] Character Info, [Shapeshifter] Dog similarities, [Shapeshifter] Reveal

Hybrids

Yandere!Hybrid x Phobic!GN!Reader

Yandere!Bear!Hybrid x GN!Reader

Lion!Hybrid & Tiger!Hybrid x GN!Reader

Cow!Hybrids x Bull!Hybrids x GN!Reader

Hucow Husband flavors

Yandere!Octopus!Hybrid x GN!Reader

Yandere!Fem!Cow Barista x GN!Reader

Carnotaurus (Dinosaur Pack) x GN!Reader

Hammerhead Shark!Hybrid x GN!Reader

Various!Hybrids x Reader on period

Short: Wolf!Hybrid x Fem!Reader

Short: Lizard!Hybrid

Short: Puppy!Hybrid and Adult Channels + cont.

Short: Puppy!Hybrid and mating

Short: Puppy!Hybrid's first Christmas

Short: Duck!Hybrid

Monster OCs

Yandere!Asylum Spider x GN!Reader

Yandere!Asylum Spider Character Info

Yandere!Demon x Gloomy!Fem!Reader [Zzy]

Yandere!Demon x Gloomy!Fem!Reader 2

Yandere!Demon King x Hero!GN!Reader

Yandere!Demon King x Hero!GN!Reader 2

Yandere!Demon King x Fem!Reader Christmas Special

Yandere!Demon King x Old!Reader

The Yandere OCs and their jealousy: Monster Edition

Midnight Kiss with the Monster OCs

Asks: [Asylum Spider] Cleanliness, [Asylum Spider] Baths together, Shark loan Shark (Intro), Shark loan blurb, Public coitus scenario, [Zzy] Reader flirting back

Generic Monsters

All misc monsters have been moved here

Monster Doodles

All of my monster-related art is now here

Monster Series

All recurring stories have been moved here

Chat with them: Monster Husband, Zzy, Daos

[animasola86]

🐺 A FILLING EXPERIENCE

knotting!dildo x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 9.8k

You were a little drunk and very horny when you browsed the website looking for a new sex toy. When your order arrives, however, you feel like you did something very wrong. Or did you? Maybe it'll grow on you? (Not sure that's a good thing, though.) Prepare for a wild ride.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Sex toys! Possessed sex toys. Masturbation. Knotting. Referenced werewolves. Referenced A/B/O dynamics. Possession. Vaginal sex. Breeding. Memory loss. (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: The prompt was "knotting, masturbation, sex toys". The pairing is what it is. For a reference picture of the star of the show (aka the dildo) check it on AO3! (Also, very surprisingly, but this is not an ad for Bad Dragon, I swear.)

You spend a whole minute staring at the item you just pulled out of the unassuming box. The sheer size of it both makes your head spin and mouth very, very dry (at the same time, you feel a growing wetness somewhere much lower). Wow. Just wow. What is that thing? You're absolutely sure you ordered it in a different size, the smallest to be exact, so this can't be right.

Licking your lips, you blink, focusing back on the packaging. There isn't anything on the box, but you find a little sheet of paper next to the satin bag it came with. The dimensions listed make you frown. Putting the hefty item back on your desk, you fumble for the ruler you keep in one of the drawers. Then you start measuring the damn thing.

It's almost nine inches long, if you dismiss the large base that holds it steady to any surface. The head is the smallest part, two inches wide and tapered, the shaft flares out then, you measure two and a half inches in width, sloping into a soft curve lined with ridges and little nubs, before the main attraction protrudes in a rather menacing way: the knot, two bulbous bumps, and they even added thick veins to the design. Your hand is shaking when you put the ruler next to it. Three point five six inches wide.

That's a lot. Way too much. This will never fit inside you. Ever.

And still you are intrigued. Of course you are, you ordered that dildo for a reason, even if it came in the wrong size. (You could return it, you know that, but it's been a thrill to order it in the first place, so sending it back seems like too much of a hassle.) But just seeing it now, sitting heavy on your desk, with your small hand resting beside it, with its intricate and strangely realistic textures, it looks too intimidating.

You've read these werewolf stories where some fair maiden stumbles through the forest and ends up getting relentlessly knotted by the monster (or the more modern versions of some alpha male knotting his omega mate to help them through their heat, which always fascinated you a little more because it seemed not as fantastical). The idea to have something big inside you, filling you, stretching you out, and then something even bigger holding you in place, making it impossible to move, gives you chills, in the good way.

You may have been a little drunk and very horny when you ordered this fantasy dildo, but seeing it now, in the “flesh”, makes you very anxious. This was a stupid purchase. It won't be the same anyway. It's just the disembodied dick of a creature that doesn't exist in the first place. You'll be stuffed, sure, but you'll miss the warmth and the strength of whoever this would be attached to.

You sigh. Well, nothing you can do about it. You neither have a boyfriend to test this out with nor do you possess any magical abilities to make that fantasy come true, and as of right now, you don't see yourself using the damn thing anyway. It's too large (your other dildos look downright puny in comparison), and you are too small.

Despite it all, it is mesmerizing you. You chose a deep midnight blue as the color, that blends from a lighter blue at the tip into an almost black at the base, which makes it look slightly slimmer than it is. Slowly you move your hand up and close it around the curved shaft, well, you try, your fingers are too short to reach all the way around. You still slide your palm along the ridges and bumps, feeling the firm smooth silicone. It gives way in some places, you can bend it just a little bit, but when your hand reaches the knot, those bulbs feel almost a little too rigid.

You squeeze them, watching your knuckles blanching, knowing you will never have the same grip with your pussy. Warmth rushes into your cheeks at the thought. Biting your lip, you keep stroking the strange toy, getting a feel for it, trying to imagine how it would fit inside you. With how hefty the base is, you would have to put it on the ground and lower yourself onto it, which sounds like a workout you're not so sure you'd like.

But maybe the base comes off and you can use it like a regular dildo, snuggled into bed, hidden under your blanket? You lift the thing up and try to twist the base, but nothing happens. Hmm. At least it's sturdy. You find a little hole at the bottom, and you remember you ordered it with a... what did they call it, cumtube? Sounds weird, but it's just a long tube you can fill with cum-like lube that shoots out at some point? You're not too clear on the workings of that. But the idea to be filled by something warm and sticky makes your stomach tense up in anticipation.

Shifting on your chair, you inhale sharply and pull your hand away from the dark blue item. Well, this is not going to happen, not now. Maybe never. The idea is nice, but you don't see it being too pleasurable in reality. So you pack it up into its unassuming black satin bag along with the bottle of lube and the long tube it came with, and store it in the lowest drawer of your desk. Out of sight, out of mind.

Or so you hope.

When you go to bed that night, you see the large dildo in your mind's eye, and you recall these smutty stories, you imagine the grunts of the werewolf as he fucks the poor woman beneath him, rutting into her like the feral creature he is. And how she screams when he bottoms out, pressing all those inches into her, forcing his knot to stretch her entrance, how her pussy lips grip around it and pull it further inside. You have your hand between your legs as you try to imagine what it must feel like to be this full, to be bred and filled, with nowhere to go, stuck on those bulging bulbs.

A moan escapes you as your body shudders. You could try it. You have the hardware. It's right there. You just have to get up and get it... But you're too cozy in bed, under your warm blanket, with your fingers rubbing hard circles around your clit. You end up coming to the idea of it, and that's enough for you. Content with your heart racing, you exhale loudly, wiping your wet fingers on your thigh before you snuggle into the bedding and close your eyes, falling into a dreamless sleep.

Maybe not as dreamless as you've hoped. You wake up the next morning with a dry throat and sticky thighs, your mind swimming with images of cocks plunging into squelching holes, of being held down and ravaged, and you shudder at the memory. Blinking your eyes into focus, you sit up – and freeze.

There, on top of your desk, sits the large dark blue dildo, shining in the sunlight filtering through your window. No way. You've put it into the drawer, into its bag, far away, and even though you thought about using it last night, you didn't. And even if, you wouldn't put it back on the desk like that, right? But it's there, almost mocking you. Slowly you stand up and walk towards your desk, reaching out a hand to touch the smooth surface.

It's sticky, almost warm to the touch. What the hell? But you haven't used it, you're sure, you'd certainly remember it, wouldn't you? Shaking your head, you dismiss it for the moment and start your morning routine as if nothing happened.

Before you leave for the day, you grab the dildo and the toy cleaner you keep in your bedside table and give it a good scrub. Then you hide it away again, shutting the drawer with a firm thud. You are tempted to put a lock on it, but that's just silly.

Later that evening, you sit in bed and scroll through the stories on your phone, mindlessly skimming through your preferred genres. Somehow you end up on another knotting story. What are the odds. This one is set in the omegaverse, depicting an alpha bodyguard taking care of the omega girl in his care... by knotting her senseless. Just your kind of story. You end up with your fingers in your cunt, rubbing and poking desperately as you read.

You're close, your thighs twitching with every brush against your sensitive clit, stomach tense, feet curling into the sheets as you pump your hips. Your breaths are frantic, heart thundering inside your chest. Soundless, strangled gasps escape you (you're always mindful of your noises, these walls are thin and you don't want to alarm or entertain your neighbors) and you squirm and writhe, your phone falling out of your hand when you have to clutch at the edge of the bed.

“Fuck,” you croak out quietly while you roll onto your side and press your thighs together, trapping your hand, fingers stilling inside your clenching pussy as your body convulses under the mind-numbing throes of your orgasm.

You lie there for a moment, taking deep gulps of air into your burning lungs, slowly calming down again. Through the dark room you look towards your desk. And you can see it, your new toy, hidden away, waiting, and before you know it, you stumble off the bed and rip the drawer open and the large dildo out of its bag. You don't even care about the lube at this point.

With your back pressed into the bed, you rub the tapered tip between your wet folds, gathering your slick. You need both hands to guide the big thing back and forth, it's quite heavy. With your heart racing and your stomach fluttering, you angle your hips, feet pressed into the bed, and then you push. The head parts your lips and sinks into your entrance, and it's already a stretch that makes you inhale sharply.

But you keep going, your arms shaking under the exertion of forcing the toy deeper. You feel its protruding ridges and nubs rubbing against your soft walls as you start moving it in and out slowly. There's still so much of it in your hands, but the curve of the thing already presses between your tight muscles. You turn it slightly, figuring out which way feels best, and in doing so drill it even further.

You stop before your pussy lips brush against the bulbous knot, and you hold it tightly when you let the thing just rest inside you for a moment, feeling its girth and length and weight, its textures and shape. Clenching around the toy, you try to relax on the bed, grinding your hips slowly against your hands. It feels amazing, those ridges and nubs seem to hit all the right spots. Little moans slip from your parted lips, mouth hanging open as you squeeze your eyes shut.

The base is heavy between your fingers, and you feel them cramping slightly as you continue to move the large dildo in and out, considering using it like it's intended to be used: standing upright on the ground as you impale yourself on it. But it's a daunting thought, and your legs are already shaking badly. You doubt you have enough strength left to do squats on it now.

So you keep pumping half of it into your tight cunt, both hands closed around the hefty base, hips meeting your thrusts, the wet squelching sounds echoing through your room, adding to the growing arousal inside you. Your wrists hurt under the strain, but you're desperate now, hectic whines escaping you as you double your efforts, pushing and pulling, ramming that damn thing into you as fast as you can.

Arching your back and lifting your hips off the bed, you lean into the impending release, so close, a few more nudges, come on – when a sudden cold breeze over your sweaty face alerts you to something you cannot stop. It's as if an unseen force pushes the dildo with you, stronger than your own hands, an assist you didn't ask for.

But you're too far gone, gasping with your mouth wide open, head pressed into your pillow, thighs twitching, the tension ready to explode, and then it does, and at the same time as your orgasm crashes over you, a strange jerk goes through your body, and your usually voiceless cry becomes a real one, an almost scream as you feel your clenching cunt being stretched. Your hands fall away from the toy in an attempt to let it pop out and relish in the empty feeling as your contractions shake your body, but there's no empty feeling, because you're not empty.

You're stuffed. Somehow the knot has made it into your tight channel and your pussy lips grip the shaft beneath it, and as much as you push and clench, it doesn't budge. Cold panic rips you from your post-orgasmic bliss. Your hands claw at the base sticking out of you as you gyrate your hips, feeling every ridge and nub and bump pressing hard into your fluttering walls, but the toy is lodged within you. How did that happen?

Breathing harder, both from the exertion and the anxiety of having a sex toy stuck in your cunt, you wail quietly, rolling onto your side, lifting your leg, pulling on the damn thing. No chance. It's in there now. Knot and all, and the more you squirm, the more you feel the tapered tip pressing into depths nothing has ever pressed into before. It's a strange pain, sharp and piercing, a jolt of electricity with every movement of your body.

You lie on your back now, legs still angled, thighs twitching, trying to calm yourself down. You need to relax your muscles to get it out, you know that, but it's hard, as hard as the toy inside you. And somehow you feel it... expanding? No, that must be your imagination. It's not one of those inflatable things, you made sure of that. But the stretch is there, and it hurts.

Your hands are back between your legs, gripping the hefty base, but in your attempt to rip it out somehow, you suddenly feel it loosening and with another surprised/pained gasp, you realize you're holding the base of the toy – but without the toy.

“No!” you wail louder, staring at the dark piece of silicone between your fingers. It came right off, not as sturdy as initially suspected after all. You throw it aside and finger at the now-base of the fake shaft. It's barely sticking out now, your cunt eager to swallow it whole it seems. Whining in panic, you try to hook a finger between your tightly stretched skin and the dildo, but there's no way you can grip it like this.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as your anxiety grows. Chill. Calm down, it'll pop out on its own, they always do, don't worry, you try to soothe yourself. Not the first time you accidentally pushed a toy in too deep, but those were smooth ones, half as long and half as thick, with no ridges or knots, of course they'd slip out again. But this thing? It's a fucking knot, designed, by nature, to keep itself lodged inside any unsuspecting hole.

You think back to those stories you read about the topic. Those were fictional though, and every author handled it slightly differently. In some of them, the knot would just deflate when the man (or werewolf) was done dumping his potent load into his victim or mate, in others it stayed bulbous and inflated for a long time, locking the two people together, which, in a way, is a romantic thing and something you'd like to experience once in your life as well, but there's nobody attached to the dildo in your cunt, no one to hold you, to calm you, to rub your back and ease you through the pain of stretching and being filled.

The thought makes you sad, and in your frustration you buck your hips, only to gasp when the motion causes the toy to rub against these very sensitive spots that make your toes curl. You move your pelvis again, ripping a quiet moan from your throat, and then you fall into a slow rhythm of undulating into the bed, one hand back on your mound, feeling the tight fit of the toy before you start rubbing your swollen clit gently.

Before you know it, you work yourself to yet another orgasm, and the dildo seems to work with you. You even nudge its base a little, pushing it deeper, right against that sweet spot in the far back, and you groan at the sensation of pleasure/pain as you thrash your head into the pillow. Rolling onto your side, you keep grinding against the heavy thing inside you, panting under the exertion, your body curled up tightly, just like the coil in your tense stomach.

You're teetering on the edge, head empty except for that delicious cotton that makes you forget everything. It feels so good. The stretch, the pressure, the snug fit, those ridges and nubs and those seemingly pulsing bulbs pressing right against your g-spot. Mewls and wails fall from your trembling lips, and in your haze, you end up on your stomach where you lift your hips up and start humping your mattress feverishly.

The additional stimulation to your clit makes you cry out loudly, and you can only muffle your noises by pressing your face into the pillow. Your hard nipples rub against the fabric of your shirt with every gyrating motion with how you scrape your chest over the bed, and it doesn't take long before you stumble right over the edge, your muscles clenching hard around the toy, squeezing with all they have, as a million bright lights explode around you.

You're too far gone to think at that point, but if you would have been able to, you'd wonder why the toy doesn't come shooting out of your convulsing channel like most other toys would. It's not just the knot holding it in place, there's a strange force keeping your hips up and the dildo inside you. But you notice none of it, not the stiff position of your body as you tremble and quake, hands clawing at the sheets, knuckles white, fingers hurting, you just keep riding the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

You do, however, feel a familiar warmth gathering deep inside you, and you assume it's your own release waiting to gush past the item if it weren't for the knot plugging you up like a cork. Though it feels a little different, not something your body produced due to high stimulation, but something being added...

You groan deeply when your body makes a forward jerk as you feel the toy moving within you. Which shouldn't be possible. It's almost as if it's pulsing, throbbing, twitching, and with those motions something hot pushes into you, filling you up, seeping into every nook and cranny left by the large toy invading your already tight space. You shudder deeply, wondering in your fucked-out state what's going on, before you feel a strange stretch, a pressure building up inside you, and then, like an airlock being lifted, a strange squelching sound appears and you feel something hot and sticky trickling down your leg.

Remaining in your bent-over position, you move a hand between your legs and feel for whatever is leaking out of you. It's thick, thicker than your own juices, and much stickier. You bring it to your eyes, and whatever liquid it is, it pulls into thin strands as you part your fingers. Feels like cum. You blink at the sight and feel of it, and in your stupor, you roll onto your side, feeling more of it gathering between your legs.

When you're on your back again, you lift your hips, your sticky hand rubbing over your bare stomach, trying to ignore how tense and full it feels, down to your mound, teasing at the stretched opening. You feel the silicone against your fingertips, and it's no longer an intruder you want to get out immediately, it's become a strangely comforting feeling, despite the out of nowhere appearing cum-like substance. Maybe you filled it up before you used it? You can't remember, honestly. Does it matter? Not really.

You enjoy the feeling of fullness, the stretch and pressure, how with every slight movement the toy's ridges dig into your soft walls. The curve of it fits perfectly inside you, and the bulbous knot makes it sit so snug, as if it was made specifically for your cunt. You almost laugh at your initial apprehension and how you thought that huge thing would never fit into your tiny body, but look at you now, stuffed and happy.

With one hand on your mound, now eager to keep the toy in, as you rub your swollen labia gently, you roll onto your side and snuggle into your bed, your other hand pulling the sheets over your sweat-slick, sticky body. You don't care about washing up, you just want to sleep, softly riding out the blissful tremors of what this amazing toy has made you feel.

Closing your eyes, you imagine lying next to your alpha mate, or even a fluffy werewolf, as he holds you tightly pressed to his warm body, cock stuck inside your clenching cunt, knotting you to your (and his) heart's content.

But despite feeling exhausted, you can't stop grinding your hips against your hand, breathing harder when the warmth and tension builds up all over again as the dildo presses into all the right places. Soft moans slip from your dry lips, a shudder crashing through you at the feel of the tight knot stretching your sensitive skin. That last orgasm before you actually fall asleep is a mild one, a soothing thing washing over you, a warm embrace from something that isn't there.

You wake up with a sigh, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to start the new day. There is a strange soreness between your legs, as well as a very sticky sensation on your skin, but you don't care much for it – before you sit up and yelp when a sudden pain crashes through you. You stand up so fast your head is spinning, and as you press a hand to your mound, you can feel that the dildo is still lodged snugly inside you.

Yet you don't even have time to panic as the room grows dark all of a sudden. Then it all happens very fast. Somehow you are being turned and bent over the foot of the bed, chest pressed into the mattress by a force you can't explain. Your hands grip for the sheets as you struggle against whatever is holding you down. Are you still dreaming? You can't be sure. It feels too real.

And the pain when something pulls at the dildo in your cunt, when the knot stretches your pussy lips as it forces its way past them, is very, very real and makes you wail into the bedding. After the first stretch, the rest of the toy slips out easily, and with it comes a flood of something warm and sticky, spraying against your inner thighs, dripping down your legs, pooling around your bare feet on the floor. You gasp at the sudden emptiness.

All that wasted seed, you think as if someone has planted the thought into your head. Better put in a new load. Before you can properly wonder about where those words came from, you feel something nudging against your stretched entrance. You stand on shaking legs, ass in the air, torso pushed down into the bed, and you struggle, or try to, but you can't move. It's as if you're frozen in time and place, held down by an invisible force.

It's too dark to see anything, not that you could anyway with how your face is buried in the sheets. All you can do is take it, and even that you're not sure you can. It feels like something is standing behind you, something cold that lets goosebumps ripple over your exposed skin, and at the same time there's something very hot sinking into your fluttering cunt. You know it's the silicone toy warmed by your own body, but it feels different somehow. It feels... real.

You grunt with every sharp stab it gives you, parting your folds, plunging deep, but not as deep, teasing you with those ridges and nubs that scrape over your gummy walls, and the swell of that knot nudges against your entrance, never breaching it. Not yet anyway. The pace is brutal, a feral rutting, pistoning in and out fast and hard, and you can barely contain your noises anymore. They're muffled but still loud in your ears. Maybe because they're the only thing you hear, aside from the wet squelching of your cunt.

Whatever is pushing that dildo into you, whatever took over for you, doesn't make a sound, but you can feel it, you know it's there, holding you down and restrained. Whatever it is.

As sure as you are about the invisible force fucking you on your own bed, you are about the impending orgasm creeping closer with every hard thrust. The constant in and out of the rigid toy makes your head spin, your stomach tense, your thighs tremble. You're moaning and mewling, desperate for release as the warmth gathers in your core, ready to burst free. You even manage to press your hips back and meet the motions of the toy pounding into you.

And then you come, wailing loudly, barely restrained, lights exploding behind your eyelids as your body shudders and convulses, and you feel something wet splattering on the wooden floor, adding to the mess pooling around your feet. You've never squirted before, but you just know that's what happened, if you could analyze the moment, which you can't because your head is deliciously empty as you let bliss take over your thinking apparatus.

You barely register how the toy keeps plunging into your wet cunt, those squelching noises obscene if you would care about them, and as you still float on that amazing high, you feel its thrusts getting slower, slightly deeper, more deliberate, those bulging bulbs nudging firmer against your pussy lips, and suddenly the pressure grows stronger, making you gasp and your legs shake badly, and you fight it, stiffen, muscles tensing up, making it all the worse, but whatever controls the large dildo doesn't care as it pushes it further into your protesting cunt.

You let out a deep groan when it finally breaches the tight squeeze, stretching your sensitive skin, slipping into you, and that motion, the getting swallowed by your own body, turns your wails of distress into cries of pure pleasure as you come again around the invading object, your walls fluttering around the knot. You almost lose your footing, but the force that's penetrating you is still holding you up, no matter how badly your body spasms against the bed.

The dildo is back inside of you, all of it, from the tapered tip that teases at your cervix to the swollen protrusions to the bit of shaft after that. Your cunt clenches around all of it, holding it in place, hugging it to its contracting walls, letting it rub against all those special spots. And you keep shaking, so sensitive by now the slightest motion causes you to gasp and shudder. You'd be content like this, having it inside you, just resting, as heavy and large as it is, but whatever decided to take over, doesn't see it that way.

While you couldn't possibly push the thing deeper the last time it was wedged into you, you now feel it moving, nudging further, the hard tip pressing into your depths, stretching you in a way you've never been stretched before. It hurts, but it also feels good. And it's good that you think so, as you don't have a choice in the matter anyway.

The toy is pushed and pulled in slow fluid motions, and you feel the knot pressing hard against your entrance, stretching but never leaving your cunt. That doesn't stop the force behind you, though. The shallow thrusts continue until they turn into a desperate rutting, quick short stabs that make you howl as they bully both your deepest spot and the tight muscles of your hole. It's painful in the best way possible, and you feel your legs trembling, your stomach tensing, that warmth filling you up before it all explodes, catapulting you over the edge all over again.

You scream as you come, luckily muffled by how your face is still pressed into the bedding, but the sensation isn't any less extreme. Your orgasm crashes over you like the biggest tidal wave you've ever experienced, not that you have seen any of those before, but it sure feels like it hits you straight in the chest and drags you along, throwing you around, unrelenting, merciless, as you're being pushed and pulled and gasping for air.

Your walls clench hard around the still pistoning intruder, the curve, the ridges, the nubs, that fucking knot, all playing vital roles in keeping you afloat (or drowning), prolonging the gloriously mind-blowing experience. You feel dizzy, your heart thundering in your chest, lungs burning, body arching and spasming, as you are being hurdled from one orgasm to the next, or so it feels, and it never ends, not even when the toy suddenly stills, pushed as deep as possible, and then it throbs.

Even though you're barely able to feel anything anymore, you can feel its vibrations, the thrum from deep within it, and it shouldn't do that, it's not a vibrating toy, you tell yourself, it's also not an inflating one, but it still seems to swell, or the knot is, and it's pulsing against your tense muscles, stretching them, working inside you, and then... it unloads.

The warmth it fills you with is scorching, so filling you feel it bulging your stomach, which shouldn't be possible, and you may even taste it on your tongue as you gulp for air. It's all around you, but mostly inside you, and there it stays because the knot keeps it from spilling out. You are plugged shut, and it keeps pumping, giving you more, and it feels both oddly comforting and terrifyingly too much. You feel like bursting, so full, way too full, but all you can do is groan quietly.

With your mind still reeling, you are suddenly moved, lifted up by invisible hands (or paws?), cradled against something strangely warm as you're being put onto your side on the bed, your stomach fluttering and bulging, tensing badly under the onslaught of whatever liquid is pumped into your depths. The knotting dildo remains deep inside you, stuck and locked in, and you become drowsy, exhausted from whatever just happened. The darkness is still all around you, but you feel warm and content and taken good care of.

A smile grazes your dry lips as you imagine lying in the embrace of a mate, a lover, holding you after the strenuous ordeal of being knotted and bred, as their cock keeps pumping cum into you, as you remain tied together. And it feels so real...

Your eyes flutter close, and you inhale deeply, shifting slightly with your precious cargo inside you. As you drift into unconsciousness, the room grows brighter again, letting in the warm sunlight of a day already reaching its halfway point. Of course, you notice none of that, gone as you are.

When you stir awake, the darkness is back, this one real, lying like a heavy blanket all around you, while you lie on your side, shivering because you seemed to have kicked off your own blanket. Once you come to fully, you feel a little strange. Your mind is fuzzy, laden with images that couldn't have happened. Did you dream all that? Surely. It would be too weird if not.

But then why do you feel full when at the same time you are blatantly empty? Rolling onto your back, you grind your hips, assessing if you were indeed knotted and bred, but there's nothing. Your stomach rumbles, and when you touch it, it's normal, not bulged and tense but soft, and that's probably where the emptiness comes from. You're hungry, but that hunger also feels like an air pocket inside you, too big to ignore, giving you the feeling of being full? It's a strange sensation, to say the least.

And then there's another kind of emptiness. The one sitting invisibly in your aching little cunt disguised as nothingness. The toy is gone. You recall vividly how deep it's been in you, how stuck and immobile and heavy it sat between your clenching walls, but now they are fluttering around nothing. Where did it go?

You sit up, rubbing your naked arms, realizing you are indeed completely naked. Strange, didn't you go to bed with your sleep shirt? And why is it dark? It's been morning before, what happened to the rest of the day? You lean over to the lamp on your bedside table and the dark room is suddenly bathed in a warm yellow light, causing your eyes to wander straight towards your desk.

And there it is, sitting on its hefty base, the dark blue knotting dildo, in all its glory, with its curve, those ridges and nubs, and the formidable two bulbs making up the knot of the thing. You blink at the sight, confusion washing over you like a cold shiver. Slowly you stand up, groaning as you do, feeling your limbs shaking. Why are you so weak? Rubbing your stomach, you take a few steps before you almost slip on the floor.

Something wet coats the soles of your feet, and when you look down there's a big puddle of something shiny all over the wooden boards. Some of it is clear, but there's also a white shimmer to it, and you feel your heart accelerating as you remember how that came to be (even if the memory is faint, but seeing the evidence makes it all the more real and that frighteningly so). The feeling of being filled to the brim and leaking with the rest of it, the sensation of coming so hard you squirted all over the floor, while a strange force pounded your new toy into your willing body. Has it really happened? Apparently. But how is that possible?

Your heart beats faster as you keep walking until you reach the large dildo, standing proud and tall and girthy. You reach out with a shaking hand, carefully sliding your fingers over the textured shaft, tracing the thick veins on it. It feels warm and sticky, and it makes your blood run cold. It feels real, and it shouldn't. You know that. You're not crazy.

But there are too many things you just can't explain. How did it get back on the desk, back on the base you seemingly broke off last time? How was it possible that the toy fucked you on its own, in that bent-over position, and why weren't you able to move as it happened?

You feel chills all over your naked body. In that moment your rational mind just gives up. Normally you don't believe in ghosts or anything supernatural, but how else could you explain any of this? Is the toy haunted? Possessed?

It's a silicone thing, man-made, fabricated to cater to certain people's needs, a fantasy product, but it feels real, it pumped seemingly real cum into you (or so you think, it could still have been loaded with that artificial stuff without your knowledge and by squeezing it too hard you made it come out?), it fucked you as if attached to the real deal (whatever the real deal was).

Staring at the item, you lick your lips, eyes scanning every inch of its ridged surface. As creepy as this whole situation is, you still can't deny how good it felt also. How full and happy you were, how many times you came as it rammed into you, how those little nubs felt against your tense walls. They clench just remembering it. And somehow, from the darkest corner of your mind, comes the need to put it back in, feel it again, let the knot lock you up...

A shaky sigh escapes you, and you force yourself to look away from its tantalizing appeal. No. You can't. It'll all happen again, a mind-blowing fuckfest, and you'll waste another day in bed or wherever this thing wants to fuck you, or you it, it's still unclear how that happened, and maybe it was just your extremely horny mind who made up the idea of it being controlled by somebody else, maybe it has been you all along, driven crazy by sheer lust as you rammed that knot into your own cunt.

Shaking your head to clear it, you step away and into the bathroom. You spend a long time in there, inspecting and washing and handling your sore body, and when you emerge again, wrapped in a towel with your wet hair falling over your shoulders, the toy is still sitting on your desk. You watch it, but don't approach it. Instead you leave the room and venture into the kitchen to satiate the human need of eating, and after you sat at the counter and shoveled a bowl of cereal into your achingly empty stomach, you return to your bedroom.

The sight of that thing haunts you. You feel antsy just looking at it. In the end, you pick it up and put it down on the wooden desk chair, something you feel like doing, as if something put that thought into your head, a not too unfamiliar sensation. Then you pull the chair back, drop your towel and move to sit down on it. Again, you're barely thinking about it, it's like a need, an urge, a thing that feels right.

So you squat down on the toy, feeling the tapered tip pressing between your folds, and as soon as it breaches your entrance, pushing against your sore muscles, you gasp, hands curled around the edge of the desk to ground yourself as you let gravity do the rest. Or most of it. You feel the curve sinking into your tight depths, carving a way into your gummy walls, but when the knot presses against your pussy lips, you pause, breathing harder.

It feels too big, but you know it can fit inside you, it's happened before. Inhaling deeply, you try to relax, gyrating your hips to ease it into you, but your hole's too tight, unwilling to part further. You're in that weird half-squat, hovering over the chair, arms propped on the desk in front of you, and instead of giving up, you start moving up and down, fucking yourself slowly on the curved shaft, feeling those ridges and nubs and the tip poking at those delicious spots.

You're panting from the exertion, thighs burning under the strain, but you keep going even when sweat drops down your brows. You feel as if your muscles are opening up, and before your legs give in, you slam your hips down. A shrill shriek escapes you as you feel the knot stretching you open, your sensitive skin and muscles giving way, allowing it inside before they close back around it, swallowing it and the whole thing inside of you. You moan when you feel it filling you out.

Sinking a few inches further, you feel your rear pressing against the base of the toy before you sit down fully, ass cheeks on the chair, the entirety of the dildo wedged between your tight walls. A trembling exhale escapes you as you try to relax on it, your arms shaking before you bring your hands to your lap, your chest rising and falling faster, your stomach fluttering. For a few minutes you just sit there, trying to calm your frantic breaths and your rapid heartbeat, adjusting to the filling sensation.

And then, as if you haven't just impaled yourself on a knotting dildo, you reach a hand out, turn the lamp on your desk on and pull the laptop closer that you keep at the edge of it. You've missed an entire day it seems, so you're hellbent on making up for it. As your fingers fly over the keyboard, you occasionally grind your hips into the chair, relishing in the sudden jolts of pleasure/pain as the toy nudges your insides.

You sit there and work until you've edged yourself so badly, you can barely think anymore. Leaning back in your chair with your hands flat on your desk, you inhale sharply, tilting your head back as you undulate against the toy wedged between your thighs. You're so sensitive, every single motion causes you to shiver deeply. Even the hefty base of the toy rubs delightfully against your mound, adding pressure where you didn't know you needed it. A moan escapes you, and you move your hands to your rear and pull your cheeks apart until you can grind against it better.

It feels so good. To be stuffed, to be teased like this, to feel all those little details on that firm silicone shaft. You want to congratulate whoever came up with this design. It's perfect.

In an attempt to feel more of it, you lift yourself up slightly, really wanting to ride that thing now, but of course the knot prevents you from doing so, plugging you up tightly. You can still nudge the curved dildo a little deeper, so you end up humping your chair with small shallow snaps of your hips, your thighs trembling after only a few minutes, your panting breaths loud in the quiet room.

With a little whine you stand up properly, but instead of forcing the toy out from between your clenching walls, you lift up the entire thing, base and all, as it's firmly stuck inside of you. Its weight is heavy between your legs, but you still manage to stumble towards the bed with it where you throw yourself onto your back, spread your legs, lift your hips and start pushing your hands against the base, working yourself up even more.

Once your wrists cramp up under the strain, you focus on stimulating your clit, and the first touch has you already writhing on the bed. Gasping quietly, you buck your hips against your own fingers as you keep rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves until your thighs spasm wildly. You feel the tension building, the warmth gathering inside you, and then you come with a soundless half-scream, mouth wide open, legs clamping shut around your hands as you ride out the waves of pleasure, the toy practically vibrating inside you with how your walls are fluttering around it.

Your limbs go limp then, hands falling away, legs falling open, as you try to catch your breath. Eyes closed, a stupid smile on your lips, you lie there like a stranded beetle, stomach convulsing, chest heaving. You don't notice how the darkness creeps back in, dimming out the warm light of the desk and bedside table lamp. You don't feel the cold wafting in the air around you, but you do feel the dildo moving, tiny movements, little nudges against your tight muscles until it pops out with an obscenely wet squelching sound, coaxing a deep sigh out of you.

You feel utterly relieved and satisfied and content, ready to fall asleep like that, with your legs wide open, presented on the bed like a strange little offering, and whatever lurks in the shadows around you, seems to take the bait.

It feels like your bed is moving, the mattress denting on either side of your hips, and then you're being lifted a little, and it's cold and warm at the same time as your legs are pushed up and against your chest, and as if you want this to happen, your hands move to grab your thighs, holding your legs like this. In this position you are wide open, a cool breeze on your swollen clit, your cunt clenching around nothing – but not for long.

The tapered tip pushes between your folds, eagerly sinking into your slightly stretched hole, scraping along your soft walls. The curved shaft follows, digging into you, its nubs and ridges rubbing against those sensitive spots that make you mewl softly. You are in a trance, held by lust even as exhaustion wants to pull you under. You don't question anything at this point, you just savor the sensations.

And you feel everything. The shaft moves then, in and out, shallow little stabs, carving its way deeper until you feel the bulbous knot pressing against your entrance. But it doesn't go in yet, it keeps slamming against your puffy lips, the wet squelching sounds a telltale sign of how aroused you still are. There's a strange weight to the thrusts, as if there would be more than just the toy being pushed into you, it feels as if it was attached to something much bigger, a presence you can't see (not even if you would open your eyes), but can sense in a way that feeds your longing.

The pounding continues, and that warmth builds up again, all around the thick shaft that moves between your tight walls with ease and power, in and out, fast and hard, and in an angle that makes you wail, bullying all the right spots until you can't hold it in you anymore. You come with a croaked cry as your body tenses up before it explodes into nothing but bliss, tiny lights dancing behind your eyelids, that soft warmth turning into a burning that devours all of you at once.

Through your orgasm the fake cock (or so you think) keeps pumping into you, those wet squelches are obscenely loud, and you moan and whine, hips bucking to meet the thrusts as your fingers dig into your own thighs, holding your legs squished against your breasts, your feet jumping above your head with every plunge.

And then it happens, your fluttering cunt gives way to the knot, but instead of plugging you up, it pops out, then plunges into you once more, and out again and in again, and you wail under the stretch and strange sensation of being stretched repeatedly. There's pain, but there's also blinding pleasure whenever it forces itself into you, and you keep coming from that motion alone, gasping and writhing, barely able to breathe or think or do anything but let it happen.

Now the whole length of the thing pushes into you, as deep as it'll go, bullying your cervix with its tapered tip, knot fully swallowed by your walls, then it's pulled back almost entirely before doing it all over again, driving you to the edge and over it and back and over in rapid succession. It's all a blur, but it feels so good, you could die on the spot just feeling it breaching your tight space over and over again.

Luckily, you don't die, you are just pushed from orgasm to orgasm, until every single nerve ending is buzzing and tingling, and you come to the point where you don't want to come any more. Not that the thing fucking you seems to mind that very much. It keeps going, in and out, your cunt giving off a lewd wet popping sound every time the knot is forced out and another wet slurping sound every time it's pushed in and swallowed by your walls. Along with your breathless whines and the squeaking of the bed, it's a cacophony of sounds driving you to the edge of sanity, and pleasure, and pain, and all of the above.

You feel yourself fading, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but just as you think you'll drift off now, the thing in your cunt plunges particularly deep, a final thrust full of power and strength, a heavy weight pressing you down as it prods painfully against your already battered cervix. You cry out, your body too confused, so it makes you convulse all over again as another orgasm crashes through you. The curved shaft stills inside you, ridges and nubs and its knot settling against your fluttering walls, and you feel as if it's throbbing and twitching, and the bulbs seem to grow, stretching you further, really plugging you up now.

A groan slips from your dry lips as it starts pumping something warm and filling into your cramped depths. Spurt after spurt, more and more, until you can feel your stomach bulging, tensing under the growing load, and your head is spinning as your body comes down from that strenuous but still utterly pleasurable experience. You feel a little drunk almost, dizzy and disorientated, wondering why you are still holding your legs up. But you stay like this, submitting to whatever leans over you, holding you down with their cock.

The last bit of your rational mind tells you you're just dreaming. Of course you are. And what a nice dream it is, hm? But then your eyes flutter open, and you blink at the darkness around you. It feels impenetrable, too dark. Even at night, you can usually make out the shape of your furniture, the outline of your windows, the streetlamps trying to push their light past your curtains. But you can see absolutely nothing. Did you even open your eyes?

You blink. Yeah, you did. There's something eerie in the way you're staring into the black void in front of you, it gives you chills, makes your body shudder, and as you jerk a little, you feel the weight and the pressure inside of you. The toy. It's still in there, buried deep, and it keeps throbbing, spewing liquid warmth into you. It feels so real. Your heart beats faster, your breaths quicken.

Then a strange hum fills the air, you freeze immediately, your eyes widening. It's a soothing sound as much as it is terrifying. It makes you stiffen, frozen in place, a deep chill running down your spine. And then there's this huff, like an exhale, and you can feel warm air wafting towards you, hitting your sweat-slick face. A tiny little croak escapes you as fear grips your limbs after all.

There is something, holding you down, impaling you on its cock, leaning over you, breathing right against your quivering lips. You can't see it, no matter how hard you try, but it's there. Huffing and puffing in a low, deep rumble, an unseen weight resting between your legs. Hot tears fall from under your lashes, running down your cheeks, but they never reach the pillow beneath your head.

It's a warm sensation, wet, almost a little slimy, and it feels like a tongue lapping at your skin, and the thought alone pushes you right to the edge of hysteria. Helpless whimpers escape you, but that disembodied, unseen tongue keeps licking up the tears continuously spilling from your eyes. Warm breaths dry your wet cheeks, those little huffs quieter now, calm and collected, and they slowly ease your own breathing as you stare ahead at nothing but blackness.

A little shriek is coaxed out of your throat when you feel the same tongue on your neck now, something soft nudging your calves until you let go of your legs and let them fall open against whatever has settled between them. They don't reach the soft bedding beneath but are held up now by something else, and you're too far gone to question it anymore. With your legs down, your torso is exposed to the shadows, your breasts trembling as your chest rises and falls quicker.

Those warm huffs of air hit your sensitive nipples before something warm circles them, and you can feel them being pulled and teased, making you shiver deeply, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to your clit and fluttering cunt. The thick shaft inside you throbs as well, still leaking the occasional spurt of warm fluid. The knot is pulsing, tight and harder than before, or so it feels, those bulging veins on it rubbing deliciously against your stretched flesh.

You feel yourself drifting again under all these ministrations, lulled into your own darkness.

In your dreams, or whatever reality you find yourself in, you see a large shadow leaning over you. And you are calm about it, not afraid, but content. The appearance of the figure above you is hazy, like black smoke, fraying at its edges, no clear contour to make out. But what you can see (or think to see) are strong arms, a broad torso, muscles wherever you look. A display of strength and power and dominance, and in its shadow, you feel safe, protected.

You assume it's a large man, but you can't see his face. It's still too dark. But you can feel his breath on your skin, his lips trailing around your breasts, upwards to your collarbones, before you feel that warm tongue against your neck again. You tilt your head, giving him better access, and he hums deeply, showering you with little kisses and broad strokes of his tongue. Your pulse is fluttering against his mouth, and he senses your arousal, smells it. He seems to sniff you, hovering over you, warm and heavy.

“You are mine now,” you hear a low thrum in the air, assuming it's his voice. “My mate.”

You don't know what that means, but you're ready. You want it. And as if he can feel your approval, he leans in, his lips closing around your pulse, sucking softly, his teeth nibbling carefully, before you feel a different sensation. A pinch, a prick, a sudden cold stab when something sharp sinks into your skin.

You moan quietly as a strange warmth rushes through you (and out of you), the smell of metal wafting towards your nostrils, but you keep still, and without knowing what's happening, you let him bite you, mark you, and he grunts against you, holding your neck between his teeth as a shudder crashes through his big body that travels all the way to his cock buried deep inside of you. You feel it throbbing, the knot pulsing, and as your walls clench in response, you feel more warmth seeping into you as he fills you up again.

His hips grind against yours, soft little nudges, and you feel so good. An unusually gentle orgasm washes over you then, like a calming caress through your body that soothes you, eases your sore muscles, the slight pain in your neck, any other ailments you might have had. None of it matters anymore. You've found your mate. You're not alone anymore. You feel like coming home. Safe...

“What's your name?” you breathe out into the black void ready to consume you, not sure why you feel the need to ask this.

A huff of warm air moves over your face before a low hum vibrates in your ear. “Fenrir,” he growls quietly, and it's all you need to know as you inhale deeply, a soft smile grazing your lips.

Then, the darkness closes around you as if someone puts their hand over your eyes, whisking you away to sleep, or back to reality...

The next time you wake up, you are cuddled into your sheets, and the sunlight filters through your curtains. A new day, and you've never felt this refreshed before. Sitting up, you stretch with a soft squeak, rolling your neck, inhaling deeply. Your eyes move through the room, and the sight of the large dildo on your desk doesn't even confuse you anymore. It feels right to see it there. You stand up and walk past it on your way to the bathroom, your fingers sliding gently along its curved shaft.

In the midst of your morning routine, you hear the chime of your doorbell. Slipping into your fuzzy bathrobe, you hurry to the door, but when you reach it, whoever was there, is already gone. Though they left something behind. You bend down to pick up the small package, seeing your address on it and the usual postal stamps. Delivery? But you didn't expect anything.

You close the door and bring the unassuming box to your desk, putting it down next to the big toy on its base. Humming to yourself, mindlessly scratching at a spot on your neck, you open the package – and frown when you see its contents. Slowly you raise it out of its black satin bag. It's the dildo you ordered. The right size also. It's so small, barely as long as your hand, maybe the size of a soda can but much thinner, less than half the size of the toy that sits next to the opened box.

It's got the same design, the same ridges and nubs and the protruding bulbs of the knot, but it's so... tiny. You really ordered this? Apparently so, as you check the accompanying receipt and instructions. You can only half-remember that horny night when you browsed the site, and intimidated as you were, you chose the smallest size: Mini. You had no idea it would be this small. There's a picture of the different available sizes, and you realize the thing you actually fit into your cunt is the Large one. And just how large it is...

You shiver just thinking of having it inside you. But you also can't wait to put it back in. Your mind is hazy with memories of using it, of what really happened since you got it (and somehow you don't even wonder why you received two packages), and it's all a blur of ecstasy that makes you salivate and drip into the panties you put on.

Yet when you notice that the article has a name, you pause, blinking in confusion, your hand still scratching at what feels like a scabby wound on your neck. The name of the dildo feels familiar, like a distant memory, and it is –

As soon as you say it out loud, the big dark blue toy starts humming, its vibrations (even though you're not connected to it) sending shock waves through your whole body, activating all the right nerves. Your heart beats faster, your breaths turn into soft moans, and your cunt clenches hungrily around nothing.

“Fenrir.”

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[mapis-putellas]

𝑫𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔

Pairing: Alexia putellas x reader

Words: 2264

Warnings: alcohol

Summary: You’re drunk, and therefore very curious as to whether or not Alexia would still love you if you were a worm.

[prompt list]

"Amor? I have ordered dinner. Is there-" Alexia cuts herself off mid sentence as she pauses in the threshold of the living room, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. You were standing just by the front door tucking your keys into the small purse you had hooked over your shoulder, dressed in a way that suggests it was evident you were heading out and not ready for the movie night Alexia had been planning.

"Where are you going?" She asks, lips slipping into a small frown.

You look up at the sound of her voice, your lips quirking up into a small smile as you walk over to her. "Out with Mapi, remember? I told you when you got home." You reach to take the hands she'd folded against her chest.

Alexia frowns, momentarily thinking back to when she'd gotten home a little over an hour ago before adamantly shaking her head. "No, you didn't." She insists.

"Baby, I did. I promise," you laugh softly, knowing just how scatterbrained she sometimes got after a long day of training and media duties. "Mapi and I have had this planned for a few weeks. Drinks and dinner. You were invited too but you said no." You attempt to jog her memory.

Alexia desperately wracks her mind in hopes to remember said conversation she can't remember taking place, but inevitably she comes up empty.

"You don't remember, do you?" You tease softy, letting go of one of her hands and playfully poking her nose, Alexia batting away your hand away with a quiet huff.

"No." She grumbles, her lips forming a pout that you were quick to kiss away. Her arms circle your shoulders, your own looping around her waist and squeezing softly in return.

"How long will you be?" She murmurs, the tips of her fingers trailing through the ends of your hair.

You purse your lips for a second in thought. "I'm not sure babe," you shrug. "A few hours? Maybe more?"

With Mapi in charge of drinks, it was highly likely you'll be out till at least midnight. When you say that girl could drink, you mean it with everything in you.

Alexia nods with a soft exhale. "Vale. I will save you dinner. Just in case." She murmurs, both looking and sounding a little disappointed over the fact you wouldn't be staying in with her.

Truth be told, you were too, though probably not as much.

Of course you absolutely adored Alexia, and given the chance you would spend every single night and day with her for the rest of your life. But Mapi was your best friend. Your best friend who you hadn't hung out with in months and had already rejected numerous invitations from before agreeing to this one a few weeks ago, so it would be extremely unfair to cancel on her now, and plus, you had been looking forward to it.

"You can come with us, you know." You say as you play idly with the waistband of her sweats, not wanting her to feel left out.

Alexia scrunches up her nose before shaking her head, the very answer you'd expected. She never liked to drink during the season, and when forced out with her team for celebrations, she would always stick to water. No matter how much Mapi tries and convinces her otherwise.

"No, amor. It is okay. I will stay here. Watch a game, maybe." She murmurs as she cups your cheeks, trailing her thumbs over the soft skin just briefly before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Are you sure?" You ask as she pulls away, tilting your head to the side.

Alexia smiles. "Sí. I am sure. I will see you later, vale? Be safe."

You lean up on your tiptoes and peck her lips before pulling away and making your way over to the front door. "I will. Promise. I love you." You smile.

"Te amo, bebé."

Alexia watches you go before collapsing onto the couch with a quiet sigh. She felt pathetic for missing you already, having every intention prior to spending the night with you curled up on this very couch.

It was just one night, she reminds herself. Get over it.

*

It was way past midnight when Alexia finally hears the front door open and close, the muffled voices of you and Mapi filling her ears as she pulls out her headphones and sets both them and her phone onto her nightstand.

"Amor?" Alexia calls as she slides out of bed, crossing her bare arms against her chest as she makes her way out of the room. She finds you both still in the entryway of your shared apartment, talking loudly between yourselves as you lean on one another to futilely attempt to kick off your shoes. Neither one of you were particularly successful.

"Amor?" She tries again.

Your head whips round at the sound of her voice, eyes lighting up as you stumble over to her and all but throw your arms around her shoulders. Alexia catches you with no more than a soft grunt as your chest collides none too gently with her own, her arms instinctively looping around your waist.

"Hi baby, I missed you!" You slur, lips upturned into a crooked grin as you stare up at her. Alexia can't help but smile back as she loosely tucks a damp strand of hair out of your face.

"I missed you too bebé. Did you have fun?" She questions, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from you. Her eyes seem to instinctively flicker over to Mapi as you ramble animatedly about your night, the Spaniard still struggling to kick off her shoes as she stumbles and lets out quiet curses beneath her breath.

"-so much fun!" You finish off your drunk ramble as your head flops dramatically against her chest, Alexia humming response as she leans forward and brushes her lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss.

"Oh!" You cry suddenly as you whip your head up from her chest, Alexia's eyes widening in surprise as she stares down at you. You let out a quiet hiccup as you pat her face softly, Alexia grimacing subtly at the clamminess of your fingers.

"Mapi is sleeping here." You tell her 'sternly'.

Alexia's eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Mapi has her own house, no?"

"Yes but-" you hiccup. "But we want a sleepover, and Ingrid isn't home."

Alexia goes to speak again, but was promptly cut off by Mapi who now successfully had her shoes off and was stumbling to her feet.

"Sleepover!" She suddenly yells, Alexia visibly startling at the sound is she glances between the two of you unsurely.

"Sleepover!" You mimic, yanking yourself out of Alexia's hold. The blonde tries not to pout at the loss as she instinctively crosses her arms against her chest.

"Sleepover?" She repeats unsurely.

"Mhhh," you nod, sounding determined. "I am sleeping in bed with Mapi." 

"Qué?" Alexia frowns. You were choosing to sleep in bed with Mapi as opposed to her?

"Me and-" another hiccup. "Me and Mapi are going to have a sleepover, together."

Alexia's eyebrows furrow. "Why?"

"Because she'll be lonely by herself." You say, sounding genuinely annoyed that she didn't already know the answer to your question. It makes Alexia pause unsurely before she dares to speak again.

"But then I will be lonely." She futilely attempts to convince.

"It is-" you hiccup. "okay." You attempt to reassure though Alexia didn't find much comfort in your words.

She knows it wasn't rational to argue with you when you were the drunk. You were stubborn. So much so it was sometimes concerning. But Alexia had been by herself all night. She'd missed you, more so than she was willing to admit out loud and she couldn't quite find it in her to admit defeat just yet. 

"Please?" She finds herself pleading, sounding so unlike herself it makes her feel sick.

You hesitate, looking visibly unsure on what your next move should be. It was like deep down you knew something was wrong, but you were way too intoxicated to really figure it out.

Eventually, it appears as though your drunkenness wins out anyway, Alexia letting out a quiet exhale as she watches you tighten your grasp around Mapi's hand. "It's just for one night." You slur, sounding more convinced than Alexia feels.

She nods anyway, no longer willing to try and convince you otherwise when it was clear you had already made up your mind. Both you and Mapi soon disappear down the hall and into the guest room, the door slamming behind you a little harder than Alexia deems necessary. Swallowing yet another wince, she heads towards the front door and makes quick work of locking up for the night.

A night alone it was.

*

Alexia has no idea what time it is when the bedroom door of your shared room slowly creaks open, the hallway light shining in and illuminating the left side of the large bed she'd been left to sleep in alone. She sits up on her elbow, lips quirking up into a hopeful smile when she see's you tentatively peek your head through the gap the partially open door had created.

"Ale?" You murmur, not quite sounding fully sober but definitely not as intoxicated as you once had been.

"I'm here." Alexia assures quietly.

You step properly into the room before quietly closing the door behind you. "Mapi snores," you grumble as you stumble over to her and climb into bed, Alexia immediately bombarded by your body collapsing down onto her own forcing her head back onto its pillow. She loosely secures her arms around your waist as you continue talking.

"And she kicks." You nestle your head into her chest, your exhale of content seeping through the material of her shirt and hitting her skin. "You're much more comfortable."

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "I am?" She murmurs into the top of your head, her hand slipping beneath your shirt and resting on the bare skin of your back.

"Mhhh," You murmur, heavy lids fluttering closed. "It's sleepy time now."

"Okay." Alexia accepts with ease. You were still in the shirt you'd gone out in, and it was clear you hadn't brushed your teeth either, but she figures convincing you to get properly ready for bed now would only be pointless considering it appears as though you were only moments away from falling asleep. With the knowledge she had no choice other than to deal with it, she presses one last kiss to the top of your head before allowing her own eyes to close.

"Alexia?" Your quiet voice fills the room just as Alexia was on the brink of sleep.

"Mhh?"

"I love you."

Alexia smiles as she absentmindedly begins trailing the palm of her hand over the length of your back. "I love you too, bebé." She murmurs.

A few moments pass.

“Alexia?"

The blonde just about manages to refrain from groaning. "Sí, mi amor?"

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" You ask with genuine curiosity.

Alexia's eyes whip open as she lifts her head off of her pillow. "Qué?"

You lift your head up off of her chest. It was too dark to see your face fully, but she could just about make out the outline of your features.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" You ask again, your voice becoming more insistent.

Alexia groans quietly as she drops her head back onto her pillow. "What does that even mean?" She grumbles, lifting one of her hands to rub at her eye.

"It means," you scoot up her body slightly as you clumsily cup her cheeks. Her lips pucker at the action, and she can't help but smile when you lean in and press a somewhat uncoordinated kiss to them. "If I was a worm, would you still love me?" You repeat yourself for the third time as you pull away.

"Amor, I-"

"Would you?"

"I don't-"

You sit up suddenly, legs straddling her hips as you cross your arms over your chest. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Alexia is baffled at the sudden anger in your voice. She forces herself to sit up too, arms winding around your waist effectively holding your chest flush against her own. "I never said that." She defends herself as she presses her lips against your cheek.

"But you didn't not say that either." You grumble, the pout audible in your words.

Alexia sighs heavily as she glances at the clock. Three thirty in the morning was not the time to be having this conversation.

"Amor, I would love you no matter what." She explains, hoping to end this conversation here so she could finally get some sleep.

Your arms uncross as you lean properly against her and rest your head on her shoulder. "Even if I was  worm?" You ask quietly.

Alexia nods as she cups the back of your head and grazes the pad of her thumb over your scalp, smiling at the deep sigh of content that falls from your lips. "Sí. Even if you were a worm." She placates, and you hum in satisfaction as you clutch tightly to the back of her grey tank top.

"I would love you if you were a worm too." You murmur sleepily, and Alexia huffs out a breath of amusement as she settles back against her pillow. 

"I am glad, amor."

"Alexia?"

Alexia groans. "Bebé, it's late. Go to sleep."

"But I'm hungry!" You complain loudly.

Alexia sighs. Of course you were.

**

Tags:

@girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @marysfics @helen-with-an-a @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @goldenempyrean

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

heard it’s good luck 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Summary: y/n planned to eat twelve grapes under the table. she was in for a surprise.

♡ ln x reader ⋆˙⟡

♡ fluff ⋆˙⟡

masterlist ☾☼

the music pulsed, a rhythmic thump-thump-thump against y/n’s ribs. the party was in full swing, the air thick with laughter and the scent of slightly burnt popcorn (someone had attempted microwave popcorn and failed spectacularly). y/n, however, was on a mission of a different kind. she’d heard whispers of a new year’s eve tradition, something about eating twelve grapes under the table at midnight for good luck in the coming year, and she was determined to try it.

carefully, she’d procured twelve perfect grapes from the snack table, dodging a rogue elbow and a spilled punch in the process. as the clock ticked closer to midnight, she made her way to a large, sturdy table tucked in a quieter corner of the room. she ducked underneath, finding herself in a surprisingly spacious alcove of tablecloth and chair legs. she sat cross-legged, grapes at the ready, a small smile playing on her lips. this was going to be interesting.

just as she was about to pop the first grape into her mouth, a shadow fell across her. she looked up, startled, and saw another person sliding under the table, a bowl of grapes in their hands. and not just *any* person. it was lando.

y/n’s brain short-circuited. lando norris was under the table with her, about to partake in the same slightly ridiculous, undeniably charming tradition. she stared at him, speechless, her carefully planned opening line (“is this thing on?”) dying in her throat.

lando blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he registered who was sharing his grape-eating space. a slow smile spread across his face. “twelve grapes, huh?” he asked, his voice warm and amused.

y/n finally found her voice, though it came out a little breathier than she intended. “yeah,” she said, nodding. “heard it’s good luck.”

lando chuckled. “me too. though i’m not sure how much luck i need now that i’ve already got one wish done,” he joked, wiggling his fingers, a playful glint in his eyes.

y/n laughed, the tension melting away. “you never know,” she said. “maybe it’ll bring you even more.”

“maybe,” he agreed, popping a grape into his mouth. “ready?”

y/n nodded, mirroring his action. as the countdown began, they ate their grapes in unison, a shared smile passing between them with each grape. it was a strange, surreal, and utterly delightful way to start the new year’s eve countdown. under a table, with lando norris, sharing grapes and laughter. y/n couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this year was going to be pretty lucky after all.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

dee, this is for you. i hope you enjoy this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @opastries81