#clouds and moss au

[pseudowho]

Deadly Nightshade

(help me find the Suguru artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

A Suguru Geto "sex pollen" fic.

Suguru swallows an aphrodisiac curse, and finds the reader when his entanglement becomes too much to bear.

Warnings: *MONSTERFUCKING*, Loss of control (Suguru), rough but consensual, throat-fucking, Suguru's cursed technique...but sexy, tentacle shibari, cum as cure

(AU!Adult Suguru who never left Jujutsu High timeline)

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"Will be late home. It's a big one. Go to sleep without me, baby. You'll be tired."

Suguru finished tapping, looking up to the abandoned industrial site with wary interest, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He felt beckoned into this concrete jungle in a way he found unsettling; the Curse was clearly disguising its true potential, hiding in plain sight...but calling in back-up (likely Nanami or Higuruma at this time of day) would only put them at risk. And, they were tired.

With an internal spiteful sting at having lost his evening with you, which Suguru suppressed, black eyes flat and expressionless, he stepped onwards into the plunging lush foliage and exposed steel beams.

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Suguru's apologetic text filled you with disappointed longing. Loneliness and worry quashed your appetite. All your hopes and plans for a soft, touch-filled evening curled up on the sofa with him, were wiped.

Sighing, lovelorn and resigned, you took yourself to bed, your face snuffled into Suguru's pillow and the soft-spiced smell of him, to lull you into sleep.

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Suguru staggered through the door, leaning back to close it, gasping, sweating, clawing his jacket and shirt off his body. He burned from within, like the nine circles of hell.

After swallowing the curse, the roiling forest had disappeared with it...but Suguru soon felt its many limbs stretching within him, caressing the deepest parts of him, blighting him with this ungodly pain--

--no...not pain, Suguru thought vaguely, now naked except for his hakama, beads of sweat dripping from chest to belly as he teetered towards the bathroom. White-knuckled hands clasped the sink-- Suguru caught himself in the mirror, ripples of desire thrumming through him with every frantic beat of his heart, his raven hair free of its tie and framing febrile eyes--

Suguru retched, his shoulders heaving with exertion, retching again, his rigid cock crushed against his thigh as he collapsed forwards, seeping pre-cum and shaking and moaning, thinking of you in your bed you in your bed you in your bed--

Out of control I'm out of control got to take it back got to--

Something in Suguru snapped.

The lights flickered out one by one, from bathroom to corridor, as an eldritch forest clawed its way back out of him.

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You awoke in a fever dream, your sigh condensing and hanging heavy and humid in the earthy hushhushhush of a tropical forest, teeming with life.

What a strange dream, you thought. You did not notice how this set you apart from true dreamers, who would not find anything unusual about waking on a bed of moss and monstera. The duvet felt warm and springy with foliage beneath your fingertips, your toes, your body.

You had slept, and these uncanny tropics had grown up around you. Not one surface was free of queerly animated vines, yawning tropical flowers, and thick verdant leaves. Unable to see where one room began and another ended, your little home suddenly stretched for miles and closed in on you all at once.

You stepped gingerly off the bed, your feet settling on dewy leaves, splitting the fine low mist that clouded there. As you stepped to the doorway, you did not feel the hissing black tendrils, more creature of the deep than plant, that reached longingly after your feet.

Led only by curious patches of bioluminescence, eerie and golden, you moved to the living room, blinking, certain you were ill. A familiar voice, soft and dangerous, came forth from the shadows.

"You're awake. Good. I'd have fucked you while you slept, but they wanted you squirming."

With a gasp and a cry, you felt yourself become intangibly bound and suspended, feeling the rush of smooth tendrils snaking around your chest and bare thighs, wrists and ankles. Wrists tied behind your back, and legs folded up until your heels touched the backs of your thighs, your legs spread, you hung at face level to Suguru, who stalked out from a patch of hazy light.

Suguru had always held a haunting grace, a soft, untouchable masculinity, an unwavering abstract sensitivity. But, approaching you now, his black eyes were flat, sharklike, predatory. He had not hunted you, but had, instead, waited for you on the outskirts of his web.

In only his hakama, fine black tendrils tattooed his skin, animating him as he panted, desperate and sweating. The tendrils seemed to be soothing him, stroking, constantly moving over his rigid cock, his chest, his throat. As your own tendrils began to offshoot from the black wet-velvet vines that bound you, creeping under your clothes, circling round your nipples and creeping towards your core, a whimper broke free from your throat.

"Shhhhh, shh, shh, I need you wet if you're gonna do this for me, sweetheart."

Suguru stepped to you as if you catch your voice in his hands, sliding one finger into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He shivered in contrary to the inferno inside him, gripping his weeping cock with a roughened moan. As Suguru stroked your tongue, he reached down to undo his hakama, letting the coiling vines pull them from his body.

Suguru pressed against you now, lifting your top so he could rut his weeping cock against your belly, still examining your mouth with his fingers. You felt them tremble against your tongue. The last shreds of your Suguru were the only thing holding him back from taking you with bruising force. The vines coiled through your top, your underwear, shredding, removing, until you were naked, suspended, entwined.

Suguru's black eyes feasted on you, one hand stroking his cock with an iron grip, pre-cum wetting his fingers, and the other hand grazing over you, stroking the peaks of your breasts, your ribs, slipping between your puffy lips to see how ready you were for him. Carnal instinct took over, and he pressed himself back against you, his cock leaping in his hand.

Suguru shivered again, skin to skin with you. He knew, instinctively, that the itch at the base of his skull would not-- could not-- become dormant until he had completely spent himself inside you.

"You know I wouldn't ask more of you than I know you can take," Suguru cooed, soft and persuasive against your lips. You felt a tendril slip over your mound, slipping between your wet folds and coiling snugly around your clit, massaging it, rolling it. You mewled into Suguru's mouth, and he swallowed it down hungrily, kissing your sighs and whimpers off your lips.

"Oh fuck, baby-- you feel so wet--"

With a jolt, you realised that Suguru's hands clasped you by the hips, nowhere near your core.

"You can't feel tha-- how can you--" Suguru bit your lip, punishingly hard and you squeaked as the tendril that pleasured you so tenderly squeezed your clit in reprimand, simultaneously.

"They're mine," Suguru hissed, "just like every godforsaken curse I swallow," and he pulled you lower so your core settled on his cockhead, the vines acting in symbiosis with him to drag your thighs apart, "just like you're mine. And you'll help me...won't you?"

You felt a thicker tendril snake up the inside of your thigh, ghosting at your entrance. With savage force and a growl of warning, Suguru ripped it aside, pressing his cockhead inside you just enough to prevent any other intrusions.

Suguru's orgasm hit him with obscene force and he collapsed into you, stuttering his hips just once, before cumming with a shout, his seed spattering into your entrance and puffy lips, dripping down your bound thighs in thick white streams. Suguru's moans elongated into staccato whimpers, before descending into a hiss of unbridled rage.

"That did fucking nothing," he growled, tangling his fingers into your hair, yanking your head to the side, sinking his sharp canines into the front of your throat. His cockhead still leapt just inside you, spurting weak trickles of cum, and Suguru almost cried to feel absolutely no relief from the burning need throbbing through his body.

You felt the vines squeeze around you, your nipples clamped and rolled until tears filled your eyes with ethereal blurred lights. Suguru reached his long arms behind you, grasping the tops of your shoulders to slam you down against him, impaling you, gasping and wildly overstimulated, onto his cum-lubricated cock.

The tendril rolling and flicking over your clit picked up speed, and you came, twisting against your restraints, crying Suguru's name. Suguru stared hungrily down to where he bottomed out in your pussy, watching and feeling it clench around his cock with shuddering bliss.

As the tendrils continued to work on your nipples and clit, your pleasure becoming frantic and painful, making you squirm and pull away from them, Suguru landed a stinging slap to your arse.

"Fucking take it. What good are you if you can't milk this thing out of me? More." Suguru lifted you just once, cruelly slamming you down again, warning you against your squirming, needing beyond need for you to clench around him again.

"Suguru-- please-- it's too much--" Your needy cries broke off into agonal gasps as you came again and Suguru's head dropped back, jaw slack as he felt your pussy clench and contract, sucking cum from him, surely enough to relieve him, surely--

"No, I-- no--" he panted, his eyes frantic, watching his seed leak out of you, now floppy and malleable in your corseting vines. Digging both hands into his hair, scratching at his own scalp, then moving his fingertips to his tongue to suck them with a ragged groan, Suguru grasped at straws for any stimulation to purge him of this monstrous need.

As he gripped himself, clutching and agonised, his eyes feverish, you could only moan stunted little moans as the vines around you lifted and dropped you, thrusting you savagely onto Suguru's length, still impossibly hard. You leaned forwards, kissing Suguru with urgency, trying to claw him back to you as his vines fucked you against him. He nipped at you, biting, no longer the gentle man you knew.

"Not hard enough-- shit, you can-- can do better than that--"

Finding some strength again, Suguru's hands dropped to your hips, kneading the plush fat there, trying to squeeze you around him, and he added to the strength of his vines, lifting and slamming you back onto him.

So lost were you both in chasing his release, neither of you noticed the forest around you gradually withering, fading and dying. The bioluminescence waxed and waned, throwing strange, marionette shadows around the room.

You were thankful for the embrace of the vines, unable to count how many times you had peaked from the constant stimulation of vines, masturbating you while Suguru kept your cunt and belly constantly filled. Suguru gasped and murmured into your neck, all unintelligible, unreasonable demands of you, and pleas for release.

As Suguru came with a ragged cry again, filling your aching pussy to the sound of wet, squelching thrusts, you felt the tendrils around your breasts and clit wither away, leaving your buds swollen and tender.

Suguru could barely stand, supported by a few remaining vines, still staring into you, so hungry but so spent. You felt him pull his cock out of you, dripping with his own seed, and you cried out to feel his cock replaced by a thick-tipped vine, pressing against your cervix, shunting his seed up into your belly.

Suguru's eyes rolled back to feel this bizarre vicarious pleasure, lazily letting the vine thrust his cum back into you, as the others twisted you, tilting so your back was parallel to the floor, your head tipped back, mouth level with his cock, still so red and aching.

"Is your throat tighter than your pussy?" Suguru pondered aloud, drunk and swaying with divine ecstasy as he fingered the sides of your jaw, slapping his cockhead against your lips and tongue. When you stuck out your tongue invitingly, swiping its tip across Suguru's slit, he gasped, shuddering and gritting his teeth.

"Let's find out," Suguru hissed, sliding his cock into your mouth, letting you taste your combined arousal, before thrusting with an injured moan into your throat, squeezing you, feeling the ridges of his cock move inside you as you gagged around him.

Pulling out enough to let you breathe, Suguru gripped you by the head and neck, grunting as he rutted into you, his pleasure doubled by his vine fucking his cum back into your pussy. Suguru's eyes fixed, fascinated, on the wet slip of this extra appendage inside you, how you reflexively humped against it as if it was his cock, how you mewled and whimpered at its intrusive tenderness.

As you twitched and shuddered, convulsing with overstimulation, Suguru came for the last time in a soundless gasp, his knees almost buckling beneath him as wave after wave of please rolled through him, washing away the dreadful, burning itch running through his brain and spine, leaving him exhausted, but finally un-fogged, finally in control.

With little warning, you were released from your bounds, and Suguru caught you, cradling you against him, and lowering you with a fractured groan to the floor. He sunk onto you, his mouth on your neck in prayer, kissing and soothing, blessing you with his relief.

"Would've died," he insisted, kissing your hair, your eyes, your nose, spooning you against him as the last remnants of this unwelcome forest embered away, rising like ashes on rising heat to fade into the night, "would've died-- died if you hadn't--"

You shushed Suguru, plaiting his fingers with yours across your chest as he shivered and heaved against you.

"Not...not your fault," you yawned, leaning into his kisses, "but like I keep telling you...you can't eat all of your problems away." Suguru laughed softly, nuzzling you.

"No...can fuck them away though, apparently."

Sticky and intertwined together on the floor, Suguru surveyed the cracked floorboards, the walls rended by vines, and trickles of damp running down from the ceiling. Lips puckering in dread against your neck, Suguru whispered.

"What, uhm...what do we tell the home insurance company?"

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By far the most unhinged thing I've ever written. I'll see myself out.

#pseudowho #suguru x reader #suguru smut #suguru geto #geto suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jujustsu kaisen x reader #geto smut #jjk geto #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #suguru #tentacles #consentacles #monster fucker #hentxi #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto #geto fanart #suguru geto x you

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 59

part 1 | part 58 | ao3

cw: canon-typical horror/gore (like for real this time), emetophobia, reference to minor character death. ty to @thisapplepielife for indulging my weirdly specific research about headstones

Steve tries to follow her — gets shot down before he even gets within speaking range, Max shouting at him to give her a minute the second she spots him coming over the hill. He backs off, hands raised in surrender, and then…

Well, then he’s already out of the car.

Well then his feet know where to take him.

His dad’s grave isn’t far. Maybe a football field away, close enough that he’ll be able to hear it if Max calls for help. He moves toward it without thought, his legs carrying him past simple overgrown markers in the oldest part of the park — crumbling remnants of civil war soldiers, farmers and shopkeepers and factory workers, people who worked the mines, people who died before his grandfather was born. People who might have been loved once, before time and moss and water stripped their names off of the stones.

Up the next slope, the markers get more elaborate, shift from bronze to granite to marble, to monuments and mausoleums and a fucking obelisk; ostentatious displays of the town’s oldest money. The coal barons, the oil tycoons. Rotten bastards, Wayne might say.

The Harringtons aren't that rich. They're further down the hill in a neatly manicured row of Indiana limestone; fresh flowers on each grave, the weeds plucked, the grass trimmed.

Dad's buried right next to Grandpa Otis.

It almost looks nice.

Crisp, clean, dry. Nothing to suggest the messy wet red of his father's demise. Steve shoves his hands in his front pockets and steps up to his dad's plot, toes the edge of it, the rounded lump of earth, sparse grass and loose soil where his father's bones are laid. The ground gives a little under his weight, the dirt compacting. Could he dig this up with just his hands? Could he claw through until he reached the bottom, pry open the box and peer inside? Unbidden, the image forms in his mind: worm food and rot, half a man left inside, somehow still frowning in disappointment with his jaw bone shining clean.

Steve's stomach turns. A sick shiver runs through him, saliva flooding his mouth, sweat beading at his hair line.

This isn't right.

Something's not right.

There's a sudden chill in the air, frigid wind carrying a smell like roadkill in the summer — heat wafting from the pavement, death clogging up his throat. Steve covers his nose and wills his shoulders down from his ears; tries to mutter words of comfort to himself under his breath. “Just a graveyard, Steve. Just a totally… normal…”

Ice on the back of his neck. Steve tenses every muscle, turns his good ear toward the sound of whatever's creeping up on him; something taller than him, something slithering and wet, its rasping rattles of frozen breath sending goosebumps down Steve's arms. His hands twitch inside his pockets.

Then, a voice — a voice that isn’t his, that can’t be anyone’s, because the man it belonged to is dead. “That Munson boy was right about you."

Steve can't fucking breathe. Dark clouds roll in around him, violent as a blooming bruise, and that voice behind him echoes — distorted, vicious; hungry.

"You are a black hole."

Steve grabs two fistfuls of his own hair and tugs; wills the pain to dispel the nightmare, his eyes swimming from the sting.

The thing behind him laughs. "Look how you ruined your mother," it snarls. "Look how you tore her apart.”

"Shut up!" Steve barks with his hands over his ears.

“Steve…” The voice deepens, beckons, thick with malice and rot. Steve slowly turns to face it, trembling all over, pulse thudding in his ears, and his shoes squelch in the dirt, and when he looks down he sees that the dirt has turned to mud that now turns to oozing red, a viscous river beneath his feet, flowing up over his ankles, pouring from his father's grave. And there, in front of him, a mangled remnant stands. The ruined corpse of Richard Harrington, his skin shriveled and gray, the torn parts of him held together by his clothes. There’s a hole in his torso where the exposed ribs glint like knives.

Steve throws up on himself.

The ground gives way beneath him, goes spongy like rotting meat, and the thing wearing his dad's face cackles as Steve sinks into the earth, the grave swallowing him whole, up to his calves, his knees, his thighs. "Join me," it offers, lipless smile full of teeth.

The glamor peels back to reveal a monster underneath, its scarred skin crawling in mucus-coated vines; naked, long-limbed, stitched together with burnt flesh.

Steve screams as he scrambles for purchase, up to his hips now in the muck, his feet on the lid of his dad's casket. He claws blindly at the loose ground but it’s all thick and wet with red, and the air itself is red; blood in the sky, in his eyes, in his lungs. He's going to die here. The voice tells him so. It's in his head now, a bellowing echo as the monster draws near, one hideous hand outstretched, an all-consuming join me, join me, JOIN ME—

“HEY!!!”

Max shouts directly in his face, shaking him hard by both shoulders where they're crouched on the cool ground, Kate Bush leaking from the headphones slung around her neck. Steve gives a startled shout and jerks back out of her grip, falling hard on his ass, landing harder on his elbows.

The world shifts back to blue. To dry, clean grass. To breathable air.

Steve pants up at the sky. His shirt clings to him where he's soaked it through with sweat. When Max offers him a hand, he stands on shaky legs, looks at the ground beneath his feet and screams again, scurrying back until his ass hits a stranger's headstone.

There’s a dent in the earth where he was standing. A smudge of packed dirt where he really did sink in. Steve stares at it; feels it reaching out for him, the dark patch thudding like a heart beat, spreading out like snaking vines.

He clutches at his heaving chest. Max’s eyes are huge on him.

"Okay, what the fuck?" she begs.

"What the fuck yourself!"

No heat behind the words, but they burn him, anyway, pushed out on a weak gasp. Is this what she was talking about? Is this what she calls nothing?

This doesn't feel like fucking nothing.

“Shit," she says, and her eyes go even wider. Steve can see the veins in them. "Shit, Steve, your nose…”

He swipes his arm across his face.

It comes back red.

—

part 60

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #max mayfield #vecna

[sprout-fics]

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 6

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.2k Rating: MDNI, Explicit Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff, Soft smut, Love confessions, Bonding bites Warnings: None

You're running.

Through the woods, under the full yellow moon. It hangs heavy in the sky, obscured by ink-black clouds that roll past the distant glimmering stars. The chill of the Hunter's moon crawls deep into your veins, escapes from your chest with every gasping, fogging breath of air. Your legs pump under you, boots colliding with the soft earth as you desperately hurl yourself further into the forest. Thorns snag at your crimson cape, and you yank it free, the scarlet fabric torn to ribbons as you flee.

A lachrymose howl cuts through the sky, shudders the trees around you. You pause just long enough to listen, to try and discern the impossible direction of the sound. It echoes all around you, engulfing you, unable to be stifled with the roaring hunger that craves for your flesh.

A scream then, but not yours. It curdles in your veins, shrieks high against the heavens, and you know the sound of the voice before your own call cries out desperately through the mist.

"KÖNIG!"

A scream again, and this time of pain. You throw yourself towards it, duck and weave through the trees and call once again for your friend, chest cracking with terror. Yet Konig's voice merely echoes out to you in a desperate attempt to ward you away.

"Rotty!! Rotty RUN!!"

Heedless of his warning, you skid to a stop in a small clearing just as the clouds reveal the full, haunting light of the golden moon.

König is splayed on his back, his mask torn, arms crossed in a vain bid to shield himself. Atop him towers a creature made of shadows, a massive form that summons every inch of fear in your form to a blaring instinct.

Run. Run. Run.

"ROTTY!" König calls, and his hand reaches for you- a plea, a warning, you aren't sure. You want to reach for it, haul him to safety, but the monster before you merely lifts its blood streak muzzle towards the sky, stands on its hind legs so it towers taller than the trees. The howl seems to crack apart the sky, fragment the tender edges of your soul in primordial horror.

You can't move.

König reaches for you again, and the warning he calls out to you is muffled by the thunder of your heartbeat. You catch his eyes, his gaze bright with fear. Gone are the soft green irises that speak to you with warm familiarity, replaced down with an eerie, glowing, gleaming gold that mirrors the light of the moon above.

The werewolf crouches low over his form, opens its gleaming fangs to slowly seize against König's throat. A killing bite, not yet pressing down. König watches you helplessly, an arm still stretched out as if to graze against the tattered remains of your crimson cape.

"Rotty."

Yet the sound comes not from his mouth, but from the jaws of the creature who holds him. You turn your horrified gaze to it, meeting moss green eyes eclipsed by drowning black pupils that suck you down.

"Rotty."

The wolf's jaws snap shut.

-------

You awake with a gasp, body bowing off the bed and trying to summon you upright. Your limbs seize in a violent twist, instinctively running from the horrific crunch of teeth that chases you into wakefulness. Yet a heavy weight is settled across your middle, preventing your struggle. You pull at it blindly, try desperately to free yourself from the iron grip that encircles you.

When it tightens you only squirm harder, chest heaving with quick little gasps of air. A voice, a befuddled murmur does nothing to soothe you, until at last you are released with a concerned, confused mumble of your name.

"Rotty?"

Your arms curl around your frigid form, trembling as you try to shake the remainder of the nightmare. The warmth of a familiar voice gently chases away the shadows, and after a long and heavy pause you feel the body behind you shift, drape something thick and soft across your shoulders. You blink at it, finger the worn edges of the scarlet cape you'd worn the night prior, when you'd curled in his arms and let tears fall from your eyes until he'd hushed you to sleep.

"König." You whisper, and the man at your back shifts closer to you, hesitantly letting a hand lay upon the one clutching your cape.

"It's just a dream, Rotty." He whispers, soft and worried, as if somehow you'll tremble under his touch. "You're safe."

You look over your shoulder then, glazed eyes seeing him for the first time, taking in the crease of his brow partially hidden under his hood. The same one torn in your dreams to reveal the open despair of his expression as he reached for you.

"I saw you." You whisper, scarcely audible. "I saw you die."

It's the wrong thing to say, and you don't realize it until it's too late, because König's worried eyes turn into bright fear. They catch the misty light of dawn that spills through the window, and you swear for a moment they gleam gold.

Yet König says nothing, and you know no words are enough to fill the emptiness of your premonition. The weight of it hangs between you both, an omen that beats closer to the midnight of tomorrow with every pulse of your heartbeats.

You turn to him then, shifting so your hands press flat against his chest, through the thin shirt you sewed for him, still too large for his massive frame. The cape slides from your shoulders, pools around your hips as if you arise from a sea of red. Your fingers splay across the laces, feel rigid muscle underneath. His heartbeat flutters against the pads of your thumbs.

"Hold me." You tell him, muscles still shivering in the aftermath of terror.

König obeys as if your words are a sacrament handed down by the divine, arms reaching for you, hauling you against him with such fragile care, as if you'll shatter under his broad hands. A thing made of glass, something that reflects the misty light of dawn with a dove-gray sigh. You fall into him as he falls onto his side, an arm pillowing your head, the other pressing you to his chest.

"You're safe, Rotty." He tells you gently, and you nod into the thick bicep of his arm, listening to the coo of larks resting atop the eves of your cottage. Slowly, the terror of your dream is released in slow, steady breaths, form relaxing into the sanctuary of his embrace. König seems more than comfortable to keep you there, his own chest rising with slow, even inhales. It feels almost as if he's drinking in the scent of you, trying to memorize the shape, sensation, and smell of you in his arms.

"I should light the hearth." You murmur faintly, and it doesn't budge him from where he lays, back to the rest of the cottage so he crowds you against the wall protectively. Tangled in the blankets, your cape, the layers of your skirt you'd never shed, it feels much like a warm, comfortable den, one you are hesitant to leave.

"Stay." He tells you in a hushed whisper, voice low, deep like the hollow of a tree. "Just a little longer."

You can't find it in yourself to complain, comforted by the weight of his arm slung across you, the warm press of him across your front. You surrender, nuzzle deeper into him with a languid sigh, allow a hand to gently entwine with the shoulder of his shirt.

There's words you should say, you think. A confession to be made. Here, in the soft light of morning, you feel affection blossom in your chest with springtime flowers, unfurling in the damp ethereal break of dawn. You wonder if you speak them like an April headwind they'll somehow carry him away from you, forcing him to draw back as he always does, with secrets hidden behind the moss green of his gaze.

One more day, your mind whispers once more. A prayer, a warning, a plea. One more day before your world is eclipsed by the full moon, before a howl splits the sky, before the thing from your nightmares prowls beyond the lantern light of your beloved home.

You vainly try to ignore it, try to instead imbue yourself in the way König sighs and props his chin on the crown of your head, on the pine-laden scent of him, of musk and cedar the faint smell of smoke that hails destruction. The worries of the world whisper in the air around you, frosting against your senses with chilled fingertips. The warmth of him alleviates it, cradles you in blissful comfort. You, like him, memorize the sensation of this moment, wind it like ivy into your veins as if somehow it will shield you from the things to come.

"This could be our last day together." He says then, thoughts an echo of your own, and you pull back to gaze up at him in grief, expression tight with a desperate worry.

"Don't say that." You whisper, your voice strained as you say it once more. "Konig...don't say that."

His eyes meet yours, and there's a distant sort of grief there, as if somehow he's already accepted his fate. It makes something inside you flare with alarm, and you find yourself gripping him with a sudden ferocity that startles you both as you shift to straddle him, stare down into his eyes.

"We're going to be fine." You tell him in a trembling voice, as you try to convince him as much as yourself. "Price and the others- they'll catch the wolf and kill it. They'll make sure it never touches us, a-and-"

You swallow, unsure of your words, watching the way the grief deepens in Konig's eyes, as if he doesn't believe you. It threatens to catch in your chest with a distant cry.

"We'll be safe." You tell him in a whisper, trying to force prophecy into your words. "and you'll stay. I'll protect you."

König's eyes widen for just a moment, and you watch a flash of realization pass across them. it softens the fear there, the grief and acceptance into something achingly tender. The warmth of it flutters across your chest like the quick pulse of robin wings, startles you so you suck in a breathy gasp from where you sit atop him.

"My brave Rotty." König purrs, and his hands raise to gently rest on your thighs, hidden by the folds of your skirt. "Sweet, gentle Rotty."

You shiver at that, feeling warmth rush across your exposed flesh despite the chill of dawn. You want to chase it down into him, let him warm your form, let the heat of his body alight the cold, lonely corners of your heart. If he does, if he burns a way inside you, you know you won't be able to bear it if he leaves you.

It's a thought that's haunted you this entire time, that König has stolen your heart he will run away with it, that you'll awake the morning after the full moon to find him gone, your bed empty. The hearth cold. There's a prophecy that whispers a warning in your thoughts that despite your tenderness for him, the man before you is made of mist, of a softness that will slip through your fingers and dissipate in the light of dawn following destruction.

It only makes you cling to him harder, hands splayed against his chest, bunching his loose shirt between your fingers. He must see the despair on your face, because König lifts a massive, worn hand to your cheek, knuckles grazing across soft skin.

"Liebling." He murmurs sweetly, and his eyes are aching with adoration from where they look up at you under his hood. "If only you knew what I'll do to protect you."

Show me. You think. Show me everything, the lengths you'll go to, the secrets you keep. Show me how much I mean to you, show me that you won't disappear.

Instead you nuzzle into his palm with an unsteady sigh, cupping it to your face and looking down at him once more.

"I wish..." You whisper despite yourself, thoughts spilling outwards before you can stop them. "That I could kiss you."

It's a selfish thought, and you know it. König refuses to show his face, even after all this time. He's desperately protective of the hood that shields him from you, refuses to show you even a glimpse when you eat together, your back turned to allow him privacy. Yet here you are, once more wishing for the things you're not sure you can have, wanting desperately to vanquish the barriers that stand between you both.

König's eyes widen under the hood, and your face falls, knowing you've made a mistake. Yet then he blinks, and shifts under you, gently scooting you off his form. You think it's a refusal at first, especially when Konig slides from the bed away from you. There's an apology ready on your lips- one that hesitates as the man before you kneels at your feet tossed askew over the bed.

König is surprisingly delicate as he cups your foot, still hidden in its warm stocking, and for a moment you're reminded of the tale of the girl with the pumpkin and glass slippers. Like the prince, König lifts your foot onto his thigh. Yet instead of offering you a crystalline glass token, he instead reaches a hand under the hem of your skirt to drag the top of your stocking slowly down the length of your calf.

You suck in a breath, heart thumping as you feel the fabric slide down your skin, curious as to his intentions. When he finally divests you on the garment, he raises himself up, scooting between your legs and peering up into your face bent towards him.

"Do you trust me, Rotty?" He asks, and there's something different to his voice now, a distant rumbling purr that sounds not unlike a growl.

"Yes." You whisper back, and your hands itch with the urge to raise to his shoulders, somehow bring him closer.

Closer he comes, because König takes the stocking in hand and lifts it to your eyes, tying it swiftly around the back of your head. Blinding you.

There's a stab of disappointment that is quickly erased by daring hope as you hear the rustle of him removing his hood. You press forward eagerly and hear the soft rumble of a chuckle when König takes note of your enthusiasm. He lifts himself with a breathy sigh, lips brushing against yours in a chaste, delicate kiss.

It's just as you imagined in your dreams, tracing your lips in the darkness when he slept above you, wondering if he was gentle with you there too.

You chase after him eagerly, wanting to memorize the sensation of him against you, and König takes only a moment before he too cedes to the desire. Hesitant though he is at first, he eventually allows a sigh to escape his parted lips, mouth moving eagerly against yours as his arms come to wrap around your waist.

"Rotty..." He groans, and you feel his desire bleed into you, crimson and bright, tantalizing against the passion of your thoughts. "Schön Rotty..."

He lifts you then, into the bed, brackets himself above you and dwarfs you with his massive form. You can't see him, senses entrenched in darkness, but the blindness only makes your remaining senses blossom scarlet with sensation, drinking in his scent, his touch, the murmured endearments his whispers onto your lips when he kisses you.

You hook an arm around the back of his neck, pressing him down into you, wanting the warmth of him to be your own. You want the edges of him to bleed into you, to be unable to discern where you stop and where he begins.

"I want this." You whisper to him blindly, fingers reaching up to graze through his surprisingly long strands. He shudders almost violently at the contact. "I want to keep you."

"Rotty." He growls then, and you shiver at the need, the possessiveness that flares abruptly in his words when he answers you. It feels like the distant snap of some forbidden tether, the shatter of some restraint that holds back a beautiful, dangerous creature. You feel almost akin to prey, with his fixated gaze that seems to watch you like a doe in the glade. Respectful, entranced, but hungry.

You wonder if this was his secret, the depths of his desire for you, untamed but gentled for your domesticity, gleaming eyes reflecting the warmth of your hearth even as he hungers for the moonlight. Perhaps he's something different than what you imagined, an animal that eats willingly from your palm, but will swallow you whole if only to slake his yawning desire for your flesh.

You want him to devour you.

Your bare calf peeks from the ruffle of your skirt, hooks over his hip so you spread open for him- willing, eager, wanting. It summons a growl from his lips, a rumbling groan that sounds like the bend of aged aspen against the wind. You long after it, want to carve it into your thoughts just like the touch of him against your skin.

You feel it when he divests himself of his shirt impatiently, and you try to imagine the planes of his body you can't see. Instead your hands try and map out his skin, tracing the indents and silvery tissue of scars you find littering his chest. You want to ask him about them, about why they feel like the claw marks of something wild. Yet König silences your queries with a kiss, hands tugging at the laces of your bodice to reveal you to him.

"I want to see you." He huffs, warm breath curling against the planes of your face. "I want to see all of you, Rotty."

I'll let you see anything you want, just as long as you stay.

"König..." You mewl instead, raising your fingers to comb through his surprisingly long hair. He shudders hard for a moment at the contact, an unsteady breath loosening from his chest before he returns to kiss you with a sudden ferocity that steals the air from your lungs.

"What sharp teeth you have." You murmur curiously, and he stiffens for all of a moment before returning:

"The better to bite you with."

Bite you he does. Gently, with his whole mouth, Konig clamps down on the arch of your neck where your throat meets your shoulder. An indent, not hard enough to bring blood, only to lay a lasting mark you wish to keep there always as a reminder of him.

It feels somehow like a claim.

More. You think, senses growing hazy with lust. Show me. Show me how much you want me, how much you want this, what you'll do to keep me.

You moan as his hand grazes up the inside of your thigh, rucks your skirt up to your hips to reveal the tender flesh to his touch. You arch into him greedily, beckoning him further against you, offering yourself like a lamb to slaughter if only it means it will quench your desire.

"Rotty." He growls again, voice deeper, somehow feral. "My Rotty."

He kisses you like he means it, and you surrender willingly to his rolling, roaming touches, to the impatient tugs of his hands as he sheds you both of your clothes, to his husking groans that drag in his chest at your pliant mewls. His hands grope at your chest, your hips, drinking down your desperate little keens when you plead for him to touch you properly.

His broad fingers fill you like nothing else, and you let your head flop into the pillows helplessly when he croons at your arousal pooling over his palm. It's clumsy, a little stilted, but it's good, his enthusiasm clear in the way he drags insistently at your silky walls, coaxing wanting murmurs to him.

"J-just like that, oh God. König..."

The pleasure multiples, draws higher inside you, stretches for the sun in the shade of the forest, seeking a higher warmth. It remains just out of reach, a tantalizing reward that you cry out for with no reprieve.

"Shh, gently, Liebling." He murmurs with restrained tenderness as he arranges you carefully on your side in his arms, lifts a leg with his broad arm and begins to push inside. You whimper at the stretch, feel your walls eventually ease and allow him entry. The drag of him forces the air from your lungs, and you go limp just so you can take it, take all of him, everything he has to offer and more.

He splits you open, drags his teeth along your jaw like he's searching for a vein, hauls you to him like he's afraid you will escape. You're forced into docile willingness, submitting with wanton little moans as he rolls his hips against yours, forces you higher into bliss.

"Scheiße-" He grunts, hugging you close so he can thrust into you, hand flexing as he holds your leg aloft, parting you for him. "So good for me, Rotty. Want to stay here, just like this, in your bed, listening to you. Just like this."

It doesn't take long for you to crest towards the peak of your arousal, the angle of him inside you grazing against the clutch of your heat and making the spool of desire tighten across your thighs. It unfurls in low, rolling waves, spreading through your limbs, your veins, the marrow of you that's picked clean by his teeth.

König takes you in the way of wild animals, snapping jaws held back only by your delicate touch, offering apologetic little whines when he forces you into overstimulation. He growls and huffs into your shoulder, teeth nipping with scarcely contained ferocity at your bare shoulder. It makes you wonder if he's holding back far more than he lets on, that there's a danger to him that might drown you should you release it.

He hauls you flush to him after several wild thrusts that make your voice ring out in the quiet solitude of your cottage, forever echoing inside the stone walls of this moment where he's claimed you. It's with a snarl, a curse that he spills inside you, warmth curling your insides as his hips jerk, and his voice descends into something akin to a whimper.

You lay in a sweaty heap in his arms, and König hauls the blankets atop you both, nestles you into his embrace, peppers fluttering kisses across your face, your blindfold.

"Dearest Rotty." He murmurs with tender affection. "Beloved Rotty."

There's an affection that floods your chest, sharp, almost painful at the clear adoration in his words. He pets at your back, hums a low, satisfied purr into your ear that speaks of contentment. It's in this moment that you wish you could stay, that you wish you could keep him.

"I love you." You confess at last, unable to see him but feeling his heartbeat flutter in his chest where you lay your cheek. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I don't need to see you. If you just tell me, if you just stay, I'll go blind for the rest of my life just to keep you here with me.

König pauses for a moment, and at last he sighs. It feels like the final breath of winter giving way to soft spring, a surrender to you as much as himself, no longer able to deny his feelings for you.

"I love you too, Rotty." He tells you, voice full of emotion. "Since the day we met, I think I have loved you."

You think of that, of the day all that time ago when you found him in the forest, on the misty morning in the aftermath of the monster that chased you through your dreams. He appeared there, hurt and broken in the ways you were, and were not all the same. Lonely, needing, hoping to be found. You, you found him, not knowing then that he had found you too.

You should tell him, you think. You should convince him to retreat to the safety of Laswell's with you, to appease Price and the others even if they remain suspicious of him. You know if he denies you that you'll stay, and you'll face the darkness of the luminescent, heavy moon together.

In this moment, in the dawning darkness of what lies ahead, you instead kiss him, and pray it won't be the last time.

"Promise me you'll stay." You whisper against him blindly.

"I promise." He tells you, and once more that prophecy lingers with taunting whispers at the back of your thoughts. A festering doubt not abated by his touch.

You kiss him, and you hope it's not a lie you taste upon his lips.

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#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x f! reader #my fic #fic: rotes madchen

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: Three day weekend but I got coursework.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Banished from the library, you refuse to slink back to your rooms and hide. Your position might remain tenuous but you are meant to be the lady of this house. One day. Soon enough. So much as you dread it, and Lord Laufeyson does too, it is inevitable. 

You retreat down the hall and descend the grand staircase to the first level. You pass between the serpentine statues and cross the airy space of the entrance hall. Several servants observe your passing but retain their propriety and silence.  

The doorman lets you out into the sunshine. You might have brought a parasol but it is too late now. You come down the steps onto solid earth and peer around at the lush green gardens that further bolster the estate's name.  

You retrace the path Odin led you on the previous day. You stop to admire roses in canary yellow and the orange tree transplanted from some faraway land. As he showed you it all, you could hear the pride which made this place so coveted. There's a peace that comes with the medley of colours and scents that mingle in the sprawl of curated gardens. 

As you reach the hedges higher than your own head, you become disoriented. You do not to clearly remember which way to turn. Certainly you cannot lose yourself enough to not find the route back. 

The statue of the lady in repose is familiar and the bird bath trimmed in stone lilies similarly nostalgic. You try to fathom that it is all meant to be yours. It is no easy plight to reconcile the duke’s loathing with expectation: your own, those of your parents, and society in itself. 

You tarry by the circle of benches around a weeping tree. The curtain of branches has you curious to delve into its arches and yet the webbing of spiders keeps you from mussing your dress. As all things, your caution keeps you from action. 

You turn back as the sun shifts and the clouds crawl over the sky. You wind around and come to stare down a wooden archway twined in vines and moss. You do not recollect that from Odin's exploration. You must have lost your way, you are not headed back to the estate but away from it. 

Uncertain, you spin back again and your feet turn fleet as worry mounts. You veer this way and find yourself at a wall of hedges, you turn that way and find yourself circling around back to the same place. You cannot make sense of it. 

You begin to weary as the sky dims further and a coolness settles in the air. Time passes and you remain trapped in the labyrinth of branches and brambles. What should happen might you truly be lost? 

For a moment, the premise is not so unhappy. It would assuage many malignancies. The duke would no longer be bound to your horrid existence, nor would you be vowed to face ridicule for the years to come. He might even let himself smile to think you gone, if not perished. 

You fall onto a bench and hold your head in your hands. Edith would love these gardens. If it were her, would she invite you to see them? Would she chase you as if you were still girls? Would the duke not fret so much for you, ignore you as so many others do? You would be only an occasional nuisance, not a pair of shackles to constrain him. 

You make yourself sit up as your sister's ghost drifts away from you. You should like to hear her voice one more time. You miss her songs and her laughter. You miss talking to her, the way she listened, the way she never falter at the errant whas or whoas of your affect. 

You rise and set your feet straight. What were those words she said to you? That she believed in you. That you could do this. Perhaps, this is what you wished for. That you take her pain instead. Would the duke have been kinder to her or just as cruel in his resent? 

You promised her. You don't care what you swore to your father or mother, but for Edith, you will do it. You will be as brave as she thought you to be. Even if you aren't. Even if you're terrified. 

You walk without a thought, twisting and turning, eyes set, steps decisive. You march into the open, away from the walls of foliage and into the sunlight that appears from behind the sheet of clouds. You turn your face up. 

You cannot be your sister, you cannot truly replace her. But you can be you and the duke will just have to accept it. After all, how can a second son begrudge a second daughter? The disparity between you is not so great after all. It cannot be if you are to be wed. 

You trod around the front of the estate and shake out your skirts, errant leaves and twigs untangling from the hem. You push your shoulders back as if your mother is their to rebuke your posture and you take the stairs with a straight spine. The doorman once more lets you past and you thank him, aloud, with more than a nod.  

You proceed through, chin up, and ascend the staircase with your eyes ahead, not on your feet. As you come to the top, you do not falter, but another does. You glance over at Lord Laufeyson as he leans back on his heel, scuffing to a halt as you breeze by. He arches a brow and you mimic his expression, a moment of reflection between you before you pass and carry on. 

You do not look back, keeping your shoulders square, and you stop before your rooms. You can sense his silhouette looming by the staircase though you do not know if he watches. You hope that he does and that he sees that you will not disassemble so easily. 

🔹

The banns are read on Sunday. You sit in the pew with your betrothed as he refuses to acknowledge you. It is not as big an insult as he may believe. You are very much acquainted with being ignored. You often prefer it. 

Upon your return to Jade Park, lunch is served. As the meals prior, you remain silent as you sit among the Odinson clan, still yet to be permitted into their ranks.  

Your appetite is as sparse as your voice. You poke at a pastry but don’t taste it. As Lord Laufeyson stirs his tea repetitively, likely out of agitation, you find the clink of the small silver spoon tweaks your already fraught nerves. 

The banns will be read once more; they were first sent to the church the Sunday prior to your departure - and must be proclaimed at least thrice before you are permitted to marry. Should you not undergo the necessary pre-marital purgatory, there may be whispers of scandal. Why should anyone rush a marriage if not for good reason? 

It is certain that you will face gossip at it were. If Lady Jane’s reaction is anything to measure by, not to mention your own fiance, then you wouldn’t like to add to your plate. Your fork sinks through the pastry and scrapes the porcelain egregiously.  

Without hesitation, Lord Laufeyson reaches over to clutch your wrist, “please.” 

You wriggle in his grasp and retract. You put your fork down and hide your hands in your lap. Your stomach is a maelstrom of emotions. Your eyes wander up to meet Odin’s as his own flit away from his son as Frigga chews behind tightly sealed lips. She swallows and clears her throat, taking a sip from her teacup. 

“So, as we await the nuptials, it would be high time for our lovely lady to debut, hm?” She declares as she perches up a little straighter, “it should be done before the wedding, I think. It wouldn’t be very fair to her should she face her wedding guests as a stranger.” 

“If you insist, you may take her to one of your ridiculous luncheons,” Loki taps his spoon on the edge of his saucer and his father sneers. Their eyes meet and the elder tilts his head dangerously. The younger plunks the spoon back in and starts to stir again. 

“Well, Loki, surely you would want to accompany her yourself,” his mother insists, “the Countess Kyringfort is holding a banquet the night after this. Perhaps we all might be free of these walls for an evening.” She offers a gentle smile, “and dear,” she looks at you, “I know you would be grateful for a distraction. Have you any letters from home since?” 

You frown at the elusion to your sister’s tragedy. It’s still raw. At the same, your sadness feels intimate to the point you are possessive of it. How can anyone who didn’t know Edith speak of her as they miss her? They all just mourn what could have been. They could have had a proper lady there in your place. 

“Naw,” the end of the word strays despite your effort, “my motha must be too distwaught to white.” 

Loki sighs and the table jerks on its legs as Odin glowers at his son. The younger flinches and gives a grunt. His father’s eyes narrow dangerously. 

“You will take your betrothed to the banquet and stop being such a petulant child,” Odin grits out. 

“Husband, he hadn’t even said--” Frigga begins.

“She is a gentlewoman. She needn’t his side eye and his sighs,” the grand duke insists. 

You’re struck by his defence of you. Your own father would only have commiserated with Lord Laufeyson’s irritation. Most would share a laugh behind their hands at your expense, and certainly they will at this banquet. 

“Lady Ky—Kyw—Ky--” you begin, trying to get it right. 

“Kyringfort,” Loki utters as if it should be simple. 

“Kywingfowt,” you insist on saying it yourself. If he will not speak to you, he will not speak for you. “I’ve never hawd of haw. You said she is a countess?” 

“Oh, she is lovely,” Frigga preens, “and an old friend, right, Loki?” 

“Yes, so she is,” he agrees, “more fond of my brother than myself.” 

“And who can hardly blame her,” Odin rebukes hotly.  

Laufeyson shakes his head and his brow arches as his nostrils flare dangerously. As unkind as he has been to you, you are empathetic to the constant reprimands from his father. You recall how Lord Thor and Lady Jane also took no issue in reproaching him. If he’d listen, he might learn that you know well what that is like. 

“Yes, he is rather amusing,” Loki mutters. “As eldest sons are given leave to be.” 

“Oh, I’ve never known a groom so gloomy,” Odin retorts. 

Laufeyson scoffs. He stills the spoon and leaves it to rest against the brim, fisting his hand on the tabletop, “do I complain?” 

“You mope like a beat dog,” Odin accuses, “my oh my, a banquet and a new wife, and you act as if you walk to the gallows.” 

“Father, you do always see the worst in me.” 

“I see an unthankful rascal. You have an estate and I ask one thing of you. The same duty of any lord and you would act as a prisoner. Well, son, you have your choice. Find a morsel of gratitude in that blackened heart of yours or seek your place at some parish,” Odin warns as he jabs a butter knife in the air. 

Tension roils in the air between the men as they glare at one another. Laufeyson snarls and it rolls up his throat. Before the noise can become words, you sit forward and touch your throat. 

“If I may, Lawd Odin,” you cheep, your voice nearly whistling in the tightness of your airway, “your son has been vewy hospitable. I have enjoyed my time at Jade Gawdens thus faw and I look fawad to calling it home. It is beautiful.” You glance over at Laufeyson as he watches you with stunned dismay, “and as we awe still stwangas I think we need some time to become ac—acwauinted.” 

You smile as best you can. It is a bitter lie. You don’t know why you should tell it but you feel as if you must. Frigga’s cheeks shake as she holds her smile and Odin scowls. 

“You lie well for him,” he shakes his head, “and still he does not see how fortunate he is.” 

Odin sits back heavily and takes his glass of sherry, downing it in a single swig. Laufeyson picks up his spoon and stirs once more, only to drop it and stand sharply. He brings his hands up, his long fingers extending, and he sputters before swiftly spinning and stomping away. 

“Next time, don’t waste your breath, lady,” Odin chortles, “you’ve better use of it.” 

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #regency au #au #marvel #mcu #avengers #thor #the sticking point

[f1nalboys]

Hey... Ya know what would be cool or whatever?

*Gently kicks rock with my hands in my pockets trying not to show how much I crave this*

If you'd make The Creature!Randy as a short story au yearning for Reader/Lisa... I don't know I think it be neat...Just saying.

spooky ur a GENIUS!!!!! have not stopped thinking abt this since i watched the movie and <3333333 randy is the perfect undead husband i fear to say!!! this is a little short and really just focuses on the beginning of everything, but i hope its enjoyable nonetheless!!!!

From The Grave - Randy Meeks

The Creature!Randy Meeks x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1025

WARNINGS: post death randy, the briefest description of corpse randy, mention of roadkill, nothing too graphic tho <3, reader is around randys age when he died but no specifc age is said, inspired by lisa frankenstein <3

His grave was tucked underneath a large willow tree, the branches hanging low and wide, hiding his lone headstone. You discovered it a few months ago on a warm spring afternoon as you carefully made your way through the abandoned graveyard in Woodsboro, stepping over gnarled roots and vines. The headstone was cracked, covered in moss and dirt, but you could just barely make out some of the writing on it as you got closer, your hand swinging by your side as the leaves of the tree shaded you from the sun.

“Randy Meeks. 1978-1997.” 

He was young, like you. Alone, too, if the state of his grave was any indication. Despite passing the other graves, all in similar states of disrepair, something about this one stood out to you. Maybe it was the fact you knew nothing of him; other headstones told you that buried deep in the ground was a husband, a wife, a child, but here there was nothing. Or, maybe, it was the fact that he was of similar age to you and was hidden away like you so often felt. 

Regardless, you spent the next hour carefully scraping the moss off of the stone with your finger and, when the grime became too hard to simply push off, with your pen. You didn’t have any water or soap and as you stand, wiping your hands off onto your jeans with a pleased smile at the progress, you resolve to come back tomorrow and finish cleaning it up. Sure, no one ever came through here, and the grass was as high as your knees in some parts of the cemetery, and you swore when you turned your back to his grave you could feel someone staring at you, but you were going to finish your job here. 

And so you did. The next day, bright and early, you clean up Randy Meeks’s headstone until it sparkles in the sunlight that broke through the gaps of the leaves. But then you come back the next day, and the next, and the next. For weeks, whenever you have the chance to, you make your way through the rusted iron fence and through the thick grass to him. 

Always to him.

You eventually wear down a path to his grave, the grass around the headstone itself squashed down from your constant pacing as you talk out loud. Talking helped clear your mind, and despite no response, you felt more seen and understood by him than you ever had before. You sometimes caught yourself pausing after a sentence as if waiting for a response and everytime you swore the wind would pick up and the leaves above you would rustle his answer.

Each time you left the cemetery, you’d write off whatever you felt in the moment and resign yourself back to your lonely existence. 

And then the strange storm happened. Dark, green, swirling clouds loomed in the sky above you, but they couldn't deter you. You made your way to the cemetery, rested your head on his gravestone, fingers tracing the etching of his name, and cried. Your whispers came out quick and harsh, cut off with random gulps of air, as you told him how you just wished you and he could be together. How your life was awful, how all you wanted was to be seen and loved and be treated how you knew he would treat you. 

You wanted to join him in death since he couldn't join you in life.

There was a crack of thunder, a flash of light, and when your eyes opened you were back home. You shake it off, sure you made your way home on auto-pilot. As you stumble through your routine to get ready for bed, you pause at the sound of a groan outside. Just as you turn your head to investigate, your front window shatters and a foul smell reminiscent of the decomposing fox on the side of the road you pass by everyday wafts in. Your hand covers your mouth and nose to stop from hurling just as he crawls through your window. 

After a few laps around your house, you sit across from him in your bedroom, staring at him wearily. “Who are you?” Is the only thing you can think to ask, though it doesn’t result in much. The man keeps grunting, getting increasingly more frustrated at your lack of understanding. He’s caked in mud and god knows what else, his eyes a bright blue. He can’t talk and you can’t understand him, but you swear you know him from somewhere. You run through the list of men you know, name after name, but he shakes his head after each one, his fingers drumming on his bent knee.

Eventually you stand and give him a notebook and a pen, hoping he can write. You watch as he takes it, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him, his tongue poking out from his lips as he concentrates. Finally, he looks up and meets your eye, an intensity in them you hadn't seen before. You take the notebook and look down, gasping quietly as you read the name.

“Randy?” You ask, eyes widening slightly as you look back towards him. He nods. “My Randy? From the graveyard?” Another nod and the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen him make yet. None of it makes sense. You knew that the real Randy Meeks had been dead for years but here he was in front of you. “Could you hear me? When I spoke to you?”

He nods his head once again, reaching his large hand out for yours. You grimace slightly at the feeling of the mud and viscera on his skin but you don't pull away. Instead, you watch with a morbid curiosity as he brings your hand to his undead lips, pressing them against your hand. Your hand tingles, a lightning bolt crawling up your arm. 

It was him. He was here for you. Somehow, someway, he clawed his way out of death to find you. 

It was the most romantic thing you could think of.

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #scream 1996 #scream #scream 1997 #randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #the creature #lisa frankenstein inspired fic teehee

[hahskeleton]

Frogs - Harpy AU drabble

It’s harpy Sun’s first appearance! I have a sketch for his design page, but now I have to go work in contest winner stuff :3

reblogs and feedback is appreciated!

Word Count: 1,230

Read Time: ~5-6 min (depends on reading speed)

Content Warnings: Lichtenberg figures, brief screaming, (idk what else to put lmao)

“Eclipse, have you seen Sun today?” Moon’s voice pierced the air, his groggy tone the same as it seemed it always had been.

Eclipse shrugged, standing up from a huge rice bag they used as a chair, “He left this morning. I have not seen him since.”

Moon scoffed, “I’m sure he’s gone foraging again.” He rolled his eyes, walking over to a handmade, wood cabinet filled with things Eclipse claimed to have found along the trail to the forbidden forest on one edge of the valley. Truthfully, Eclipse was quite the thief, and also quite the liar. He’s never been caught, and Moon’s never been able to tell his truths and lies apart.

Eclipse walked over to the edge of the cave, staggering outside where the path turned to a cliff just about six paces forwards, “The sky’s getting dark, Moon.” Eclipse called back in, “I’m sure it’ll rain. Perhaps storm.”

Moon took out a pan and walked over to the edge as well, looking for any sign of Sun, “If it begins to rain, tell me. I’ll be cooking up lunch.”

“Let me guess,” Eclipse knew exactly what they’d be having, “Bacon and eggs?” Sun usually cooked for them, and when Moon cooked it was always the same thing. Moon’s favorite. He nodded silently.

Eclipse watched the clouds roll slowly across the grey sky. It was humid and a breeze was barely living enough to nudge a leaf. “Moon, I’m going for a fly.” He said abruptly, stretching his large wings. Despite being the youngest of the three brothers, he had the largest wingspan.

“What? Hold on, you can’t just leave!”

Eclipse shrugged, taking five steps forward, “Sun did.” He took the sixth step and a seventh, striding right off the edge. He let himself drop for a moment until he gracefully opened his wings and glided up, flapping them as needed. He flew quickly, swiftly away from the cave, not even bothering to look back. He already knew Moon was glaring at him as he soared away.

For a long while, Eclipse flew through the mountains and fields, coming to a place he knew Sun would be. There was a huge lake several leagues from their home, and around that lake was a beautiful scene of trees, moss, vines, and stones. Sun loves to forage there, and the best part for him was Moon didn’t know about it.

Sun loved Moon more than anything in the world, but even twins as close as those two need something to keep to themselves. Eclipse came across it one day when following Sun because he was particularly bored that day. It was their secret from that time forward.

Eclipse flew low to the water, reaching his arm down and letting it drag gracefully through the lake, making water fly up behind him. He smiled at his reflection in the perfectly smooth water when he picked up his hand as he reached the shore.

He landed slowly and with a clatter of rocks, stones, and sand, then proceeded to walk into the trees. As he went, he spotted the clearing of trees and where on a rock, a yellow harpy sat with his back facing Eclipse, talking to something.

Eclipse walked through the soft grass, stopping just at the edge of the trees, “Moon’s worried.” He spoke suddenly, cracking the silence.

Sun nearly jumped out of his cloak, turning around with something hidden in his hands, “Eclipse, don’t do that!” He hollered, a smile on his face.

Eclipse smiled too, but his eyes were set on Sun’s hands that he now very slowly brung to the front of his torso. “What do you have there?” He grinned subtly. Sun flung his hands out towards him and giggled, obviously about to show him what he’d found.

He unfolded his hands and revealed a perfectly green frog that he now held by its chest with both hands, its webbed feet hanging down. “Look at this little guy!” Sun said with glee, clearly fascinated by the amphibian.

“Ew!” Eclipse screeched, holding up his hands as if to guard himself from the small animal, “Gross! Gross, put it down!” He yelled loudly, “I hate frogs!”

“I know!” Sun laughed, walking closer to Eclipse with the green creature still in his outstretched arms.

Eclipse squeaked with disgust, slowly accelerating into a run to get away from Sun’s frog, who chased him with it. “Sun, quit it!” Eclipse stopped and smacked the frog out of his brother’s hands. The frog was dropped, and it landed on its side, quickly hopping away like nothing had happened.

“Hey!” Sun gasped, “Don’t smack small animals like that!”

Eclipse cackled lightheartedly, placing his clawed hands upon his hips, “I needed to defend myself from disgusting, horrible, animals like that.”

The two brothers had now ended up near the lake, running wildly out of the small forest with that frog. Eclipse looked up at the sky, seeing the clouds getting darker and darker by the second, it seemed.

“Is it going to storm?” The squeaky voice of the cloaked harpy rung in the hot, humid air. The moisture made Eclipse’s clothes uncomfortably sticky to his feathers and his skin. “We should get back before it does.” And with that, without warning, Sun took off towards the fluffy grey skies, flying back towards the cave.

Eclipse followed, gliding a little closer to the clouds than his brother. He flew over what looked like his bright colored shadow, but it was just Sun. Despite Sun and Moon being twins, Eclipse and Sun looked more alike. Moon looked like the odd one out of the trio.

The sky far above them began to rumble and rain started to roll out of the angry clouds. Eclipse knew Sun hated flying in a storm, even the rain, so when he started to fly faster, it didn’t surprise him at all.

Eclipse did his very best to catch up with Sun, but for some reason he just couldn’t fly fast enough. He became blinded by frustration and rain, soaking him an unbelievable amount. As he soon realized he had no clue where Sun had gone, he also figured out he didn’t know which way was home.

Damn it.

Eclipse flew in all directions, trying to catch something to indicate he was going the right way, but he didn’t spot anything at all. He was lost, wasn’t he?

The next few seconds were all a blur. He heard his name being yelled, then a crack of thunder and lightning, and then… he was struck. His own screams weren’t the only ones he heard.

Eclipse screamed, flinging his head off his so-called pillow and breathing faster than a stallion could run. He clutched his shoulder in pain and grasped the collar of his shirt and pulled it aside, brushing away a few feathers to reveal his Lichtenberg Figure. The scar that the blasted flash of lightning had given him.

Sometimes, he wished his brothers hadn’t left him. Sometimes he hated them for doing so. But most of the time, he pretended he never knew them.

However, it was times like these he wanted Sun or Moon to comfort him, perhaps sooth him with a cup of honey-lemon water. Help the pain of his past go away. But alas, his mistake drove them away, and he knew, they were never going to come back.

#hahskeleton #fnaf #fnaf security breach #moondrop #sundrop #sams moon #sams eclipse #sams sun #sun fnaf #fnaf sun #eclipse fnaf #fnaf eclipse #moon fnaf #fnaf moon #dca au #dca sun #dca moon #daycare attendent #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant fnaf #daycare attendant moon #daycare attendant sun #the daycare attendant #harpy!eclipse #harpy!moon #harpy!sun #harpy au #winged au #floppy art #floppy doodles

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears. 

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening. 

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.  

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.  

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.  

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

[crimson-kisses]

Yandere Allies and Axis with a nymph darling that doesn't wanna be with them. Because anyone that the Gods have been with that isn't a God as well has ended in tragedy, something the darling is trying their absolute best to avoid so they don't meet an early demise. So as soon as the darling has found out that they are the Apple to not only one but multiple gods eyes, they ghosted all them. It was like they never existed. However the darling's sisters does know where she's hiding...........

Do what you will with this. ( Gods AU )

Ah yes, my long forgotten abandoned au ;-; I tried to keep this rather simple and short! I like the tragic undertones this ask has 🐝✨

Warning: contains usual yandere themes, toxic relationships and violence.

Fleeting wings

The evidence of it all remained etched on the walls, arts hidden in cave paintings and harsh whispered tales in the dark recounting and retelling the warnings.

The beings were aware of the tragic history that had occurred and unfolded before them, most carried the resilience of their broken ancestors, determined to survive against all odds.

Your mother had been one of them, a being born from the marrows of nature itself, she reminded you of the unfortunate women who gripped the hearts of the deities’ only to end up in a tragedy that wrote the end of them.

And so, you had always threaded carefully when it came to love- the most powerful, corrupted thing which once shattered entire worlds.

It was a solemn warning, when an old cherry tree, rooted atop the ancient mountains had beckoned you closer with it’s thorny branches, entangling in your dress. Hundreds of whispers echoed in your mind as it told you of the events that were bound to repeat if the deities’ so willed if they didn’t get their hands on their beloved sooner.

Their beloved being a lovely maiden, born from the very essence of untamed nature.

That maiden was you, a nymph.

After realizing the horrifying fate that could befall after their corrupted sense of love poisoned their divinity, the only thing that could help you or even delay the horrifying outcome was for you to conceal yourself into the depth of the fragile earth.

Following the long faded away paths of your ancestors, deep down into the abyssal caverns, you had found solace and refuge.

Months had passed, when not even the sunlight had the privilege of kissing your skin with its warm rays, and the wind had to squeeze in through the cracks as you lay in a slumber with the nature curling itself around you, moss covering your entirety and roots cradling your body as a womb of a woman protecting a child.

Unbeknownst to you, the world shifted and groaned, while the winds howled relentlessly and clouds descended, unleashing a torrent of icy hailstones upon the land.

On what appeared to be a tranquil morning, the deities withdrew their feeble mercy and fragile loyalty.

A gentle curl of foam unfurled, its seams unraveling, and soon it overflowed, submerging the islands under its weight.

Inhabitants desperately sought higher ground, mothers cradling their sobbing infants, sons and daughters salvaging remnants of their homes, and fathers striving to protect and guide their loved ones to safety, though their efforts seemed futile.

Sooner or later, things turned sour.

A foreboding realization gripped the hearts of some, understanding that this calamity would escalate to an unimaginable extent. The echoes of their ancestors' experiences were about to resurface, and no one possessed the strength to appease the ferocity of the deities' unleashed wrath. The very structure of the worlds trembled under the weight of their fury, threatening to shatter the boundaries that held everything together.

With a mere curl of their fingers, the sisters, torn from their deeply rooted abodes, were forcefully brought before the imposing throne of the deities. None dared to defy their commands, for chaos ravaged the worlds, teetering on the brink of unleashing something tremendous and catastrophic.

"Speak, for we demand your answers,"

A deep grumble reverberates through the chamber, while gentle droplets of dew caress the roots of the sisters, nurturing their well-being. The deity presiding over the fourteen oceans, the overseer of every movement of the water, fixes them with a stern gaze, awaiting their response.

"We shall not forsake our inherent nature, our lineage, or the vows we have made. Do as you will to punish us, but we implore you, if your divinity is true, grant us mercy," the sisters speak with unwavering determination, remaining steadfast in their convictions.

A heavy silence descends upon the room, mirroring the intense tension and seething wrath that soak through the atmosphere. The skies above darken, as if reflecting the turmoil reaching its breaking point.

A mirror materializes, its surface transforming into a silver portal that shimmers with an ethereal glow. As the portal opens, writhing green flames dance and flicker within, creating a mesmerizing spiral that beckons with an otherworldly allure.

"We shall bestow mercy!" a smooth voice exclaims, resonating with an uncanny clarity.

Chaotic visions envelop the room, casting a hazy, disorienting hue that distorts reality. Horrifying and incomprehensible images swirl around the sisters, accompanied by series of unsettling sounds.

The deity, his figure is surrounded by the flickering green flames, same glow as his eyes, the flames unleash a thunderous roar filled with hunger and echoes the agonized screams of the unfortunate. The atmosphere becomes suffused with terror and despair.

But of course, he wasn’t the only visitor.

Suddenly, amidst the shadows shrouding the room, another dreadful figure emerges, emanating an oppressive presence that drains the very essence of the sisters.

Overwhelmed by the malevolent presences, the sisters stagger, their bodies weakened, as if being crushed beneath an invisible force. They feel trapped, as if buried deep within the earth itself.

The terrifying figure wears skeletal armor that glistens ominously in the sunlight, exuding an aura of darkness and ink-like malevolence. Burning red eyes and searing green eyes fix upon the sisters, both feigning interest while concealing a deep-seated disdain.

"Death is often the pathway towards mercy," the other figure declares, his voice laced with a chilling resonance.

"And even after that, mercy is not always guaranteed in my domain".

The sisters huddle closer together, their trembling bodies consumed by an overwhelming fear that courses through their veins.

A brief moment passes, air heavy with anticipation.

The figure of the deity of Wisdom and Wealth rises from his throne, moving with a measured calmness toward the center of the room, standing before the sisters.

He offers a gentle smile, though it fails to reach his vacant eyes. Slowly, he begins to speak in a voice dripping with honeyed richness.

"Our mercy shall be our forgiveness", he utters, each word laced with authority and concealed threat.

"Speak, unless you wish to endure eternal suffering. Your loyalty is admirable but misguided in the eyes of us deities. Do not test our patience, for our wrath knows no bounds."

No other deity stirs or makes any demands. The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness, as if time itself has come to a stop, casting a frozen stupor over the surroundings.

Silence reigns supreme, leaving everyone in a suspended state of uncertainty.

The sisters gasp for breath, their chests heaving with fear. Is this their end?

Will they suffer mercilessly and face a fate devoid of peace, even after death?

Uncertainty grips their hearts, as they ponder the grim fate that looms before them.

The silence is soon broken, when the king of the deities gives off an amused smile, sky eyes glinting with a newfound excitement.

𖣊𖡛𖣥𖡗𑗋𖣙𖥟𖢅𖢌𖥠

You supposed the elderly forces had exerted all they could, using their waning strength to shield and protect you, but their ancient power could no longer unleash its full potential.

Within the depths of your enclosed casket, a steady flow of essence awakens you from your deep slumber. Weakened vines and branches still try to hold you protectively, cradling your form.

A towering figure, adorned in gleaming metallic armor and wielding mighty weapons, enters the cavern. With a single swipe of his resplendent sword, he shatters the feeble attempts of the cavern to shield you.

The deity of War and Vengeance.

His helmet conceals most of his visage, revealing only a pair of glowing violet eyes fixed upon your captivating figure. Swiftly, the deity tears away the remaining vines and branches, careful not to cause you harm.

You knew deep down that this moment was inevitable. The ancient times did not truly capture the full extent of reality. Those days were long gone, as the world order had changed since those bygone eras.

It was different now. Their attention, once scattered among their own darlings and the allure of their beautiful women, was solely focused on you. It wouldn't have taken much longer for them to claim their beloved treasure. The powers that had thrived in ancient times could not withstand their might, or perhaps they chose not to.

Above you, the air opened up like a celestial maw, its glimmering teeth of stars welcoming you to your tragic fate.

#hetalia #aph hetalia #yandere #yandere hetalia #hetalia germany #hetalia china #hetalia prussia #hetalia england #hetalia russia #hetalia america #yandere x reader #hetalia allies #hetalia axis powers #aph england #aph prussia #aph russia #nymphcore #mythology au #queued post #hws germany #hws italy #hws prussia #hws #hws romano #hws china #hws england #hws russia #hws canada #hws france #hws japan

[nerdraging4point0]

Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Three // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @cncohshit

The wind rushes past my ears as I plunge deeper and deeper into the abyss. With each passing second, the light above grows fainter while the darkness below swallows me whole. I’ve lost all sense of direction, unable to discern up from down in this vortex of shadows. My stomach lurches with each flip, tossing and turning without control. Strands of hair whip wildly across my eyes, blinding me further in this endless freefall. I flail my arms, grasping at nothing but air that slips through my fingers.

I feel the need to scream but nothing comes out.

The grey swirling mist around me gives way to dark tree branches as I see the forest come through around me. My heart leaps into my throat as I desperately grasp at passing branches and shrubs, trying to slow my momentum. Just when I think my fall will never end, the sleeve of my cardigan snags on an outstretched tree limb, abruptly halting my descent. I dangle helplessly in the air, my feet kicking below me as I struggle to regain my composure. Adrenaline courses through my veins from the sudden shock of my fall and narrow escape. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, clinging tightly to the branch as it sways under my weight. The quiet creaking barely registers before an ominous snap pierces the silence. In an instant, the branch gives way and I plummet the remaining distance to the forest floor. I land flat on my back, all the air forced from my lungs on impact.

My eyes focus on the sight above me. Gloomy grey clouds swirl in whirlwind circles, like the way a hurricane might look - dark, menacing, and ominous. As I take in the dreary sky, the clouds appear to be spinning faster and faster, morphing into a giant whirlpool directly over my head. I can almost feel the power emanating from their rotation like a vacuum trying to suck me up into oblivion. Sitting up slowly, I feel the soreness in my bones, as if I had slept on the hard ground all night long. The aching penetrates deep, making even the slightest movements arduous and painful. I check for broken bones, wiggling my fingers and toes, bending my arms and legs, and nothing is seriously damaged. 

My hands are covered in dirt from the forest floor, if a forest is what you call it, I brush the soil from my hands as I scan the dreary trees around me. The floor is not covered in grass or moss, but a dark and crumbling soil that clings to my skin. It is as if the very life has been sucked from this place, leaving only dust in its wake. The trees that surround me are gnarled and twisted, with branches like boney claws grasping desperately at the oppressive gray sky. They are barren - not a single leaf or bud in sight, just rough bark that seems to slough off in scales. There is an unnatural stillness here, and a damp chill that seeps into my bones. The only movement comes from the fog that swirls eerily between the skeletal trees. It dances just out of reach, sinuous tendrils of mist that seem to have a mind of their own as they curl and twist. The fog circles me like a predator, watching closely but never coming close enough to touch. There is something sinister about this place, as if the very air is heavy with malice.

The world around me is eerily quiet - it's as if someone has hit the mute button on life itself. No birds singing, no rustle of leaves in the breeze, just deafening silence. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of a clock, though I see no timepiece nearby. The steady ticks seem unnaturally loud in the void of sound, almost oppressive as they count away each passing second. 

I stand from the floor, whipping my head around slowly to find the source of the ticking sound. When she surprises me, she steps out from behind one of the trees. Her long blonde hair cascades straight down to her waist, and I see her soft caramel eyes go wide as she takes in the sight of my dirt-covered self. I jump back in surprise as she stands still where she is, her nose twitching ever so slightly. I relax a little, recognizing the girl from the coffee shop as she steps around the tree, a lace-covered hand still holding to the black bark as if it will save her should I be dangerous.

I feel the panic set in when I see what she is wearing, even more so what rests on her head. Platform shoes that are taller than her feet are wide support her, white stockings disappear under periwinkle leather shorts, which cling tightly to reveal subtly muscular legs. A navy and white corset pulls her narrow waist in dramatically, leaving her body in a perfect hourglass figure. The long tail of her navy trenchcoat brushes the back of her knees as she walks, the black lace at the hem an elegant and beautiful touch. On the top of her head protruding from the platinum locks are two white bunny ears, they stand straight up twitching as she stares at me intently. She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out a silver pocket watch placing it in the palm of her lace gloved hand. Regarding the time, one of her ears flops over as she tsks softly and looks back up at me, stating simply in a melodic voice, "You're very late." I stare in bewilderment, wondering if I'm hallucinating this strange yet alluring sight before me. The girl tilts her head quizzically, bunny ears perked up once again, as she waits for me to respond.

“I…I…late for what?” my voice cracks a little, I have been sucked into this dream again and it’s starting to get old. 

The young woman smiles trotting over to me before taking my upper arm, pulling me along as she skips merrily down the forest path, her sheen white hair bouncing with each step. "Come now. So very little to do and so much time," she sings, her voice light and melodic. I hurry to keep up, worried she'll twist an ankle in those heels as we push on through the uneven ground littered with sticks and stones. She stops abruptly and I nearly crash into her back. Turning to me, her face grows pensive, her brows knitting together in concentration.

 "So little time, so much to do. Yes, yes, that's it!" she exclaims, having sorted out some internal debate. She resumes her brisk pace, heels clicking on the hard dirt before sinking into the soft soil.

 "You should have come through the door. You would have been closer to Hatter that way," she advises as we walk. "But the mirror will do. They are tricky, tricky, tricky. You could have come through completely upside down!" She elaborates on the precarious magic of portal mirrors - how I might have emerged feet where my head should be, eyes planted squarely on my chin. Such a disturbing image, but she seems utterly unfazed by the prospect of such chaos.

 "Upside down?" I ask, unable to grasp how that would even work. 

"Oh yes!" she readily confirms, no trace of doubt in her voice. Stopping short again, she spins to face me, eyes narrowed.

 "Let me see your hands," she demands. I hold them out obediently as she inspects them for the proper number of digits. Satisfied, her expression clouds again. She leans in close, peering at my face intently, and whispers "Do you have hands on your feet?" Mystified, I shake my head no, and she relaxes, beaming.

 "Good!" she declares cheerily before pirouetting away once more down the path.

"I'm sorry,"  Her brisk pace through the winding forest path leaves me struggling to match her graceful steps. She glides effortlessly over fallen branches and mossy stones while I stumble clumsily behind, longing to pause and catch my breath. The further we go, the more I yearn to turn around, retrace my footsteps and return to the place I began. But the mysterious maiden shows no signs of slowing, so I press on, determined not to lose sight of her flickering white dress between the trees up ahead.

"Who exactly are you?" I ask. She giggles white lace glove covering her soft pink glossy lips. My blunt question elicits a melodic laugh as she conceals her mouth with a dainty hand. I fail to grasp what amusement my inquiry brings her. With an elegant twirl, she stops abruptly and faces me, throwing her arms out wide as if presenting herself to an invisible audience.

"I am all that I am and all that I will be. I am Melina, herald to the late white queen," her face falls a little growing somber as she delivers her final line, "and the great red queen." Her prideful introduction gives way to melancholy, ears falling ever so slightly as she seems to choke on the word ‘great’. 

After sharing a somber beginning to our encounter, her demeanor suddenly shifts as a radiant grin spreads across her face, lighting up her cheeks with a rosy flush. Her long, snowy rabbit ears, which had drooped mournfully just moments before, now perk up with delight. With renewed enthusiasm, she begins merrily spinning and skipping down the forest path, practically bounding with each step. Her movements are graceful and spirited, reflecting her improved mood. I hurry to keep up as she continues on ahead, but struggle to match her graceful, nimble movements.

“Okay,” She effortlessly scurries up the side of the path, climbing over a large fallen tree blocking our way with ease. I attempt to follow her over the obstacle, but cannot mimic her graceful agility. “Next question, where am I? How did I get here? Isn’t this just a dream?”

Stumbling clumsily back onto the path, I watch her continue on, now skipping backwards so she can face me as we talk. Her mood is clearly much improved from when we first met, transformed from melancholy to positively gleeful in mere moments. Yet while her sadness has passed, my confusion remains. I hurry after her down the path, determined to make sense of this strange world I've found myself in.

“That is three questions, shall I answer in order or answer the ones that would make more sense?” she giggles continuously. 

“Nothing makes sense!” I argue looking directly at her soft white bunny ears knowing for certain no person could have ears like that all the time. 

"Well, you will never know that something makes sense unless it is said." Her response is not wrong but it doesn't sound right either, I can feel my head splitting already as I touch my temples. Her cryptic words echo in my mind, their meaning just out of reach.

“Where you are is, Otherland. I already told you how you got here-or how you should have come here.”

“The door,” I nod along as she speaks, acting as if I comprehend, but my confusion only grows. Her guidance feels less like truth and more like riddles. I want to believe her, to latch onto any clarity amidst the haze enveloping my mind. Yet as much as I strain to assemble the fragments, the full picture eludes me.  “But, I can never open it.”

“Well, now you couldn’t, not with red queen guarding it with her life.” Her elusive responses just leave me grasping at ghosts, the truth always dancing out of reach. If only she would just tell me plainly, perhaps then I could make sense of this madness.

"I hear what you’re saying, but none of it is making sense." I try again to comprehend the confusing words and concepts she is conveying, but they continue to elude me, slipping through my grasp like smoke. She lets out a soft sigh, her eyes rolling upward in frustration as if searching the empty void above for divine inspiration.

Realizing the futility of her abstract explanations that seem clear to her but remain a jumble to me, she concedes: "I am horrible with explanations, too many thoughts scampering about in my head. Dax is far better, he should be with the hatter now. We should keep moving." 

At the mention of "the hatter," vivid images from my shadowy dreams flood my mind - a tall, lean figure lurking in the darkness, clad in an impeccable black suit and glossy top hat. Could this be the mysterious man she is referring to? As I recall his chilling words uttered to me in the dead of night - "Ember, set me free" - a shiver runs down my spine. I sense this puzzling dream world and obscure reality are somehow connected, but the link remains just out of reach, as obscure to me as my companion's convoluted elucidations. 

We delve deeper into the sinister forest, the canopy now so dense above us that not even a sliver of the gloomy sky peeks through. All around us come unnerving cries and screeches from unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. I flinch with every sound, imagining the unseen horrors to be stalking us, waiting to strike. Never could I have imagined that venturing farther into the impenetrable darkness would reveal such thriving, albeit twisted, life. A screech erupts frightfully close by and I can't help but let out a yelp of fear.

"What was that?!" I exclaim, my voice quivering.

"Bandersnatches," Melina replies matter-of-factly, not missing a beat in her brisk pace. "They roam wild in these woods but won't bother you if you just keep moving." I scurry to stay right on her heels, her flowing jacket now within arm's reach. If any nefarious creature is out to get me, I want to stay as near as possible to my guide through this nightmare realm.

Without warning, another shriek pierces the stillness, causing Melina to halt abruptly in her tracks. Her tall white ears stand erect, nose twitching as she scans the darkened trees around us. I stop short as well, peering anxiously into the shadows, though I know my human eyes are no match for her heightened animal senses. Through the tense silence, the forlorn howl of a hound echoes.

"And that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I follow the mysterious girl through the dark forest. She pauses and turns back to me, silver hair glinting as if it is radiating it’s own light.

 "Harlan," she says just as quietly, a hint of urgency in her tone. "The hunt has begun." Her words send a chill down my spine as somewhere in the distance, I hear the baying of hounds. "No, no, no, I'm late," she mutters, checking the silver pocket watch she wears around her neck repeatedly, mumbling "no" to herself as she scrambles up the mossy forest walls on either side of the narrow path.

"Wait!" I cry out desperately, stumbling after her, not wanting to lose my strange guide in this ominous wood. But she halts and holds out a slender hand to stop me as the chilling howl of the hound cries out once more, closer now. She looks frightened, almost torn between staying to lead me through the dark trees and fleeing from some unseen pursuer.

 "No. Stay on the path. Move with haste, but stay on the path," she instructs firmly, her luminous eyes boring into mine, willing me to heed her warning before darting off into the blackness of the woods. I'm left alone on the winding trail, my heart pounding as the baying grows louder, wondering who or what hunts these woods at night and what fate awaits if I stray from the path.

I continue the way we were headed, my feet moving with much greater purpose now. The sounds disappear behind me and I feel my heart rate slowing, the dark forest breaks free and I can see the sky once again. The winding forest path stretches on endlessly before me, narrowing as it snakes between the ancient, towering trees. Their gnarled branches reach out overhead, blotting out the moonlight that had briefly illuminated my way. The ground underfoot grows more treacherous, littered with loose rocks, tangled roots and fallen limbs that threaten to twist my ankles with every hurried step. I've been walking for what feels like hours now, though it's impossible to tell in this timeless dreamscape where minutes blend seamlessly into days.

I look down and I no longer can see the clear path in front of me, I panic just slightly turning to see where I may have lost it and think I can retrace my steps to find it again. But behind me the fog has curled over the path like a cat curling around my legs, obscuring any signs of the trail in a thick, milky haze. All I can see now are mangled branches and other forest debris emerging from the mist. Oh fuck, I'm lost.

 I turn on my heel, ready to run back and find the path again, afraid I may no longer know my directions in this featureless sea of black. What if I am lost among this forest forever, doomed to wander endlessly through the featureless void? I'm stopped only by a soft whisper, turning I can see the fog whispering in curls as if the wind is blowing through it. The whisper is a soft low sound, rhythmic, like snoring...no, purring. 

"I wouldn't if I were you," the disembodied voice purrs, its notes echoing off the trees and curling around me like the fog itself. The voice seems to emanate from the fog itself, surrounding me with its hypnotic susurrus.

"Going back would be cat-astrophic."

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #wonderland!au #alice in wonderland retelling #bad omens smut #bad omens au #wonderland!omens #madhatter!noah #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction

[annawayne]

Whispers Of The Verdant Lament

Mavka AU*

*Mavkas, in Ukrainian folklore and mythology, are the souls of women who had died an unnatural, tragic death; they often appear in the form of beautiful young girls who entice and lure young men into the woods, where they "tickle" them to death. Mavkas have no reflection in the water, nor do they cast shadows; they have green hair and pale/green skin, sometimes - naked.

In the forest, you're not alone. Smerekas* with their long trunks stretch up to the sky, cutting the cloud with emerald needles and wooden veins. The soft moss covers the soil, echoing each step with rich crisp. The horizons are flooded with grass, erasing the limits, prolonging the space as if it's infinite harmony of savage, wild nature. The forest is the tribe, with its rules and rhythm.

Armin knows - every family has secrets, so does the forest, and every shade of green keeps the story of someone who made this place their tomb. And Armin also knows - the distant cries of the mountain river breathe with the last words of his Annie. 

It was an accident, the unmerciful, cruel circumstance. Her feet slipped, a second - and the river took her. A day later, they found her lifeless body, and Armin was sure -his lungs filled with water of mourning he never would be able to get rid of. 

His vision aches from the bright light as he reaches the cliff, where the tense tree line meets the sharp edge of the earth. Here it is. The place where everything ends - and as well would his life. She was the place between his ribs, and after she was gone - it couldn't be replaced; it whistled with grief and sorrow, nothing and no one could fulfil. She was everything - the feeble smile in the morning with sleepy eyes and groggy voice; the crystal laugh as they chased one after another in the slopes under the prominent spring sun, only to fall into the embrace of long grass, giggling and hugging each other; the tiny sparks in her eyes and the steady, slow breath as he plays trembita**; the delightful hum when the bilberry* she has plucked from the bush turned to be sweet and juicy; the adorable blush on her soft cheeks and the broad smile only he was able to see after they made love; the exceptional stitches on shirts she embroidered for both of them... Oh, of course, he's wearing the one right now. With his wedding outfit, she never has the chance to see. 

Armin sighs and closes his eyes. Annie made stitches not only on the fabric but also in his heart and body; he carries her unique embroidery and ornaments on the skin and soul of her life and love. It's almost unbearable to see his reflection because every part was kissed, touched, and loved by her. And now Armin stands at the same cliff and ready to take a step forward: not a tragic coincidence, like with her, but the decision. 

"Armin."

He is sure - this is the wind. Another trick of nature, his imagination, anything. 

"Armin."

No, no, no, it's all in his head. But tentative, almost slow, he turns his head, and he sees-

"Annie," her name exhaled like the air he needed all the time she was gone. Tears immediately filled his eyes, blurring his vision, but even with this, Armin captured her hair slightly green, her pale—more pale than usual—skin, green lips, and her favourite long undershirt, which she wore that fateful day. 

"Long time no see, love," A small smile paints her face, and Armin steps towards her, running in her direction. 

"Annie, Annie, Annie, An-" 

Her small hand rises up, and with a gesture, she pleads him to stop. Like a spell, his feet halt, and his chest rises with heavy breath; he is sure not from the run. 

"You can't jump from this cliff." her calm words fill the air between them. "You should live a long life, see the world, like you dreamed abou-"

"But I wanted to do all of it with you!"

"But I'm gone, Armin. I live in this forest, and you're still there, without strings to the place. You still can do it for both of us. "

The tears completely covered his eyes, and uncontrollable sobs cut all of his intention to say the word. So, she smiles again, and the gentle voice follows, "You should live, and when you would be the grumpy old man, you would come to this forest and call for me. You would stretch your hand, and I would take it, as I always did, and then, you will be young again, and we will be together one more time, and forever; we will be lost in the slopes and the rivers, in the grass and the mountains. But only then. Not early, not today. Only then,"

"Annie, I lo-"

"I know. I do, too."

"I miss-"

"Me too."

"An-"

"Only then, Armin. This is the condition. So, live. Live, and we will meet again."

His words are muffled with sobs, so the only thing he manages is to nod. 

"I... I don't know how, but I'll try. I miss you so much."

"I'm always there in your heart. I never left you, so...carry me to the world with you because this is the only way I could see it. Our hearts are connected, after all, so... Show me the world, Armin, as we dreamed about."

Armin closes his eyes, and the nails dig into his palms. It starts to hurt. "I'll try, Annie. I'll try."

The phantom touch caressed his cheek and made him open his eyes, and her face was right before his. Her dreamy, ghostly eyes are glossy and hazy with fog, but he recognizes this shade—his favourite, hers. Her lips quickly brush against his, and the hushed whisper follows: "It's nice to see this wedding outfit on you. You look so wonderful and beautiful. I really wanted to show you mine, but... I will be waiting for you, love." 

And with this, she is gone. 

Again. 

The shadow of her cold kiss still lingers on his lips as Armin falls onto his knees, and the loud song of the mountain river is muffled by his cries.

*Smerekas or Picea abies - the pine tree that is widely growing in the Ukrainian Carpathians;

**Trembita is a type of wood-made alpine horn. It is common among Ukrainian highlanders, Hutsuls, who live in western Ukraine (Carpathians). According to the ancient Hutsul tradition, a trembita should be made from a thunderbolt, i.e. a tree that has been struck by lightning. The age of the tree should be 120-150 years.

#aruani #aruani fic #aruani fanfiction #aruani fanfic #aruani short story #arminarlert #annie leonhardt #annie leonhart #it's been in my notes for a very long time #my days are awful and I decided to share this angst #my writing #ukrainian mythology #ukrainian folklore #mavka au #whispers of the verdant laments

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

A Beast, By Any Other Name | Prologue: In Dreaming

NSFW - my blog and all content is 18+ Minors DNI. This fic especially will have themes inappropriate for minors.

Summary: Something is coming for Johnny, it’s gaining on him. Time is running out. But it’s all a dream, right? Right? Word Count: 1k~ Warnings: Gore, injury detail, out of body experience, lucid/vivid dreaming, horror elements, fear, monster horror, supernatural horror, blood, viscera, being chased. Let me know if I missed anything!   Tags: GHOAP, GhostSoap, Ghost x Soap,  Author’s notes: Here we go! Supernatural Monster AU GHOAP here we come! It’s going to be angsty but sweet, smutty and fluffy too.   [Ao3] Thank you @deadbranch and @beefrobeefcal for looking at this before I posted. I was feeling hella self-conscious about it!

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The wind whips around Soap’s body. An amorphous cat of nine-tails lashing at his exposed forearms. The red scent of iron fills his nostrils as he runs. The ground is sodden and spongy under his feet as he crashes through dense foliage. His body feels encumbered, like he’s shaking off a heavy cocktail of drugs.

His head spins, frantic energy burning under his skin as the very air he breathes threatens to choke him. But the forest has swallowed him whole. He doesn’t know if he’s running out of the woodland or further into its depths. 

The smell of roses, rainfall, moss, and something else burn acrid in his nostrils as the shadow of a creature looms over him. Impossibly tall, a crown of antlers that twist out like grasping hands. He quickens his pace as he searches for a break in the trees. 

The night is pitch-black, his surroundings shapeless and ever moving as the darkness warps his vision. There’s a desperation to his movements, so unlike himself. Icy fingers grasp at his spine as fear creeps up the back of his neck, burrowing into the base of his skull. 

But the fear is not his own. 

It’s a dream, surely? It must be. I has to be.

But the burn of lactic acid in his calves, the way his chest heaves heavy and raw as he flits past a moss-covered standing stone is very real. An anguished roar explodes from the inky darkness behind him, but he doesn’t falter. He doesn’t look back. 

The russet red of a fox darts across in front of him. The sudden distraction enough to make his heavy, uncooperative limbs falter and fail. The ground surges up to meet him as his arms refuse to move fast enough to break his fall.

His nose crunches sickeningly as his face collides with the cold forest floor. A mournful cry escapes his lips as thorns and brambles claw at his ankles, they rake up his calves as they tear at his… socks? 

Soap looks down, finally noticing his attire. 

A MacTavish tartan kilt falls to his thighs, white knee-high socks hug legs that aren’t his own. Something is terribly – grotesquely – wrong as he gropes at an unfamiliar body. His hands grasp at the black vines that begin to snake around his ankles. By chance, a black band of iron on his wrist collides with a barbed tendril and a sound like no-other pierces the air. 

The high-pitched squeal threatens to burst his eardrums as the very air around him thrums with venomous energy. 

Hatred, pain, sorrow.

Immediately the assaulting vines recede, hissing like splashed with acid. Soap doesn’t hesitate, forcing his broken body to rise from the spongy earth. Pain streaks through his shins as he limps towards a gap in the trees ahead. 

Hope swells in Soap’s chest as he sees a familiar silhouette of a house. Yellow lights flicker in tall windows. He doesn’t know why the house is familiar, nor why the moon threatening to break through the clouds above brings him desperate relief. 

But there’s something akin to triumph buzzing in his mind as he passes another standing stone. His tongue is coated in blood, sweat seeps into every crevice of his body as he stumbles across the boundary of the forest. His shirt sticks to his skin as he gulps down desperate mouthfuls of air. 

It’s over. 

Elated relief floods Soap’s system as he falls to his knees, but something in the back of his mind urges the man on his knees to move. There’s a severance between his mind and this body as a low, undulating growl reverberates behind him. 

“Move, get inside.”

Soap finds himself shouting wordlessly as he looks down on the kneeling figure, as if suddenly floating behind him. A loud droning, like a swarm of insects, jilts his concentration as he feels the hulking presence of the creature surge forward. 

“Run you idiot.”

He screams his throat hoarse, thrashing impotently as the presence of the beast passes through him. It’s too dark to see much more than the outline of a twisted, mutated, deer skull sat atop a hulking, shapeless form. 

The smell of roses, moss, rainfall, and a rich musk washes over Soap as he watches the creature hunch forward over the man kneeling in the wet grass. There’s a wet crunch and a muffled howl as the lone man’s body is obscured from Soap’s vision. 

There’s a cacophony of sick, wet, squelching sounds as Soap tries to turn away, to escape the horror unfolding before him. 

The horned skull swings around suddenly, cavernous sockets ablaze with sapphire-blue flames as blood drips down it’s ivory maw. 

“John.” 

The creature’s voice bounces around his skull as blood and viscera oozes from the gaping void of its gullet. 

Soap jolts awake, drenched in sweat as he looks around his bedroom. Everything is where it should be, his writing desk clear but for his closed laptop. Bare beige walls and brown carpet exactly how he left it when he fell into bed not eight hours before. 

He gingerly runs his fingers over his exposed torso, checking for damage or anomaly. But as he comes to, there’s no doubt. He’s safe, whole. Unharmed. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he grumbles to himself as he runs his right hand through his overgrown mohawk and the fuzzy sides of his grown-out hairdo. He aches like he’s run a marathon as he looks over to his bedside table. 

As if on cue, his phone lights up, an unknown number flashing up on his screen as a call comes through. He fumbles it to his ear as he answers it with a groan. 

“Hello?” The man on the other end of the call filters through with a wobble in his voice, “Is this Mr. John MacTavish?” 

“Aye, who’s askin’?” Soap groans down the line as he itches at the stubble on his jaw. There’s a faint smell of moss and soil on his fingertips. 

“My name is William Simcoe. I’m your uncle Jamie’s solicitor, I’m afraid I have terrible news.” 

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#GHOAP #GhostSoap #Ghost x Soap #john soap mactavish #john price #john soap MacTavish x Simon ghost riley #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #cod simon riley #ghost mw2 #soap cod #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #soap mw2 #cod soap #soap mactavish #monster au #cod au #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #Monster romance #cod monster au #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #fanfiction

[abbysleftbicepp]

The Thief And The Fairy

An Ellie Williams x Maleficent!reader au. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

an: This chapter is quite angsty, so uhh yeah 🤗 enjoy! part 4 will be out soon <3 not proof read.

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After several years had passed, Ellie’s visits to the Moors were less and less, for her ambitions pulled her away from Y/N, and towards the temptations of the human kingdom. While Y/N, the strongest of the fairy’s, grew up to be the protector of the Moors, just as she was all those years ago.

Y/N spent her days flying through the Moors, searching for any sign of danger. Sometimes, once she knew they were safe, she’d fly up into the clouds and dance with the wind and the sky.

She often wondered the Moors in solitude, and sometimes wondered where Ellie might be. For she had never understood the greed and envy of humans…but she was to learn.

For the human king Jesse had heard of a growing power in the Moors, and he sought to strike it down.

Y/N was sat by her tree in the mountain when she saw the herd of men and flames marching towards her home. She flew down to the spriggans, alerting them of the war that was approaching in the near distance. Knowing that they were following closely behind, she flew to the edge of the Moors to meet the king and his army of men and horses.

When the king reached the entrance of the Moors, he came to a halt, stopping his men behind him. He turned to face them before speaking up.

“There they are! The mysterious Moors where no one dares to venture, for the fear of the magical creatures that lurk within! Well i say crush them!!” He yelled triumphantly, his army cheering once he’d finished.

Suddenly, the king heard a loud gusp of wind behind him. He turned around to face whatever monster that stood in front of the Moors.

Y/N stood there in a confident stance, her wings folding slightly behind her.

“GO NO FURTHER!” She yelled as loud as her lungs would let her.

“A king does not take orders from a winged elf!” King Jesse spoke with might and power, his men laughing at his joke.

“You are no king to me!” She announced with anger, her stance staying strong.

The king spoke to his men calmly. “Bring me her head.” He ordered, just as his father did with her parents long ago.

The army quickly drew their swords and charged towards Y/N and the Moors.

“Arise and stand with me!” Y/N yelled, locking eye contact with King Jesse. Suddenly, the ground started shaking beneath their feet. The roots of trees rose from under the ground, revealing the Spriggans that were hiding not long before.

“It’s the dark creatures!!!” One of the kings men yelled in fear.

More spriggans walked out from the shadows, riding large armoured boars. The spriggans ears which were covering their faces, opened up to reveal themselves to the humans once and for all.

Without warning, dirt from the ground exploded into the air as yet another creature arose from hiding. This creature was a wingless dragon made from the roots of trees, moss and mud. It’s teeth were sharp and long, and it had a beak for lips. It roared at the humans before it.

“CHARGE!!!” The king ordered, the humans quickly started forward to attack the beasts. Y/N flew up into the air, before flying directly at some men, taking them out with her wings. The Spriggans and boars also ran towards the men, fighting back, protecting their land.

The ground dragon started swimming below the dirt, and rising to strike the humans, making anywhere a danger zone for them.

Y/N sawed towards the king, knowing she wanted to end the man who started the war in the first place. “You!” she yelled as she came crashing into him. He landed on his back, all the air escaping his chest as he struggled to breathe.

“To the king!!” one of his men ordered, as they all charged towards the king and Y/N.

Luckily for her, she had strong wings. And she used them to her advantage. She flapped her wings, making sure to create large gusts of wind to send the men flying back miles. She then landed in front of the king.

“YOU WILL NOT HAVE THE MOORS! NOT NOW, NOT EVER!! YOU-“ she yelled before she was quickly cut off by his iron glove coming into contact with her chest. She fell back in pain, a red burn mark left where his hand once was. It quickly disappeared, however.

Unfortunately the kings men reached him before she could strike again. The humans a fled back to their kingdom, and the Moors was at peace once more.

In the castle, King Jesse was laying in bed. Six men surrounded him, for he did not have long left.

“When i ascended to the throne..I promised the people that one day.. we would take the Moors and it’s treasures. Each of you swore allegiance to me.. and to that cause.” He spoke weakly before coughing.

Ellie, who was previously lighting the fire, rushed over to fix his pillow so he was more comfortable.

“Defeated in battle. Is this to be my legacy? I see you waiting…for me to die. It won’t be long. But what then? I will choose a successor- to take the throne, care for my wife. Who among you is worthy? Kill the winged creature. Avenge me! And upon my death, you will take the crown.” He coughed again.

Later that night, Ellie decided she had to return to the Moors one more time, and Avenge her king in order to become queen. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt her considering she hadn’t seen the fairy in years.

She prepared a horse and carriage, with a blanket to cover Y/N’s body with once she had done what she needed to do. Once she’d decided she had everything she needed, she made her way back to the edge of the Moors.

“Y/N?” She called out like she did long ago.

“Y/N?” She tried again after a few seconds. Of course she wouldn’t be there waiting for her like she used to be. Ellie felt stupid and turned around to go back to the kingdom. That was until she heard a whoosh behind her.

“So..how’s life with the humans..?” Y/N spoke bitterly. She did not expect to see Ellie ever again, so this was quite a surprise.

“I’ve come to warn you..they mean to kill you.” Ellie said worryingly, hoping she’d buy her act.

“King Jesse will stop at nothing..” She continued, sympathy lacing her voice.

“Please..you have to trust me.” She finished. Y/N considered Ellie’s kind gesture, and forgot about how she’d left let long ago. She invited the human back into the Moors, into her home, and let her guard down completely. The two spoke of many things, and the years faded away. She forgave Ellie, and her ambition, and all was as it had been many years prior.

Y/N’s head rested on ellie’s as they watched the lake glisten in the moon light. Ellie opened a flask and asked Y/N to drink it, which she did, not knowing what was inside. She quickly fell into a slumber, and Ellie’s plan was coming into action. She almost backed out of the plan, but if she didn’t do it then someone else would. She needed the throne.

It took ellie an hour before she was able to gain the courage to grab the weapon needed. When she returned to Y/N, she was still sleeping soundly on the grass.

“Y/N?” Ellie tried waking her up, to see if she would actually rouse. She did not, which meant it was time. She gently picked up the dagger that she had placed by her feet and raised it above Y/N’s back. She lifted it into the air, ready to slam it into the fairy, but fell back, stopping herself. She threw the dagger to the ground in anger, she could not kill her first love.

Suddenly, an idea appeared in Ellie’s head. The king did not need to know that the fairy wasn’t dead, She just needed to bring him evidence to lie to him.

She grabbed a chain that sat next to her and wrapped it around Y/N’s wings, and cut them from the fairy’s back. She then took the wings and wrapped them in the blanket where her body was once to be. Then, she left. She decided to walk back as the guilt made her feel to sick to ride her horse.

when the sun had risen, Y/N slowly woke from her slumber. Pain shot through her and she felt awfully light. As she sat up, she did not feel her wings move with her. She grunted in pain and reached behind her to feel for her wings, finding out that they were no longer present. She looked behind her with wide eyes. Panic and betrayal flooded her veins as she trembled. She started squealing in pain, which turned into screams and sobs. She tried gasping for she could not breath. She screamed as much as her body would let her. Not only did Ellie steal the fairy’s heart, she also stole her wings.

In the distance, Ellie heard her old true love’s screams and she felt like she was going to be sick. Her mind was filled with regret, but there was no going back now. She would have to live with the guilt for the rest of her years.

Y/N lay back down on the ground as she was in agony, and stayed there for a few hours. She did not want to move ever again, she did not feel whole. She was no longer complete.

When Ellie returned to the castle, she went directly to the Kings chambers to show him what she had done. She carried in the fairy’s wings and placed them onto the foot of his bed.

“What is this?” King Jesse asked, awakening from his slumber. Ellie removed the blanket from the wings, revealing them to the king.

“I have avenged you, sire.” Ellie spoke with confidence, though her heart was shattered. She could not believe what she had done.

“She is vanquished?” The king asked before coughing. Ellie simply nodded. She did not want to speak, she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Oh you have done well, my friend. You have done what others feared to do. You will be rewarded.” The king announced.

“i shall do my best to be a worthy successor, your majesty.” Ellie replied. The king asked for her to leave and that she will be crowned the following week, wedded to his wife.

tag list: @seraphicsentences

#ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #maleficent reader #maleficent #maleficent au #fantasy #fairy #sleeping beauty #the last of us x maleficent au

[jack-o-phantom]

short description

A small thing for the Stone Guardians AU or the Gargoyle AU. From Moon's pov, I don't write often and don't have enough creative writing talent to go further then a few passages, If I could I would.

Of course it's all experimental, so any thoughts or additions are welcomed!

The air held it's weight as the warm noon clouds casted over. A structure built tall and courageous now stood with no support. That is what the guardian thought, as it swung it's tail once, almost like the bell to grandfather clock. Here he stood like the building he guarded, a forgotten relic overtaken by mother earth from the ground up.

Thick skin, or rather, stone made its body bare the weight of the years so quietly, not even the birds nest that called the top of his head home was disturbed by it. There wasn't a reason to move for it, a simple twitch or grind of stone to stone tested if even itself was still alive, that was all that needed. The left of it though, perched its counterpart brazen with a crest dedicated to the life giving fire that was the sun.

Unlike his own grim appearance, this guardian's stone was clean, almost polished look to his limbs. Carved into it's arms though we're engravings left by sculptors long dead and forgotten to a markless grave stone. As the guardian stared longer, the more its own stone worked away to accomplish old movements.

The birds nest that littered his head came undone with claw on stone. Its counterpart had reached over their stone pillar, seemingly busy cleaning off moss and debris from the crown of rubbish. The guardian stood still, letting it clean away to a hollows hearts content. A rumble low and slow, lazily dragged across the floor, disapprovingly from them.

The guardian knew what that was, seemingly wanting to live what looks are to itself, is too much for the counterpart. A statue, yes, but living against the erosion of mother earth was simple for pebbles and stone. Under the watchful eye of its sun half, the stone of moon grumbled low.

Nothing ever creeped nor snuck around their area. Keen eyes ever wasting their time to a threat that has forgotten them, and their petty conflicts. There was no reason, but alike the stone they were carved from, they held a role frozen in time.

Whatever to disrupt them was only plotting away in the greenery, unsuspecting of their own presences to an unfortunate meeting.

#stone guardian au #Gorgoyle au #Fnaf DCA #FNAF DCA AU #Self insert #Short writing #Sun is going to be spunky in this while moon is more observing to everything #I find it funny when gargoyles sit still long enough birds make a nest on them #There is no beta reader unfortunately LMAO

[blooming-violets]

[tasm!peter x forest nymph, fantasy au] 

Summary: A forest nymph captures Peter’s heart.

Warnings: 18+ smut (mostly smut with a light plot), both fem and male oral, vaginal penetration, slight breeding kink

A/N: I started this for the Kink or Treat event that happened during Kinktober but it’s now the second week of November so...I’m late. Per usual. Better late than never though!

She smiled up at the hazy, autumn morning sun that was beginning to break through the clouds. The day after a rainstorm was always her favorite. The scent of rich, damp earth and decaying plants teased her nostrils. The forest floor was soft under her bare feet, the green moss, covered with a layer of wet leaves, cushioned her every step. It was the last few remaining days before she would take her slumber. Once the air cooled and snow flurries fell from the sky, she would retreat back to the safety of her home. When the last leaf fell from the tree, she would fall with it into her winter dormancy, only to reemerge the following season when the green buds sprouted to life. 

Her long hickory colored mane tumbled down her bare back in wild, untamed waves. The silky tips brushed against her bottom as she strode with a hypnotic sway of her hips towards her favorite bathing spot. A series of small waterfalls, stacked into rocklike steps, that pooled with perfect watering holes. The brown speckled rocks were smoothed down from the centuries of waterflow to create a hidden gem tucked away deep into the forest. As the morning golden rays of sunlight peeked over the tips of the trees, her world was cast into a fiery display of rich reds, shining yellows, and warm oranges. A perfect autumn morning to relish in her few remaining days. 

There was only one thing missing to make her day complete and she hoped she would find it before the night fell. 

He had promised her, after all.

She’d come to trust his promises. He had yet to break one. He was different from the rest. Even the Gods could not be trusted to keep their end of a bargain. But, alas, her Peter was no God. He was merely a man. A mortal man. A trained and powerful warrior but still a man. He promised her his devotion and protection as long as she promised to meet him whenever he called upon her. Last night, his message was carried on the backs of the wind. He was on his way. She longed for his arrival. 

The crystal clear water of Mother Nature's pool felt cool against her skin as she waded into the deepest depths. The cold of the river did not affect her like it would a mortal. It seeped into her skin and awoke each of her senses. She drew the lifeforce from the water and felt more alive with each passing second. A twinkle of light laughter fell from her lips as she sunk down to her shoulders. Her nipples tightened as the water weaved between her thighs, as if it had a mind of its own, to lap at her flesh like a flurry of tiny tongues. She was one with the nature around her. She could feel every breath of life that radiated from the ground. It was her home. Her safety. 

The wind rose up, blowing back the wisps of hair that teased at her cheek, and swirled around her naked skin. When she held her hand above the water, the wind curled through her dripping fingers. It tickled her fingers to elicit another laugh from her. Her hand sunk back under the water to gently cup her soft, round breasts and smooth down her over her belly in growing anticipation for her lover to arrive. Her body was untouched by time, forever in her prime, and eager to be pleased by knowing hands. Many had worshiped her flesh before, many had pushed her to the brinks of pleasure, but none had captivated her like Peter. She never wanted to be tied down to one partner. Even now, she still enjoys her joyous romps with her favorite Satyrs, but none held her heart like her human did. He was special. She couldn’t quite place how. It didn’t matter. All she knew was that Peter was hers. She cradled his soul in her palms. 

She closed her eyes to imagine her lover. She remembered the feel of his warm tongue and soft lips as they glided over her chest, hungry for something only her body could satiate. He would seek out the sweet nectar between her thighs and feast on her like a starving man devouring his first meal in days. There was a particular charm to Peter which other’s lacked. He lived to serve her. He aimed to please not be pleased. It was a rare kindness for the men she often came across. His innate ability for lovemaking resembled more of a woman’s compassionate touch than a man’s. And, still, he had a jealous streak, wishing to never share her with anyone else. She was not meant to be possessed, no matter how hard he tried. No man could ever own her. Not even Peter. 

The rustle of the leaves changed their usual sound to alert her of a new presence approaching. He was almost here. His familiar scent floated before him on the wind to reach her first. She inhaled the comforting smell with a smile. He was coming in from the north. 

She lifted herself out of the water to perch on a large rock at the edge of the river. The sun had been busy warming it for her and the heat felt nice absorbing into her skin. She pulled her long hair over her shoulder to run her fingers through the locks, humming a soft and enchanting melody while she patiently waited. The light inside of her was growing the closer he got. By the time she watched his shadow emerge from between the trees, she was practically bursting with excitement. Still, she feigned ignorance to his presence, continuing to hum and brush out her hair. 

He was watching her in silence. He always took his time to approach. The first time they met, he had spied on her for nearly three hours before making his entrance. She knew. She always knew when she was being watched. She loved the attention and enjoyed showing off for her unsuspecting suitors. This morning was no different. 

Her hands fell to her breasts, tweaking her nipples between her fingers with a soft sigh. Peter loved her chest. He could spend an entire evening doing nothing but nursing on her ripe breasts while his fingers twirled through her hair. They would lay together for hours, lazily exploring each other’s bodies while listening to the sounds of the forest sing around them. She could hear him give a sharp inhale from the opposite side of the river and knew he was enjoying what he saw. 

Her upturned eyes, phthalo green with shimmers of gold specs, unique to her kind, finally crossed the gap to land on him. She gazed at him through long lashes. A smile tugged at her lips at the sight. His chestnut hair was longer than it was the last time she saw him. It curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck. He looked older. Men always age so fast to her. A new scar cut along his cheekbone. White but prominent. Something that must have happened a few months ago while he was away. She knew he was a warrior fighting for his people’s freedom and that was a job that came with many dangers. She didn’t concern herself with many human issues though. As long as he kept safe and returned to her, she didn’t mind what disheveled state he showed up as. 

Peter straightened up when he saw he caught her attention. She stood on the rock, tossing her tumbles of hair behind her. His warm brown eyes danced over her nudity. To see a woman stand naked and unabashed out in the open was forbidden where he was from. Her sight stunned him every single time. His eyes sought out her chest, taking in the rise and fall of her breasts with their dark, budding tips and continued down to the indent of her waist and over her generous hips to her long, sturdy legs. She allowed him to look upon her in silence before she dove, head first, into the pool. 

She swam with a dazzling grace under the water until she emerged directly in front of him with a wide, teasing smile. Peter knelt down in front of her, reaching his hand out for her to take. The moment they clasped, he effortlessly pulled her from the water and onto her feet. Time seemed to come to a standstill as she pressed her face against his chest to breathe in his intoxicating scent clinging to his shirt. His strong arms wrapped around her wet body, crushing her breasts against him, and drawing her up against the rising hardness between his thighs. Fingers brushed the long, silky strands of wet hair over her shoulder, lowering his head to the exposed flesh, as his lips drank from her skin. 

She hummed with content at his touch, “Have you been with another since we were together last?” It was something she always asked. She played it off as curiosity but the blatant, underlying jealousy was easily noticeable. She could be others but not him. He belonged to her and only her. 

Peter sighed, shaking his head against the crook of her neck, “No. I’ve told you. You are my only one. The women try but none compare to you. Once your eyes have been blessed with the sight of a nymph, you can never see beauty the same way again.”  

She’d never met a human woman before. Their appearance was forgein to her so she had no input on the subject. If Peter claimed that her beauty outshone a human, then she could only go off his word, and his word satisfied her question. He was still hers. 

“I have been with others,” she replied, hoping to elicit a particular response from him. “No humans, though. I saw one pass through once but I stayed hidden.” She knew he wasn’t fond of that answer but he understood how nymphs lived. This was a part of her. Her sexuality could not be held down. Still, she enjoyed toying with his emotions. Men were so easily manipulated by beauty. If she asked, he would fight wars in her honor. 

His arms tightened possessively around her and she smiled. His male pride and ego fought his own war raging inside his head but he took a deep breath. He didn’t want to share her but knew he had no choice. If he wanted her, this was how it would be. She would always come when he called. She would always be his when he needed her. She would choose him over another if given the chance and that would have to be enough. 

Calloused, rough fingertips slide down her spine to cup her bottom and draw her even harder against his evident desire for her. He was showing her what he could offer, why he was there, and everything she wanted. A devilish smile spread across her face followed by a chiming laugh. She wriggled out of his grasp and dived back into the pool, swimming back to the rock she had been lounging on when he arrived. 

“Hey!” He called out after her, a smile of his own growing on his rosy lips. 

She kept her back to him, hearing him strip off his clothes behind her, and folded her arms on the rock’s surface to rest her head in them. Her eyes set sight into her dying forest. She took care of it. Her soul and the trees were tangled into one. Soon they would be put to rest so new life could grow. It was a beautiful cycle she had been a part of for years now. There was something special in the days leading to winter. A hopeful sadness. Death that would lead to life. The end of one thing and the birth of another. The circle of life starting over once more. 

Icy hands stole around her waist and leaned her back against his bare chest. Peter wasn’t built like her. The chill of the water wouldn’t be pleasant for him but he endured for her sake. His chin rested on her shoulder, her head nuzzling against his, letting his wet hair tickle her ear. She could sense his sadness. He knew what winter meant. She would not be around for him to call upon until the snow melted. This would be the last time of the year they would get to spend in each other’s arms. He missed her already. 

“Do you promise you will return to me?” He whispered. 

She gave a soft, pleased sigh, “I promise. When the first sprout pushes through the frosty ground, you will be the first I seek. Be waiting for me. You know my tree. Keep it safe while I sleep. As long as it is still standing, I will awake in the spring.” 

“Then I will protect that tree with my life.” 

She turned around in his embrace, locking her arms around his neck, and softly pressed her lips to his. His lips were already colder than normal. She tried to warm them through their kiss. Her eyes, holding the heart of the forest in their depths, gazed up at him with a playful amusement. She liked that she would be missed. She knew her winter dreams would be filled with him but time would pass quickly for her. Peter would be the one to carry the burden of the wait. His lips parted, forcing his tongue to dance with hers, as he pressed her tighter against the rock. His movements were fueled with a demanding desire. He wanted to have her. He knew he’d be forced to wait a long time for their next encounter so he refused to wait now. Today, she was his, and only his. He would prove to her that he was better than any other one she made love to. That was why she liked to bring it up each time they met. It turned him into an animal in need of her utter devotion. 

Cool waves of water sloshed up over her sides as she melted beneath his urgency. Quivers of heat shot between her thighs every time he ground his lips against hers. A cold, muscular thigh wedged its way between her legs offering a place to sit. Her heat pressed against his skin as she angled her hips to better situate her delicate nub to rub against him. Peter shuddered when her hand sought out his cock. She marveled at the perfection of man. She’d seen many sizes and Peter was perfect. Not too big to cause pain like some of the Gods she’d been with but perfectly sized to get the maximum amount of pleasure. She loved the way it twitched and throbbed against her palm, her fingers encircling his girth to slowly pump him between her fist. 

Peter gave a low groan into her open mouth. He gripped at her hips and lifted her, away from him, to gently sit on the rock. He never let her tend to him first. She smiled down at him shivering in the water and let her legs fall open so he could be face to face with her hidden treasure. His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head at the sight. 

“I worship you,” he whispered. 

His hands rose from out of the water to wrap his arms around her thighs and pull her to the very edge of the rock. She gave a light laugh, enjoying the feeling of being so well adored. The muscles in her thighs tightened as fingers deftly parted her lush folds, still clinging to the sparkling water in the morning sun. Peter took a moment to enjoy the beauty bestowed onto him before easing his head down between her thighs. Anticipation curled through her stomach as he gazed at her sultry core. She felt his cool breath tickle her sensitive skin just before his warm tongue darted out, slowly licking a path from her dewy gate up to circle her throbbing clitoris. 

With a heavy exhale, her head fell back to stare up at the sky and her lips parted on a soft moan, “Oh, Peter, how I’ve missed you.”

Peter’s hands held her thighs wide apart as she squirmed against his mouth. Her breath came out in shallow, uneven pants. Honey flowed between her thighs and his tongue sought out every last drop. Fingers pressed against her entrance, seeking admittance and coating in her slick, before pressing forward to slide between her tight walls. Her body clenched around the thrusting digits as his mouth expertly sucked on her nub. Heat scorched through her, pushing away the autumn chill, as tension coiled in her stomach. Nymphs were known to be very sensitive and easy to please but Peter never did a sloppy job of anything involving her. He took his time. He got the majority of his pleasure from worshiping her body. 

She whimpered as the fingers withdrew from her warmth and were replaced back with his hungry mouth. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly. The grip around her thighs tightened, pulling her bottom off the rock to press against his face. He gave loud moans as he savored her taste. That familiar burning ball of pressure started to grow in her stomach. Her hips grinded against his mouth trying to force his tongue deeper into her depths. She was close to reaching the place of pure euphoria. He could sense her anxious, pulsating, need and sped up his ministrations, pinning her tightly to his mouth as he ate her out. 

A screaming gasp echoed off the forest trees as that ball untangled into a bright light of passion. Her hands gripped onto fistfuls of his hair to keep her from falling off the rock and she rode out her high with a series of shrill shrieks. Her body shook and trembled while Peter continued to drink from her lifeforce until she finally collapsed on top of him. 

He collected her protectively in his arms, dragging her back into the water, to cradle her against his chest. His fingers brushed through her hair and he shushed her soft whimpers, “You did so good, my little nymph.” Lips pressed against her temple. “Thank you for letting me taste you. I will never tire of your sweetness on my tongue.” 

She felt the steady beat of his heart and tried to match her breaths to the beat. Her eyes opened to gaze through half closed lids up at his handsome face. His lips were dusting with a light blue. Despite trying to keep them from shivering, he couldn’t quite control his chattering teeth. She laughed, cupping his cold cheek in her palm. 

“Come on, my love. Let’s get you out of this water.” She grasped his hand and swam him to the other side of the pool where his abandoned clothes and bag lay strewn over the soft grass. She knew he wouldn’t leave the waters depths unless she instructed him to. Wherever she was, he was going to stay.

Droplets clung to his thick lashes and dripped off his bottom lip. She had the urge to catch it on her tongue. Peter gave her a loving smile and grabbed the bag off the ground. He pulled out a wool blanket and wiped off the excess water from his body before laying it over a bed of leaves. He laced his fingers with hers and laid down with her in his arms, using her body heat to help warm himself. 

He cherished the moments after her orgasm the most. Her usual mischievous playfulness dulled to a deeper intimacy while her strange colored eyes softened as she studied him. Their times together were never long enough. Passing ships. He craved her by his side. He’d dream of stealing her from these woods and dragging her back to his village so she could spend the rest of her life with him but he knew his desires were fueled by selfishness. She would hate it there. She could never leave her forest. He thought of moving out into the forest to be with her. He could build himself a little hut and live by her side but she always refused his advances. She could never be his. Not fully. She knew him too well. He wouldn’t be able to sit in his hut knowing that she was out giving herself to someone else. If a God came calling for her, who was he to challenge them? She needed her freedom as badly as he needed her and he would never deny her that right. 

Despite his aching heart, his desires only grew. He listened to her soft, labored breaths in his ear and admired the way the sun dried the droplets from her smooth skin faster than normal. Even her long, thick hair was already starting to dry out moments after leaving the water. She was an enigma to him and he was completely enraptured by her mere existence. He wanted more from her than what he was given. He couldn’t help but dream bigger than the life they were currently living.

Peter had heard stories about human’s mating with the nymphs. There were legends of the beautiful half-nymphs who walked between the two worlds. It was a new desire that had been tumbling around his thoughts for the past few days. He wanted to be the one to give her a child.

“Have you ever given birth?” He asked, breaking the silence. 

Her laughter filled his ears at his unexpected question and he felt his ears burning in embarrassment. 

“No, my love. I have not. Not yet. I assume some day I may bear a child. Why?” She blinked up at him with her curious, innocent eyes. 

A blush deepened his chilled cheeks, “Have you ever thought about it?” 

An understanding sparked in her expression, “Do you wish to give me a child, Peter? What about your future wife? Won’t she be appalled by the idea of you impregnating a nymph? I’ve heard stories about what humans think of us. You’d never get a proper wife if they found out.” 

“What future wife?” He countered. “I have no need for wives.” 

“Someday you will need to find a spouse to carry on your family name. That is what you men do. That’s part of your legacy.” She waited with bated breath to hear his reply, knowing his answer would determine her next move. If he asked her to have his children, she would not deny him.

Peter shook his head, “No. Not me. I have no legacy if it’s not with you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “Then I will not stop you from the legacy you deserve.” 

Peter felt the throbbing in his loins. Everything but the thought of spilling his seed into her welcoming womb disappeared. He needed her. His fingers caught her chin as he lowered his mouth to settle over hers, letting her taste her own lingering passion as his tongue explored her mouth. He had answered correctly and passed her test. 

She kissed him back, that familiar tingling feeling of excitement starting to grow in her belly the more urgent his kiss became. His mouth ground itself against hers, devouring, seeking, and demanding her attention. Heat shimmered through her when his hand closed around her supple breast, teasing the aching tip. If she left him to his devices, Peter would undoubtedly shimmy his way back down to her core for another taste. This time, she wanted to be the one to please him. A reward for only choosing her. Her mouth pulled away to catch her breath.

“Roll over,” she ordered. 

Peter did as he was told and flopped onto his back. The golden sun reflected off his damp chest with dancing light. It only served to highlight the perfect beauty of his toned body. She rose above him, joy filling her eyes at the sight. Her mouth lowered to sink her teeth into his shoulder, a teasing bite to awake his senses, and she laughed when she heard him hiss at the quick pain. He was her favorite plaything. 

Her hair feathered across his tanned skin, the result of hours spent working in the sun, as her lips trailed down his chest. The pads of her finger tips tickled over his sides, causing him to squirm, while she continued her slow descent to her prize. When she reached his tight stomach, she paused, resting her cheek above his belly button to gaze lovingly at the hard, throbbing shaft resting against his thigh. A familiar friend. Her fingers gently reached out to stroke over his length and wrap around his girth. Exploring him. Inquisitive, round eyes admired the beautiful sight he had to offer. The more she caressed him, the shorter his breaths became. 

“Would you like me to taste you, Peter?” She offered, knowing she was going to, but wanting to hear him say it. 

He took a shaky breath, “I’d prefer to have my mouth on you but do what you think is best.” 

She giggled. It was what he always said. He hated the idea of making her work for his pleasure but she never saw it as work. She adored feeling him against her tongue. He deserved to lay back and enjoy her talents. 

Her tongue teased over the glistening tip. Some days she would tease him for longer but, this morning, she could not wait. With a low moan, she took him into her mouth. His satin globe settled between her cheeks as she began to work him inch by inch down her throat. Peter was a mouthful but she could handle herself. She licked the sensitive underside of his head before swallowing him back down. Her head fell into a bobbing rhythm causing him to groan and lean back against the blanket. His eyes fixated on the colorful trees painting the deep blue sky above him. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his morning. His hand fell down to grasp onto the back of her head. He took a fistful of her silky hair in his grip, helping ease her up and down in his lap. 

“That’s it,” he sighed. “Mm, you make me feel so nice.” 

She smiled around the mouthful of cock. She was starting to crave his praise. In a show of appreciation, she relaxed her throat and brought her lips all the way to his base. His curly patch of coarse pubic hair tickled the tip of her nose as he let out a loud whine. His hand held her head down for a few seconds, enjoying the sensation, before pulling her back up with a fistful of hair. She took a quick gasp of air but almost immediately went straight back to tending to her lover. It didn’t take long for an all consuming heat to begin burning through him as her mouth treasured his manhood. Her lips were like magic. She could coax even the most powerful man to his knees with nothing but her tongue. His bottom clenched and rose from the ground, thrusting deeper, and meeting the downward plunge of her mouth. A quiet whimper fell from his lips as his breathing labored. 

They both knew he was close. Usually when he found his release, he would need to take a while before they could play again. Today, he wanted to save himself for her. As much as he would love to feel her swallow his every drop, he would not be denied the pleasure of emptying into her fiery heat. He would save everything he had for their love making. 

Peter carefully lifted her head from his shimmering, saliva drenched cock as she gave him a pout. He chuckled at the sight of her disappointment. 

“Not now,” he said, trying to resist her pleading eyes. “That’s not where I want to finish. I need it to be inside you.” 

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and a smirk spread across her pouty lips, “Never disrupt a woman from her work. Now you must pay the price. Catch me if you can!” 

She sprung up and darted off into the forest. Nymphs were known for their playful spirit and she was no exception. Peter couldn’t help but softly laugh to himself as he struggled to his feet. His body felt like it was on fire in need of a release and playing a game of chase was the last thing on his mind. Running naked through the forest wasn’t something he was used to until they met but it never phased her. She cared little for the ache in his lower half, only caring for him to play along. He knew better than to deny her of her fun. He followed the sounds of her laughter, catching flashing glimpses of her silhouette through the trees. It didn’t take long for him to gain on her. Peter was swift and agile. He was hot on her heels, her joyous laughter bathing over him, as she tried to loop him back to their blanket. Before she reached their place of rest, his arm extended and he lunged forward, wrapping around her waist to pull her tight against his chest. He gripped her hips to spin her around and shove her backwards, pinning her against her large, smooth boulder lining the river.

“Caught ya,” he smirked down at her. His sparkling eyes wandered lower to her heaving chest to eye her breasts as they lifted with each gasp for breath. Her skin was radiating with excitement and she felt like she was vibrating under him. She was the epitome of light. 

“You win,” she breathed. “That means I must be your prize.” 

She offered no resistance as his hands captured her wrists to pin them against the rock wall. His one hand was large enough to ensnare both her wrists in his single grasp. He pinned her there, watching her carefully, his expression turning hungry as his mouth watered. Anticipation shivered through her at the look in his eye. Dark and wickedly seductive. A provocative change from their usual warm, soft appearance. She wiggled against him, teasing him, rubbing on him, inciting him until he hissed through clenched teeth. The air shifted. The playful fire sizzled out into a needy desire. 

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded. “Tell me that you belong to me.” 

He caught her knee, shoving it to the side, and rubbed himself against her wet channel, drawing a restrained whimper from her. Her eyes widened at his touch. His free hand glided up her leg to delve between her thighs. She arched against the rock the moment he found her throbbing nub nestled between her lush folds. His fingers coaxed her clit until she whined and her legs trembled.

“Peter, please,” she gasped. He had never made her state her loyalty to him before. She always just assumed he knew she loved him most. She never knew he wanted her to actually say it out loud. The fire grew inside of her. She ground her hips against his finger, begging for something more.  

“Tell me,” he repeated. “Tell me what it is you want and tell me who owns your heart.” 

Her breath came in uneven pants. He was an expert with his fingers. She ached to feel him surging up inside of her, stretching her, filling her. Her slick coated his shaft sliding between her thighs as his fingers deftly toyed with her, keeping her on edge but never allowing her to peak. 

She gave a loud whine, finally allowing herself to give in to the feelings she’d been trying to suppress, “You! I need you, Peter! I love you. My heart belongs to you and only you. I don’t want anyone else! No one compares to you. You are my only love. You are the only one I truly crave. Please, please. I need you Peter. I want you to fill me, make me yours, give me your children and let me be a part of you forever.” Tears sprang to her pleading eyes. They pooled with a strange, leafy color and left hazy, green streaks down her cheeks. He’d never seen a nymph cry before. It was mesmerizing. 

A soft smile spread across his lips and he closed his eyes upon hearing her words, “I love you, too.” 

She fell forward, her wrists being released from his grasp, to throw her arms around his neck and seek out his waiting lips. He kissed her hard as he grabbed at her thighs to lift her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, as he pressed her back against the rock. He angled himself into her warm, welcoming channel and slowly pushed into her. A mewling cry fell from her lips as he pushed against her, his full thickness wedging into her tight entrance. The stretch was delicious and heavenly. He fit her beautifully like he was the perfect key to her lock. Everything about this human was tailored just for her. She couldn’t pretend any more. She belonged to Peter like he belonged to her.

“I love you,” she sighed. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Only you. When spring returns and I return with it, I will cover this forest floor in a carpet of white flowers as far as the eye can see. Each one will represent my adoration for you and lead you like a path straight back to me.” 

Her fingers tangled into the soft curls at the nape of his neck while she rested her forehead against his. He supported her with ease, hands gripping onto the soft flesh of her bottom, and closed his eyes to relish in her words of love. He had waited so long to hear them. They sounded better than he could have ever imagined. 

“I will make you mine forever,” he whispered straight into her ear. A promise. “We will have a family. I’ll move out to the forest and leave my life behind for you. I don’t care if I have to share you as long as you come home to me at night. We’ll find a way to make it work. Stay with me. Let me have you. All of you. Forever.” 

She shuddered at the thought of having Peter close to her for the rest of time. He would age. She would not. They could raise their children in the forest, they could be together for real. Finally. It wasn’t like a nymph to settle down but she couldn’t resist the allure of his safety. It was the most tempting offer she’d ever received. 

Before she could contemplate any further, Peter thrust her up against the rock. She cried out at the exquisite friction as he eased out of her only to drive up deep inside of her with heavy, powerful thrusts. He took her hard against the rock wall. He turned all his unspoken devotion into his lovemaking. Peter’s nails dug into the soft flesh of cheeks, holding her steady against him, as her back scraped over the rock's surface. She knew she’d be feeling the impact of it on her sensitive skin tomorrow morning but it would only serve to remind her of their risque meeting. Scratches of their love etched into her back. Her thighs curved around his while she gripped tightly onto fistfuls of his hair to keep her balance. His eyes burned with passion as he sunk into her with a burning need.

Peter tried to hold back a whimper but was unsuccessful. His bottom lip quivered. She could turn him from a fearless warrior into a shivering, begging mess in mere seconds. No one else had that kind of power over him. His strokes increased their tempo, forging a burning path between her thighs to her very core. His breath was ragged in her ear. She knew he was close. Long, powerful thrusts took over all of her senses until all she could see was Peter, all she could hear was his moans, and all she could feel was his cock driving into her. Her body yielded to his fierce possession. Each throbbing thrust seared her, branded her as his and only his, as he took her with a relentless determination.

“Fill me, Peter,” she cried. “Give me you children. Let me be tied to you forever.” 

His whine in response was quickly followed by a cry as pleasure seized him. His cock twitched inside of her, his seed spilling out as he took her with sharp, jerky thrusts, no longer in control of his actions, giving himself over to his body. 

Her head fell back, hitting into the hard rock, as she gave a cry of her own. Her wail of passion echoed off the trees, alerting the forest to her heightened senses. The wind picked up to swirl around them, cooling their sweat and tickling their skin, wrapping them in a hug to force them closer together. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck to hold her body taut against his. She clung to him like a bear clings to a tree trunk to escape danger. While she protected and looked after the forest, Peter protected and looked after her. She decided then and there that he was all she would ever need to satiate the hunger inside of her. Ecstasy tore through her body. Her sheath fluttered and quivered around his piercing sword, gripping him tightly to keep him in place, making sure she took everything he had to offer. 

They clutched each other tight, each breathing heavily, until she felt him begin to soften. He slid out of her with a quiet moan. She could feel some of him drip down her inner thigh and she finally untangled her legs from around his waist, settling with unstable feet on the earthy ground. His finger sought out her hair, damp with sweat, as he pushed it out from her eyes and over her shoulder. His lips fell down to her face, kissing away her tears slipping down her cheek. Happy tears. Tears of love. 

“Let me stay with you tonight,” he whispered against her lips, catching them with a kiss. “Lay with me while the day passes and the stars emerge. Tell me your favorite stories while I savor your taste and make my home between your thighs. Let me fall asleep to the sound of your beating heart. Tomorrow, you can start your slumber. Today, stay with me.” 

She smiled. Soft and warm. 

“Anything, Peter. Anything for you.”

#the amazing spiderman #tasm #peter parker #tasm x reader #andrew garfield #tasm peter #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter au #tasm fic #tasm peter fic #tasm peter parker fic #spiderman #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker #wicked's kink or treat #peter parker smut #tasm smut #peter parker fanfiction #tasm fanfiction #enraptured #fantasy au #tasm fantasy au #tasm x oc #peter parker x oc #tasm peter parker oc #kinktober #tasm kinktober

[shiny-jr]

hi! i was looking at your twst mythical creatures au(?) and i'm really thinking abt nøkken/ningyo octavinelle atm

– Warning: Slightly yandere? Not really though. Gender-neutral reader. Mention of a lot of death though.

– Character: Azul Ashengrotto.

– Note: I actually preferred the Nixie/Näcken for Azul, since I plan for each dorm to be loosely based off mythical creatures and stories from the region where they might be located. Again though, did not think I would actually write anything for this au, but I just got an idea when I saw this so I had to. Also, not everyone in the dorm will be the same. There may be some similarities, like in the larger dorms like Heartslabyul with Ace + Cater being the same and Trey + Deuce being the same creature, or in the case of brothers like Jade + Floyd or Idia + Ortho. Anyways, continuing.

All the locals knew that these creeks and rivers and lakes all led back to one source, the ocean. It wasn't too far away, if you just followed the direction in which the river flowed, you would get there. However, no one ventured out into the wilderness as often as they used to. Rumors spoke of an increase in beasts in the area, especially in the waters, inhuman creatures that would prey upon any helpless victim that neared.

Sometimes, especially those close to the deep unknowns of the ocean, bodies were discovered, torn and ripped apart like a half-eaten meal from whatever fearsome beasts lay out there. Most of the time, only severed appendages were discovered when washed up on shore, like a leg or an arm. Perhaps that's why many fisherman moved from the sea to the rivers, but it wasn't as if that stopped the casualties from rising. Yet to those poor men and women that depended on fishing for their way of living, the rivers were preferable. At least if they died there, it might be peaceful. When a corpse was discovered in the rivers of the woods, they were usually fully intact and they had a smile on their face and closed eyes as their bodies floated down the river, as if they experienced a peaceful sleeping death. It brought a strange sort of comfort to the fishermen, because if they died in these woods, at least it wouldn't be torture. The only odd thing about the bodies discovered in the rivers, were that valuables such as jewelry, coins, and other sparkling treasures were usually taken.

Personally, you weren't too keen on even going near the beaches due to the reports and stories. However, the woods was another thing. In the woods, there was plenty of land, it wasn't entirely water, so you felt a bit safer there. But you weren't foolish enough to willingly go towards the river, especially by yourself. So you merely kept away from any water source bigger than a puddle whenever you would go forage for berries and wild garlic.

The grass was wet with fresh dew, patches of trees and barren dirt ground were coated with a soft layer of moss. It smelt of pine and rain, the gray clouds a good distance away over the hills and mountains signaled that a light rain might be arriving later. The sun shining through the branches provided a pleasant warmth over your skin. In your basket you carried berries and mushrooms you forged already, making sure to leave just enough for next time. As you walked, avoiding the increasing number of puddles and trying not to step on the pretty white flowers growing among the clovers, you admired the flowing creek just down the sloping hill you were on. Everything was going so well, you felt as if you could admire the butterflies floating about and birds twittering for hours. It was perfect, until it wasn't––

You detected notes from an instrument, that played a curious tune and instantly caused you to stop in your tracks and raise your head. It sounded like... a piano? What was a piano doing in the middle of the woods? Almost instantly, as soon as you processed the first notes, the noise made your head pound, its enchanting melody throbbing in your skull. Your vision became distorted and you were moving–– not by your own free will. You felt your legs moving, and so were your arms, you were inching forward on your toes, as if being dragged forward in a trance and awkward dance. The notes of the piano became so loud that it was drowning out your thoughts of panic and confusion, even as you attempted to cover your ears, your feet still marched forward on their own and the notes echoed within the confines of your mind no matter how hard you tried to block it out. You couldn't even think straight.

You had no choice when you were sent toppling down the grassy slope, the berries and mushrooms you worked so hard to forge falling out of the basket you carried as you fell into the river with a loud splash! Thankfully, the music stopped, you could finally hear your own thoughts again, and you were able to regain control of your limbs to swim back to the surface of the water. You clung to the closest stone, eyes wide and now soaked to the bone. Your eyes landed on a pair of legs, feet bare and dipped into the water. Slowly your eyes travelled upwards, surprised to see a man seated on the very rock in the middle of the river you were now clinging to dear life for.

The young man smiled down at you softly, although you didn't like the strange glint in his eyes. His hair–– his hair was an odd white, wavy yet soft looking, not to mention dry looking too. Which was strange considering he was literally in the middle of a river, but to be fair he was seated on a dry rock. However, what caused you to freeze, was what was at his fingertips. Light, a soft purple light that formed the shape of the keys of a piano, like odd magic. Upon removing his hand from it, the lights disappeared, leaving you stunned. What was that...?

"Ah, that didn't take very long. Certainly much longer than last time to find a patron!" He spoke extravagantly, reminding you a lot of the smooth fast-talking merchants back in town. Was he some sort of magic user...?

Your eyes landed on his clothing, finding it somewhat familiar. A black tunic with long sleeves and a matching pair of pants, the second layer was a purple vest sewn with little patterns of golden seashells, a thick gray coat that reached to his thighs with golden patterns on the edges and white fur on its hood. Not to mention, lots of shining accessories. A ring, bracelets, earrings, necklaces of gold and silver, he even wore silver glasses and had a pouch fat with coins tied to his hip. Then it came to you. Those were all stolen.

When a body was found by the river, people assumed it was a simple murder when the person's black clothing was missing. When a victim was found without their beloved gray coat, everyone guessed that the victim had lost it. Then there was the fact that bodies found floating down the river were all missing valuables, shiny valuables, and this man had so many... Without even thinking, you blurted out, "If you're looking for shiny stuff, you're wasting your time."

"I realize that." The young man said while doing a once over of you, looking particularly unimpressed since you looked like a cat that fell in a tub of water. Slowly he shrugged, averting his gaze away, "Well, since you have no use to me––"

"Wait!" He stopped, listening to your words as you proceeded carefully. "I might have more to offer than gold and silver if you let me live."

At that, he raised an eyebrow, a sly smile appearing on his face as he glanced back at you. "Oh? Are you proposing a deal? That's brave of you, it's amusing! Alright, I'm listening. First, the formalities. Every proper business deal must have the formalities first. My name is Azul, and as your astute observations have picked up by now, I am not like you. So, what is your name and what will you bargain to me?"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst writing #azul ashengrotto #twst azul

[lovebillyhargrove]

Harringrove seasons au, created by the ever-amazing @akioukun ❤️ and remaining the source of inspiration

***

All living creatures know - since summer and autumn got together, every September has been blessed with soft kind sunshine and warmth.

Steve is sitting on a strand of golden sand close to the river. The sand is missing August heat, but it's still nice to the touch. The river drifts quiet and thoughtful.

Steve runs his fingers through the sand and digs deeper.

He is watching Billy.

Billy is like a child. He disrupts the calm, the tranquility. He is wilful and petulant. Bursting with energy, lightning strikes out of a blue sky, and tears pour down in a surprise thunderstorm. One second dark clouds overcast all heavens, the next one the sun is already shining down on everything, and life itself turns glorious.

Billy is running in shallow water, right near the shore, several drops landing on Steve's brittle patches of moss.

Summer is giggling and splashing water all around. The naive little kid, still believing in miracles, still not doubting them.

Steve is watching Billy, listening to the chimes of his voice, and it makes his heart ache.

Steve is older. He knows loss. He feels the pain in his bones sometimes, when they creak like logs of an old house. He is as ancient as the time itself, and he is the season when nature wilts away and, according to the common belief, everything dies.

The belief is wrong. Nothing dies, but everything transforms.

Billy doesn't think about things like that. He gives life. He celebrates life. He enjoys it. He doesn't care because he is not made like that.

Steve appreciates it in Billy, the careless humming of this never-ceasing ardour. He knows how noiseless and cold it can get in late October, how lonely and empty it usually is in November.

Steve will sleep then and see Billy in his dreams, day after day, spent together, encounter after encounter.

Steve will be sleeping just like brown leaves, buried under the first November snow. He is well prepared for the upcoming biting cold, for it runs in his core. He also knows that the world is full of wonders, and it is only a couple of months before he will have to wake up. Unlike autumn leaves, he won't become one with earth, he will rise from his slumber

And travel.

Looking for the summer.

Travel to the other hemisphere, where his love will be awaiting him.

Where the sun is hot and the sand beckons you to leave all your troubles behind, step on it barefoot and run around, like carefree children whose laughter is innocent and embodies the spirit of summer.

Will summer be different in the other hemisphere? Yes, but it will also be the same.

It will be Billy.

Steve's love comes closer and sits on the sand beside him.

"Hey, pretty boy. Do you know what I'm unhappy about? In late June Linden trees start blooming. The smell is .. enchanting. I want you to taste it, I want your mind to stop thinking for a moment. Too bad, you can't be here in June. There is no way you can."

Billy's gaze turns sad for a second and then

"I know what I'm gonna do. I'll put the dry blossoms in the jar and save them till the time you start coming round. Yeah?"

He's taking Steve's hand, gentle and playful.

"Come walk in the water with me. Let's look at this big fish I noticed searching for a hidden spot under a log to stay for the night. Shhh," -

Billy is pressing his finger to his lips, -

"Be very quiet, autumn, I don't want to spook the fish away."

On ao3, all credit for the idea belongs to @akioukun

#harringrove #billy x steve #harringrove seasons au #autumn steve x summer billy