#tw: nearly panicking

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Memorio Occultae In Nubio Occultas- 1: The First Cloud

All right, here we begin!

Please refer to this post for the requisite context-building for this fic.

Trigger warnings: Discussions of dementia, character breaking down, character nearly panicking, implied self-blame.

Chapter under the cut.

Tag list: @dreamer-in-sleep and @i-eat-worlds @themorguepoet @abstractmarshmallow

Please DM/ask/comment if you want to be added to/removed from my tag list.

“Adrian! Breakfast is ready, dearheart.” Alazne loves this everyday routine, little moments that have hardly changed over the years.

Familiar footsteps patter in the short corridor between their bedrooms and the kitchen. “Just a minute, mama.” He comes into view, curls already defying the combed order they were set in, slinging his stethoscope casually around his throat as he walks.

She sits as he does, his hand automatically reaching for the steaming cup of Boost. One of his little quirks, that he never grew out of the malt based drinks of childhood. “Mmm. Perfect as usual, mama.” She laughs. “Never going to grow up, are you?” He grins back. “You like me the way I am.” “Touché.”

He sobers up then, looking seriously at her. “We have another ophthalmologist appointment today evening. I’ll pick you up, we should be careful with your vision being what it is.” She rolls her eyes. “And there we go, Dr. Everheart is here. You worry too much.” “Mama, there is no harm in being careful. I’ve seen patients suffer quite a bit because they were careless.” He sighs. “I should meet Miss Elaine today, Dr. Sinclair said that her mother is deteriorating…” “and I am not your patient, Dr. Everheart. You’ll have to settle for being my son. You are not taking away my independence just because some patient of yours is struggling. I will not stand for it.”

He is silent for a moment, before he nods. “You’re right. Forgive me, mama. I tend to be rather overprotective because of what I see often at work.” “I know, kiddo. I’ll meet you at the hospital, after your work. We’ll go together for the appointment. Sounds good?” “Yeah.” He looks at his watch. “And that’s my cue, mama, see you later!” He rises and sprints out, waving at her. She smiles with a shake of her head. Her protective little boy.

“Dr. Everheart will see you now, ma’am.” Elaine rises, barely holding back a sigh. Delegated to yet another doctor, are we? I’ll have to start from the beginning, all over again.

She is pleasantly surprised when she walks inside the doctor’s office. A dusky young man rises with a smile as she enters. “Hello, miss Elaine. I imagine that you’d be quite frustrated by this frequent switching, but rest assured, I’ll be handling your mother’s case for the foreseeable future. I hope you don’t mind that I familiarised myself with your mother’s history.” She stares at him for a moment, having expected quite the colder welcome. “Familiarised how?” is all she manages to ask, at a loss how to respond.

Dr. Everheart is happy to answer. “I am Dr. Sinclair’s student. I went over his rendition of her history, although, if you wish to say it in your own words again, I will defer to that.” He shoots her a crinkle-eyed grin. “I supposed you would not want to go through the whole process again, though.” The spark of mischief in his eyes makes her grin, too. “You supposed right, Dr. Everheart.”

“Alright. I’m glad I did, then.” He pauses. “I’ll go through what I feel is the crux of your difficulties caring for Ms. Ariadne, okay? Please feel free to correct me if you wish.” She nods. “Okay. I think that, a major issue you might be facing is that she may be frustrated and, for the lack of a better word, acting out at what is a genuine attempt to take care of her. You might feel overwhelmed and may lose your temper as well.”

This time, when he looks at her, his voice is lower, softer. “Let me start out by saying something very simple. You are not a bad daughter for losing control sometimes. All we can do is try. We make mistakes, and that’s alright.”

Elaine is startled herself by the tears that rise at his gentle affirmation. He puts a hand on her shoulder for a long moment, then quietly steps aside, handing her tissues one after another. When she is sniffling out the last of her tears, managing to mumble out her thanks, he, gentle still, stops her halting attempts. “This is what I am here for. My job is to not only take care of your mother’s needs, but also to provide support to you. I will look for more concrete support options if you wish, but until we find one, my door is open for you.”

“…You’re quite different from the doctors I usually meet, Dr. Everheart.” He laughs. “Believe me, I have been told that a few times.” “With good reason.” “Thank you. Do you need a minute, or shall we go on?” “No, I am already taking up a lot of your time, do go on.” “That’s alright. That is, as I said, what I am here for. Moving on. When you interact with someone who has dementia, you both look at things differently, naturally. We all have our perspectives, obviously. The problem is that for those of us who do not have dementia, it is difficult to grasp their difficulties. They may not be able to verbalise it well.” “Yes, mom struggles with speaking, a lot.” “Which is understandable. That is why, as her doctor, I tried going closer to the source.” “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, doctor.” Closer to the source? Mom can barely speak, and he’s never met her.

“I read books that people with dementia have written about the disease. If you wish, I can send you those books. If it is too close for comfort, that’s fine as well. I have taken some notes from whatever I have read till now, I’ll share those with you instead, and you can ask me whatever doubts you have.”

She knows she is staring at him again. “You sure do your homework, doctor.” “I try,” he answers simply. “Do you want the books, though, or my notes?” She swallows. “Your notes, if that’s alright, doctor.” “Sure.” In a minute, he quickly AirDrops a handwritten note.

As she reads the short bullet points, there is a knock on the door.

“Yes?” asks Dr. Everheart. “You’re needed slightly urgently, sir. There seems to be a lost and confused patient who came alone for an appointment.” He rises immediately, the door half-opened before he realises she is still in the office. “Oh.” He breathes. “I’ll come along for a bit of the way, doctor, if you don’t mind? I have a few questions.” He nods. “That’s fine,” he says, “if you don’t mind my distraction.” “Not at all.” He nods once more. “Alright.”

He sets off at a fast walk, turning to the staff member who had come. “Details about the patient?” he asks. The lady takes a moment to think.

Elaine takes the moment to speak. “Would you meet mom once? I want to discuss some interventions with her present.” He’s nodding before she finishes her sentence. “I wanted to meet”-

The other lady interrupts him. “Probably early sixties, slightly confused, but otherwise oriented. She has an unusual name. Something like Alayne.” “Alayne? Did she tell you why she’s alone? We specify that all patients should have someone with them.” “Oh, she said her son would meet her here, but she’s forgotten his cell number.” The doctor frowns. “He is probably her emergency contact, you could try her phone.” “She’s left it at home. Oh! Her name is not Alayne. It’s Alazne.”

His eyes blowing wide, barely whispering a hoarse “no…” Dr. Adrian Everheart takes off at a run. Elaine, confused, turns to the lady next to her. “Is the woman his patient?” The other woman shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”

Concerned for the young man who has shown her genuine concern for the first time in what felt like years, she follows quietly.

He’s not hard to follow, although she, too, has to run. People automatically make a way for him, the young man who seems like he is barely able to breathe.

As he skids his way to the emergency front desk, she can clearly hear a woman’s voice. “No, he wouldn’t do that on purpose. Addy is probably just busy, he’ll come. I’m fine, just a little out of place. Please don’t call him, my son is quite the worrier on a good day. I can wait.” So she has a concerned son. Why would he let her come alone though?

Dr. Everheart abruptly stops at the desk, nearly falling. “Oh, sir, it’s not that urgent of an emergency.” He shakes his head, his breaths hardly more than gasps. “Where’s mama?” he asks breathlessly.

Oh. Oh, Lord. Elaine ducks back quietly, but she can clearly hear the receptionist ask “Dr. Everheart? Mama?”

“Addy! Here you are! Oh, you’ve got him all worried, see?” the lady exclaims, chiding the staff. “I told you, Addy wouldn’t just leave me alone.” Her son runs to her, hugging her tight, and Elaine cannot look away.

“Oh, Addy. It’s alright, dearheart, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’m just a bit forgetful these days. There, kiddo, it’s alright.” He says nothing for a moment, but she can see his face. In that moment, all she can think is that if utter devastation had an accurate representation, it would be the look on the young doctor’s face.

“Here I am,” he echoes, voice husky. “Of course you are. How was your day?” Still holding his mother in an embrace, his chin on her head, her son’s throat clicks in a harsh swallow, lashes rapidly blinking away the sheen in his eyes.

“Good,” he says softly. “My day was good. Shall we go to your appointment? I think we need to talk to Dr. Sinclair.” “I defer to your experience here, dearheart. You know what to do.” “I am sorry, mama, I should have taken better care of you, been in control of this situation, I’m sorry I didn’t do that.” His voice echoes in her mind, gentle and soft, as opposed to husky and contrite. You are not a bad daughter, for losing control sometimes.

And Elaine can look no more.

[thethingything]

also shoutout to the hospital for sending us a bunch of PDFs with information about preparing for surgery and what to expect, except the information was all generic stuff where most of it does't actually apply to wisdom tooth removal, so I had a huge panic attack where I nearly threw up because a bunch of the stuff mentioned in there is extremely triggering for us, only to then find out that stuff literally doesn't apply anyway, but now I feel like I have even less of an idea of what to actually expect because it's so hard to figure out which information does apply

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: yandere, kidnapped hostage reader, prior punishment

♡ GN reader

Thinking about really nonchalant darlings…

Your name is yelled from the bedroom upstairs, shrill and panicked, and yet you stay put—groggy-eyed while pouring yourself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, thinking it’s way too early to be screaming.

The loud steps come second—thundering down the stairs in an angry rush.

Meanwhile, you lean against the kitchen counter and take a slow sip of your mug, awaiting the storm.

He rounds the corner like a livid search dog, nearly slipping at the harsh turn—out of breath, face warped, crazy eyes needing to do a double take before landing on you—stopping dead in his tracks like it was the last place he expected to find you. 

“Mornin'. You look tense…” you drawl, staring back at him over the top of your cup while taking another sip. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed again?”

Bedhead, in his boxers, he looks at you like you’re the crazy one.

“What? D’you think I ran away again?” You sneer, chuckling dryly as he calms his strained breaths. “Jeez, have some faith. I’m not exactly itchin’ to relive what you did last time.”

He sighs, and his whole muscle-swole upper body sinks with relief, nearly glittering in the ceiling light, glossed in a thin sheen of cold sweat. It’s a real shame he’s a crazy kidnapper, or you’d be all over that willingly.

“You’re not supposed to leave the bed,” he mutters, dragging his hands through his hair in an effort to ground himself again—having been a hairpin trigger away from blowing a fuse.

“You’ gonna punish me for makin’ you coffee?” You scoff, handing him a matching coffee cup.

He doesn’t take it, even though you’d poured it for him and everything. Still looking frazzled, joined by puzzlement at your strange behavior, eyeing the offering with furrowed brows that quickly become suspicious of its contents.

“Oh, come on.” You take a sip from it yourself, proving you hadn’t done anything funny to it while rolling your eyes at him. “I’m just tryin’ to play along.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren, Levi, Zeke ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 07

Ticci Toby x Female Reader - Clothed Sex/Forced Proximity

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Clothed sex, dry humping, biting, blood, panic attacks, rutting, grinding, forced proximity, claustrophobia

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.4k

A/N: This is by no means an accurate depiction of what a panic attack is actually like. Please do not take what I describe/write out as realistic.

“Is now a buh- bad time to tell you I’m clau- claustrophobic…?”

Toby was jittering, nails scratching the side of his neck so hard the skin was rubbed raw and nearly bleeding. You were holding his arms- trying to, as he shook something awful cramped against you.

“Hey, hey, shhh. You’re okay, man.”

You had seen one too many times what it looked like when Toby wound himself into a panic attack, the brunette spiraling so bad EJ had to administer some sedatives just to get him to sit down. He was nearly there now, eyes so bloodshot you wondered if he had popped a vein. 

Jeff, as bright as he is, thought it would be funny to lock you both in the mansion’s basement storage closet after you refused to do his chores. The killer knew you liked Toby, knew you had trusted him with that, but found it so hilarious to punish you both. You had beat on the door, and called his name, yet he was long gone upstairs. 

At first, you were angry, seething at him for forcing you into this position. But when the brunette’s awkward laughs turned into panicked tremors, that anger slowly dissipated.

“Toby- You have got to breathe.”

“Can’t- M’c-can’t-” Toby couldn’t feel as his fingernails broke the skin on his neck, droplets of blood trickling onto his jacket. You panicked, shuffling against the piles of junk as your back pressed against the grimy brick wall. The only source of light was a single dusty lightbulb overhead, the electricity nearly shot as it flickered and whirred above you. But through his mask and goggles ruffled into his hair, you could see Toby’s expressions clearly as he teetered on the verge of passing out.

You reached for the old door handle, rattling the knob and cursing when it refused to budge. Toby whined above you, his chest heaving against yours and cramping your further into the dark corner, neck jerking and grunting. You called out, hollering for Jeff or anybody that would listen, but were met with nothing but the brunette’s panic.

“Toby- Listen, man. You’re gonna have to calm down-” Cramming your hands up, you gripped his wrists, forcefully tugging his nails off of his wilted neck. The boy panted, his mask nearly choking him now from the lack of clear air he was getting. It was musty and damp in the small room, so his quick breaths didn’t help.

Shoving his hands away from yours, he began to grip at his mask, trying so desperately to remove the clunky thing. His hair was matted to his face, sweat dripping and cheeks flushed darker than you could really see. “Off- Get it off-” He cried.

You understood, trying to contort your body against his to push your hands behind his head and unclip the mask, shoving his goggles off as well. It was difficult with him twitching and heaving like a madman, forcefully shoving his body back against the bricks so you could get a hold on him.

Finally, you unclipped the straps, the metal clanging to the ground as he shoved it off of his face. His panting was even louder now, unobstructed breathing fogging against you as he began to scratch at his neck again. You cursed, even without his mask he still couldn’t relax.

His hands moved up towards his mouth, a sharp inhale before he scratched at the bandaged limbs and began to gnaw on his palms. You watched fearfully as the cloth covering old wounds tore and blood began to trickle down, the brunette completely unaware of just how much damage he was causing. He couldn’t feel any of it.

“Hey! Toby-” You both were grappling, straining against each other as you tried to pry Toby’s blood-worn hands away from his mouth, droplets of blood dripping down his chin. He resisted, his shaky hands fidgeting against yours when you finally shoved his face away, clasping your hands tight around his.

“[Y/N]... Please…” His voice was raspy, throat sore from heaving so hard. You tried to doorknob again, the rattling making Toby jump when you tried to force it open, but still no luck. You groan, throwing your hands around his shoulders and hauling him down to your height, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You had heard that panic attacks can be subsided if there’s a lack of stimulation- like forcing the brunette into the darkness of your forced hug.

What you didn’t expect was the lips that wrapped around the flesh of your neck and forcefully bit down. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but his teeth digging into the muscles running up your throat felt less than comfortable. Your heartbeat thundering in surprise, a hand raising to push him off, but his arms were already circling around your middle and hauling you impossibly closer. Eyes fluttering closed, your hand fists his shirt, the other tangling into his messy hair. His breathing was still heavy, but the sporadic groans and whines had subsided.

You hissed, the blood from his lips smearing onto the crook of your neck and dribbling down your shirt. His hands fisted the back of your shirt, tugging the fabric and pressing you firmly against him. Lips searing against your skin, his eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste, so sweet and warm and comforting. 

You knew it wasn’t anything- just the shock from his panic attack shoving him into any comforting or relieving thing that he could get his hands on, it meant nothing. Until his breathing was steadying his shaking was evening out and his teeth let off to press warm kisses across the indented bite mark. You gasped, tightening your grasp on his hair as he moved down towards your shoulder, shoving the sleeve down to press another firm bite into the muscle. 

“Toby, stop-” But he wouldn’t- couldn’t now. It felt so good just being able to surround himself with your scent and warmth, blocking out just how manic he thought about the situation. He was terrified, but you wasted no time helping him, showing him you cared. He just couldn’t help himself. 

Mouth opening to bite down again, he drinks in your gasps as he slides his tongue across the mark. Your hands drag across his shoulders, bringing you closer to him in this godforsaken closet. It was dizzying- almost as if it hurt to detach himself, drawn by that unfamiliar sense of want he usually didn’t experience.

“[Y/N]...”

Lost in the heat of the moment, Toby’s hands wander the expanse of your body. Groping and squeezing every curve and dip, head practically spinning. Dragging you closer, you whine out when you feel his unknowing bulge press against your hip. Both of your cheeks are dark, sharp breathing and panting filling the quietness of the small room, the smallness becoming less and less prior.

At this point, Toby doesn’t know whether the pulse he feels is that of his heartbeat or his cock, throbbing and achingly needily. Pulling back, the boy admires your unfocused eyes and bruised neck, small hickeys and bite marks littering your flushed skin. Now, it’s no longer a need to relax himself- but a need to feel you. He had never really felt that way before with anyone, let alone you. But right now, eyes heavy and skin so deliciously coated with his taste- he doesn’t think he could resist.

Plunging himself back against your shoulder, he takes a hearty bite, snarling his teeth in. His fingers dig into your back, your whines so haphazard as you’re thrown around by his grasp, unable to actually resist even if you wanted to. Good thing you didn’t.

Because Toby was pushing his hands past your hips to hook under your thighs, lodging himself between your legs and holding you flush against that hard brick wall. The brunette can’t get enough of the way you sigh, and whine- the way you hum your approval like you can’t get enough. This is an indulgence that Toby never knew he really needed.

All fear of the cramped closed stiffened his panic flushes away, only the tantalizing feeling of his throbbing cock grinding desperately against your clothed cunt, riding himself against you. It pulls a deep groan from his throat, his teeth lodging on the opposite, less wilted, side of your neck and huffing his arousal against your skin. He bucks up into the warmth of your clit, your arousal snagging as he grinds against you.

“Fuck, Toby… Feels good… Mnn…” You tighten your legs around his hips, panting heavily as the heat of your bodies swirl, sweat building between you. Toby sucks your ear lobe and tickles a trail of soft, feather-light kisses down your neck. It makes your head fuzzy and body heavy, chills running all the way up your spine. Maybe you’re using this as an excuse to get closer to Toby, but when he pulls back as his lips are so swollen and cheeks are so red, you really can’t help yourself. Call it taking advantage of the situation, but you couldn’t really judge yourself when the boy was slowly grinding his cock against your clothed cunt.

You let your hands wrap tight around the back of his neck, holding him tight as he takes deep breaths against the underside of your jaw, moving his hips nice and slow. He ruffles your clothes, shoving your shirt up and pulling at your pants, the clothes becoming too much, but there’s really nothing he can do in a tight fit like this. 

So Toby huffs, lets off your neck, and forces his lips against yours- swallowing you in a heavy kiss. When you kiss, it’s deep, and it’s slow, but it’s hungry too. Your tongues chase each other alongside your hips; impossibly close and still too far apart. His whines are wonton and desperate as he bucks up against your heat, your cunt throbbing with every shove of his hips against yours. And he’s not the only one; your voice spills from deep in your throat with every roll of his hips, cunt swollen and practically dripping with arousal into your panties.

It’s so warm. You’re so warm- heat practically radiating from you. Pre leaks from Toby’s aching cock, chills running across his skin. His fingers press hard into the skin of your waist, thumbs digging into hip bones to keep that feeling close- like if he tries hard enough he can fuck you through the clothes.

“Hahh,” Toby pulls back to gasp, eyes closed, face pinched in pleasure. You can only stare, only pant tiredly as you watch him, tilt his head back, mouth dropped open on a moan, cock rutting up frantically. Your fingernails claw at the boy’s shoulders, and to him, it feels good, like a deep pressure without the pain. It feels like being wanted- being needed. It feels warm and good- and like he’s about to cum.

He squeezes your waist a little too hard, pushing you blunt against the nasty wall, desperate to be closer, hips bucking up and adding to the mess between you. Sweat drips from his nose, teeth gnashing so hard you’re afraid he’d chip a tooth if it weren’t for your shoulder going back between them. A deep pool of warmth and desire pools in your gut, hips angling slightly to catch just a little more of that sweet feeling.

He bites down hard, careless of the fact you squeal and writhe against him- it only feeds into the sensation of his hard length slotting so sloppily between your thighs. Blood trickles down your shoulder, staining your shirt terribly as your cunt aches, clit pulsing with desire for just a little more. He digs his fingers into your thighs, prying your legs further apart to give sharp thrusts up. You nearly drool as he huffs and groans against you, his strained voice singing beautifully how good he’s making you both feel.

“Need’a cum- go- gonna… Hah- [Y/N]-” Your hands tangle in Toby’s hair somewhere between his breath leaving his lungs and his eyes rolling back in his skull. They weave through damp curls and cradle his head in the crook of your neck, melting into a satiated, boneless tangle of limbs. It’s not another moment before the heavy pool in your gut crashes into you, hips jerking and strangled as Toby’s practically fuck up into the gush of your raw cunt. 

You gasp- and then you’re cumming hard- like you’ve never felt it in your life. Toby holds you tight, riding out his shaky high as his hips jerk and stutter and finally rest firm against yours. He cums in his boxers, staining the fabric as his cock swells and throbs against the constraint. It takes both of you a while to catch your breath, but Toby enjoys it. You find it hard to speak- or even recognize that you’ve both just nearly fucked each other. Only the two of you basking in the aftermath of your own pleasure.

Until you’re both jumping when you hear the doorknob shake and rattle, the door swinging open. Jeff stands with a disgusted face, mouth hanging open as he eyes you both pressed against each other, still heaving and riding out the trails of your arousal. He’s about to make some nasty remark and berate you both for the situation he put you in- and then Toby’s gripping the door handle and slamming it back shut, blocking Jeff out.

Back in the dusty, stale, closeness of the closet, Toby shoves his face back into your shoulder, kissing along the bruised skin. You want to apologize, to reprimand yourself for even letting this situation happen, but his hands are roaming again. Your feet wrap around his waist, holding him close as you feel his hips begin to move again, slow and steady, quiet hums vibrating against you.

Slowly, when your brains are a little less foggy, Toby shifts. He noses along your cheek and searches for your mouth until lips slot together once more, drinking up the other. This time, though, the noises you swallow are sweet, satisfied mewls of appreciation.

The brunette can’t think- won’t think about it. But something is gnawing at him at how easily you could settle him, how well you handled him.

He wants that again.

Now the closet isn’t suffocating anymore, the walls aren’t closing in on him, and driving him insane. Now- all he knows is that he wants to feel just how good you can make him feel again.

And again and again and again.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[literarydumpinggrounds]

Minors DNI 🔞 come get ya juiceeee!

tw: sorta dubcon, heavy degradation, msub, domme!reader heavy dialogue

“That’s right..” you ground your hips down onto his face, ignoring the way your pussy muffled his pathetic noises as you used his hair for leverage in your fists. “Fucking drown in it, bitch boy.”

You can’t help the sadistic laughter that bubbles out at the way he gasps and sputters beneath you. Pliant. Very nearly broken into submission, but those teary eyes are swimming with desire despite his whining protests. No.. Of course a man like him would never like being treated like this. Except for the fact that he would, and he does like it when you treated him like this.

He liked it a lot.

The way your eyebrows would dip in fake pity when you mocked him. The way your voice dropped and oozed with intention. That salacious little look in your eyes as you’d pout, just to wipe the sympathetic act from your expression effortlessly; confident grin playing at the edges of your lips.

He was so attracted to you that it made him ache in places he didn’t know could ache.

You gave him a space that he’d never experienced before.. somewhere that he was safe to let someone else carry the weight for a while. A sanctuary that had been built on trust.. and sex. Like a fuck ton of sex.

“You love being such a depraved little mouth for me, don’t you?”

A strangled breath puffed through his clenched teeth as you gripped his jaw, running the flat of your tongue over the side of his face. Slow and deliberate.. Licking from his chin to his cheekbone tasting yourself in the messy layer of your slick glistening on his face. “So happy to make a pretty little mess of yourself..”

Your tongue lapped over his parted lips, eyes locked with his in an intense exchange. Primal. Wanting. “Such a lewd expression.. all for me, right?”

“You’re all mine? Every last inch, down to the last freckle..”

He was nodding. Without his own permission, he was eagerly nodding in agreement, even as you sank down on him; as you scalded his cock with how hot you were inside. He would do anything. Say anything. Be anything, if it meant you would keep fucking yourself on his cock like that.

“I-I’m yours! Please, baby— w-wait!“

His cries of pleasure brought you to a halt, speechlessly observing as his hips bucked up haphazardly, manly thighs spasming beneath you. That delicious expression smearing across his features was always so hot. The way you could find traces of the pleasure igniting every nerve ending in the deep moans shamelessly escaping him.

He just came without permission while buried deep inside of you.. and the panicked expression taking over sends a thrill through you, making you smile.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that.”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - mentions of kidnapping/imprisonment, implied alcohol consumption, and reader referred to as 'mother'/'mom' but otherwise gender-neutral.

You let yourself into Arlecchino’s study exactly four strokes after midnight. Even from the doorway, she could see the crimson stain of wine on your lips, the tell-tale lilt to your posture. Clearly, your chosen habitat that night had been the House of the Hearth’s wine cellar – a not completely unusual pastime of yours, on its own. The fact that you were coming to her after drinking your fill was more notable.

She allowed you to stumble from the doorway to her desk before ever glancing up from the correspondence she was attempting to will herself to finish. Whichever one of her vintages you’d favored, it must’ve given you the strength to withstand the weight of the gaze you were always so quick to shy away from, the courage to all-but lay yourself across the crowded tabletop. Despite your new dauntlessness, your expression was sullen, your eyes glassy with tears yet to flow over. It was a face she was used to seeing in the confines of her chambers, or better yet, on the edge of her knee as she kept you perched in her lap through an otherwise dull meeting. Familiarity alone might’ve been enough to soften her, had she had any idea as to the source of your apparent distress.

 You didn’t speak until you were settled. Arlecchino remained patient, limiting herself to a slight smile and the melodic drumming of pointed nails against polished mahogany. “Peruere,” you drawled, her given name a honey-sweet slur on your tongue. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“I see.” It took every ounce of her impressive self-restraint not to laugh aloud. “What a shame. Remind me exactly what it is we can’t do, love?”

“I can’t do this.” You gave a sweeping gesture, nearly violent enough to knock yourself off-balance. “It’s not you—I mean, it is you, with the kidnapping and imprisonment and all, but aside from that, I just—” A deep, shuddering breath, followed shortly by a pitchy, almost keening noise. “I’m just not ready to be a mother.”

This time, Arlecchino couldn’t stop herself – a single, breathy chuckle slipping past her lips. Your frowned deepened, and she did her best to sober quickly. “I’m sorry, I—” She steepled her fingers in front of her, leaning forward to rest her chin on the point of intersection. “I suppose I wasn’t aware you were going to be.”

If you heard, you clearly weren’t listening. Rather unceremoniously, the glass splintered; your thin veneer of composure falling away as the first tear broke free, shortly followed by a second, then a third. She lost count somewhere around the dozenth. “It’s not that I don’t love your children,” you started, your voice cracking as you struggled to wipe at your eyes between words. “I mean, I love them all in spite of them being yours, which is actually really impressive because I find you so unbearably off-putting to be around, but— I’m sorry, I’m just not ready for this level of responsibility. There’s… how many? Fifty of them? Two hundred?”

“My love.” She pushed herself to her feet, dulling her voice into the softest, smoothest possible coo. “Isn’t it about time for you to retire for the night?”

“How could you possibly want to go to sleep at a time like this?” You were sobbing now, rather unabashedly. All attempts to maintain your dignity had been laid aside in favor of burying your face in your palms and hanging your head almost pitifully low. “I have five hundred kids to take care of!”

Whether you were too distracted to notice her arms wrapping around you or simply too panicked to care, it would’ve been impossible to say. You failed to protest as she pulled you against her chest, only sniffling miserably and burying your face in her coat. “You seem to have forgotten that ‘Father’ is only a title,” she murmured as gently as she could, letting her lips brush against the top of your head, then your tear-stained cheek. “Most of my children have already grown out of the need for a true mother and father, and I doubt those who haven’t view either of us in a very paternal light. Do you understand?”

There was a delay, but she felt you nod against her chest. Arlecchino could only sigh, already moving to exit her study. “Let’s get you to bed, dear.”

~

You were still unconscious by the time she rose the next morning, no doubt putting off the inevitable hangover. She left you where you lied and, after making sure a pitcher of water would be waiting for you when you woke up, went about her obligations.

It was only a few hours later that, during a conversation with Lyney, he seemed to pause, to glance to either side. Whatever he’d planned to say was quickly forgotten in favor of a new tangent. “I don’t think I’ve seen mom yet, today.”

At that, Arlecchino perked up. “Mom?”

He caught himself quickly, straightening. “Mother, I mean. (Y/n). My apologies, Lynette's disregard must be rubbing off on me.”

She took a moment to purse her lips, to do what she often did best and consider the information that’d been laid at her feet. “Lyney,” she said, eventually, when she’d made up her mind.

“Next time you use that name, make sure your mother is within earshot.”

[n0cturnalflesh]

The One Where Sylus Turns Into A Wanderer

Synopsis: Sylus gets hit with an attack that not only turns him into a wanderer but also makes him really horny??? Oh nooo what will you do? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Characters: Sylus x Reader

tw: Dragon Sylus, smut, p in v, breeding kink, praise, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex, oral, tentacles

wc: 8.3 k

A/N: I'm a BIG fan of the theory(is it confirmed?) that Sylus is/was a wanderer at one point but I wanna see more content of him looking kinda scary. Love the idea of Sylus with cute horns and a tail but I'm thinking more like the wanderers we fight in deepspace trials - big, scaly monsters that barely look human. (I’m not not even a Sylus main lol sorry Zayne but duty calls)

“It recovered. Be careful.” Sylus charges forward, his evol twisting the wyrmlord wanderer and redirecting its fiery assault just out of the way from hitting you. 

“I know, I know.” Your voice comes out hoarse, throat parched from the hour-long battle against a horde of mechanically enhanced Wanderers—an unwelcome gift from one of Sylus’ enemies. It wasn’t anything the two of you couldn't handle, but their durability in the field was at least 4 times that of regular wanderers. This was an endurance test.

“This better be the last one.” You grumble, Harrier 700s aimed at its maws as you dump Evol-enhanced bullets into its rocky flesh.

“It is.” Sylus warps to its side, taking a vicious hit before striking back just as hard. “Look at the fluctuations around it, they’re weakening. Anything that might come after this will likely be too weak to stand. This is their last card.”

It’s true, now that you take a closer look; the translucent shimmer that had been protecting every wanderer before this is now no more than a simple sparkle. Cocking your gun in your hand, you level the barrel to its heart, giving a brief glance to Sylus. 

“Let’s finish this.”

Blood-red swirls of energy coil around your hands, leaving little tingles on your knuckles as the cold mist kisses your knuckles. With each shot fired, a shard of energy follows the bullet, driving it deeper into the Wrmylord. Sylus stays close to the beast, striking each bullet wound as his evol amplifies the force of your resonate-enhanced attacks. A powerful gust from its panicked wings nearly knocks you off balance, but you hold firm, standing against the wind. Your hair slaps across your face, nearly covering your vision but the red energy around your hands helps keep your aim. It’s almost dead— it has to be.

With each bullet, the wanderer staggers; each punch leaving it closer to the ground in defeat until the final shimmer of its enhanced defense shatters.

“Now!” You yell as you close in the distance, running until you’re side by side with Sylus. His evol energy swirls begin to coil stronger, wrapping around your entire body before channeling directly into your gun. With the dragon in your sights, gun up and facing its weakened body, you pull the trigger. At the same moment, Sylus charges forward, winding up his final strike and landing a crushing blow where your bullet landed.

The wyrmlord lets out a final, piercing scream before collapsing to the ground. 

“Damn, I don’t want to see another wanderer for at least a month. Maybe more. Thoughts on a mini vacation Sylus?” You ask, wiping off your gun as you place it back in its holster on your waist.

A few seconds of silence go by. With no response from Sylus, you glance up from your holster just as it all goes wrong. A vibration on your wrist draws your attention, red letters glowing above your watch that read “Extreme Fluctuation - Evacuate Vicinity Immediately”. A low grumble shakes the ground, the sound echoing through the ground and reverberating so powerfully that you feel it rumble in your chest. Before you can react, a blinding flash of energy fills your vision. 

“Fuck off!” You shake your head and reach for your gun, squinting against the brilliance but all you can make out are the wyrmlord’s glowing crooked eyes peering through the glare. 

“Get back!” Sylus’ low voice cuts through the rumbling, and in an instant he’s standing in front of you, shielding you just as the light directs into a beam and strikes his chest. The moment it hits, everything stops. The beast collapses on the ground, its limbs going limp as dust creeps up its disintegrating form until nothing remains. 

“Sylus!” Your voice breaks the silence, hands pressing against his sturdy shoulders until he turns to face you. “Are you alright?”

Despite the attack, he appears none the worse for wear, aside from tired and dirty from the battleground dust. His eyes are downcast, staring at his chest where the beam hit. 

“Yes, I’m fine kitten. Must’ve died just before the beam could hit me.”

“Are you sure?” Worry laces your voice, “I could’ve sworn I watched that weird beam hit your chest.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Your eyes must be deceiving you. You should head on home quickly, book that vacation on my card. I’ll…” he trails off, looking back to where the wyrmlord disintegrated. “Stay behind to make sure no other wanderers come.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow as he looks around, his tone low and calculated. He shifts from foot to foot, unusually stiff as you notice the way he draws his shoulders in stiffly. 

“Sylus?”

He bows his head down, turning to face away from you. 

“Sylus, that beam did something to you didn’t it?”

An audible sigh escapes him, his breath slow yet his upper torso rises rapidly like its breathing entirely separate from his breaths. 

“It… did. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry about me. Just leave me to deal with this on my own, you should go rest.”

He stands awkwardly, posture just a bit too stiff - like he doesn’t quite know how to hold his limbs. You lean towards him, eye glancing over his body to check for hidden injuries or changes. There has to be something, he wouldn’t be sending you off so easily if there wasn’t. 

“Sylus, I’m not just going to leave because you said so. I’m a top hunter, why don’t you think I can help you?” You take a step forward, hoping for a closer inspection but he takes a step back as you do, keeping his face turned away.

“Excuse me?” Betrayal strikes you; how dare he go through months of coaxing and bonding just to leave you when he finally needs help for once? “Look at me.” You speak firmly, snatching his wrist so he can’t flee.

His body tenses at your touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. He could pull away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move at all. He’s frozen still, his gaze fixed on the ground. You slide your hand down until you can squeeze his fingers; they feel unusually cold at the tips yet hot toward his palm.

Following the heat of his palm, your fingers trace back up his wrist, gliding along his forearm until they reach the edge of his sleeve. A wave of warmth pulses beneath his skin, following his veins, though the surface remains cold to the touch. 

“Kitten,” His voice draws out low and raspy, leveled like he’s holding his composure just to talk. “Please, let me deal with this on my own. You don’t need to see this.”

Testing the waters, you caress over his chest and up until you hold his chin in your palm. He resists only for a moment as you tilt his head until his vibrant, glowing red eyes face you, laced with evol.

With brows drawn and tense, he shutters under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles deeper into your palm. For a moment, he seeks comfort there, but he pulls away sharply as if your touch suddenly stings. His eyes reek of evol, the glowing red so bright that it becomes hard to see his pupils. Yet the sensation of his evol never comes. You don’t feel that deep pull from within; don’t hear the voices of your deepest desires. 

“Whatever that wanderer did to you, I won’t let you suffer alone. We’re in this together.”

He stares back, almost animalistic in nature, like he’s calculating how to react to your next move. His drastic change in personality becomes increasingly unsettling.

“Why are your eyes glowing like that? I don’t feel your evol.” You question, hoping a direct question might be an easier approach.

It seems to work, his gaze refocusing on you as he blinks a few times.

“It is…” he lowers his head, avoiding eye contact as he speaks, “returning me to a form I had hoped you’d never see in this lifetime.” Running a hand through his hair, he tilts his head up to look at the night sky, worries etched onto his face. The light of the moon shines on his pale skin and you can see a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead as he pushes his hair back.

“What does that mean?” Hundreds of questions pop into your head but that’s the one that comes out first before you can even think harder about what he said. A form? Form of what?

Sylus hums, voice uneven and hoarse as he keeps his head turned towards the stars. “Some time ago, which does not matter when, I was something else. Not… entirely as I am today.” He keeps his head tilted but lowers his glowing eyes to meet yours. “I’d since been able to restrict it, but it seems as though that wanderer’s attack was able to affect it.”

You stand your ground, holding eye contact. That’s not a complete answer, and he knows that. You stare back, not moving as he awaits a reaction that you won’t give him.

“I’ve never wanted it to come to this, because I know you won’t leave my side no matter what I say.” He continues, sad gratitude flashing on his expression for a moment, “You really won’t leave me to deal with this, will you?”

He’s not making sense. His words have told you nothing of the situation or his weird behavior. But raising your voice or pressing him further might escalate his behavior. Your heart aches at the thought of whatever is going through his mind as he loses his collected mannerism. He has done so much for you these past few months; proven your opinion of him wrong from the start and treated you so well. You will not let him be alone for this, whatever it is.

“No, I won’t.” You reply firmly.

“You never do.” He sighs, before doubling over to pull his arm close to his chest, hiding the skin from your touch.

“Sylus!” You cry out, taking a step towards him but he moves away as you come close.

“No.” His tone comes out calm despite the strain in his voice, “Don’t get close, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Sylus.” You pause, observing the way he carries his limbs in towards himself like he’s trying to make himself look small. An impossible feat for such a large man. “I know you won’t because I know you would never dare to hurt me. I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you mean by this ‘form’ you’re reverting to, but I know that if it is still you at the core, you will not hurt me.” 

It’s a lie. Sylus is a very scary man if you don’t know him well. Whatever he’s talking about clearly has him worried about hurting you, and if that’s something he’s concerned about, it absolutely gives you every reason to be alarmed. But you can’t just admit that. Not after everything he’s done for you —risking his life, taking hits meant for you, following you on pointless expeditions that far exceed the duties of the N109 Zone leader, even letting you hurt him. No, it’s your turn to take a risk for him. Prove to him that you trust him wholeheartedly.

Assuming a (hopefully) confident-looking stance, you hold eye contact with him and take a step forward, leaving no room for debate as you press into his personal space. He gasps at your touch, eyes glued to where your hand grabs at his arm. 

“Please,” He grunts, “be careful. I don’t want to hurt you. Not…” His voice trails off just as you make contact with his skin. But it’s not skin. It's hard, rocky almost in texture but still molds to your touch as you squeeze it. 

Not ready to look down, you raise your other hand up and cradle his cheek. “It’s okay.” Your voice comes out as a hushed whisper, and finally, you look down.

His arm below the elbow and hand are not human. The skin is jagged, flesh turned black and grey while red light seeps out from the lines of his veins. His fingers are longer than they should be, joints extended and bony as they lead to talons at the tips. These are the hands of a wanderer.

“Sylus, your form? A wanderer?” The look of raw insecurity in his eyes stops you from questioning. With his brows knitted and eyes glistening, his lips tremble slightly, parted as if struggling to form words. His chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths. He looks like he’s seconds away from breaking down.

“So you’ve figured it out, Miss Hunter.” He speaks, emphasizing the nickname like he’s pointing out how your job is sworn to killing monsters like him. He’s spiraling, slight tension tugging through his body like he wants to break away from you but doesn’t want you to leave him at the same time. You need to show him that you’ll remain ever at his side.

“This doesn’t change my statement, I won’t let you go about this alone.”

He lets out a small laugh, although there’s no humor or joy behind it. “I appreciate your help, but you don’t deserve to have to be exposed to this side of me. You've seen enough wanderers to last you at least 5 missions in the last few hours alone. You said it yourself, you need a vacation away from us horrid monsters.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because that wasn't you! You’re not just some beast that runs wild! Regardless of your form, there’s a ‘you’ deep inside. If you lose control, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get caught. If anyone finds you, I’ll make sure they don't hurt you.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.” Staring into his glowing eyes, you stand your ground. He needs to know this is a hill you’re willing to die on. “Listen, I don’t understand any of what’s going on, and you will explain everything to me when the time is right. But please, just shut up and let me be here for you.”

His jaw tightens before relaxing into a sigh. You run your fingers up and down his hardened palm, hoping to reassure him that this change does not change how you view him. 

“If you won’t leave me, you should at least distance yourself from me. At least for the time being. I don’t if the attack has altered my state of mind.”

“Alright.” You give his hand a light squeeze, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles before turning to retreat to a nearby tree. Only he doesn't let you. As you turn to leave, rough talons grasp onto your wrist. He pulls you close to him, your back pressing up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. They feel… different. 

The rough, rocky texture has continued up his forearms. He’s hidden from your line of view, only his arms visible as they wrap your torso. 

“Sylus?”  Your voice trembles with uncertainty, but the only response is a low, guttural growl from behind you. In the stillness that follows, you notice the next sudden change; he’s growing. His hands, already massive compared to yours, now seem to dwarf you entirely.  As he splays his left hand across your abdomen, his claws extend effortlessly to the back of your torso. His palm alone envelops your entire stomach.

The sharp rip of fabric echoes from somewhere along his back, followed by the rush of warm, heavy breaths against your neck—slowly, far too slow for any human. Wrapping your fingers around just one of his now enormous claws, you strain to fully grip it, prying his hand away with deliberate caution.

“I’m going to turn around now. And then you can tell me if you still want me to distance myself, okay?”

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn’t stop you from pulling out of his grasp. Gently, you free yourself from his hold. Drawing a deep breath, you prepare for what awaits. If he truly is a wanderer, is this his true form?

As you turn, there’s a deep, resounding thud—Sylus stepping back, perhaps anxious for you to see him like this. Finally, in the pregnant silence, you open your eyes.

He’s… gigantic. Towering close to nine feet tall, his presence is overwhelming. At first glance, not much seems to have changed—his face, his torso, still familiar; aside from the darkened, rocky skin leading from his hands and now his feet upwards. Through the tears of clothing struggling to hang off his growing body,  the skin beneath remains a softer hue, though roughened, textured like stone.

Your gaze travels upward, from his exposed chest, straining beneath shredded buttons, to his face. Aside from the glowing red eyes and his change in size, the only new and noticeable changes are the two massive horns shooting out from behind his ears. —black as night, laced with swirling red energy tapering into sharp white tips. They curl around his face gracefully, flaring outward before narrowing into points that end near his chin. For such a beastly figure to cower, avoiding your eyes, almost elicits a strange tenderness—were it not for the seriousness of the moment. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You murmur, stepping closer and offering your hand. He doesn't take it, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing the space between you to close.

When he speaks, his voice is even deeper than normal, rasping out hollow as though unused to forming words in this form. “I’m holding back... slowing the transformation.” His eyes shut, pained. “But the attack... it may have triggered some... side effects.”

He kneels down until he’s level with you, large eyes roaming over you like he needs to memorize your body. “I wanted this to be different. You deserve better—dinner, gifts, a proper evening to show you how much I—”

“Stop deciding for me.” You cut him off. “You’re not making sense. What side effects? What dinner? What’s happening?”

His chest rises and falls heavily, beads of sweat forming along his brow.  “I need you.”

“You have me.” you reply. He lets out a shaky breath, gaze slipping from your face to your body, over every curve you have and back up. He looks back to your face with a carnal, unrestrained desire.“No. I need you in ways that I should not take from you. I can endure this.” He groans. The side effect he mentioned is starting to make sense – an aphrodisiac. 

But it doesn’t shake you. Stolen evenings and unexpected gifts, whispered messages between meetings and surprise plushies left just for you—this isn’t for nothing. You want him. You want to be the one who helps him.

“And I’m saying you have me.” you whisper, “however you need me.”

In an instant, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss, nearly knocking you off balance. His claws steady you, holding you close as heat floods through you, every nerve alive under his touch. This wasn’t what you expected, but the rush is undeniable. After weeks of tension, playful flirtation, and stolen moments, you undeniably want this. The circumstances don’t change the feelings that you’ve harbored for him.

His pace is feverish, lips crashing against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. With inhumane sharp teeth, he pulls at your bottom lip before releasing, his tongue brushes lightly over your mouth, hesitant, seeking.

Your hands, trembling slightly, move to his jaw before drifting upward, fingers curling around his horns. The moment you tug gently, his breath hitches, a low gasp escaping him. His control slips further, the weight of his form heavy in the air between you as he slowly pulls away, panting, eyes squeezed shut. His hands, shaking, rest on your waist, still fighting against the wildness threatening to consume him.

“Sylus, it's ok. You can let go, show me your true form.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, face buried in the curve of your neck as he lets out a hushed groan, panting heavily as you feel his weight around you.

“Ok, my love.” He whispers, voice trembling, giving you no time to respond before his body begins to shift. The sound of bones cracking reverberates through the space, jarring and raw. He cups your chin gently, pulling your face to his, and kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut as you cradle his tear-streaked cheeks in your palms, the damp warmth of his tears smearing against your skin. Whether he’s trying to distract you from his changing body or himself from the pain, you can’t be sure—but you return the kiss with equal passion, willing the world outside to fade away.

The sounds of his transformation— clothes ripping, bones snapping, joints realigning—begin to echo about louder and louder. Yet you ignore them, clinging to the heat between your lips, in hopes that the connection you share distracts him from the painful shift. After what feels like a small eternity, you pull away slowly, lips tingling from the heat of his breath. Steadying yourself, you take a step back, ready to take in all that he has become. 

Words cannot do justice to his new form. You stare in awe, committing his new body to your memory as he stands completely bare in front of you. Before you stands no trace of the human you once knew—only a towering, fearsome beast, the living embodiment of draconic ferocity. His body is a fusion of taut muscle and hardened scales, rippling with untamed power. Long, white hair cascades down his back, swaying like a mane as it frames his draconic face, a mix of humanoid and bestial features. His maw, lined with razor-sharp fangs, juts forward like that of a great dragon, yet his eyes still carry the familiar glint of Sylus—recognizable, despite the terrifying transformation.

His legs are thick and clawed like that of an animal, hoisting his massive form even higher above you. While he moves with the mannerisms of a bipedal creature, this is no man—this is something far more primal, more dangerous. Behind him, a long, jagged tail swings low, its blade-like ridges sharp and lethal. Higher up, leathery-red wings point upwards and wrap around his waist, covering himself up as modestly as he can. The horns that once subtly adorned his head have grown monstrously large, curling menacingly around his skull, nearly outsizing his monstrous, animalistic visage. His arms, though almost human in form, are colossal—each muscle encased in a thick, armor-like scale, protruding with strength at every joint as they swirl around his chest, where the beating thump of his heart stands out.

He is immense; a creature of both beauty and terror, and you can't help but feel both in awe and mesmerized in his presence.

You must look off-put, as Sylus bows his head, once more avoiding eye contact. Before he can move away, you take the initiative to reach out and grab his hand. Your fingers barely make a dent in his thick flesh, but still, you tug him towards yourself hoping he’ll understand the motive. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, voice quiet as you reach your hand out for his face. He takes the hint, hesitantly stepping forward with a loud thud that shakes the ground nearby, bending down to place his jagged jaw into your hand lightly. 

“Don’t,” His voice comes out with a groggy, half-growl tone, “Lie.” He finishes. Each word seems to have winded him, sighs escaping through sharp talons.

“I’m not.” You answer, and before he can protest, you push your lips against what would be his lips in this new form. It’s awkward, your lips barely covering a quarter the size of his mouth, his large teeth pushing up against your mouth as you try to kiss him. But awkward as it is, he returns the passion as delicately as he can. 

“I still want you Sylus, like this, or in any form. You have me.”

He must finally give in to his desires, ignoring whatever reservations were holding him back as he realizes your devotion to him.  He takes your body in his giant hands, cradling you gently as he lifts you up so he can stand at full height. As you sit like a pretty doll in his palms, nearly 9 feet above the ground, he brings his head close to yours until his forehead and horns rest against your head. 

“Thank you.” He growls through softly bared fangs, “But… don’t know how much you can help me…” he trails off, “ like this. Don’t want to.. to hurt you.” 

As he leans away from you, a brief flicker of his eyes downwards gives him away. You shift a little in his grasp, hoping to peer down at one body part of his you hadn’t considered might also change. 

“Are you certain…want to see all of me?” Sylus nuzzles his sharp snout into your neck, subtly preventing you from looking further. 

“If it will help you, then of course. I know this isn’t how you wanted things to play out, but under different circumstances, I would still want to see all of you.”

Sylus lets you squirm out of his firm hold on you, allowing you to look past his scaled rocky chest and down to where the red tapered tip of his cock rests against his torso. And it's thick. The tip alone must be fatter than your fist. You can’t see beyond the tip from the angle you’re being held at but if it reaches this high up his body, it must be massive. Maybe you can’t help him the way he needs. 

The expression on your face must give away your shock at his size, as Sylus looks down to his cock and back up to your face, awaiting a reaction. 

“What exactly do you need from me to help you?” You ask hesitantly, gauging the severity of his need to fuck you. 

Sylus groans at your questions, low and deep, hips bucking forward like the mere thought of what you’re offering makes him throb. As he leans back to rest on a nearby tree, his hands tighten around your waist, just slightly, as he responds. 

“Need to fuck you,” he huffs, “To eat you,” he presses his face against your neck, “to breed you,”, saliva drips down from his scaly maw, landing hot and wet as it slides down the front of your shirt. “Mine.” 

“Mmph.” You moan, a warm wetness beginning to form between your legs at his words. “I’m not sure if you’ll fit, but we can try. Whatever will help you.” Your voice is flakey, shaking with each breath as you try to contain your arousal.

“Will fit,” he licks at your neck, right where your pulse is, “spit will help, will numb, stretch.” As he slides his tongue up, the sheer size of it alarms you and reminds you of how much bigger he is. Its heavy weight feels like a compression around you as it wraps once around your throat. The tip of it drags across your chin, soaking your face in his wetness, stopping before your lips, awaiting your approval. 

As he holds you so close to him, his hands the only thing supporting your body as his mouth pants at your chest, you give in. Accepting that whatever will come, Sylus will not hurt you. 

Opening your mouth, his tongue pushes in, stretching your jaw slightly before it flattens to fit better. Even with only the tip of it in, you’re overwhelmed as it thrashes around your cheeks, saliva beginning to drip down all around your face. 

Yet as it continues, as his tongue soaks your neck and fills your mouth, pleasure begins to stir within you. As his sharp talons hold you above his head, you start to crave more. As his scaly snout pokes into your chest, the feeling of being overwhelmed dissipates. The weight of his touch lightens. The awkward wetness feels comforting. 

And your arousal heightens. The fear that has been holding you back from fully indulging in him is gone, replaced by a carnal need to be used by him. Without even realizing it, you’ve gathered his heavy head in your hands, his tongue almost entirely down your throat as you swallow around it with ease. Face to face with his heavy maw, you finally let loose and moan into his mouth.

He pulls back slowly, unwinding his tongue from its place down your throat. He growls, keeping you eye to eye with him. “Ready?”

Jaw still sore, soaked from spit, you nod dumbly.

“Good.”  And as soon as the words escape his mouth he’s using a claw to rip apart your clothes, just barely leaving a mark on your skin as your tattered outfit falls to the ground. The cool air hits your body hard, nipples hardening in the wind as the saliva dries quickly. You tremble in his hands, partially due to the wind, and partially due to the way your body is out on display for him; the first time he’s seen you naked.

Any insecurities you may have had begin to melt away as he stares at you like he holds the world in his hands. “Beautiful.” He groans, gently caressing your skin with his claws. Despite his beastly exterior, he cradles you as though you are his most treasured possession.

Your skin is taut under his grasp as Sylus lifts you higher until you’re above his head. Staring directly at your exposed cunt, he clasps his maw against it before you can even blush at his forwardness. Gasping at his reaction, every touch seems to set your body aflame with desire. As his scaled lips touch your pelvis, his tongue begins to swirl around your pussy.

“Divine.” He croaks, words muffled by your wetness between his lips. He drags his tongue between your folds once more before diving deeper, the tip poking at your entrance. As his saliva mixes with your slick, your desire heightens. You need him in you now.

“Please, Sylus, fuck me already.”

His eyes snap from their view of where his tongue plays with your entrance, slit pupils dilating as he makes eye contact with you. He takes a deep breath in, then plunges his tongue deep inside.

The sensation is immediate, pleasure taking over your body as his self-lubricated muscle pumps into you, poking around at your gummy walls like it’s looking for room. No, like it’s making room. It’s almost terrifying, watching as his long and thick tongue penetrates deeper and deeper. It shouldn’t fit, but somehow, inch after inch it disappears further until you’re sat entirely on his sharp face.

 His hands hold your body up in the air as he tilts his head back to keep you in an upright position. Your feet, dangling on either side of his head, wrap around his horns to use as some kind of leverage to contrast the penetrating feeling of his tongue pushing against your cervix. “Mmm, Sy-!” You whine, his name the only word you can form as he pumps into you repeatedly. The coiling of his tongue pushes against all your inner walls, all the hidden spots you didn't know could be touched.

His fingers shift, one hand sliding slightly upwards, unintentionally grasping your loose tits between them, while the other wraps lower around your ass. It gives you a better view of his face - and the bulge protruding from your lower stomach every time his tongue flicks forward.

Sylus must catch your gaze, as he withdraws his tongue slowly until just the tip is inside, and he pushes on the bulged area, distending it to lengths that must made possible with the use of his aphrodisiac-like saliva. It hurts, but it hurts good. 

 “Carvin’ out my place in you.” He slurs as best he can without proper use of his tongue. He gives one last squeeze to your breasts, before withdrawing until he’s back to holding you up at chest height to him - still at least 9 feet above the ground.

“Ready?” he pants, “Sweetie?”

Missing the feeling of being filled already, you nod rapidly. Sylus smiles, scales glistening in his smirk, and then lowers himself until he’s lying on his back, keeping your body close to his chest. Feeling the base of his heavy cock rest on your ass is enough to get your body subconsciously moving, humping your hips forward helplessly, looking for any kind of stimulation. The hard texture of his skin beneath you catches against your clit. You lurch forward, hands steadying yourself on his defined abs to get yourself.

A purr-like noise radiating from beneath you causes you to open your eyes which must’ve closed in the chase for release. Sylus’ head is tilted low to watch as you use him and despite the desire in his eyes, he holds an expression that’s entirely human.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and suddenly, the world around you seems to still. His eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something deeper—infatuation. Relief washes over his face, softening his features as if the weight of years has been lifted in a single breath. It’s as though he’s finding solace in your acceptance of him, releasing the fears he’s long held about how you would perceive this form. He looks at you as if this moment is something he had once dared to hope for but never truly believed would come—an unspoken dream, now realized. His expression speaks of a man who has waited a lifetime for this, for you, and for the peace that comes with being seen and accepted completely.

“Sylus,” your voice comes out dripping with desire. The hardened skin beneath feels good, but you need more. There’s an aching emptiness within you, now that you’ve felt his tongue carve out a place in you. “Need you inside me. Now.”

He tosses his head back, throat exposed as he arches his back like you’re words alone pushed him closer to his release. His hands fondle your body before gently raising you up and back so you're sitting with his cock in front of you. And it is indeed massive. 

From where it rests against his stomach, you can see now why it felt so heavy when it was behind you. The base alone is almost as thick as one of your thighs. It shoots up at least a foot before tapering off to a tentacle-like tip that’s almost sized like a normal penis. 

There’s no way that’s fitting inside of you. 

“There’s no way that’s fitting inside me.”

Sylus huffs in what could be considered humour, before his expression softens. “It will… Some of it. Trust me.” He lets go of his grab on you and offers a hand. As your tiny palm slides around one of his fingers, just barely able to grasp it entirely in your hand, his wings wrap around your body like a shield of privacy. 

“Trust. Please.” His voice comes out more breathy than before, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath. It’s then that you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way they bunch up is different than a human body but still noticeable. He must be suffering, holding himself back. 

You turn your head to the side, nose brushing against his taut wing. “Ok.” And with confidence, you lean forward and grab his cock. Holding it with both your hands, the girth is barely contained between your fingers. It’s moist all over, self-lubricating, slippery, and heavy. Sylus gasps under his breath and before your fingers can even reach the tip, he’s sliding you forward and upward. 

Hands flat against his shoulders, your face to face with him once again as he reaches to guide his cock towards your entrance. The anxiety of how he’ll fit must be evident in your face as he leans forward and licks your cheek. 

“I’m ready.” You whisper, and Sylus slowly slips his tip inside your dripping cunt.

Fitting a literal monster cock inside you is not something you can easily prepare for, mentally or physically, for that matter. But somehow, with a mix of whatever is in his saliva and his earlier ministrations, you now sit with almost half of a monster cock deep in your gut. 

The stretch of your gummy walls accommodating his girth is not as painful as you would have imagined. 

It feels like a reward, as if you’re fulfilling a purpose your body was made for.

Because it was, wasn’t it? Isn’t your body destined to take him inside you and milk it until you’re full? Weren’t you made for this? 

The feeling of his tip working its way inside you reveals a hidden will of its own, pulsing and writhing around despite Sylus not thrusting into you yet. He slowly works you down his cock until it seems you’ve hit your limit. With just barely half his length inside, your cunt split open wider than you thought possible, the thumping tip pushes out into the area he fucked open with his tongue. 

“See?” He growls. “Fits. Just need tip.” At his last word, the tip inside pokes out into your belly, a protruding bulge in your front. He takes your hand in his much large hand and pushes back against it, and you nearly cum at the sensation. Based on his reaction, he nearly does too.  

It’s becoming too much and he’s not even fucking you yet. The widening of his girth from where it sticks out of you is lined with rocky scales that hit exactly at your clit, like they were made for your pleasure. The tense bundle of nerves ache for stimulation. You squeeze your legs around the base of his cock, and slowly thrust yourself forward in hopes that he understands what you want. 

He does. Using gentle hands, he holds you up in place before slowly starting to thrust his hips upwards into you. With each movement, his cock pushes through your gut leaving you feeling stuffed and full of desire. Your legs loosen from their grip around his base and instead, hang freely below you as he uses you like a personal flesh light. 

“Fuck.” He growls, hands tightening around you like he’s using your body to keep himself alive. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You can’t reply, at least not in words. The combination of his fat girth and poking tip render you speechless aside from a few moans of pleasure. “Sy…” you attempt his name, but it’s useless. You can’t focus on anything other than the way he fucks up into you. 

“Mine. Mine.  Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, fingers finding their way to where your body holds him inside, splaying across your belly to feel the weight of his cock inside you. 

The build-up of pleasure grows and grows as he brushes his cock against your clit and insides. Your edging closer and closer to release, but just as you feel your physical pleasure start to take over your mind, everything flips. 

The mossy ground is beneath you as you’re softly placed on the ground. With Sylus still inside your pulsing cunt, he now hovers above you, thick arms holding himself up on either side of your head. His wings flap around, shielding your body beneath him. 

“Mine. No one else’s.” He shouts, not taking his eyes off you as he raises an arm and holds his hand up in a direction away from you. Between the folds of his wings, you see movement: more wanderers. A few gnaves, they’re launching in your direction but a red whirling mist surrounds them before they can reach you. 

“Mine!” Sylus screams out, sharp fangs agape as he bares his teeth in the direction of the gnaves. From his position, he starts lightly thrusting his hips forward into you. The sharp pang of pleasure as he fucks into you draws your mind away from the looming threat of wanderers. 

You close your eyes, hands out grabbing for his chest, his arms, anything to ground you. A splattering of wetness across your face forces your eyes open in shock. Sylus stares down at you, his face and yours dripping in wanderer blood. Beside you, the dead bodies of the beasts disintegrate leaving only their protocors. Sylus fucks back into you. 

“Mmmph! Fuck - M’ yours!” You scream out, pulling his horned head towards you again and diving into his mouth. His long tongue laps at your mouth in anticipation before you let it slide in and down your throat once more, the numbing of the saliva still in effect as it mixes with the blood across your face.

“Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.” Sylus pants into your mouth, words obstructed by his tongue down your throat. 

“Mmhmm.” You whimper, unable to form words between the harsh fucking of his cock in you and his tongue in your mouth. 

”I’m…” he groans, “here.” He lowers a hand to your stomach, the bulge less visible than the previous position but still just as deep in you as he fucks forward. 

“My place.” The tip of his cock squirms around and fucks up into you at a pace faster than his hips, smooshing against the thing wall of skin separating it and his hand on the other side. It feels like being fucked twice, one thick and slow, stretching against your clit. The other, thin and fast, pumping around against your cervix in whatever space has been molded to take it. 

“No one else.” His gaze is animalistic, hungry, desperate. With each thrust his hardens torso twists and twitches, your tiny body beneath him rocking back and forth on the ground. It hurts, it’ll definitely leave bruises on your skin, but the pleasure overtakes you. 

He slides his tongue out of you and it slithers to wrap around your throat. He looks over you, head nearly twice as big as yours with his sharp horns dangling over either side of your face. This shouldn't be as enjoyable as it is. You should be scared. The leader of Onichynous is splitting you open on the floor of a wandered infested forest after turning into one himself. 

But the way he stares at you overrides all of those things. He looks down at you with such a longing mixture of emotions. He looks down at you like you’re the most precious and dear thing to him in the world, like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs this like he needs to breathe air. Like he can’t believe it’s finally happening. 

His red eyes widen at your eye contact as you raise a hand to rest against his scaled cheekbone.  Not entirely human. Not entirely wanderer. Completely Sylus. 

His eyes glaze over, whether from the pleasure or the intimacy of the act, you’re unsure. But it moves you to speak. “Yours. Forever.” 

That pushes him over the edge, wings flapping violently behind him, horns scraping into the dirt beneath you without care as he leans his head down beside yours. His tongue squeezes at your throat, his breath and pace quickening as he fucks sloppily into you.

“Fuc- mmph...” he stutters into your ear, trying to form words. And then he whimpers, a high-pitched, voice-cracking cry right into your ear. And then he cums. And you can feel it happen. 

You can feel a sudden warmth spread through your lower half, feel each spurt and twitch of his cock. The pressure increases as it pumps into you and pushes against your walls, making you feel even more stuffed as he stays inside you. 

It must be some kind of wanderer, monster anatomy but you can feel the base of his cock tightening as he cums. It swells and grows, pushing further up against your clit. With each twitch of his hips, the base rubs on the nerves until you finally come undone on him. 

“Fuck! Sylus! I’m-!” You cry out. 

“I know, Sweetie,” he moans, voice hoarse, “Keep cumming. For me.”

You close your eyes, whole body tensing as release tingles through your muscles like a spell. Each pulse of pleasure quivering throughout your body; a blanket of white taking over your every thought. Your legs wrap and tighten around Sylus’ waist as he rocks forward into you, slowing down with every hump as you slowly become overstimulated.

“Nnph. Sylus, too much. Can’t.” You whimper out, eyes squeezed shut as you paw at his torso to slow down.  He doesn’t reply, but his body comes to a halt until he’s still above you. His breath is warm against your chest in slow, warm puffs. Time seems to come to a stop; your body feels heavy, and your mind floating above. There’s nothing besides you, the ground beneath you, and Sylus deep inside you. 

After what feels like hours (but could very well be minutes), Sylus shifts. A sharp claw slides gently under your back, supporting your weight as it picks up you. You keep your eyes closed in a heightened state of bliss, trusting Sylus as he moves until you are chest-to-chest with him while he lays on his back. The leather blanket of his wings rests on your shoulders as they wrap around you, keeping you warm and protected from the outside world. His cock remains nestled deep inside you, your stomach feeling tender - used. As if sensing your awareness to the discomfort, Sylus runs a sharp finger down the crest of your back, humming a cracked and hoarse tune. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He just sits in the silence with you. 

With the strength of Linkon’s most powerful hunter, you lift your tired head off his chest and peer up at him to find his ruby eyes already staring back at you. He looks unsure, almost vulnerable, an expression that a giant horned wanderer shouldn’t be able to express. His hand steadies on your waist, keeping a light hold on you like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

“You mean the world to me Sylus.” You say, eyes glimmering with intent and honesty. He doesn’t respond but his chest stops rising for a moment, a baited breath like he needs a moment for the words to set in. You can see the thoughts racing in his mind as he stares back at you and for a split second, his eyes shine with unshed tears. 

He looks away before you can comment, a smile returning to his face before looking back at you with a soft gaze. “And you are my world.” He says softly. He pulls you tight to him in an embrace that feels like more than just a hug, nuzzling his scaled-maw to your cheek. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“Of course.” You smile, care seeping into your voice. “How are you feeling? Are the side effects… gone?” You ask, unsure of how to approach to topic. 

“Yes, thanks to you. I don’t know where I’d be without my feisty little kitten.” he teases, but there’s no bite to his tone - It’s filled with appreciation and truth. He smiles and as he does the tips of his scales begin to crumble to dust.

“You never cease to surprise me, Miss Hunter. I thought I walked this unforgiving road alone. You’ve proven me wrong, I’m sorry for doubting your trust in me.” He picks up your hand in his now considerably more human-sized palm and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll answer all your questions once we’re back at the base. But for now, let me tend to your body. Rest. Stop that wired train of thought in your pretty little head.”

“I don’t think -” you start in protest, but he pushes a no-longer taloned finger to your lips and hushes. “I’ll play kitty cards with you all night long if you wait until we get back.” He bribes, and you can’t find it in you to deny his offer. 

“Pinky promise?” You ask with a small voice, suddenly alerted to the feeling of Sylus’ monster cock shrinking within you and leaving you feeling empty even though he remains within.

“Pinky promise.” He replies, locking his finger around yours and sealing the deal with a spark of red evol energy swirling between you two. He notices your brief discomfort, holding you closer to him with a look nothing short of true love for you. “Thank you for this. You’ve given me a support that I don’t deserve.” He whispers into your ear. You tear your gaze from where your hands are intertwined and are met with human Sylus once again. 

“Don’t insult yourself like that. What we think we deserve and what others see in us are rarely the same—sometimes, we just have to accept the kindness offered.” You say in a stern voice. He looks at you with utter respect, eyes glowing like you’re his queen. “As you wish.” He hums, and it finally seems like everything you’ve said sinks in. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. As stunning as you are, I don’t think dried wanderer blood is a healthy fashion statement.” He lulls as he begins to unwrap his arms from you. 

“Rest, kitten.” Sylus smiles as he smudges dried blood away on your cheek.“Although we’ll need to find where our phones fell to. And new clothes.”

[justwhumptypethings]

tw; dehumanization, disassociation, aftermath of conditioning

whumpee who’s just.. blank after. staring off, quiet like the dead.

they don’t only not speak unless spoken to, they don’t speak unless they’re asked a question. They could be having a conversation, and even then their answers are barebones and vague enough to not get them hurt. and as soon as caretaker says something that’s not a direct question, whumpee doesn’t answer.

they sit there in the back of the room silent. caretaker forgets they’re there sometimes. maybe they start panicking if their nose is clogged or their breathing is audible for some reason, because they can’t stop making noise.

their eyes are dull. they’re exhausted, nearly always disassociated or derealized, not focusing on their body or the world around them because they expect the people around them to pay as much attention to them as they would an object.

they don’t understand when people talk to them. they don’t react unless someone says their name like an order.

the way they talk is always vague enough that it could agree with whatever the person who’s talking to them says. they are hesitant to take any real stance. maybe they seen confused when someone asks them what they want.

they never really get comfortable with talking again. not the same way they were before.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Please. Alastor x single mom?

Oh my god and imagine how he’d give her the best Mother’s Day ever after years of just her waking up to a normal day aside from her baby giving her a macaroni necklace or a card and now she’s waking up to a breakfast in bed and a day to relax I’m not getting emotional you are

Okay, but y'all are giving me baby fever fr with these asks

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: F L U F F, A little bit of sex towards the end but a very small amount

Description: ☝️⬆️

Whether or not you were a mother when you were alive, you certainly were one now. You took in and protected as many children sinners you could because nobody else would

You took care of toddlers all the way up to teenagers, it was an exhausting and thankless job but you don't think you could ever quit

Not when one of your kids comes crying to you because they scraped their knee, or they had their first heartbreak, or they had a nightmare

How any of them ended up down here was baffling to you, especially the youngest ones

You protected your family fiercely and have even gone toe to toe with overlords to keep your kids safe, earning you a reputation for being a mama bear

You loved being their mother and wouldn't give it up for anything, no matter your own sins

So when one of your little ones goes missing, you're panicking and searching everywhere for her. You spend all day trying to find her and asking anybody if they've seen her

After hours of searching, one of your teenagers calls you, telling you they found her but that you need to come home immediately. You don't need to hear anything more

When you get home, you find your little girl sitting in the lap of Charlie Morningstar, Hell's Princess. All your kids are gathered around her while she tells them about her hotel

Something you had been trying not to let them know about because you didn't want to get their hopes up only to be heartbroken. It was cruel

Not to mention the shady characters that probably stay there.

So imagine your irritation when all your children suddenly swarm you and start begging to stay at the hotel. Each one excited and hopeful to learn how to go to heaven

You can't tell them no so you try to dissuade them but they insist on going so you allow it. It's very reluctant agreement though.

You try to keep all your children close to you once you enter the hotel and see the others. Let's see, an angelic exorcist, a p0rnstar, a tiny murderous maid, a drunk bartender and one of the most deadly overlords around

You were unimpressed, and it showed as you held your kids a little tighter, not even hearing Charlie excitedly telling you about all the amenities

You have a difficult time letting your kids sleep so far away from you, all of them excited to get their own rooms. You often check on them throughout the night

More than once, Alastor has caught you peeking into their bedrooms to make sure they're still safe in their beds

You startle when you hear his amused laughter, nearly bumping right into his chest as you close the door behind you

"Nobody is going to eat them while they're asleep, you know."

You can't help but feel defensive, crossing your arms and giving Alastor a withering look

"That's not funny coming from you."

His smile only gets wider, gripping your chin and tilting your head up as he leans in close

"Darling, it's even funnier because it's coming from me!"

You insist on making sure your children eat a good diet, often making it yourself because you don't trust anybody else to do it. That and some of your little ones can be picky eaters

Often, Alastor stops by the kitchen to watch you, curious about what you're making and how much of it you plan to make

"My my~ That smells absolutely delicious, my dear~! What are you making?"

You're guarded, setting down the plates on the table a little harder than you meant to

"It's just an old family recipe, nothing special."

So imagine your weary surprise when he starts to help you cook, helping with the food preparation and even setting the table. You start to get used to his help, relaxing a little more each time you two stand hip to hip, cooking

He's even taken to sitting down to meals with you and your family, an amused smile on his face as he watches all of you interact. Eventually, he joins in the conversations, and your youngest ones get comfortable enough to even eat off his plate

"Don't take food from his plate! That's rude..!"

"It's quite alright, my dear~ I find it endearing~"

He's even in your corner when your picky eaters rise up and try to say they don't like what you made. Pushing their plates away and pouting

"Mom, I don't like it..."

You can't help but sigh and roll your eyes, exasperated and annoyed that you have to go through this again

"Yes you do, you've eaten this before and you gobbled it up... Just try it, baby."

They whine and try to refuse when Alastor speaks up, pushing their plate back towards them gently

"Now, now, your mother worked hard on this meal... We don't want her good efforts to go to waste, do we?"

"No..."

Your child whines but reluctantly takes their fork and begins eating, Alastor giving you a triumphant grin as he sits back down

You take a bite of your own food to hide the fond smile that wants to creep up onto your face

The hardest, scariest moment at the hotel for you was when you and one of your older girls got into an argument in front of Alastor

It all started over a party and a boy, you wouldn't let her go and in typical teenage fashion, she started to fight with you. The more you held your ground and said no, the worse it got

"Young lady, that is not a good environment for you! It is a disgusting den of perverts, drugs and uninhibited violence!"

You tried to stay calm and reason with her, but her emotions were running too high

"We're in HELL! There's no place here that's good for any of us! Why do you have to be such a bitch!?"

Before you can even open your mouth to reply, Alastor places a hand on her shoulder, his smile twitching and the sound of static buzzing

Your heart drops as you fear he's going to hurt her, instinctively moving forward to stop him

"Alastor-"

"Dear one, it's bad manners to talk to your mother like that. She only worries for you and wants to keep you safe. I suggest you go to your room and calm down, then come back to apologize to her. Hm~?"

He pats her head and nudges her to go to her room, turning to you and tilting his head. She looks embarrassed and a little ashamed, seemingly taking Alastor's words to heart

"Ah, teenagers~ Always so temperamental even when dead~"

You do your best to ignore the sudden heat on your cheeks, the way Alastor handled the situation having you feel some type of way

If Alastor were to have a type...he would have to say he's definitely drawn to the motherly type, it's a weakness of his

So when Charlie drags you and your gaggle of children to the hotel, Alastor has an inkling of the kind of trouble he's in for the moment he sees you

He's seen how you've come running out of your room in the dead of night because you heard one of your little ones crying from a nightmare. How you spend the rest of your night awake and rocking them back to sleep

Alastor has watched you run yourself ragged trying to get all of your children ready to go out for the day, juggling your teenagers yelling at you because they can't find their clothes and your little ones tugging on your clothes for your attention

He's noticed how you'll shield your family from sinners at least twice your size without fear. Not even he himself was an exception from your intense protectiveness

In the earlier days of your family moving in, Alastor had picked up one of your younger kids to stop them from touching something and you had panicked

He'll never forget how you had tore your kid away from him and held them tight, giving Alastor a intense look as you poked his chest

"Never do that again."

He had tried to brush it off and charm you with a smile, acting unbothered

"Darling, your family is in no danger here. I can assure you-"

"Bullshit. There's no such thing as a safe place or someone you can trust, not here."

You had stormed off after that and Alastor was left with a warm feeling building in his chest that has yet to leave

Your soft smile whenever one of your kids snuggled with you, the way you sighed and put your hands on your hips when they argued with you. Your voice when you sang your littlest ones to sleep

It was all so addicting for him, he found himself wanting to be a part of your family and the love within it

Without even realizing it, Alastor had begun filling the role of the father in your family, ending up getting attached to each of your kids

He learned what made them happy, what made them sad or scared, which ones needed hugs and which ones preferred words

Both you and Alastor began to work together as a team, and most people outside of the hotel just assumed you two were a married couple. A married couple with a small army of kids

You stop one child from bumping into someone, and Alastor scoops up the other two before they can do the same

Alastor will cook dinner and you'll clean up the mess while you both sneak the dessert that the kids don't know you have

All of you will hang out together in the lobby of the hotel, Alastor humming to himself and pretending to nap while your girls play with his hair and paint his claws

Your boys will all be cuddled up around you while you read a story to them, both of you enjoying the domestic bliss

There's a building tension between you and Alastor that everyone can sense, even the kids but nobody comments on it

Except Angel but he doesn't dare bring it up around you two

Your kids start pulling little stunts to get you two to end up together, offering to make you both dinner only for it to be classically romantic with candles, flowers and your children pretending to be waiters

Or asking embarrassing questions in front of the two of you, like if Alastor thought you looked pretty or if you liked Alastor's voice

Or wanting both of you to tuck them and give them goodnight kisses at the same time

The worst part is...it was totally working

The tipping point came when one of your boys woke up crying in the middle of the night, both you and Alastor barging into the bedroom

He was inconsolable, having obviously had a nightmare and repeating that he didn't belong here. He only quieted down once you and Alastor wrapped your arms around him

The three of you were cuddled up on a bed that was far too small for all of you, you couldn't contain your blush once you realized this

So Alastor offered up his room for the night, and the three of you snuggled together in his bed, Alastor's arms wrapping around you

You both woke up with more kids in the bed than you remember going to sleep with, your little boy having climbed onto one of his sisters instead

Leaving you tucked under Alastor's chin with your face in his neck, Alastor's strong arms around your waist and his face buried in your hair

The two of you had pulled away out of embarrassment, making eye contact before suddenly melting back together, soft smiles on your faces

"Alastor..?"

"Hm~?"

"I really want to kiss you right now..."

You two are unofficially, officially a couple after that. Grossing out your children by kissing each other, saying sappy things, just embarrassing them with how in love you are

It's so painfully domestic, but Alastor wouldn't give it up for anything. Not when the youngest ones grab his legs and try to hold him down, not when the teenagers get snarky with him. Not when you two bicker over what's best for the family

Even the more embarrassing moments, like when you two are in bed together, Alastor chasing his release as you lock your legs around him and dig your nails into his back

He's nearly about to spill inside you when there's a tentative knock on the door, making the two of you freeze and whip your heads towards the sound

"Papa..? Mama? I keep hearing scary noises, and I can't sleep..."

It's an awkward untangling of limbs and soft cursing before you two start laughing at how absurd it is

Or the softer moments when he looks into the bedroom to see you singing your kids to sleep, feeling himself grow relaxed and sleepy at the sound of it

His life has nearly completely changed since meeting you and your family, but he wouldn't change anything even if he could

Rosie often teases him about how much he's softened up for his family. It's all good-natured, though, she just as attached to them as he is

"So Alastor~ How's that little family of yours doing? Did your girls finally stop fighting over that boy?"

"They're lovely as always, but unfortunately, that boy seems to have been scared off."

"Such a shame~"

"Quite~"

Honestly, the only thing Alastor needs now is to find you a ring

@valerie-is-in-the-cupboard I know we talked about you writing a lil' something about this, so I tried to twist it up because I didn't want to inadvertently take any ideas you had!

[8lyme]

"Why do I have to lose you?" pt.2

Part 1 <-

Logan Howlett x Reader (afab pronouns used a few times)

Warnings: very sad, a little graphic, mentions of blood/gore, grown man brought to tears, TW didn't get to describe how sexy logan is sorry

a/n: ate my cheerios locked in to gossip girl and then wrote the saddest shit i could. also idk how to do a taglist but to my one fan heres ur shoutout xoxo @corvusmorte 🫶🏼

You tugged at the clips of your harness, trying not to hyperventilate. Sporadically swiping the heels of your hands across your eyes between each tug made your hands slick with tears. After a little bit, you couldn't even grip the buckles anymore.

Damn Logan's stupid metal bones, locking you into the chair.

You reached behind you to try and release the spring of the chair. If you could just pop it up, you would slide over to the console and could turn off the autopilot.

You hoped Logan survived the fall from the jet as you painfully leaned over the arm of the seat.

"Please, please, pleaseplease, please!" you whispered to yourself. The chair dug into your ribcage too much, and you couldn't reach the clip. You straightened up and let out a few panicked cries before trying to reach behind the chair from the other side.

You strained your neck to peak around the chair, shoulder straps tight to your chest. There has to be an emergency unlock or eject button on the chair for this harness, you thought before panickedly feeling all over the sides of the chair with your hands.

After running your hands over the metal to no avail, you resulted to sticking you legs out to try and reach the console. You groaned as you stretched your leg as far toward the controls as possible. When that didn't work, you tried to swing your legs behind the base of the seat. The straps and the curve of the seat prevented your foot from going very far, causing you to straighten with a frustrated cry.

You yanked again at the straps, somehow managing to get your heels onto the seat lip. You gripped the chair arms and pushed up in an attempt to snap the strap between your thighs. It was stuck fast.

You angrily swung your arms in an attempt to hit something. The straps under your shoulder shifted, and you immediately began to wiggle yourself out. Painstakingly, your right shoulder was freed.

You ripped your other arm out of the harness and again extended your hand to the clip behind the chair. Through the reflection of the windshield, your hand looked just close enough to the clip, but you couldn't feel it.

Readjusting, you took a deep breath. The cabin was nearly dark, and the loud sputtering of the engine made it hard to think. You couldn't turn the chair around and there was nothing in reach to grab.

Far from giving up, you tucked your ankles back to the chair lip and reached behind you again, still just barely too far away.

"Oh, yes!" you said, realizing your boots were high enough for you to take off and reach behind you with.

Boot one was undone and in your hands in seconds, dangling by the clip. You smack once, twice, and then three times before hitting the clip. The chair unlocked and started to slide forward, but a loud clang followed by the screech of tearing metal tipped the jet and locked you back in place. Your boot flew out of your hand to the back of the cabin.

Wind instantly roared behind you, and you turned to the hanger door falling open. Whatever hit you did damage. Realistically, this jet didn't have much more flying time left in it. You had half a heart to let the autopilot land.

However, you caught a glimpse of the army beginning to bunch itself up. If you could unclip the chair and turn off the autopilot, you could swing the jet around, steer towards towards the grouping troops, and ideally eject yourself out of the hangar before the jet exploded into the ground and took out the trucks and soldiers.

"Okay, okay" you reassured yourself, untying your other boot. You reached behind the seat. Before you could even think to hesitate, a glimpse of the school caught your attention.

The grounds were in flames and a large chunk of one corner had been blown off. You instantly smacked your shoe down, unclipping the chair's safety lock.

In an instant you shot forward to the controls. You smacked the autopilot switch and gripped the handles, jet dipping before you regained control. You angled the handles down and pushed the jet into a nose-dive. The ground came rushing at you fast and you felt your ears pop with the pressure change. Your vision blurred while you flailed for the eject button.

-

Logan hit the ground with a sickening crack. He blinked awake after a minute of regenerating, the familiar buzz of his limbs waking up starting to fade.

He unsheathed his claws before glancing up at the sky to watch the jet you were in begin to fly away. Relief was quickly replaced with urgency as the boom of a tank went off near him.

He stood just in time to watch a corner of the school crumble to dust. Rage bubbled up inside him, and he sprinted toward the source of the explosion.

Before he managed to get halfway to the clumping group of tanks and soldiers, the roar of the jet shoots over him. He skids to a halt as the jet barrels into the center of army.

The ricochet from impact knocks Logan onto his back. He groans while lifting himself off the grass, short circuiting at the sight of thick black smoke coiling from the crash.

He scours the sky for a sign of you, panic and anguish settling into him when he sees nothing. He clambors up and sprints to the smoldering jet.

Logan tries to shut his mind off as he rips away at the metal of the jet. The bay door is jammed shut awkwardly, and he can only slash through it so much.

He's able to get a grip of an opening, brute strength bending the metal away. He climbs through, sliding down the angled floor and into the crushed cockpit.

There's no sign of you inside. Logan has shredded through the controls and interior walls in panic. He doesn't want to hear himself say it, but he knows anything that happens to you is his fault.

"Logan!" He hears, and through the hole he ripped open in the jet is Scott.

"We found her."

-

When Hank had found you, you were gasping for air. You'd shot out of the back of the jet at the last second, flying through the smoke. The straps that clung to you may as well have saved your life, the metal of the chair breaking most of your impact.

Not all, however, as your landing caused you to roll harshly against the ground. You narrowly dodged a rock smacking you clear in the head, but the bounce of the seat slammed your leg into something very hard, and you felt it break.

The feeling of hands roused you from your daze, and you managed to blink your eyes open.

"Can you hear me?" You hear. "Hey, open your eyes. Can you hear me?"

You could blurrily make out Hank's face against the contrast of the trees. The warmth of his hand reaches your face, and you try to offer him a pained smile.

"Hey," you manage, not noticing the drop in Hank's expression when blood pools out of your mouth.

"Keep listening to me," He says to you, pulling on the straps of your harness. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"

" 'Kay," you whisper, head lolling to the side when Hank lets go to rip the straps out from the back of the seat.

He slides his hand under your shoulders, pulling you up and tilting your head down against his chest.

"You still hear me, right?" He slides his other arm under your knees. "Still with me?"

"Uh-huh," you answer. Hank pulls up on you and begins to stand, but you cry out in pain. Your leg is on fire as it hangs loose in the air.

"What happened? Where are you hurt?" He panics, setting you flat onto the ground, arm still around your back.

"My leg," you gasp out, arms shaking violently as you bend to grip your calf. "Broken."

"Fuck," Hank says. "Hold on."

You hear a loud snap and feel pressure on both sides of your shin. He's taken two branches and braced your leg, using the broken straps of your harness to makeshift a splint.

"Best I can do," He says, moving to scoop you up again. "Ready?"

You nod, still trembling from the pain. He stands, and the pain in your leg makes you lightheaded. Hank is still talking to you, asking you questions that you can only answer with single syllables.

You're lucky you can't see his face. He isn't wearing his concern well. Blood outlined your teeth and cracked into your lips. The color had been drained from your face and your breaths were shallow. He wasn't sure if you were aware of your shredded uniform sleeves or the blood seeping from them staining his shirt.

Your breaths turned into wheezes, and Hank picked up his pace. The courtyard of the damaged school coming closer into view.

"Hey, keep talking to me. We're almost at the school, ok?" He shifts you gently, hoping the movement rouses you more.

"Huh," you wheeze, the whistling in your voice making Hank more nervous. Your ribs were definitely bruised if not broken. Your uncontrollable shakes alluded to a severe head injury - one he prayed wasn't worse than a bad concussion.

The two of you broke through the tree line. Surrounding sounds started to fade out of your hearing, but you tried hard to focus on Hank's voice.

He shouted out to someone, but you stopped making sense of voices.

"Hey, open your eyes," Hank says, careful not to jostle you too much as he scraps for your attention.

You tilt your head up slowly, trying desperately to keep your lidded eyes open.

"Can't," you mutter out. You feel sick and hot, each breath accompanied by an increase and then decrease of the dull pain in your chest. Everything hurt so much it almost began to cancel itself out. The effort you made trying to stay cognisant suckng the energy out of your body.

You don't hear him try to rouse you again, or the panic in his voice when he realizes you aren't responding.

You don't hear Ororo screaming across the grass at Scott to get Logan. You don't feel her hands against your neck as she checks your pulse.

You don't hear Jean shouting at Hank to take you to the lab. You don't hear Scott calling out to Logan. And you don't hear Logan calling out for you in a broken roar.

-

Logan stares at the floor outside of the lab. A dark cloud of fear and anguish settles over him. He has a way of thickening the air with negativity in these moments.

He can't look Hank in the eye knowing your blood is soaked through his shirt. Knowing he trapped you in that harness.

He counts himself lucky that he didn't find you crushed to the console of the jet, but that doesn't mean he isn't fighting off how very real that could have been.

Scott and Kurt had to hold him away from the doors when he raced after you. They later had to hold him up when he collapsed to his knees in despair.

He didn't look up when the hiss of the glass doors sounded or when Jean called Hank in to swap with her. They'd been at this for hours. Hank was terrified of you sustaining a significant brain injury, Jean more concerned about the hairline fractures in the ribs of your chest, caused by the harnesses Logan crushed to your body.

Jean sank in the seat next to him, letting out a shaky breath.

"Logan," She tried gently, knowing he wasn't capable of a response. "I know how you're feeling right now-"

"You don't," he cuts her off. The shake in his voice cuts through the air and he rubs at his eyes, hoping Jean can't tell that he's trying to rid the sensation of stinging behind his eyes.

"Logan, we know you crushed the buckles of her harness," she says gently. The breath he lets out is shaky and filled with a somber acknowledgement. He feels so guilty he might be sick.

"If you hadn't done that, she most likely would have died," Jean tells him, knowing this won't change anything besides offering him an ounce of peace of mind. "If she'd unclasped herself at any point, she would've flown out of the jet when the hangar was hit open. The clasps are designed to unhook on impact after ejection, and since her chute didn't activate she would've hit the ground much harder. I know you feel at fault here, but she's only bruised."

"If'd I'd just let her land the damn thing," he choked out, looking up to blink back the wetness in his eyes.

The door slid open again, Hank moving through slowly.

"Her eyes are open," he says, relief not present in his tone. "She might respond to you."

Logan meets Hank's eyes. He looks tired and defeated.

He looks away as he slowly pushes up from his chair, slowly and shakily passing Hank through the doors. Logan feels Hank's eyes burning into the back of his head. He gains no solace from knowing whatever Hank is thinking about him, Logan is thinking much worse.

He's afraid to step closer when he sees you. Your leg has been casted properly, resting over two white pillows. Your tattered uniform has been replaced with a grey t-shirt and shorts, a thin blanket laying over your one fully-exposed leg. He can see wires from EKG electrodes poking out from the bottom hem and collar of your shirt. An IV of saline is attached to the vein of your arm. Both have gause peaking out from your shirt sleeves, and Logan didn't have to see the blood soaking through them - he could smell it. A nasal cannula rested above your upper lip, blood still crusted between the cracks of your lips. You had two unbandaged scrapes on your face, one on your jaw and the other on your forehead.

You blinked and just barely turned your head to him. Immediately, he rushed over, gingerly touching your fingertips.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered to you, terrified to place his hands anywhere on your body. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."

He covered his eyes with his hand, breathing in a sniffle as he turned his head away from you. His thumb stroked over one of your fingers.

He felt you move and quickly faced you, eyes rimmed with redness. He watched you blink slowly, opening your mouth to try and speak.

You said his name in a raspy whisper. Logan clenched his jaw and hung his head, slipping his palm under yours. He felt the gentle squeeze of your hand and sunk to his knees in pain, head resting against the side of the bed. Guilt was corroding away at his insides. He felt the crushing weight of his actions in his neck and shoulders. The inside of his body felt weak and his stomach churned.

You turned your hand and stretched your fingers back, gently stroking at his forehead. He squeezed your hand and stood back up, bringing his other hand to the side of your face.

"I don't know how to protect you," he whispered, voice breaking.

"That's okay," you say back, eyes beginning to close again. You pull his hand to your stomach and thread your fingers together, his pinkie resting between your middle and ring finger.

Logan gently threads his fingertips through your hair, wanting so desperately to hold you in his arms.

"Don't go," you mutter, eyes closed. Your breath evens as you fall back asleep. Logan's breath remains shaky, the stinging returning to his eyes.

"I won't," he says softly, voice raw. He slides the chair from the end of your bed over to himself, sitting down. He rests his head between his arms, looking up at the rise and fall of your chest.

He won't leave, not anytime soon. If you wake up and want him gone, then he'll disappear. For now, he'll allow himself to relish in the fact that you're still alive.

[crappymixtape]

hang on tight, baby • part two

NAVIGATION -> PART I •  PART II •  PART III favored to win in barrel racing for the upcoming rodeo, you’re out in the corral practicing when your obnoxious neighbor, tyler owens, swings by to say hi, but when the wind picks up you both won’t have a choice but to trust each other • 18+  | ( 3.1k – TW: natural disasters, tornado, injuries • witty banter as foreplay, fluff in their own way, enemies to idiots in love, tyler owens x reader )

H A N G O N T I G H T, B A B Y • P A R T T W O 🎶 parachute, chris stapleton

White noise buzzed in your ears, a scratchy static that closed in around you tight and suffocating and you couldn’t move. Stuck to the glittering red plastic bench seat and staring out the window at the thin twist of cloud pulling closer and closer to the ground until a hand pressed firm into yours.

“Sawyer, you with me? C’mon, we gotta move!”

Tyler’s eyes were wild, sea glass turned stormy with adrenaline, and the way his thumb flexed against your palm pulled you back to the present.

“Wha–oh–shit,” a string of curses fell from your lips and you pushed yourself from the booth.

“Dot! You got a basement?” Tyler called over the loud drone of the siren blaring outside, but the old woman was already ushering her patrons through the kitchen and out the back door.

“Honey, I’ve done this enough times I could do it with my eyes closed! You go kick those folks out there into gear,” she shoved the last of the diner guests out the door and waved a hand toward the lot where Tyler’s rig was parked.

You hadn’t quite made it all the way into downtown, just on the outskirts, but there had been plenty of people milling around before the warnings started. The post office across the street was filling up with panicked folks and Matty’s Mechanic just around the corner was sure to have people in it too.

“Alright, listen to me,” Tyler took hold of your shoulders and stooped down so that his gaze met yours, setting fire to the flicker in your chest. Steady, sure, safe. “I’m gonna go around to Matty’s, think you can check the post office?” he was nodding at you – you can do this – reassuring, but your heart was hammering against your ribcage so hard you were sure it was going to crack.

“Uh, ye–yeah–”

“Hey. You got this, okay? Okay?” he squeezed your shoulder. “We meet back here in two minutes tops. Right? And if I’m not here you get to Dot’s cellar.”

“What? Without yo–”

“I’m gonna be here, but I’m sayin’ so cos I know you like a good, organized plan,” he tried a small, half-hearted grin, but it fell at the edges and you thought for a minute, maybe he was just as scared as you were.

“Fine. Two minutes,” you breathed and when his hands left your shoulders the hammering in your chest gave way to an ache you’d been pushing back on since the first time you laid eyes on Tyler.

Come back.

“Two minutes. Now giddy-up,” and with that he was already out the door and down the street to Matty’s.

You watched him disappear around the corner just as the sky opened up. Split in two and heaved buckets of rain down onto the pavement, the wind picking up strong enough to start shredding the flag on the pole in the lot.

This wasn’t your first tornado and it sure as hell wouldn’t be your last, but it never failed to scare the shit out of you when the sirens wailed over the howl of the wind. Tyler was right though, there were people across the street that needed help, needed a shove back to reality and you could do it.

You could do it.

Shoving the door open against a gust of wind, it nearly pushed you back into the diner, but you shouldered into it and stumbled out into the parking lot. Rain drenched you within seconds, droplets the size of quarters, too warm and carrying with it the promise of destruction.

Boots splashing through the puddles, you sprinted across the street and into the post office only to find it was full of people – wall-to-wall and standing room only. Your heart stopped for a second, where in the hell were they all gonna go? And then you saw the post master.

“Hey! Hey!” you shouted at him over the cries of children and adults alike. “You got a basement or a cellar?”

He looked like a ghost, white as a sheet, like a deer in the headlights and you shoved through the crowd to get to him. Gripped his shirt in your hands and shook him.

“A cellar, basement, anything!”

“I don’t–s’my first day–what are we gonna do??” he shouted at you and you tossed your gaze out the bay of windows to the street. Diner, empty office space, abandoned gas station–

“There!” you pointed, the wind screaming outside now and pulling all kinds of debris and branches through town. “That gas station has a cellar, I’ve seen it. Get these people over there now! Hurry!”

You watched as your words cut through his panic, his expression steeling against the fear swelling in him and he hollered over the sound of the storm.

“Everyone! Hold hands! We’re gonna get across the street to that gas station over there, alright? Buddy system! Hold ‘em tight!”

A small smile flickered at the corners of your mouth — ‘atta boy — and one at a time people nodded, murmured okay, we got this, let’s go.

Leveraging the door open with every bit of strength you could muster, you held it against the gales as they ripped through the street, making sure every single person made it out. The post master did his duty too, running the line of people and shepherding them along before kicking open the old cellar doors at the gas station and giving you a thumbs up.

Safe.

Now it was your turn, and you were definitely sure it’d been more than two minutes. Your eyes flicked up to Dot’s and saw Tyler running back to the lot through the wind and rain, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

“Tyler!” you shouted against the storm, but it was loud now, the sky inky black as that tiny twist of cloud turned giant finally connected with the dirt and began swallowing everything in its path. Growing bigger and bigger by the second.

You knew you were out of time.

❝ I KNOW EVERY SINGLE FENCE POST, EVERY ROCK TO GO AROUND. I’VE BEEN STARIN’ AT THE RED OAK, WHERE I KNOW THEY’LL LAY ME DOWN. ❞

“Sawyer! Sawyer!” Tyler felt like he was gonna be sick. It’d been more than two minutes and you were no where to be found, but you had to get back to Dot’s, otherwise you’d–

“Tyler!”

His head whipped to the side at the sound of your voice carried somehow by the wind and when he caught sight of you holding open the door to the post office he heaved a sigh of relief. Thank, God.

“C’mon! Get outta there, we gotta go!” he shouted, waving an arm at the diner, but when you moved to come back out into the storm a heavy gust whipped down the street and slammed the door shut, throwing you back inside with it. “Sawyer!”

Tyler didn’t hesitate, not even one second as he tore across the parking lot to you despite the danger he was putting himself in – staring death down for you. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull the post office door open against the wind, but he got it cracked just enough to slip inside, breaths falling heavy from his lips.

And then he saw you. Sprawled out on the floor with your head propped against the wall of P.O. boxes and chin lolled down to your chest. The sight gripped him tight like a vice spinning shut, crushing his chest and squeezing his heart so hard he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, God–shit–no, no, no–”

Clambering down onto the tiled floor he ghosted a hand over your forehead, wanted to sweep the hair from your eyes, but didn’t. Not now. Right now he needed to make sure you were okay. Checked for signs of blood or broken bones and when he didn’t find any, felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders. He pressed his head to your chest for a heartbeat – thud, thud, thud – and that was all he needed. Scooping you up, an arm around your back and the other tucked under the crook of your knees, he lifted you from the ground.

“You with me, sweet stuff?” he asked and when you groaned he let out a shaky laugh. “Damn, Sawyer, you sure know how to scare a fella,” he teased weakly, gaze flicking up to see the tornado ripping through the buildings just two streets over. “Hang on, I’m gonna get us outta here,” he promised.

The wind outside the building was howling so loud he could barely hear himself think. The windows flexed, creaking and whining at the pressure building on the other side, and Tyler’s mind started to race.

Where the hell were you gonna go?

Dot’s was out of the question, too far now, and he’d seen all those people go to the gas station, it’d be full, but then a memory struck him like lightning.

He couldn’t have been more than seven, at this very post office with his granny to mail a package to his uncle Jasper when the sirens started wailing. The old post master had ushered them around the back of the counter and if you hadn’t known where to look you would’ve missed it – the thin outline of a square in the floor with a tiny handle and latch, a bunker.

Now this was years ago, and there wasn’t any guarantee it was still there, but he was willing to take his chances. Bumping the low swing door at the counter with his hip, Tyler pushed you both back to the post master’s desk, eyes frantically mapping the floor.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, the roof overhead beginning to rattle and shake. It was bound to be overhead any second and then he spotted it, dirt caught in the grooves and faint, but it was there.

“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to set you down as gently as he could in a hurry, and yanked at the handle.

A high pitched whistle filled the room, the air getting sucked out of every nook and cranny, and an explosion sounded outside – propane tanks or Matty’s garage – and Tyler flinched.

“C’mon, you son of a bitch!” he yelled at the door and gave it one last yank until it flew open in a cloud of dust. It wasn’t very big, but more than enough room for the both of you, and he let the breath he was holding go just as a piece of the roof ripped off and spun up into the angry swirl above him.

No time.

Grabbing hold of you, he tossed you over his shoulder and practically fell down the ladder into the bunker just as the rest of the roof gave way, debris tumbling down into the hole after you.

“Shit–hang on!” he called out to you, shielding your body with his, and the feeling of his chest pressed to your back pulled you out of your daze.

Eyes fluttering open you blinked against the dark, the small space illuminated in a flash every time lightning split the sky in two, and you sucked in a gasp. Where were you? Your hands scrambled for purchase and found the piping running along the wall Tyler had huddled you both against.

“Tyler!” you cried and he freed a hand from the old rusty pipes to grab hold of your waist, his palm wide and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Hang on, just hang on!” he yelled.

The howl of the wind was deafening now, an unyielding roar overhead ripping and tearing and shredding everything in its path. Distant booms and crashes telling you this was bigger than any EF-1 or 2. Tears welled up at your lash line, head pounding where you’d hit the mailboxes upstairs, and you squeezed your eyes shut against it all, pressing your hand into Tyler’s.

Please, please, please, you prayed silently to whatever god might be listening, Tyler’s chest heaving against yours, his heart hammering heavy in his chest until finally the roar began to dull. Slowed and stretched to a low growl, breathed its last breath and then plunged everything into silence.

❝ SUN COMES UP AND GOES BACK DOWN, AND FALLING FEELS LIKE FLYIN’ ‘TIL YOU HIT THE GROUND. SAY THE WORD AND I’LL BE THERE FOR YOU – BABY, I WILL BE YOUR PARACHUTE. ❞

You opened your eyes to slivers of bright light chasing across the dirt floor of the bunker, the sounds of sirens and emergency vehicles dipping down through the tattered door overhead, Tyler’s hand wide and warm still pressed to your waist.

A shaky breath fell from your mouth.

Alive.

“You okay?” Tyler asked, panted breaths fanning over your hair and it sounded small, vulnerable – no hot air or bravado. A side of Tyler you didn’t know. A glimpse of the fact that he was human just like you. That he felt fear just like you. That there was more to him than you’d wanted to accept and a tiny pang of guilt pinched in your chest.

“I think so,” your voice wobbled as you swallowed down the bile that had crept up your throat upon the sick realization that: had that bunker not been there, you wouldn’t be here and neither would Tyler.

Slowly straightening up, Tyler stooped just a little in the cramped space and kept his hand on your waist, his other reaching to take hold of yours.

“Slow, slow,” he eased, pulling you to your feet, coaxing you up from the dirt, quiet encouragement and then…your name.

Your actual God-given name.

Not Sawyer, not sweet stuff, not honey and it wrapped you up in a soft haze. Sounded like heaven and earth and the moon hung lazy among the stars in the sky and when you lifted your gaze to meet his, your breath caught in your throat.

Green eyes, sea glass, the long sweep of his lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, brows knitted together with worry and something else, something warmer, and you wished you could figure it out. Wished you could swim in that soft sea green searching for what it was. Closer, closer, closer–

“Tulsa fire department!”

A voice rang out above you and you both startled.

“Oh–hey! Down here!” Tyler called up and a shadowed face appeared at the bunker entry.

“I’ve got two!” the man shouted over his shoulder before turning back to you, “Are you alright? Any injuries?”

Thinking felt like wading through molasses and you couldn’t put words to the man’s question. A beam of light flicked on, flooding the bunker and when Tyler stole a glance at you out of the corner of his eye he watched as your pupils stayed dilated.

“Damn,” he started, quiet, worried. “Yeah—er–yes. Possible concussion,” he told the EMT and the man nodded.

“Let’s get her up to the rig for an assessment,” and then he backed up to give you room to crawl out.

“Okay, you,” Tyler murmured, trying for his teasing tone and working overtime to quell the worried whispers in his head, “Up we go.”

Taking both of your hands he helped you gain footing on the ladder, nudging your boots onto the rungs with his own and curling your fingers around each hand hold.

“I’m right behind you,” he reassured as you started to shake, shock digging its hooks into you, “Easy, slow and steady.”

You took it one step at a time like he said, slow and steady, your frame trembling as you went. Tyler kept a hand on the small of your back the whole way, silent encouragement, up, up, up until the EMT grabbed hold of you and pulled you out.

Wincing at the sharp light from the sun, you buried your face into the crook of your elbow and let the man guide you toward the ambulance.

“Possible concussion here, pupils unresponsive to light, but no visible external wounds. Her partner here says he’s fine.”

The voices of the paramedics blurred together as you let them guide you to sit at the edge of the ambulance – the press of a stethoscope to your chest, your back, fingers feeling at your wrist for your pulse, a bright light blinding you for a fraction of a second and leaving behind little neon dots in your vision.

“Alright, seems minor, but she needs to be monitored for 48 hours,” the EMT said and you didn’t realize who he was talking to until you blinked away the pinpoints of light and Tyler swam into focus, “Are you her husband?”

That same flush from earlier bloomed across Tyler’s chest and up, up, up to his cheeks and all the way to his ears.

“Oh, n–no, I’m just��”

“He’s a friend,” you finished for him, rescued him from any further embarrassment and felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips.

“Do you live alone?” the EMT asked you and the smile faded.

“Yes,” your turn to blush.

“Well, I’m right next door,” Tyler cut in, “I can check on her.”

The man flicked his eyes from you, to Tyler, and then back to you – unimpressed with whatever this was.

“Sure. Well, friend, she can’t be left alone at all for that duration. No sleep for the next 6-8 hours and if she throws up she needs to be seen again. After that she should be in the clear,” he jotted something down on a pad of paper, the two of you staring holes into the ground, like you were sitting in the principle's office or something. “48 hours, right? Right. Take care now,” the EMT leveled you both with a look then took off around the rig to help with the next injury.

Clearing his throat, Tyler rubbed at the back of his neck and closed the gap between you, the toes of his boots almost brushing with yours.

“My truck’s still here,” he thumbed over his shoulder at Dot’s, which was still standing in one piece and his big, red, pickup sitting in the lot. “Thought we were gonna have to walk,” a weak laugh pushed itself from his lungs, but his heart wasn’t in it. Crouching down, Tyler dropped to your eye-level and put a hand over the toe of your boot, “Let’s get you home.”

Taking your hand in his he supported your balance, his other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. Walked you to the truck and eased you onto the bench. Gently buckled you in and drove carefully around all the debris and wreckage back down the road and in that moment he became more than just your obnoxious neighbor. Became more than a face on a t-shirt. More than his stupid catchphrase.

He was Tyler Owens and he just saved your life.

[ NOTE -> THIS IS PART 2 OF A 3 PART SERIES – STAY TUNED FOR THE LAST INSTALLMENT! ]

crappymixtape™ • tyler owens / twisters masterlist to come!  ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[ruinix]

Quinn, eating your pussy at his own pace, for hours.

Hello, lovely. I didn't expect to receive another ask for another drabble. I am not ready (actually panicked when i received this). Anyways, I may have gotten overboard with the details before what you requested. Once more asking you to put the bar down🧎🏻‍♀️because.... i'm crying 😭😭😭

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Lots of kisses, Oral (fem receiving...as requested), Q just wanna eat you up--🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️

Count: 1,491 words | Masterlist

You’re a treat. A fucking delicious one. Every time Quinn looks at you, his mouth instantly waters.

He always makes sure that you’re not doing anything that could be dangerous like chopping vegetables, cooking, or hopping over the counters to reach the highest cabinets. He will never endanger you. Though, work calls, phone calls with your friends or family, watching TV, watering plants, on your way out for errands, walking around the house because of boredom…those things aren’t dangerous. Important, sure but those can wait, right? You just look so delectable. Like a treat that’s just for him.

Quinn is sane enough to be wary, yet he could barely control himself when he pulls you for a kiss, pushing you against the nearest surface—the wall adjacent to your home office. He must kiss you and taste you mixed with your flavored lip balms. It's vanilla. Fuck. His. Life.

It would always be, “Oh, Quinn. I need to answer this call.” “Quinn. Sweetheart, I’m busy.” “Quinn, I need to go out.” “Quinn, we need to finish doing the laundry.” “Quinn, I need to do the dishes.”

Right now, it's, "I'm waiting for a call, Quinn."

Bla-fucking-bla. Everything can wait.

Quinn needs you. He’s always so fucking busy with hockey—practice, media, the games. He wants to be with you and taste you whenever chance he gets. And it’s now, now, and always now. It doesn't matter if he has an optional skate that he must prepare for. It doesn't fucking matter.

So, he kisses you deeper, holding your cheeks after he turns off your phone, relishing on your taste, making sure to deepen the kiss so both of you forget when one starts and one ends.

Do you know he could still taste the gum you chewed on an hour ago? Do you know he could still taste the caramel lollipop you were sucking on just now? God, he wants to taste everything mixed with you. You’re his favorite flavor. He wants something more. By the way you’re panting and grinding against his thigh, you want it too.

He’s getting drunk on your tongue, your taste, your touch that he could barely lead you to your bed. When you two part, a string of saliva connects you. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. Your lips are red and swollen. Your hair is fanned out beneath you like a halo. He nearly shudders when your hands find his cheeks.

“Can I?” he asks, while your thumb traces along his lower lip.

“Yes,” you would reply without hesitation, already knowing what he’s craving.

That’s all he needs. He’s kissing you again. Your lips. Your chin. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your earlobe. Your neck, taking his time to suck the fading kiss marks. Your collarbones. He almost tears your shirt open—too many buttons, fuck he just wants to touch you—but he knows better. For every inch of skin he exposes, he kisses and licks.

So divine. You smell like him. Fuck, you used his body wash again.

This is unfair. He feels like he’s losing and falling into your trap. Quinn wants that though. He wants to be trapped with you and nothing else. He wants it so fucking badly.

He could feel your silent chuckle, could feel the scrape of your nails on his scalp. You’re laughing at him, so he pulled down your bra. His lips find your nipple. He sucks, turning your laughter into tiny gasps. That’s it. He can’t have you laugh at him. Not right now.

He takes his time teasing your pretty nipples, licking and sucking your breasts’ undersides from time to time. Relishing his smell on you. His sweet treat. You make him so fucking hard. He knows he’s leaking—pre-cum staining his gray sweatpants—for you. All for you.

Your whines and pleas only make him want to tease you more. Your hips keep pushing up, thighs squeezing around his torso. Your hands that were busy tugging at his hair are now pushing down on his shoulder. You need more. Quinn knows that, but the taste of sweat on your skin is making him hold onto you tighter, making him lick every bead of your skin. Just a few more taste of your skin.

You’re trembling now. The first time you tremble when he touched you, he panicked. But now, he understands your body like the back of his hand. It’s your anticipation, isn’t it? You want all his marks. You want him. You need him. He understands that. Oh, so well, because he feels the same.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your cheeks are flushed as you bite your lips. Your eyes shine with tears. Your eyebrows drawn together. Sweat drips down from your temple. “I love you,” you whisper.

Quinn swore his heart skips a beat. His stomach flips. Hearing those three words always makes him fall for you harder.

He almost drops this, like he could just appease his craving by kissing you. He could be satisfied with that. However, the moment his fingers slip over your panties, feeling how soaked you are, he can’t just stop. He yearns for your pussy. So, he continues. He goes down and down and down, hands expertly removing your skirt—which looked heavenly on you, by the way.

Now you’re just left with nothing. Totally bare. You look so majestic. All spread out for him. He sees your quivering hole, your arousal oozes, almost dripping.  What a sight. A delicious sight.

Quinn just dives for it, tongue licking from entrance to clit, making you mewl. He can’t stop the moan that escapes him. You taste so divine. His favorite aphrodisiac. His elixir.

Lick after lick, he revels in your taste. Your arousal coats every swipe of his tongue. It’s making his head spin, his cock aching. Yet he’s only tasting. Just tasting. Nothing more. Nothing yet. He has time. He has to savor this.

Fuck, he’s so hard. So fucking hard that when he dipped his tongue in your quivering hole, he almost comes as your wall tightens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel it through his cock. It’s always like this. It’s like you’re fucking him when he only has his tongue in you.

Your taste. Your smell. Your wetness. Quinn needs all of it.

He grips the back of your thighs, making you rest them over his shoulders, as he feasts on your pussy, hips rutting into the bed. Everything feels so good for him. The feel of your thighs squeezing his head, threatening to asphyxiate him on nothing but your pussy. That's one way to die, isn't it? Quinn doesn't have any complaints. As long as he's tasting you. As long as your pussy clenches around his tongue. He could just die like that.

When his nose grazes your clit, he feels your pussy throb, squeezing so tightly. Yes. Fuck yes. You’re cumming around his tongue, your thighs quivering, your hands ruthlessly tugging on his hair, your hips grinding on his face. Quinn firmly held you, slurping and sucking your cum. Tastes so fucking good. He holds your hips down. He doubles his efforts, devouring everything you have given him.

“Quinn,” you pant, trying to push him off. “'m sensitive.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He shamelessly doesn’t care. More. He needs more. You can give him more.

Your curses for him to slow down stutters when he sucks around your clit, his fingers replacing his tongue. He could feel your surrender as you grind against him, back arching when he hooks his fingers to your sweet spot. Your whines get louder. So much louder because you’re coming again and Quinn is already there, tongue deep inside your pussy, taking everything. So exquisite.

He takes and takes until you come down from your high, panting and quivering, but Quinn still wants more. He fucking needs it. He wants your taste to last until the next day. He wants to feel you come again and again around his tongue. It’s not fucking enough.

“Quinn,” you say in a broken plea.

“One more, baby,” is all he says. “One more.”

You answer with a whimper, head nodding.

You both know he’s a liar.

It’s never ‘one more’. Never even when he gets you to come twice more. Even when he comes in his pants—cum making the gray dark which only makes him more feral. Even when you get overstimulated as well as his dribbling cock. Even when his phone rings for that fucking optional skate. Even when you two are dripping with sweat. Even when exhaustion takes hold of you.

He would just slow down, but never part from you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive. It fucking is.

Quinn would eat you out for hours. He could do it for days, but you would always slap him off you after two hours. But today, he’ll go for three.

[sansaorgana]

— THE SERPENT QUEEN

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — The Queen of The Southlands is Adar's prisoner in Mordor but her husband comes back to set her free. At least that is what they want other people to believe. In fact, they seek their revenge on the Lord Father of the Uruks and they certainly are up to no good.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The idea for this story started quite simple – Halbrand looks so hot in this episode that while rewatching I thought... what if he was like "set my wife free" instead of "let my people go"...? 🥵 And in the end the story grew much bigger plot-wise and it's quite long but I didn't want to split it in two parts because I feel like more interesting things are happening later in the story. 🙈🤣 The Reader is a Maia and she changes her forms but I did not describe how any of them look like except for a little detail that is a scar and I needed it for the plot. She is also a shape-shifter like her husband but she is known for being a serpent and she is referred to as (Y/N), which is her "Maia name" but I also gave her three other names, which are for her disguises and their meanings are explained in the fic. BTW there might be a second part to my Chrysalis fanfic! But I wanted to write something else first! 🦋

WARNINGS — Reader is not a good person, mentions of Morgoth's past abuse (towards her, Mairon and Adar), Reader is being beaten by the Orcs as their prisoner (she is a Maia, though, so it doesn't really damage her or anything... but still!), brief mentions of other prisoners dying (including children), Reader has a scar on her chest/breast, shape-shifting into a snake (can it be a tw?)

WORD COUNT — 8,500 (🙈)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE SERPENT QUEEN

“Where did Halbrand’s wife ever learn how to use a sword?” Galadriel wondered after watching your little performance to show her that you indeed could pick the freshly forged weapon up and wield it.

You panicked at first, not knowing what to say, therefore you laid your eyes on your husband who was leaning on the wall with a smirk as he watched you. His tanned muscles, dirty from the forge’s grease, flexed in a very appealing manner as he smirked. After all, he was the master of deception, therefore you hoped he would come up with a good lie.

“That is how I fell in love with her, don’t you know?” He chuckled and shook his head, winking at you. “I started a tavern brawl once and there she was, showed up out of nowhere and pressed a knife to my throat, telling me to get out of her father’s tavern. She kicked my arse although I admit, I let her,” he added and you rolled your eyes.

“Bollocks,” you snorted at that. “Keep lying to yourself, Hal.”

Galadriel smiled at the story, however she remained vigilant.

“That does not answer my question,” she pointed out but you already felt more comfortable with lying since your husband had prepared the soil for it.

“My grandfather was a knight,” you told her. “A poor one that had been given some of his own land but he lost nearly all of his humble fortune because of gambling. He kept his sword, though, and I was his only grandchild. My old man never learnt how to wield it nor was interested in it but I picked it up quite fast. My grandfather was hesitant at first since I was a girl but he eventually gave in and taught me,” you added to make the story more believable. Galadriel, however, looked a little stunned while you grew frustrated. “Listen here, Elf, human women are stronger and more independent than you think. In the village not so far away from ours, there is this woman… Annie’s her name, am I right, Hal?” You looked at your husband with another made up lie.

“Aye, hard–headed Annie,” he nodded and Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

“She is a carpenter’s widow and when ol’ John died, Annie was left with nothing. She learnt the craft in a year and re-opened the workshop,” you told her and Galadriel seemed to be a little surprised but did not comment any further.

“Well, alright then, knight’s granddaughter,” she challenged you as she raised her own sword slightly to point its sharp tip at you. “Show me how you fight now. Holding the sword and waving it around is one thing but dueling with me is another,” she walked out of your house and you swallowed thickly, squeezing the sword’s hilt.

“Don’t overdo it,” Mairon squeezed your arm when you were on your way out. He leaned in to hiss it into your ear as he shot you a warning glance. “(Y/N), I mean it. Let her win in the end.”

You looked deep into his eyes without hiding your frustration and anger. 

“Oh? You think I would defeat her? Have you forgotten already?!” You snapped at him, lowering aggressively your white blouse from underneath your corset with your free hand to show him a scar on your breast.

The scar Lady Galadriel had left there the very last time you had duelled with her back in the First Age during the battle where she had known you under a different name and profession, which was one of Morgoth’s Lieutenants. The wound had been inflicted with a steel from Valinor and its pure light had damaged your physical form forever – no matter what shape you took, your form always had a scar in the very same spot.

Your husband looked at the scar and chuckled at the sight of it, which annoyed you further.

“Just go and do your thing but don’t make her suspicious,” he said and you fixed your blouse before following Galadriel outside but not without giving him a scolding look.

Mairon walked out of the building as well and leaned on another wall now but this time in the shadow of the building’s roof where he was able to watch your duel with the Lady of Light.

“Do not fret, it is but a friendly sparring,” she smiled at you.

“I don’t fret,” you emphasised and charged at her.

You were trying to keep your rage at bay and despite the centuries since your previous fight, you quickly found your rhythm again that resembled a gracious dance of two fierce ladies. Feeling your husband’s gaze upon you, not without feeling frustrated and humiliated, you stumbled a few times and let out a few groans of effort to look more human and less experienced than you truly were, hesitating here and there before making the next move even though it had been calculated and planned already.

The Númenorian commoners living on the same street as you and your husband these days froze in the middle of the pavement and abandoned their daily errands to watch the sparring between two foreigner women and what fascinated them the most was how this extraordinary duel was between a human and an Elf. But what they did not know was the fact that the fight in front of their eyes was even more special than they realised.

It was a fight between two old enemies and none of them was mortal. A duel between the Lady of Light, Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad and the Serpent Queen – the only female Lieutenant of Morgoth and then Sauron’s right hand and wife. You had been enemies with her for long centuries now and even in the songs and legends you had always been put against one another. However, that was something even she did not know of at the moment.

You finally landed on the ground, your shoulder blades hitting the pavement as you dropped your sword. She would probably win either way, which was something you had to admit to your own self bitterly, however this time you allowed it to happen much quicker than usual. The way you fell down on the ground hurt your human flesh, therefore you let out a whine and Galadriel’s eyes widened slightly. She visibly felt bad about the fierceness in which she had defeated you despite assuring you of the friendly nature of this sparring.

But throughout the fight you could feel her frustration growing when she had realised you were better than she had been expecting.

“Are you quite alright?” She asked, reaching out towards you with his hand. “You fought well. Your style reminds me of someone very powerful I had once known… Your grandfather must have been a grand knight.”

“I am fine,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and grabbed her hand, allowing her to help you stand up while you picked up the sword from the ground. The people watching on the pavement were slowly going back to running their daily errands. “Do you think my skills are enough to fight the Orcs?” You asked, innocently.

“Yes, I think so,” Galadriel nodded with a furrowed brow and looked behind you to meet your husband’s gaze. “If your husband allows it, that is.”

“I don’t need his permission for anything,” you shrugged your arms.

“Of course,” Galadriel smiled softly. “But I’m sure Halbrand here would not want to lose you, Maira.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he approached you two and stood behind you before wrapping his strong arm around your waist. “She’s invincible, that woman,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek and you giggled. “My woman,” he added and you patted his arm playfully.

Galadriel kept smiling gently at the two of you. She was very glad her plan was working out and of course you had been making sure it would. Your husband had been playing the role of a man who wanted to have nothing to do with his heritage and you played the role of an insisting wife, motivating her man to do the right thing. A classic, old tale.

“The Southlands will prosper under your rule, of that I am sure,” Galadriel whispered with hope in her voice. “King Halbrand and Queen Maira. Your bloodline will be the bloodline of the great and righteous kings.”

“And queens,” you winked at her with a chuckle.

About that one thing you agreed with her, actually – The Southlands would prosper under your rule.

You would heal it, after all. And then you would be moving along to heal more realms and lands. Until all of Middle-earth would be nothing but perfect.

You were not sure if the volcano exploding was part of your husband’s plan. It probably was but as usual he had not told you everything and it frustrated you greatly. Either way, you had no time to discuss it with him as the dust and fire began to cause chaos and destruction. As the (self-proclaimed) Queen of The Southlands, you busied yourself with pretending to be a protector of your subjects, helping women and children to seek shelter.

The darkness and disarray made it possible for all the Orcs to break free and begin their slaughter as well. And somewhere amongst the messy battle, you were suddenly thrown on the ground with all force and attacked by the filthy creatures you had once led to the battlefield yourself.

Therefore, you knew perfectly well everything about how they were fighting and how they were thinking. Surrounded by darkness and chaos you could show the true potential of your abilities since Galadriel could not see you and find them suspicious. This way, you slayed quite a few Orcs but there were too many of them charging at you and, eventually, they kicked the sword out of your hand and held you by your hair, throwing your head back to expose your neck for the dirty blade of the biggest one amongst them.

“Mairon,” you called for him with your mind. You needed a rescue – you did not want to lose this flesh, which would separate you from your husband for another few centuries.

You had been patiently waiting for his return, hiding away from the Valar who wanted to find and judge you. If you lost your flesh now like he had once lost his, you would have to be away from him for a few more centuries. What a cruel fate it would be but perhaps that was the way for the gods to punish you from afar.

And how ironic it would be if you lost your wife because of the Orcs like your husband had once lost his as well. 

“Mairon!” You called for him again when the Orc’s blade moved closer to your neck.

Your husband, however, was busy fighting and perhaps he didn’t even sense your calling. There was only one thing you could do to save your flesh now, although it risked losing your disguise.

The human colour of your eyes subdued slowly and you allowed your pupils to narrow unnaturally as if you were a snake while one side of your human face swelled with thick, black blood flowing in your veins. The Orcs took a step back and looked at each other, confused. You quickly went back to your ordinary and innocent look, though, making them believe they had just experienced some sort of mirage.

They were only descendants of the ones who had been fighting by your side all the centuries ago before your army had turned their backs on you, leaving you in the middle of the battlefield to die from the wound Galadriel had inflicted upon you. Therefore, they could not remember you.

But, perhaps, the legend of the Serpent Queen was still being told between a father and a son amongst the Orcs. Amongst the Elves you were known as Lókë, too, just like your husband was known as Sauron. The Serpent and The Abhorred.

“I am Maira, Queen of The Southlands,” you breathed out the name of your human disguise to the Orcs, pretending to be as desperate as proud. “I am more valuable to you alive,” you added.

They were grunting between each other some things in the Black Speech, which you could understand perfectly but you pretended you could not. Finally, they agreed to let Adar decide your fate and you clenched your jaw at the mention of his name.

The one who had betrayed you and your husband. The one who had ordered the Orcs to leave you out to die in the battlefield where you had been fighting at the same time Mairon had been coronating himself. The war with the Elves had kept you apart on the day so important but you had been trying to remain hopeful – to win him a battle as his coronation gift and get your own coronation ceremony shortly after.

In fact, your husband had promised you that yours would be much grander and more beautiful if you had to have two separate ones. His had been supposed to be a humble one but yours would be the most breathtaking and splendid.

And after nearly coughing your lungs out after being wounded and naively left alone to die as if you were an ordinary mortal, you had crawled out of the battlefield, leaving a bloody trail behind you. And when you had arrived at your fortress, all you had found was Mairon’s dead body.

Knowing he would eventually come back to you, you focused on healing yourself and hiding from the outside world since now you had no army and no husband by your side, meanwhile the Valar had been searching for you. And all this time, you had been tempted to find Adar and seek your revenge but you knew your husband would not be happy that you had taken this from him. He had been the one personally slain by Adar, therefore the vengeance was his to take.

The Orcs put the shackles around your wrists and dragged you behind them to some shed where you were supposed to wait. And while you were on your way there, you finally heard him.

“(Y/N)?” You sensed a panic in his tone. “We are leaving, I am faking an injury. Where are you?”

“Go, Mairon,” you answered. “I am their prisoner and I am sure you can make an advantage of it,” you assured your husband with your mind. He was not replying for a while as if he was thinking about a new scheme.

“I will be back,” he only assured you after a while and you smirked to yourself.

“I know.”

Beaten and bruised, hair full of mud and dried out blood, you were dragged in shackles alongside other human prisoners and you were given no special treatment due to your status. Of course, despite the unpleasant experience of your human form, none of that could truly affect you because you were not bound to your flesh. 

If you truly were who you were claiming to be – a human common woman Maira – you would be long dead now, of that you were sure. In fact, you could see some of the humans dying out of exhaustion or injuries and they were mostly women and children.

Each time they were feeling worse, like the true Queen of The Southlands, you were begging for mercy and for help. And each time you were punished for that but of course nothing could damage your flesh permanently – except for pure Elven steel that represented the light of Valinor… but the Orcs did not possess such weapons, naturally.

They worked on some sort of a primitive settlement for themselves and the humans were required to help them. As a woman you were given a bit lighter jobs around and you were performing them although you wondered when would Adar finally grace you with an audience as you were gritting your teeth and wondering where your husband was and what was he doing.

And, finally, one day, while working alongside others, you spotted Lord Father taking a walk around the camp. He was talking to a few Orcs and nodding his head at their reports. 

You lifted your head up and Adar turned around this very moment as if he felt some sort of a connection between you two. Your eyes met and he tilted his head slightly when you were giving him a hateful look before going back to work.

After a short while, you were being beckoned over by the Orcs to approach them and Adar.

“You!” One of them called in his filthy, raspy voice. “Queen of The Southlands,” he addressed you with irony. “Come ‘ere, Your Majesty,” he emphasised the title as the rest laughed.

You straightened your back and walked up to them as much as the collar around your neck attached to a chain allowed you to. It was not enough, so Adar took a few steps ahead to stand closer to you and examine your face. You could feel your hatred for him growing and making your fists clench around nothing.

“What do they call you, Your Majesty? I believe your name has escaped me,” he started.

“Maira, my Lord,” you remained polite to pose as a person full of dignity no matter what circumstances were.

“Maira…” Adar hummed to himself and furrowed his brows. “The name sounds oddly familiar to me.”

Of course it did, what an idiot, you thought. You named your human disguise after your husband’s true name. And perhaps it had been a mistake, you had just realised.

“Named after my great-grandmother, I was,” you nodded at him. “I wanted to talk to you for a while now, actually. About the way you treat my people here. They need more food and water, better shelters at night, especially children,” you continued your play-pretend. “But I don’t think you want to talk to me about that, am I right?” You sighed.

“My children work as hard as your people. We all start with nothing here,” Adar pointed out and you clenched your jaw at his words.

“Yet your children walk freely and we have collars around our necks,” you told him.

“There is a price one must pay for being defeated,” he pointed out and lowered his gaze at the place where your blouse was torn, revealing a small part of your scar.

Adar furrowed his brows and lowered your blouse down with his cold finger as a shiver travelled down your spine and your heart began to pounder.

“My husband would kill you for that, my Lord,” you threatened but he ignored you.

“Where did you get a scar like this? I’ve seen you back there on the battlefield and you fought well, my Queen,” he addressed you with sarcasm, of course, “and you seemed to be experienced in combat.”

“The scar is not from any combat and I’ve been taught how to fight by my grandfather, he was a knight,” you answered his question but he kept staring at your scar and tilting his head. Was it possible that he could sense the source of the old wound? He was an Elf after all and what had poisoned you forever now was made out of Valinor’s light. “Aye, my Lord, the scar is from my past when I was a very young maiden and didn’t listen to my mama as I wandered around the woods on my own. Don’t worry, I defended myself and you should see the other guy,” you chuckled nervously and Adar finally raised his eyes to meet your gaze but he still looked unconvinced.

One of the Orcs approached him as he kept staring at you suspiciously. He whispered something into Adar’s ear and you could hear the word serpent as you realised that the same Orc had been one of those who had captured you before.

Adar nodded at him and laid his eyes upon you once more, this time even more intrigued than a moment earlier.

“My children claim you pulled a magic trick on them,” he pointed out and you had a feeling that denying it would only make it look worse for you, so you came up with another excuse.

Actually, you realised that lying was not such a difficult craft. So far, you had been mostly relying on your husband to prepare the soil for your deceptions but now, when he was not around to help, you found out it was not that hard to do it on your own.

“My grandmother was a witch, they say,” you remarked.

“You seem to be coming from a very interesting bloodline,” Adar smirked and you sighed.

“You want to talk about my ancestors, my Lord? Sure, why not. I feel myself invited for dinner then, but is it not rude to keep your guests in shackles?” You raised an eyebrow and his facial expression hardened immediately.

“Where is your husband, I wanted to ask?” He finally inquired what he had called you for in the first place.

“The hell would I know?” You shrugged your arms. “What do you need him for?”

“To send him a message that I have you,” Adar explained. “What other use are you to me if not a bargaining chip?” He pointed out. “If he doesn’t come for you, I can kill you easily and get rid of the burden.”

“He will come back,” you assured him with a head nod as your eyes became serious in an instant. “I don’t know where he is but he will not forsake me. You can expect him any day,” you added. “Not only I was left behind, my Lord, but his subjects, too.”

Adar nodded at you and dismissed you before walking away. You, however, stood still and kept staring at his back with nothing but pure hatred.

“What are you staring at?!” One of the Orcs barked at you. “Go back to work, whore!”

“You have no idea who you have just called a whore,” you only told him before turning around and going back to other prisoners. The Orc laughed at you. “Scum,” you muttered under your breath.

The day was windy and dark – like all days nowadays in the land that Adar had renamed to be Mordor. Mairon quite liked the sound of it and he thought he would not change it. Unless his wife would insist, of course. You hated everything that came from Adar, therefore you could want to change the name and he would not blame you.

If you two did not need the army of the Orcs so badly, you would probably insist on getting rid of them, too. That was how much you hated Adar and his children.

A few weeks you had suffered at the Orcs’ camp while your husband worked in Eregion with Lord Celebrimbor – pretending to be worried and heartbroken about his wife’s imprisonment, of course – but now he was finally back to free you and to continue his plan.

He had not been actually heartbroken – he knew his Serpent Queen was strong and truly invincible but he had been worried indeed. Worried that your impulsive nature had given your disguise away somehow during that time.

After turning himself in he was led in chains, with a collar around his neck, to see Adar alongside other humans captured on the way. He witnessed some people being killed for refusing to kneel in front of their new Lord and some being marked with burning iron for choosing to follow the new leader. As a man posing to be their King and protector, Mairon had to pretend to be sympathetic towards their fate.

“The King of The Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs pushed him to stand closer to Adar who had been squinting his eyes at the man in front of him. “Says he wants to negotiate.”

“Is she alive?” Mairon asked as his voice broke a little although he knew perfectly well that you were – his sweet (Y/N), he could sense your presence from miles away now.

Adar hesitated before giving him an answer, visibly debating with himself inside of his mind.

“Worried about the witch, are you?” Adar finally asked and Mairon gritted his teeth.

What looked like him being angry at Adar for calling his wife a witch, was nothing but his anger towards you for being impulsive enough to earn such a title amongst them now.

“What are you talking about?” Mairon asked.

“Nothing,” Adar shook his head and chuckled. “She is alive and a burden to us all. Her wicked tongue and her big mouth surely are. If you want to take her, I am not going to ask for much in return. I will gladly get rid of your Queen,” Adar remarked and the Orcs laughed. 

Mairon moved uncomfortably. It was all a game, of course, but he felt real rage now at the disrespect these filthy creatures were showing to their rightful Queen.

“That is good to hear but I am here not only as her husband. I am here as the King of my people, too,” Mairon pointed out. “Let them go.”

The Orcs laughed again, which was something he had been expecting. Adar remained serious, though, and so did Mairon.

“...or yours will die,” he threatened, although as a human he was posing to be he could not do anything, of course.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so angry with you for making too many hints about your real nature because he was giving in to the temptation himself now. It was simply impossible for creatures as proud as you two not to hint at your real greatness when you were forced to be humiliated by the circumstances.

Adar finally shook his head and snorted at Mairon’s threat.

“My people defeated the Men of these lands,” he said. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid. We even defeated the allies, the Men from beyond the sea,” he stood up from his throne to walk up to Mairon. “There is no one left for us to fear.”

“There is one,” Mairon said to that, pretending to look hopeless and defeated. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out new allies,” he continued as Adar kept staring at him angrily but not without a hint of fear on his scarred face. “An ancient sorcerer and a Lady of Darkness, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon.”

The Orcs were visibly upset about the news as they looked at each other, worried.

“One you first told her about,” Mairon kept teasing to plant an idea inside Adar’s mind that he could be a source of his children’s demise. “A power over flesh,” he explained. “Do you remember those words? A power that will allow them to use your children as slaves in their army once more,” he finished his teasing. “I fled from them after finding out with whom the Elves wanted to forge an alliance,” he continued with the lie.

“Galadriel would never have anything to do with them. She spent long centuries fighting them and their evil,” Adar shook his head.

“Nothing brings people together as much as a common enemy. Perhaps she hates your children more than she hates them,” Mairon answered.

“Besides, they are both slain,” Adar chuckled nervously, trying to convince others as much as himself, therefore Mairon ignored that accusation.

“Set my wife free, let my people go, and I will tell you where they can be found, so you can destroy them and rid us both of their endless evil,” he made sure to sound a little frightened as well.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar addressed him with irony as he moved even closer. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer and his serpent whore now. Or I will spill the words from your throat.”

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Mairon pointed out. “You can’t kill me.”

“We’ll see for how long you keep that attitude,” Adar smirked before looking at one of the Orcs. “Bring her.”

You knew that your husband was back already, you could sense him for long hours now. However, you kept working as usual and pretending that you could not sense anything. The Orcs were already calling you a witch and you wanted them to think of you as an innocent village folk healer instead of a real sorceress with any grand powers because that would be too suspicious.

“You,” you felt a dirty hand grabbing you and turning you around as you nearly bumped into an Orc standing there.

“What is it?” You furrowed your brows, expecting him to inform you that you were free to go after your husband’s negotiations.

This, however, did not happen. Of course. Life would be too beautiful then.

You were dragged by the chain towards one of the wooden huts and thrown inside on the hard floor. You scratched your hands when you landed on it with your arms extended to avoid bumping your head.

“She is no part of this,” you heard a familiar voice and you raised your head as your eyes sparkled and a smile appeared on your face at the sight of your husband. 

He had a collar around his neck as well and he was as dirty and bruised as you were, chained to a wooden pillar. You wanted to run up to him but the chain around your neck was too short to be able to reach him as the Orcs laughed and they chained you to another pillar. This way you could face your husband but you could not touch him and what a great torment it truly was.

It was surely a torment much greater than the physical pain they were inflicting upon you to make him talk. And while they kicked and punched you, you dissociated – staring blankly at the wall and being grateful for the fact you were a creature powerful enough to be able to mentally leave your body like this.

“Stop it!” Mairon begged in a raspy voice as one of the Orcs kept his head still, forcing him to watch. When you laid your eyes on him once, you swore, he even faked a tear streaming down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you heard his voice inside your head and it made you realise that the tear was not a play-pretend. Watching you being in pain was not something he enjoyed unless it was in your intimate moments – something rooted in love and mutual consent.

“I can handle that,” you answered. “What is your plan?”

“I will tell you when we are left alone by them. Can you endure a bit more, my love?” He asked, worryingly.

“I would endure centuries of that for you, Mairon,” you assured him. “I will, however, lose consciousness now,” you warned him so he would not be scared before you pulled the trick on the Orcs and forced your flesh to shut down, pretending to faint out of pain.

Enduring the pain they were causing you was easy. Watching them hurt your husband was worse even though you knew that his case was exactly like yours and none of the damage could truly take him down or become too unbearable. Watching his pain was still making your heart ache as you sobbed and begged them to stop while your head was being kept still and forced to observe like his head had been held earlier by them as well.

The Orcs were taking turns in tormenting you both and you already knew all of Mairon’s plan, which he had revealed to you when they had left you for the night, thinking you would sleep the injuries off, not knowing that rest was not something any of you needed.

One evening the Orcs brought a growling and snarling warg with a collar around his neck like yours and chained him to yet another pillar. He could not hurt any of you because of the length of his chain but they assumed his presence would make you more scared as they walked out laughing and wishing you a good night ironically.

“Aww, poor baby,” you sighed and leaned your head back on the wooden pillar behind you. “Look, my love, they keep him on such a short chain. It should be a crime,” you pointed out. “Shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s fine now,” you cooed to the warg and he barked at you angrily. “Oh, don’t be cross with me, it was not me putting you here!” You chuckled at him and took a look at your husband from the corner of your eye.

He was sitting up as well, leaning on his pillar and staring at you lovingly from between his ruffled brown hair with a soft smile.

“You’ve always liked them,” he whispered.

“What is there not to like about those big, hairy beasts that tend to bite?” You teased him with a wicked smile and he chuckled while shaking his head.

“Do you remember witnessing me like that for the first time?” He asked and you smiled at the memory.

“You stepped on me, my love,” you said and he laughed, therefore you pouted, “and I do not find it funny!”

“You were easy to overlook, my darling. You were a snake then,” he reminded you

“First of all, I was the most beautiful snake in the woods, so you should have spotted me immediately,” you teased. “Second of all, I was terrified, remember? It was the first time I transformed and I could not repeat it. I truly thought I would never go back into my old shape…”

“But then, a big werewolf stepped on you and you suddenly changed into the fair maiden that you are to scold him,” he finished the story. “My wife.”

“Your wife,” you nodded with a smile. “I recognised you immediately, my husband. I recognised you by your eyes alone even though they were yellow orbs of the beast but something about them told me it was my Mairon.”

“And you hopped on me and I took you back to the fortress and our master laughed at that, remember? He called me your dog then,” he chuckled as he shook his head but you frowned at the mention of Morgoth.

“I never liked how he would humiliate you,” you admitted.

“This humiliation I did not mind,” he said.

“This whole thing,” you looked around, “reminds me of the past. Adar treats us like our master once did – making me watch you being hurt and forcing you to witness my torment. Do you think he is inspired by what our master was doing to us? And now he is inflicting it upon… well, us?” You chuckled sadly.

“I… don’t want to remember that,” your husband winced as he leaned his head back on the pillar behind him.

“Forgive me,” you looked down.

“Do you know what pains me the most?” He asked and you raised an eyebrow at him. “That we will forever be known and remembered as his subjects. His followers and his successors. His shadows.”

“There is nothing else we can do. In Valinor we are no longer welcome,” you shrugged your arms, however the old scar nearby your heart burnt at the mention of your home where, deep down, you longed to come back.

But not without Mairon.

“They wanted to give us a chance,” your husband reminded you in a whisper.

“And you really think they would allow us back in on the same terms? Don’t be foolish,” you snorted. “We would forever be outcasts amongst them and they would never trust us. And we would have to bow our heads for the rest of our lives – bow them lower than others to remain in their good graces. I’d rather be known as our master’s shadow and forever wear the stain of being his property once than to bow down in front of anyone ever again!” You drawled out through gritted teeth with determination and Mairon met your gaze, a little taken aback by your outburst. “You are the only one I can bow my head to.”

“You do not have to bow your head to anyone, my love,” he assured you.

At that very moment you were interrupted by a filthy human working for Adar and the Orcs – he was the worst amongst all of these creatures because he was doing all these things not because he had to or out of his nature but simply because he wanted to remain in their good favours no matter what.

He laughed with contempt at the sight of you and your husband and by the stink alone you recognised that he was carrying food for you.

“Am I interrupting’ somethin’, lovebirds?” He asked, to which you and your husband said nothing. “Come on, Your Majesties,” he teased. “Not even kings and queens can go without food,” he reminded you and he had lots of reasons to because you both had been refusing to eat for days now.

He crouched down next to you, probably too scared to tease your husband or perhaps you were more pleasant for his eye. Either way, you wanted to make him regret that.

You did not enjoy being perceived as weaker than your husband only because you were a woman. One thing you had to admit about your master – he had never treated you any different because of your gender. The pain, the torture, the punishments, the responsibilities – you had been gifted the very same ones as any other.

“Why doesn’t he want to open up?” Waldreg whispered into your ear as you kept staring at your husband only, ignoring him completely. “Mayhaps he doesn’t care about you so much, does he? Mayhaps it doesn’t bother him to see you in pain, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your jaw at his words. He had absolutely no idea how much Mairon cared. How much he had been caring for centuries now. How many times he had taken your master’s anger on himself to protect you.

“Mayhaps he told you what he knew, huh?” Waldreg continued. “I’m sure he did. You tell old Waldreg everything you know about Sauron and Lókë…”

Suddenly, you turned your head around to hiss at him, letting out a sound the very same as any real serpent would. Waldreg got startled and jumped back before stumbling down and falling as you chuckled with contempt.

“Pain must be something you enjoy!” He exclaimed at you and threw the food on the floor as two Orcs hurried to his side to help him stand up.

“Oh, mayhaps I do,” you mocked the word he had been teasing you with before and you gained a kick in the face in return from one of the Orcs. Blood filled your mouth as you laughed and the warg next to you began to snarl.

“After Lord Father releases us, I’m going to kill you,” your husband told Waldreg when you were spitting the blood out of your mouth.

“Adar doesn’t even remember you two are here,” Waldreg laughed.

But you knew it was not true – you would never forget the look in Adar’s eyes at the sight of your scar. You were sure he was intrigued by you and your husband and you even had that unsettling feeling that he simply… knew who you truly were.

The Orc, still standing above you, raised his hand to strike another blow and you tensed your muscles, preparing your flesh to endure it.

“I’ll take it,” Mairon interrupted him. “Leave her, I’ll take it,” he pleaded. “She is my wife and I am responsible for her big mouth and her stunts,” he insisted.

Tears filled your eyes at that because he had begged your master the same way once after the battle you had lost – she is my wife and I am responsible for her failure. I’ll take the punishment, leave her, I beg of you.

The Orc looked at Waldreg, a little confused. But Waldreg shrugged his arms in return because it did not matter to him which one of you would be beaten – he simply enjoyed the act. Therefore, the Orc only growled at you before he approached your husband to beat him instead.

What you did not sense in all that mess was the fact Adar was standing nearby and overhearing the last few sentences, which had reminded him of the twisted couple he had known in time long gone now, yet still fresh in his memory.

Your flesh was of a human, therefore it regenerated quicker when asleep. So, some nights you and your husband allowed yourselves to drift off to the land of dreams. You had done that on the previous evening but you quickly regretted that choice because the dream you had was far from pleasant.

It was not a dream, really. It was more of a memory that you found yourself inside of once more – the long and endless road you had crawled with a bleeding wound in your chest, only to find your husband’s dead body abandoned in the fortress in the puddle of his thick, black blood.

You had sobbed and taken his cold hand into yours as you had laid upon his still chest, burying your face in the red fabric of his robe, stained with his blood now, still sensing his weak presence somewhere around the fortress but it had been ungraspable, therefore hugging his dead flesh had been all you could do. You had brushed his ginger hair one last time with a sad smile and had fallen asleep there, on top of him, sobbing and defeated. Alone.

When you opened your eyes, though, you were back to reality. And there was Adar standing above you, staring intensely. You furrowed your brows at him but he did not say anything and crouched down to remove the collar from your neck and set your hands free from the shackles before standing up again without a word. He walked over you to stand above Mairon now, waiting for him to wake up as well.

You sat up lazily, wondering what would happen now and your husband woke up as well not long after you. 

“I was in your place once,” Adar said as you watched, intrigued. Mairon was still laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” Adar continued. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand with the promise of power,” he crouched down to be closer to your husband’s face.

You looked up to exchange a confused look with Waldreg and one of the Orcs standing by the door to the hut. That small string of connection between the three of you in that moment was nearly funny if the situation was not so serious.

“A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left with nobody to keep me company except for a vicious serpent coming to visit me sometimes,” Adar confessed and the pain in his voice was raw and authentic.

You saw something glistening in the dim light and, to your surprise, that was your husband’s tear streaming down his cheek. You understood why – the first Uruks had not been the only ones that Morgoth had been torturing. Despite being enemies with Adar, you had a strong connection with him through the suffering you all had endured back in the day from the hands of the one you all had been calling your master.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Adar continued his story. “I saw them. His servants’ faces. Sauron’s face… It was beautiful. And Lókë’s, too, for she followed him everywhere. Her eyes… Those were the very same eyes as of the serpent that had been keeping me company in those endless days and I realised she had been the one to join me in my misery. And until this day I do not know if it was her mercy, her sympathy or her wicked passion for witnessing somebody else’s pain.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, stopping yourself with every fibre of your being from telling him that it had been sympathy – it had been nothing but pure sympathy and what had been his repayment? Betrayal.

Although some part of you understood his reasons, too. It had all been for his children. Perhaps one day you would understand this kind of love as well but it would require you to forever bind yourself to your physical form and you were not sure if it was a sacrifice you would ever be ready to make.

“Lókë wiped the dirt, sweat and blood off of my face. Sauron offered me wine, red as a blood moon,” Adar went on with his story. “He offered me wine and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.”

You saw your husband glancing at you with his teary eyes and now your own eyes were wet, too, after being reminded of that day.

“Your wife is no longer in chains. Your people have been set free,” Adar announced. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron and Lókë,” he demanded and your husband moved his head up slightly as his blood-covered lips curved into a smile.

“Sauron has returned in a new form and his lover forged herself a new flesh as well,” your husband revealed. “I am not yet sure what shape they have taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily, while standing up.

“I have something you don’t,” your husband teased him. “The trust of the Elves. Release me, release my wife,” he continued, “and we’ll go to them and I’ll seek Sauron out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

Long silence occurred, in which you assumed Adar was overthinking the proposition.

“We want the same thing you do, Lord Father,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a shaky breath. Adar turned around to look at you intensely and you pretended to startle a little. “We want Middle-earth to be free of evil.”

It was no lie – you wanted nothing else. You wanted this world to be a good and happy place. Healed.

Adar took a deep breath in and eventually nodded at Waldreg, who walked up to Mairon hesitantly.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks?” He asked, giving you a quick glance before looking back at your husband.

You waited for Mairon’s decision first and you could see how much it costed him to say that word even though it was only a game you two were playing.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes,” you followed.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered. “Both of you,” he turned his head around to look at you.

You moved yourself up on trembling legs, pretending to be moved and scared. Your husband was still in shackles, therefore he struggled to get onto his knees and it pained you to watch him so humiliated. You approached him to help him but Adar extended his hand to stop you from any further movement. You froze and waited for your husband to get on his knees first before you would join him.

And when he was on his knees, you felt Waldreg hitting your back and making you fall down upon yours as well even though it was unnecessary because you planned on doing that anyway. You looked up at him with hatred.

“Now, swear it,” he ordered.

It was all a play-pretend, you had to remind yourself. Being on your knees in front of a man who had betrayed you once was so humiliating, though, that you wanted to cry for real. And something about Adar’s proud and intense gaze was telling you he truly knew who you were.

“I vow–” your husband began.

“With your head at my feet,” Adar interrupted him and you looked up at him with anger before you began to follow his order before your husband even moved, still taken aback by such a request.

“Not you,” Adar stopped you. “Him.”

You swallowed thickly and exchanged a look with your husband before he eventually gave in and laid his face on the ground in front of Adar’s boots.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” your husband whispered. To the end of my days… and his,” he finished.

Adar laid his eyes on you now, still kneeling as your thighs trembled slightly.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” you bowed your head, humbly. “Till death removes me from the responsibility,” you added.

Adar nodded and walked away. Waldreg freed your husband from his collar and his shackles although he did not look happy about it. When Mairon was finally free, you cupped his face and leaned in to press your forehead to his before kissing him briefly with a big smile to be able to hold him again.

You were given one black horse you had to share but you did not mind it at all as you hopped on it to sit behind your husband and wrap your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek to his shoulder blade.

Very slowly he was leading the horse out of the camp and when you were on the hill above it, you heard a scream of pain from the distance. Your husband stopped the horse as you both chuckled because it was the scream of Waldreg being eaten by the warg left behind in the hut. The one you had tamed during your stay there and now you had your revenge on the filthy human.

And soon, on all of them.

“You know,” you mumbled out.

“Hm?”

“I quite enjoy our adventures as Halbrand and Maira,” you admitted and squeezed your husband tighter.

“We have been tortured for weeks now, my love,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I know but apart from that… There is a certain charm to it,” you explained.

“Yes, I am aware,” he admitted with a head nod and ordered the horse to move again. “However, we have a work to finish in Eregion.”

“Do you have a new name already?” You asked him, teasingly.

“Annatar, Lord of Gifts,” your husband answered. “You?”

“Fëanár,” you revealed and waited for his response. “The patron saint of the fire… to spark a brand new inspiration within Lord Celebrimbor’s forge,” you explained your choice.

“Soul of fire,” your husband hummed to himself. “Bold one. I like it,” he admitted and you smiled to yourself, hugging him tighter, proud of yourself.

Proud and happy to be with him. Wherever the road would take you two.

MASTERLIST

[hxney-lemcn]

Superglue — Cater Diamond x gn! reader

summery: you stick to the first nice person you meet, fortunately for you that just happened to be a cute ginger.

tw: none.

a/n: Cater...on the brain...he's all I can think about. (If this isn't the best pls excuse it, I think I've hit the peak of my sickness but I wanted to write this so badly).

wc: 1.2k

Master List

The coffin seemed to crack open at the same time your eyes did. Blearily, you glanced around the dim room, coffins floating around. In the center was a mirror with a masked face that hovered over a fountain of trickling green liquid, a masked man dressed in a feathered coat stood next to it.

“Welcome, welcome,” The raven-like man greeted with a smile. “Please, step up to the mirror to be sorted.” 

You tentatively took a step, legs feeling slightly like jelly. The man’s smile seemed strained, which led you to scurrying towards the mirror, trying to ignore the way his sharp claw-like jewelry tapped against his cane impatiently. You watched on anxiously as the mirror seemed to ponder where to put you. Fidgeting with your clothes, your eyes raked across the students that have already been sorted, standing next to their chosen dorm leaders, all eyes seemingly on you. You felt yourself shrink at the attention, nearly panicking, but one student stood out in particular. Ginger hair half put up, shining green eyes and a friendly smile, you didn’t know who he was, but he gave you a thumbs up. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to you.

“Heartslabyul,” The mirror declared with a deep voice, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. Once again, you found yourself scanning the room, unsure where to go. A student in the ceremonial robe waved at you, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. Making your way over to the small group of students, you realized the nice guy that gave you the thumbs up was also in the dorm, so you did what you did best. Stick to the first nice person that you meet. Standing next to him, you watched as more students left their coffin, getting sorted into the various dormitories, hoping that you’d survive the next few years ahead of you.

…

Gosh you felt like a fool, but you still haven’t met anyone yet, and it wasn’t your fault you happened to share your first class with the same ginger you met on sorting day!

“Can I sit here?” You asked meekly, praying to any being that could hear you that he’d say yes. It was extra silly that you haven’t even learned his name yet, but you found yourself following him around.

His emerald eyes glanced up at you from his phone, his neutral smile turning a little more unnatural as he replied, “Of course!”

You hesitated, unsure if he was being serious or not, but your anxiety of meeting new people overpowered you and you took the seat. You mostly kept to yourself anyways, so you doubt you’d bother him anymore than you seemed to have already. Well…that was until lunch rolled around. You had been doing well so far, surviving through cringy ice breakers (where you learned your seatmate in potionology was named Cater), and avoiding bumping into people in the crowded halls. You had been so caught up in all that, you had forgotten the worst part. Lunch. 

As you paid for your food, your heart sped up as many students walked around, multiple (if not all) tables already taken by at least one person. You continued to anxiously glance around, hands gripping your tray for dear life. It was only your first day, how did so many people already have friends? Biting your lip, you searched for someone even vaguely familiar, once again, it happened to be a head of bright red hair that stood out against the crowd. You felt bad, hoping he wouldn’t mind if you joined him once more, but there didn’t seem to be any other option at the moment. 

“Uh, hey,” You spoke, voice barely able to be heard above the chatter that reverberated throughout the room. “Is it okay if I sit here?” 

Those seemed to be the only words you were capable of, but Cater didn’t seem to mind. Instead he merely glanced up at you like earlier, gave you that same placating smile and agreed. It was kind of odd, for Cater at least. He wasn’t used to having someone accompany him and not speak a word, it unsettled him. But you seemed content enough to just sit by his side while scrolling on your phone, eating your food silently. 

Unfortunately, Cater was not one built for complete silence…not with strangers at least.

“Soooo, you a fan?” He asked, twirling his hair as he sets his phone down. “We can take a selfie together if ya want~”

You blink, tilting your head in confusion, “Fan?” Suddenly you felt like you got into more than you asked for, but it was too late to back out now.

“Yeah, from magicam,” Cater pointed out.

“Oh, I don’t really go on magicam,” You replied, smiling awkwardly. 

“Huh!” He exclaimed, eyes wide in horror. “What do you use then?”

“Uh…” You scrambled to think of something that wasn’t the truth, not ready to be mocked by someone you just met. “More of a cawer fan.”

“You should totes follow me on both,” Cater grinned, flipping his phone over and turning it on.

“Okay,” You agreed, opening up the apps for both. 

…

That was months ago and Cater found himself quickly enjoying your presence. You were like a little ghost with the way you’d always be in his shadow. You had even managed to scare him a few times, turning around to see you directly behind him, immediately apologizing when you noticed his startled expression. It was cute the way you’d use him as a shield as someone you didn’t know tried to talk to you, or how you didn’t seem to expect anything from him. 

It was like a breath of fresh air. As he helped drag you out of your shell, get you used to being photographed and talking to strangers, you were helping him be more real to himself. You didn’t shun him when he acted more reserved, in fact you seemed to appreciate it, or how you didn’t act disgusted if he liked something that wasn’t cutesy. In fact, Cater felt like he could be the closest to who he truly was (which he was still figuring out) around you, someone who wasn’t pressured by those around them. 

“Have you heard about the Briella situation?” Cater asked, a whole backstory at the ready on his phone. That was just the thing, you never made him feel stupid for being up to date on all the latest gossip, always indulging him.

“I think so,” You murmured, face scrunching into a cute thoughtful one. “Didn’t she say something offensive about merpeople?”

“YES!” Cater exclaimed, nearly jumping up and down. “And there’s more now!” 

“Really?” You asked with wide eyes. “What happened?”

That was just the thing. You always listened to him, interested in even the dullest thing he had to say. Always seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with him, even going out of your way to indulge him in things you weren’t one hundred percent comfortable with. You were the best thing he could ask for, and he almost felt like he didn’t deserve you. But who was he to turn you away, especially since he wasn’t sure if that was even possible as you had seemed to have chosen him to be your emotional support person. Who was he to deny you that? It’s not like you were his emotional support person too…

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, light bondage, alcohol, misogyny/chauvinism

fem reader

You didn't know such a normal guy could turn out to be so insane. 

But thinking about it, you realized his actions had always seemed a bit too timed. As though he’d practiced – the awkward smile, the sorry laugh, the small apologies, even the blush, and those giddy puppy eyes – creating the perfect disarming cute goof you’d never possibly find threatening even in the slightest despite him being a tank of a man.

He'd been so sweet – so boyfriendly and kind. 

His behavior was just disturbing now. Acting normal with you – ignoring how he’d tied your wrists up too tight...

The room was dim – moody, with the movie playing loud in front. He had his heavy arm resting around your shoulders with your body placed snugly into his side – uncomfortably so. He’d duct-taped your mouth shut a while ago after he’d grown tired of your crying – having stuffed one of his socks in there first.

He gripped a sixth or seventh beercan in his other hand, the one not currently squeezing your upper arm – letting it rest on the dungaree of his thigh, making a dark blue ring where the dewdrops had slid down.

Something happened in the movie you were too tense and panicked to watch, but either way, whatever it was, it seemed to make him lose interest – scoffing out a gruff “Puh-” before raising his beer to his lips, chugging the rest of it down before slamming it to the ground.

“This movie is fucking boring-”

You flinched and would probably have screamed too if you could – all your nerves making you feel sick, close to giving out at the sound of the crash. Your eyes peeled with terror and tears, watching the empty can slowly roll around to a stop on the wooden floors.

He groaned, using his free hand to grab his groin – giving it a tug and shake, manspreading a little wider than what he was already.

Then, he lazily flipped the tail of his belt out of the loops, popping the buckle with a clatter of metals.

You wanted to whine or will yourself to move, but you knew it would only end in more bruises – so instead, all you dared do was breathe a little faster through your nose.

The hand kept at your arm brushed past your shoulder to cup your head, messaging your scalp in big fingers – with such pressure, it made your entire head bobble on your neck. The other hand undid his button and unzipped his fly – then moved to hook the rope tying your wrists together, pulling them to the bulge for you to finish the job.

You didn't refuse, wishing to keep him calm – so you dipped past the band of his boxers with shaking hands, put trembling fingers around his thickened shaft, and gently pulled him out.

He gave a rusty sigh, releasing a damp and sour breath of beer that clouded your head.

Grimacing at the stench, you nearly made the mistake of coughing as your fingers enveloped his fat erection in both hands – intertwined with each other neatly down along his shaft.

He jerked his hip, prompting you to start – stroking up slowly and down again, rubbing over forked veins plump with blood, making him stiffen harder in your grip – soon so hard it stood on its own in your hands, pilling with precum getting caught on your digits.

He pulled your head to his chest and rested his chin upon your cheek – watching your small hands work his cock – your skin so smooth and good compared to his, caressing him so tenderly in such a sweet and loving way.

You listened to his heart hammer on your ear, pressed tight against the tough muscles of his torso with his prickly chin stubble digging into the soft side of your face. The whole position was awkward, but you kept your hands going – rubbing him like you knew he liked until his hands gripped your arm and pulled you off, planting both paws on your hips as he lifted you onto his lap – your thighs spread to straddle him.

He'd been keeping you in just a silk babydoll – one he could easily lift for his pleasure. Gruff fingers rubbed the glassy texture of it before slipping beneath the light thing – gliding up your thighs to hold you by the fat of your ass.

He pulled you forward – tight – close enough for him to lick your collar and bite onto the strap on your shoulder – pulling it aside for him to suck your sweet little nipple into his mouth.

Your nails pressed smiles into your palms, looking down at him suckling new blotches into your sensitive skin as he rolled your nip between his teeth teasingly with a lusty growl – his hand making moves beneath the skirt of your nightie, grabbing his shaft and pushing it immaturely against your unprepped pussylips – forcing a kiss to your taut entrance before further driving himself inside you.

You couldn’t help the sounds now – whining out a pained moan into your gag as you doubled over against his chest, soon sobbing on his shoulder as he nudged himself nice and deep against your womb – fitting snuggly in your tight-knit walls.

He paid your wails no mind. Squeezing the soft flesh of your butt in his hand, with the other coming to join the action once more – digging his fingers into the supple flesh and making you rock back and forth on his lap – feeling as though he was ripping your hole apart.

“It’ feel better if you just got wet like you used to-” He said casually – fucking your dry cunt like he did your dry palms earlier. You don’t think it bothers him at all as long as it’s tight.

But soon, the slick started to form anyway, like it always did whether you wanted it or not – a protective maneuver your body conditions itself with to make the assault feel somewhat less miserable.

“There you go- now you’ll feel good, so stop your crying.” He cooed, raising a hand from beneath the tent of your dress, wrapping it in the hair at the back of your skull, forming a fistful of it – pulling you from his chest to lash your neck full of new lovebites.

He started making you hop now instead of riding – aiding you by the hand lifting your ass and the other pulling your hair. He jerked his own hips to meet you, slamming your poor cervix like a punching bag – he knows that’s how he makes your pussy cry boohoo, soaking his cock with pleasant warmth. 

A moan springs from your throat each time it runs you through – feeling it kick you in the stomach each time you slapped down on his lap – and soon you gushed in spite of it, abruptly halting your tempo before squirting violently – quaking in spasms, tits doing spins with him buried up to the hilt.

“That’s it- that’s my little whore-” He purred with a rumble in his chest, humming at the feel of your tight cunt fluttering from orgasm as you leaked sweet pussyjuice on his jeans. “Now, that’ll never get boring.”

He unraveled the fist in your hair and began petting your back, letting you slump back against his chest as he kept doing slow lifts with his hips to squeeze into you despite being swallowed down to the base – leaving your cunt now would just be a waste of a nice throttle.

“Since your mouth’s in a timeout, I think this pussy’s the winner of today’s load- fuck knows you deserve it after that.” He continued in a strained voice – the length of his cock desperately curling to make space for its whole length, stretching your gummy walls until they stung from the workout, making you buck your hips in revolt.

But he only took it as an eager approval of his comment. Leaving his prints on your ass with how hard he clawed his hand into it while his other arm hugged you tightly to his chest – keeping you seated and himself bottomed out as his cock sprung within in you, busting out thick hot ropes of cum deep inside the comfort of your tight cunt.

He held you there long enough to make the ache of it mellow out into a numb tickle – feeling just the warmth as he finally slumped out.

Face dewy, still with a taped x marking your lips. The pain had made you nearly chew right through the sock stuffed in your mouth, but now you just sucked on it – jaw lax from exhaustion where your head felt heavy, resting on his shoulder. 

He panted for a few minutes, sweaty hands rubbing circles into your equally slippery skin until announcing, “It’s almost dinnertime, huh?”

Your eyes kept blinking softly, feeling the slow trickle of cum leave your cunt along with wetness of your own, seeping out onto the softening cock keeping warm between your thighs.

You barely even jolt when his hand comes down on your ass in one of his kinder slaps.

“How ‘bout we untie those hands again so you can shimmy this little ass into the kitchen, hm? I’m starving.”

BNHA – Kirishima, Hawks, Bakugou, Natsuo, Dabi, Mirio, FatGum

JJK – Naoya

HQ – Ukai, Daichi, Iwaizumi, Matsukawa

[milykins]

TMNT Headcanon - When You Can't Sleep

Authors Note: I feel I need to clarify one thing. I’m aware that some people rely on marijuana to help with sleeplessness but I personally don’t use it so it’s unlikely to have a place in my writing. Recreational drugs in general won’t really be something I write about. Call me a straight-edge but I prefer leaving it out. I will write about alcohol usage since I do occasionally have a drink with friends.

Anyway, I actually have been having some rough nights lately so therefore we have this.

Individual TMNT x Reader

TW: Mentions of sex

You’ve been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately. Lucky for you, you’ve got plenty of cure-alls. It all depends on who you ask.

Mikey

Your cuddly turtle boyfriend is no stranger to insomnia. Sometimes, the life of a ninja was too heavy, even for him and his upbeat persona. You knew Mikey could feel things a little too deeply and replay horrifying images continuously in his head. Over the years he’s developed some coping strategies. For you, he’ll offer you a melatonin gummy and something hot to drink. Tea, hot chocolate, or warm milk. If you still can’t sleep after that, he’ll stay up with you. He’ll cuddle you, rub your back, play some calming music… most of all, he’ll tell you that whatever this is, will pass. You might start panicking a little bit, telling him through tears that you’re afraid you’ll never sleep again, but he’ll assure you that you will. After all, no one died from a few sleepless nights. His gentle reassurances are just what you need to hear, and eventually you do drop off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

Raph

Not nearly as tactful as his baby brother, Raph will bluntly offer to give you an orgasm. After all, that’s one of his go-to’s when he can’t sleep. Raph is actually the only one of his brothers to have a somewhat healthy sleeping schedule. Disturbing images, horror, and depressing stories just don’t hold a lot of weight for him. They still affect him, but he’s able to compartmentalize these things and drop off to sleep rather easily at night. He’ll still try to help you with your insomnia, though, like a good boyfriend should. If the offer of sex is turned down, he’ll offer a backrub – an innocent one, of course. No ulterior motive, he’ll promise. He’s very good with his hands and able to work out any knots, kinks, or stiffness, getting you very relaxed in no time at all. You might accept his offer for sex then, just because he’s been so sweet and patient, and given you an amazing massage. It works. In the afterglow, you’re asleep and cuddled up next to him, wrapped in his comforting embrace.

Leo

His first reaction will be concern, and he might pepper you with a few questions. Did you watch something disturbing? Is anything causing you stress or causing you to worry? Is it something he did? You quickly assure him he’s done nothing to cause it. You actually don’t know the reason; you just can’t shut off your brain for some reason. Upon hearing this, he’ll light some calming incense and offer you tea, of course. This blend will be a combination of valerian root, peppermint leaf, and a few others that promote wellness and sleep. True to form, he’ll also recommend meditation, except he’ll have you do it a little differently than you normally would. After your tea he’ll instruct you to lay down in his bed, get comfortable, and close your eyes. He’ll have you breathe deeply as he leads you through the most peaceful guided meditation you’ve ever experienced. It’s so relaxing that you have no trouble falling asleep after that. Leo will follow suit and be careful not to disturb you as he crawls in next to you.

Donnie

He is the worst about having a healthy sleep schedule. It isn’t because he has trouble sleeping, but because he has difficulty tearing himself away from his work. He just has to finish this one thing… or read one more paragraph. It’s never just one more paragraph with him. He usually needs to be coaxed to go rest, so it’s no surprise that he’s still awake in his lab when you quietly shuffle in after trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep for hours. Donnie will lose any and all focus that he had on his work and shift gears into helping you. He’ll shush all of your attempts to apologize for disturbing him and offer you a sleep aid. He’ll usher you to his bed and lay next to you, asking if there’s anything you need to get off your chest that may be inhibiting your ability to sleep. When you explain that you find it difficult to quiet your thoughts, he can definitely relate to that. He’ll put on some deep ambient music set at 432 Hz. He’ll explain that it’s the perfect frequency to promote relaxation, reduce tension, and support emotional wellbeing. It is what he uses to lull himself to sleep when he has a hard time reaching the coveted REM stage. The music works, and you find yourself finally slipping into rest. Donnie ends up falling asleep next to you as an added bonus. He really needed to stop working and go to bed anyway.

The End - Sleep Well Everyone

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