#H&M Herbs

[bunny-extract]

bestie I had things to do today. now I'm just thinking of feeding those big mfs with the full intention of bulking them up. with my cooking/baking skills it would not take long. (Source: friends with strongman types and do this for them willingly)

GOD them coming to you after their workout still dripping in sweat and telling you how good the place smells. Sitting together at the table and demolishing the whole spread you put out, moaning around their forks and lavishing you with praise. Watching them sink back into their seats with clean plates and hands resting over distended stomachs, wide smiles on their sleepy faces.

It's flattering how much they love your cooking. The praise, the adoration, the way they get a little sheepish asking if there's enough for second. The answer is always yes, you take good care to make enough to feed your personal army, but desert comes before seconds. It's tradition, and the cheesecake you'd made is sitting pretty in the fridge just for them.

Second tradition is that they help you clean, which is all the motivation you need to keep up this labor of love (as if the love wasn't enough). And it's not that your kitchen is the size of a broom closet or anything, but with all of them crammed in that space you're better off sitting back and admiring them work. Washing the dishes, wiping the counters, sweeping the floor. They brush and bump against each other the whole time, the ensuing and inevitable shoving match usually leading them to your couch, where they once again make the place look like a doll house.

They spread out on it like oversized dogs, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze in between. Everyone shuffles around until you're perfectly surrounded, keeping at least one hand on you at all times. Rubbing your feet, massaging your hand, stroking over your back until the combination of the heat, your full stomach and the soothing touches puts you to sleep. The hum of their quiet talking mistaken for the TV nobody bothered to turn on.

[spikedfearn]

Under the Blood Moon

Part II

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: A year has passed since he took you—since the chapel became your prison, then your home. You love him now. You kiss him back. You call him husband. But when vampire hunters break in to “save” you, they’re not met with gratitude—they’re met with claws, fangs, and a wrath that leaves blood on the altar. In the aftermath, with his hands still stained and your body trembling in his arms, a quiet truth surfaces: you might be carrying something more than love.

wc: 7.1k

a/n: UTBM 2 has easily been my most heavily requested sequel, so I'm here to finally make good on that promise!! While this wraps the immediate arc, I do plan to write another part at some point, exploring what comes next now that something new is growing between them!!

warnings: heavy dubcon, dead dove: do not eat, blood kink, period sex, heavy breeding kink, monsterfucking, possessive behavior, coercive control, demon x human dynamics, religious imagery, breeding/ownership language, filthy talk, cockdrunk reader, forced orgasm, restraints/restraint kink, forced captivity, manipulation, southern gothic horror, explicit sexual content, obsession, violence, rough sex, blood play, dark romance, somnophilia undertones (reader too weak to consent properly), gore, murder, body horror, emotional manipulation, pregnancy themes, psychological conditioning, trauma bonding, devotion through violence, canon-typical Remmick unhingery, homegrown cult wife aesthetics

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!! Please enjoy!!

Fic Masterlist/Main Masterlist

M I N D T H E T A G S

Part II: And Lead Her Down the Rocky Road

The air hangs thick tonight—slow and wet and warm, the kind of heat that slicks your skin and clings to your lungs. Somewhere in the trees, a bullfrog sings loud and stupid into the night, and cicadas thrum so hard it feels like your bones vibrate with them.

You sit in Remmick’s lap like you’ve done a hundred times before—knees bracketing his thighs, your bare feet tucked against the curve of his calves. The ruined chapel has long since become home, no longer rotting but reclaimed—patched with pelts and scavenged velvet, dried herbs and bones hung over the windows to keep out things meaner than him.

His hands are on you. They always are.

One wide palm rests heavy at your hip, the other dragging idle circles across the base of your spine—not guiding, not restraining, just touching. Claiming. Reminding.

You’re in one of his shirts, faded and worn, the collar stretched from him tugging it down to bite at your shoulder earlier. Your thighs are bare, still sticky from the last time he touched you there.

He hasn’t spoken in a while. Just watches you.

You’ve learned he does that when something is brewing. When the heat inside him is less hunger and more...something else. Something quieter. Not softer. Just deeper.

You glance down at him. His head tilts.

"What?" you ask—barely above a murmur, throat tacky with wine and swamp air.

Remmick smiles. That slow, amused pull of his lips, eyes red in the candlelight.

"Nothin'," he drawls. "Just sittin here lookin' at my lil’ missus, wonderin' when she got so soft on me."

Your stomach does something awful and warm. You roll your eyes.

"Don’t call me that," you mutter.

He just chuckles. The sound wraps around your spine and pulls.

"Y'ain’t denyin’ it."

You scowl—but your hands are still on his shoulders. Your body hasn’t moved.

He leans forward just enough to nuzzle your jaw, the scruff of his face scraping your skin. When he presses his mouth just under your ear, you feel his grin against you.

"Used to flinch every time I touched ya," he murmurs. "Now look atcha. Ridin' me like a lil' house cat in heat."

You hate how hot it makes you—how your thighs clench over his hips, how you can feel your cunt ache at the sound of his voice.

"Shut up," you mutter, cheeks burning.

"Ain't lyin'," he says, voice slow and fond. "My good girl. My lil’ missus. All tamed now."

Your heart does something messy.

You stare at him.

He stares right back.

His mouth is right there. Still curved into that shit-eating grin.

You don't think about it. You don’t let yourself.

You just lean in—

and kiss him.

Your lips press to his before you realize you’ve done it.

It isn't hesitant. It’s not chased. Isn't a panicked, trembling attempt to appease him.

It’s real.

Your mouth touches his slow and soft—nothing performative, nothing pulled from fear. No trembling. Just a kiss. One that you gave.

And Remmick goes still.

Like a corpse.

Like something ancient that’s forgotten how to breathe.

The smirk dies on his mouth. His hands, always so sure and cocky and possessive, still against your waist. His body stiffens beneath you like a hound that just caught the scent of something delectable.

His eyes don’t close.

They just widen—red and round, stunned and wild.

You pull back only a breath—just enough to see him. His face. That quiet, wrecked look.

Like you reached into his chest and touched something he thought had long since rotted away.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t move.

He just looks at you like you’ve undone him.

And for once, that silence doesn’t scare you.

You blink at him. “...You okay?”

The laugh that leaves him isn’t a real laugh.

It breaks.

Cracks.

Comes out wet and hoarse and unbelieving.

"You kissed me," he says, voice low and stunned.

You swallow. Nod. “Yeah. I did.”

His hands find your waist again—trembling now. Gripping you tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold you down.

"You kissed me," he repeats, slower this time. Voice barely a breath. "My girl. My lil’ missus. Kissed me like she meant it."

You nod again. More careful this time.

"I did."

His head drops forward. Forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath gone ragged.

You feel the whole of him shake beneath you.

Then—He laughs again.

But this one’s real.

Low, cracked, joyful. Terrifying.

"Fuckin’ hell," he mutters, arms crushing you to his chest. “Ain’t no goin’ back now.”

And then he’s kissing you back—hard, open-mouthed, greedy.

It’s not like before. Not punishment. Not proof. Not a game of control.

It’s desperation.

His hands grip your face like it might disappear. His tongue pushes into your mouth like he’s starving, like it’s not enough, like he’s trying to crawl into you. His body shakes under yours with something almost childlike—frantic and raw and overflowing.

When he finally pulls back, he stares at you like he can’t believe you're real.

“You ain’t ever kissed nobody like that before,” he says, voice quiet. “Have you?”

“No.”

“Not even that boy y’was courtin’ b’fore me.”

You shake your head. “Didn’t love him.”

Remmick goes still again. Not stiff like before—but hunted.

You feel the air shift.

“You love me?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He exhales—slow, sharp, wrecked.

Then he leans in.

Not to kiss you. To whisper.

“Lay down f’me,” he says, voice trembling. “Right now, lil’ missus.”

He stands with you still in his arms—like nothing weighs more than you—and carries you toward the bed at the back of the chapel.

Not the mattress on the ground where he first claimed you. Not the one you bled on.

This one’s new—lifted off the floor, carved from salvaged cypress wood and lashed with thick rope. Still crude, still heavy, still his. But cleaner now. Softer. Dressed in scavenged sheets that smell like ash, sweat, and a little crushed lavender from the bundle you laid beside it last week.

He sets you down like you’ll break.

Then he just looks at you.

Like he doesn’t know if this is real.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed now, legs parted slightly from where you were straddling his lap, the hem of his shirt barely covering your thighs. Your breath comes in quiet bursts. Your lips are swollen from his. Your heartbeat is racing, and you don’t try to hide it.

You don’t look afraid.

Remmick notices.

His mouth parts like he wants to speak, but instead, he sinks to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs—warm, big, shaking—and he presses his forehead to the space between them. He breathes in deep, like he’s been holding his breath for a year.

"Say it again," he rasps. "Please, lil’ missus. Just once more."

You run your fingers through his wild hair—slow, uncertain, but not shy.

"I love you."

He shudders.

One of his hands slides higher, under the hem of his shirt, dragging up the curve of your thigh, over your hip. He doesn’t rush it. His other hand moves to the center of your chest, resting right over your heartbeat like he needs proof.

"Lay back," he whispers. "Let me have ya proper."

You do.

You crawl backward until you’re stretched out across the bed, the worn shirt hiked up around your hips now, your legs still parted for him, your arms loose at your sides. Your eyes never leave his.

He pulls his shirt over his head—tossing it aside—and follows you onto the bed on his knees. Then over you.

He presses a kiss to your ankle.

Your shin.

Your knee.

Up, up, up.

"You don’t even know what you’ve done to me," he murmurs. "Kissin’ me like that. Sayin’ that shit."

He kisses your hip, your stomach, the edge of your ribs, dragging the hem of the shirt up as he goes.

"Been callin’ you my lil’ missus since the day you stopped cryin’ when I touched you," he says softly. "But now you callin’ me husband. Runnin’ your hands through my hair like you like me. Like you want me. Like you need me."

You lift your hips so he can pull the shirt the rest of the way off.

He stares.

He’s seen you bare a hundred times. Tied down, bleeding, begging.

But this is different. You’re open without restraint. Soft without fear.

"My Gods," he whispers.

You reach for him.

He moves over you like a prayer.

One hand comes to cradle your cheek. The other wraps around the back of your thigh, guiding it up, over his hip, opening you further.

He leans in.

"I love you," he says, voice low and steady this time.

He doesn’t say it like a confession.

He says it like a curse.

Then he pushes inside you.

Slow.

Not teasing. Not punishing.

Just deep.

He doesn’t stop until he’s seated fully, cock thick and hot inside your cunt, the stretch pushing your breath out in a trembling gasp.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders. Your legs wrap around his waist.

And Remmick breaks.

He buries his face in your neck and fucks you slow, deep, reverent.

Not hard. Not fast.

But like it matters. Like every thrust means something. Like he’s trying to etch this into your bones.

"You love me," he pants against your skin. "Fuck. You love me."

Your hand curls at the nape of his neck, fingernails dragging through his hair, and you whisper it again.

"I love you."

He groans—a wounded, desperate sound—and picks up the pace, still smooth, still slow, but hungrier now. His cock drags over that aching, tender spot inside you, again and again, until you’re writhing beneath him.

He reaches between your bodies, hand flat over your belly.

"Gonna fill ya up, sweet girl. Gonna give ya every drop I’ve got."

"Remmick—"

His thumb presses to your clit—tight, steady circles—and your back arches off the bed.

"You cum when I say it," he growls against your throat. "You cum when I tell you what you are."

You whimper, so close it burns.

"You’re mine," he whispers.

"You’re my lil’ missus."

"You’re my forever girl."

"I love you."

And you fall apart.

Your orgasm hasn’t even finished before he starts again.

Remmick doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t slow down.

He just keeps fucking you through it—grinding deep, thumb still on your clit, your body twitching and jerking beneath him like you can’t take another second.

But he knows you can.

"You’re doin’ so good, lil’ missus," he groans, voice breaking, sweat dripping down his temple to yours. "Came real sweet for me. So fuckin’ sweet."

You can barely breathe. Your body is tight and shaking and soaked with him—his sweat, your slick, the blood-warm mess of your own release. And he’s still so deep inside you, cock grinding against every swollen, tender spot like he’s memorizing the shape of your cunt from the inside out.

Remmick lifts his head.

His red eyes burn into yours.

"You know what I’m gon’ do now, don’tcha?"

You shake your head, but he grins—that filthy, feral thing—and presses his palm flat over your lower belly again, right where you feel him the deepest.

"Gon’ breed ya, baby."

You choke on a gasp. He fucks you deeper, slower, like he’s savoring it.

"Gon’ pump you full till you leak, till you’re heavy with me. Gotta make sure it takes."

You whimper—not from fear. From heat.

"You want that?" he breathes, kissing your jaw, your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth. "Tell me you want it."

"Remmick—"

"Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me you want me t’knock you up. Tell me you want t’carry what I give you."

Your voice cracks. "I—I want it."

He groans, cock twitching deep inside you. "That’s it. That’s my good girl."

"You gonna look so fuckin’ pretty, belly all round from me. Walkin’ 'round the chapel drippin’ with my spend. Gonna chain you up in my bed and feed ya on your back so nothin’ spills out."

You cry out—overwhelmed, overstimulated, aching—but your hips roll up to meet him.

"You want my babies?" he growls, voice gone hoarse. "Huh? You want what a man can’t give you?"

"Yes," you sob.

"You want what a demon puts in you?"

"Yes—Remmick, please—"

"Then fuckin’ take it, lil’ missus."

His pace breaks—sloppy now, brutal, grinding—as his cock swells inside you.

"You feel that? That’s my spend comin’. That’s what’s gonna stick."

You’re crying now, fingers clawing at his back, mouth open on a silent scream.

"Gon’ fuck a child into you," he pants, his forehead pressed hard to yours. "Gon’ breed my mark into your belly, into your fuckin’ bones."

You’re still coming—your cunt fluttering violently around him, trying to pull him deeper.

And then—

Remmick slams into you one last time and groans—a low, broken sound that shudders through his whole body as he spills inside you.

You feel it.

Hot, heavy, endless.

Spurt after thick, messy spurt flooding your cunt so full it aches. So full it starts to spill out around his cock and down your thighs.

You feel it run into the sheets beneath you, feel his hips grinding through the aftershocks like he wants to brand you from the inside.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just breathes.

Your head is tilted back, mouth parted, body limp—completely, irrevocably wrecked.

And Remmick just smiles.

He strokes your stomach with the flat of his palm.

"You feel that?" he whispers. "That’s what forever tastes like."

You blink at him through the haze.

He leans in—kisses you soft and slow.

Then murmurs against your lips:

"Ain’t even turned you yet, lil’ missus. But when I do? You ain’t ever gonna stop wantin’ me."

The fire in the hearth has burned low, but the warmth lingers in the walls.

A damp heat clings to everything in the chapel—sweet with smoke, salt, and the scent of what he left in you the night before.

You’re still sore when you wake.

Your thighs ache. Your cunt throbs. Your belly feels full, even empty as you are now.

Remmick’s arm is slung heavy over your waist, his breath warm at the base of your neck, one thigh wedged possessively between yours. His cock rests thick against your lower back—soft but heavy, twitching every now and then as he dreams.

You don’t move. Not because you’re afraid. Because it’s comfortable.

The air outside is still tinted blue—just before dawn—the hour when the mists are thickest and the swamp holds its breath. No frogsong, no wind through the trees. Just the distant moan of the river and the creak of the chapel roof.

You stare at the rafters, eyes half-lidded, body loose under his.

You could stay like this forever.

You’ve said it before. He never believed you. Not really.

But last night, when you kissed him…when you called him your husband…

You felt it in the way his whole body locked up. You felt the worship behind every inch he gave you.

"Y’awake, lil’ missus?" his voice rumbles behind you—soft, sleep-rough, fond.

"Yeah," you whisper.

His nose nudges your shoulder. A kiss pressed there, lazy and warm.

"Still full of me?"

Your cheeks go hot. You don’t answer.

His hand slides down your belly, cupping over the spot he always touches when he’s fucking you slow—like he’s holding the future there. Like he’s trying to coax something into bloom.

You squirm beneath him. He chuckles.

"I gotta step out t’night," he says, voice a low murmur against your skin. "Won’t be long."

You tense. Just a little. Just enough that he notices.

He shifts you gently onto your back and leans over you, bracing himself on his forearm. His hair hangs loose around his face, dark and tangled, still smelling like sweat and the cedarwood oil you rubbed into his scalp last night.

You trace his jaw with your fingers.

"How long?" you ask.

He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip.

"Not long," he promises. "Just need to bring back some fresh meat. Maybe a jug of kerosene. I’ll be back ‘fore sunrise."

You nod. Swallow down the ache that rises in your chest at the thought of him leaving—even under cover of night, even just for a few hours.

His hand strokes your side, palm dragging from your ribs down to your hip.

"You stay inside," he says, not unkind. "Door stays locked. You hear anything that ain’t me, you hide under the bed like I taught you."

You nod again. Your hand grips his forearm.

He kisses you slow—not hungry, not teasing. Just soft.

"Say it again," he murmurs.

"I love you."

He shudders.

"That’s my girl."

When he gets up, you watch him dress—first the faded black jeans, then the shirt he ripped open two nights ago, which he tucks into a belt slung with knives. He moves with ease, humming some old hymn under his breath as he rakes his fingers through his hair to push it back from his face.

Before he leaves, he cups your face in his hands and kisses your forehead, your lips, your belly.

"I’ll be back soon, lil’ missus."

You nod. Smile faintly.

"Bring something sweet," you murmur.

He grins—that sharp, animal smile—and slips out into the dark before the light can touch him.

You don’t know then that you’ll be screaming his name before the sun even finishes rising.

The fire has long gone out.

You wake again sometime later, not to Remmick’s weight or voice—but to silence.

A silence that feels wrong.

The kind that presses up against your skin like a cold hand. Like breath held too long. The kind of silence the swamp never makes unless something is watching.

You sit up slowly, the sheet clinging to your sweat-damp thighs. Your body still aches, still sore and swollen from how he touched you last night—how he filled you. It should be comforting, the memory. But something about the air is…off.

The mists outside the chapel windows have turned a strange, milky grey. Not the usual pearl-colored haze that comes with dawn, but something thicker. Heavier. It creeps low across the floorboards where the chapel door doesn’t quite seal, curling like fingers.

You reach for the old cotton slip you usually wear and pull it over your head, ignoring the ache in your legs. The blood between your thighs is dry, flaked, a bruise on your inner thigh shaped like a mouth.

You tiptoe barefoot to the door.

You don’t open it. Just press your ear against the old wood and listen.

Nothing.

No birdsong. No frogs. No breeze.

Just a faint crunch of gravel—like someone stepping where they shouldn’t.

Your heart thuds.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

Not him.

You know the sound of his boots. The way the ground knows to hold still when he passes.

This is wrong.

You back away from the door, and that’s when you hear it—

A voice.

A man’s voice. Not Remmick’s.

"—up there. That’s the place. Just like she said."

Another voice, gruff, tight with tension. "You sure she’s in there?"

"Yeah. She ain’t left in weeks. He never lets her leave."

The blood drains from your face. Your knees nearly give.

You stagger backward. Your pulse bangs against your throat.

Two shadows flicker past the windows. Armed. Human. You see the glint of metal—rifles, stakes, something glassy and glowing blue like a warded bottle.

Your breath stutters out of your chest.

You try not to panic. Try to do what Remmick always says.

“You hear anything that ain’t me, you hide under the bed.”

You run.

The chapel floor groans beneath your feet as you scramble to the cot, lifting the faded quilt and sliding beneath the frame just as—

The door crashes open.

You don’t scream.

Not yet.

The sound of boots, cautious but fast. Voices hissing orders. Wood creaking. A blade drawn.

"She’s here. I smell her."

"You sure he ain’t still inside?"

"No blood in the bed. Just hers."

They’re inside.

And they’re not speaking like men trying to hurt you.

They’re speaking like they’ve come to save you.

You clamp both hands over your mouth. Try to be small. Try to be still.

A voice crouches close to the ground. Gentle. Too gentle.

"Hey. Hey, it’s alright. We ain’t gonna hurt you, I swear. We’re here to help."

You tremble.

Another voice: "We know what he did. What he made you say. You’re not in love with him. He fed on you, didn’t he? That’s what they do. They trick you."

Your body goes rigid. A sob builds in your throat, but it’s not from relief. It’s fear.

They don’t understand.

They think he’s the monster.

They don’t understand what it means that you love him.

That you chose to stay.

That he’s the only one who ever made you feel safe.

They lift the quilt.

Light floods in.

You gasp. Curl away from their hands.

One of them grabs your arm—"Come on, sweetheart. You’re okay. We got you—"

You scream.

"Remmick!"

Your voice cracks. High. Wild.

"Remmick, please—!"

You flail. Sob. Try to twist free. One of them tries to pin your arms and you bite him—hard enough to draw blood.

"Shit! Fuck, she bit me!"

They hesitate.

Stunned.

"Jesus, what the fuck—?"

You sob harder. Choking. Screaming his name again like a prayer.

"Remmick—Remmick—don’t let them take me—!"

Your voice rips itself out of your throat like a wild animal trying to claw its way free. Raw, high, panicked. You twist and scream and thrash in the stranger’s grip, your limbs flailing with reckless force, fingernails scraping down the length of his forearm.

"Please don’t take me—please, he’ll come back, he’ll—"

Your lungs burn with the effort. The sound of your own sobbing drowns everything out—your cries sharp and shuddering, chest hitching with each broken breath.

The man holding you—young, broad-shouldered, barely older than you—grunts, trying not to hurt you but clearly stunned by the ferocity behind your fight.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "She’s gone. She really thinks—"

"I told you," comes a deeper voice from somewhere near the chapel door. Older, rougher. Controlled, but taut with fear. "They charm ‘em. They feed, and they…root in. It ain’t love. It’s thrall."

"It is love," you gasp, voice high and wet with tears. "You don’t understand—I chose him, he didn’t make me—he’s not like that, he’s not—"

The younger man releases you too quickly—his hands shaking, guilt flickering across his face—and you stumble to the floor with a harsh slap of bare knees against wood. But you barely feel the pain. You scramble back like a cornered creature, breath hitching in your throat as you flee toward the altar, dragging yourself by trembling arms.

Your slip is twisted around your hips, nearly transparent in the gray morning light filtering through the warped stained glass. Your legs are streaked with dried blood, bruises shaped like fingerprints, like fangs, like teeth.

You press your spine against the altar, trying to make yourself small. Trying to make them listen.

"Please," you whisper, your voice cracked and bleeding at the edges. "You don’t know what you’re doing."

The younger one hesitates, uncertain now. You see it in the way his hand hovers near the shotgun slung across his back—how his eyes flicker not with certainty, but doubt.

He’s not cruel. He’s just scared. Maybe more scared of you than of what waits outside.

He crouches a little, hands raised in surrender. "Look, we’ve…we’ve seen this before. Stockholm. Blood compulsion. We know how real it feels, but it’s not. He’s not who you think he is."

You flinch as he takes a step forward. The floor creaks beneath his boot.

"He probably made you say all that," he continues, gentler now. "They get in your head. They make you want it. That’s what they do. When’s the last time you saw your family? Your friends? Anyone else but him?"

The words feel like broken glass in your ears.

Your throat works uselessly. You open your mouth. Try to speak.

But no words come out.

Because you don’t remember the last time you saw anyone else.

Because you don’t want to.

Because that’s not your life anymore.

Your life is candlelight and rough linens. Blood-warm baths and hands in your hair. Laughter at midnight. The taste of copper and salt. The press of his voice in your chest when he calls you his lil’ missus.

"This is my home," you say at last.

The boy flinches.

The older man curses under his breath. Scarred, hard-eyed, weathered from too many winters and too many dead. His voice is tight with judgment.

"She’s gone. He’s dug in deep. We’re not reasoning with her."

You start shaking again. Your fingernails dig into the altar behind you.

"I’m not gone," you whisper. "He takes care of me."

He watches you with cold pity, then looks back to the blond.

"You gag her if she bites again. We get her out, now. We don’t have time."

Your stomach turns over.

You know what’s coming. The shift in the wind. The scent.

You try again, louder now—desperate.

"No. No, please. He’s coming back. You have to go. You don’t understand what he’ll do if—"

The younger one takes another step toward you, reaching. "We’re not gonna hurt you—"

"Don’t touch me!" you scream, the words sharp enough to cut your own throat.

The air in the chapel stills.

Not like silence.

Like a warning.

Like the earth pulling back its breath.

The candles flicker on their wicks—twitching like they’re afraid.

The light filtering through the stained glass warps. Turns muddy, dark.

You freeze.

So do they.

Even the younger one—brave enough to touch you—is suddenly stiff. Alert. His eyes dart to the door.

"You feel that?" he whispers.

The older man slowly lifts a hand toward the shotgun strapped over his shoulder.

"...Yeah."

And then—

A sound.

Low. Guttural. Distant but unmistakable.

Movement.

Heavy. Cracking. Deliberate.

Branches shattering.

Undergrowth being trampled.

Something moving with purpose.

And not like a man.

Like a storm.

The younger man’s voice cracks.

"You said we had time—he only feeds once a week, you said—"

"I don’t know why he’s back," the older man hisses, yanking a bottle from his coat—something thick and glowing faintly blue. "He shouldn’t be—"

The chapel door slams shut behind them with an earsplitting crack.

They both spin.

It wasn’t wind.

It wasn’t you.

It wasn’t anything living.

The candles extinguish in perfect, unnatural unison. The smoke curls up toward the ceiling like serpents.

You’re on the floor, curled in on yourself, fists pressed to your mouth, rocking.

He’s here.

You don’t know how, but you know it like blood knows the vein. You know it the way prey knows the shape of the predator’s teeth.

He’s not outside anymore.

He’s in the walls. The roof. The shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

And you, sobbing now, choke out the only prayer you know how to offer.

"Please," you whisper to the darkness. "Please don’t hurt them."

A shape flickers in the rafters.

A breath exhales through the chimney.

A shadow slides across the stained glass.

The younger one raises his gun.

"What the fuck was that—?"

You crawl backward, until your spine presses flush to the altar again. The wood is cold. Wet with dew.

Your mouth trembles open. You feel something inside you crack.

"He’s already here," you whisper.

But they’re not listening anymore.

They came to save you.

But Remmick doesn’t believe in salvation.

The silence inside the chapel is absolute.

Thick, pulsing. A silence that breathes—that lives in the walls, under the floor, inside your chest. You feel it like pressure in your skull. Like hands wrapping slow around your throat. Like the air itself has gone still in anticipation of something terrible.

You’re still on the floor, knees scraped and raw against the splintering boards, curled beneath the altar like an offering left to rot. The hem of your slip is bunched around your thighs, soaked with sweat, blood, and the stink of fear. You’re trembling so hard your teeth chatter, and your fingers are clenched so tight into the floor that your knuckles have gone white.

You don’t dare move.

The two men stand over you, their shadows long in the half-light—cut sharp by the flickering candles and the red wash of dawn bleeding through the stained-glass windows.

The blonde’s rifle is trembling in his grip. The older man is muttering prayers, his voice a tremor beneath his breath, lips pale and slick with spit.

"Do you see anything?" the blonde whispers, his voice cracking down the middle.

The older man doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the ceiling, at the rafters above the altar, eyes darting like a hunted animal. He knows something’s wrong. Something worse than you.

Because it’s already here.

You feel it first.

A shift. A drop in the pressure of the room, like the whole world just tilted.

Then—a thud. Somewhere above.

A dull, slow weight pressing onto the roof beams, creaking old wood. Like something enormous settling onto the bones of the chapel. Then another. Heavier. Closer. You see dust fall from the rafters. Feel the subtle vibration of something pacing above you—slow, deliberate. Stalking.

Your pulse hammers between your ribs.

And then—silence.

Not the silence from before.

This one is alive.

You open your mouth to speak. To beg. To warn.

But you’re too late.

The far window explodes inward in a blossom of jagged glass and roaring wind.

A screech rips through the chapel—like metal tearing, like a body dragged screaming across stone. Glass knives whirl past your face, biting into your arms, your shoulders. Candlelight goes out all at once, sucked into the vacuum of sudden chaos.

You scream. So does the blonde.

The chapel howls with air and motion—and then—

He’s there.

He doesn’t walk through the door.

He drops from above.

Remmick.

Not as you saw him last—soft, grinning, warm from sleep, still smelling of cedar and skin and sweat.

This is something else.

He crashes to the chapel floor like a thunderclap, knees bent, back arched. The earth groans beneath the weight of him. His body rises—slow and fluid, as if gravity doesn’t dare claim him. Like something born of the storm.

You see only pieces of him at first:

His fingers, long and curved, clicking softly as they flex against the floor.

His eyes—glowing red, not with light but heat, like coals packed deep inside his skull.

The twisted stretch of his mouth, pulled open too wide, baring a forest of crooked fangs, each one glistening wet, too many to count.

His skin is slick with sweat and blood—some of it his, some of it not. Veins pulsing beneath the surface, throbbing like live vipers inside of him.

He doesn’t look at you.

Not yet.

He looks at them.

The blonde screams again, jerking his rifle up toward his shoulder—but his hands are shaking too badly. His finger slips off the trigger.

He never gets the chance to fire.

Remmick moves.

Not like a man.

Not like anything living.

He doesn’t run.

He lifts—off the ground, silent and sudden, gliding forward like a shadow unbound by bone or gravity, and in one impossible blink, he’s across the room.

He crashes into the blonde with enough force to crack bone. They slam into the side pew, wood exploding in a spray of splinters.

The boy coughs once—blood wet on his lips.

Remmick doesn’t speak. He grabs the boy by the throat—lifts him clean off the ground—his claws puncturing his skin. The boy chokes, legs kicking. His face turns red, then purple.

You watch through your tears, sobbing, crawling on your belly toward them.

"Remmick—Remmick, please—don’t kill them, please, please—"

He doesn’t look at you.

He leans in, face inches from the boy’s. Eyes glowing brighter now. Fangs fully bared.

"Put your hands on my wife," he says, voice low and burning, like hot coals smoldering in his throat. "One. More. Time."

The boy gurgles something. Maybe a plea. Maybe a prayer.

Remmick snarls—and throws him.

Not to the floor. Not to mercy.

He hurls him through the stained-glass window behind the altar. Glass explodes outward in a cacophony of shards and light. The boy screams all the way down. You hear his body crash against the stones outside.

Silence.

Then—

"Christ," the older man gasps, stumbling back, drawing a long, silver blade from beneath his coat. His hand trembles, but his grip is firm.

He lunges.

You scream. "No—don’t—!"

Remmick turns before the blade touches him. Catches it mid-strike.

The metal hisses where it meets his skin.

It smokes. Sizzles.

But he doesn’t scream.

He grins.

Mouth stretched too wide, eyes burning bright enough to illuminate the whole chapel.

"You think that’s gonna save you?"

He closes his fist around the blade and bends it like it’s made of wire. The metal groans, squeals—and snaps.

The man stumbles back in horror, clutching what’s left of the hilt.

Remmick steps forward—slow, deliberate. Claws dragging down the wall. Gouging deep trenches into the wood.

"You step foot in my chapel," he murmurs, voice low, laced with something almost reverent. "You touch what’s mine."

He takes another step. You see his fangs dripping. His chest heaving.

"You make her cry."

The man raises a warding charm—crosses himself, muttering something desperate, barely audible.

Remmick stops inches away.

"You break into my home—my home—and you call me the monster?"

The man doesn’t answer.

He just trembles.

Remmick tilts his head. His face is inches from the man’s. He inhales slowly through his nose.

And then, softly—almost lovingly—he whispers:

"No. Preacher."

A long pause.

"You came lookin’ for the devil."

He smiles.

And it is awful.

"Now you found him."

The older man stares up into Remmick’s face—shaking, gasping, eyes wide in bone-deep terror.

He’s close enough to smell the blood on his breath. Not just your blood. Fresh blood.

And still, Remmick smiles.

"Now why’d ya go ‘n do that?" he drawls, low and slow like molasses poured over gravel. His voice is almost gentle. Almost sad. "Come stompin’ through my house, bustin’ up my door, layin’ your filthy hands on my wife."

His hand darts out—too fast—grabbing the man by the wrist. The preacher gasps, blade hilt clattering to the floor.

Remmick pulls him in close, chest to chest. His mouth brushes the man’s ear, intimate and monstrous.

"You know what I do to men who try ‘n take what’s mine?"

The preacher doesn’t answer. He’s frozen. The prayer charm slips from his fingers, hissing uselessly on the floor.

Remmick tilts his head, still smiling. The edge of his fang grazes the man’s cheek.

"Don’t worry. I ain’t gon’ kill ya fast."

He lifts the man off the ground like he weighs nothing. The old wood beneath his boots creaks. His legs kick, scraping the altar.

You’re still on the floor, arms wrapped around your knees, watching through a veil of tears.

You don’t look away.

Remmick drives his claws into the man’s gut—slow, deliberate.

There’s a wet, splitting sound—like raw meat tearing open.

The man screams. A high, raw, human sound.

Remmick doesn’t flinch.

He watches him writhe with a kind of fascination, his head cocked like he’s admiring his own work. His eyes never blink.

"You ever gut a pig, preacher?" he murmurs. "Takes a real steady hand. Gotta be careful not t’ nick the bile, else it ruins the meat."

The man sags, blood pouring down his chest in thick, syrupy ropes. It stains Remmick’s forearm, drips off the curve of his elbow.

"You bleed easy," Remmick says, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Almost like you was meant for it."

He turns, still holding the man aloft, and throws him onto the chapel floor. The man lands hard, coughing blood, body twitching. One of his legs is bent wrong. His hands scrabble at the floor, reaching for anything.

Remmick stalks after him, slow and silent, bare feet stained with blood. His claws gleam. His coat fans behind him like something half-alive.

"You thought she needed savin’," he says, voice honey-thick with mockery. "Thought I musta had her bewitched. Is that it? Thought I cast some foul spell on that sweet little heart o’ hers?"

He crouches beside the man’s broken body.

"You ain’t never seen a woman loved proper."

His clawed hand slides beneath the man’s jaw, lifting his blood-soaked face.

"That girl chose me. Every damn time. An’ I’d burn the whole world for her. Tear out the throats of every fool that looks at her sideways. You understand me?"

The man gurgles. Tries to speak. Can’t.

Remmick leans in close. His glowing eyes narrow.

"You came t’ my door askin’ for the devil."

His smile is all fang and blood.

"Well, preacher...now you found him."

And then—

He rips out the man’s throat.

Claws tear clean through. A spray of blood paints the altar. Hot. Metallic. Wet.

You choke on a gasp. Cover your mouth. Your whole body shakes.

He doesn’t even flinch.

Just lets the man drop to the floor like garbage. Stands over him, chest heaving, glowing eyes still lit like hellfire. Blood drips from his hands. From his jaw. From the tips of his claws.

And then—he turns to you.

That wild, monstrous thing in him dims. Not gone. Just…quieted.

"Sweet pea?" he murmurs, voice hoarse, eyes softening the moment they fall on you. "You alright, lil’ missus? He didn’t touch ya, did he?"

You shake your head, tears spilling fast.

He kneels beside you, lowering himself slow, careful like he’s afraid you’ll flinch.

His claws are still slick with blood. But his touch is tender—he cups your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping away the tears.

"Shhh," he whispers. "You’re safe now, sugar. I got you."

His blood-wet forehead presses to yours. His breath is hot, sharp with copper.

You clutch his coat, fingers digging in like you’re afraid he’ll vanish. You can’t speak. You just cry.

"I’m here," he murmurs again, voice melting. "Ain’t nobody gon’ take you from me. Never again."

He pulls you into his arms—bloody, trembling, still half-naked—and gathers you to his chest like you’re made of bone china.

Outside, the swamp begins to stir again.

The birds return.

The wind shifts.

The sun climbs high over the trees.

But inside the chapel, all is still.

Blood pools beneath the altar. Flies begin to gather.

And Remmick, fanged and filthy, kisses your hair.

"That’s my lil missus," he whispers.

The bodies are still warm.

One lies broken just outside the chapel doors, face-up in the mud, eyes gone glassy, throat opened like a second mouth. The other is in pieces on the altar floor, still twitching—his blood soaking into the same boards where Remmick fucked you slow just nights ago.

The chapel stinks of death.

But you don’t move.

You don’t cover your face. You don’t flinch.

You sit in his lap, straddling him on the blood-stained floor, arms wrapped around his neck, your cheek pressed to the curve of his shoulder. His claws still long, his eyes still glowing like hot coal.

His heartbeat pounds slow beneath your ear—steady. Calm.

Not like someone who just committed murder.

Like someone who came home from work. Like someone who took the trash out.

He strokes your hair with one blood-wet hand, the other resting low over your belly.

Not possessive. Not lustful.

Protective.

He hasn’t spoken since you stopped crying. He doesn’t need to. The silence between you is thick with something reverent, something that glows warm beneath your ribs.

His mouth finds your temple. Kisses you soft.

"Still shakin’, lil’ missus," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a slow, Southern hush. "Ain’t nothin’ out there gon’ touch ya. You hear me? Nothin’."

You nod, but you don’t lift your head. You stay pressed to him, soaking in his scent—sweat, cedar oil, and the sharp copper of blood that’s not yours.

The chapel is dark again. The wind no longer screams through the windows. Even the swamp has quieted, as if the trees themselves are holding their breath.

You don’t ask what he did with the blonde boy’s body.

You don’t ask if anyone else is coming.

Instead, you find your voice—small, hoarse, buried in his neck.

"Remmick?"

"Mhm?"

You pull back just enough to look at him. His red eyes glow dimmer now. His fangs have withdrawn, but the blood still stains his mouth.

You touch his cheek with trembling fingers.

"What happens if I really am pregnant?"

The words hang in the air.

He stills.

His expression doesn’t change—not at first.

But his hands tighten around your waist, then smooth across your hips like he’s grounding himself there. You watch his throat bob. Watch the flame flicker behind his eyes.

"Say it again," he breathes.

You swallow. Nod.

"I think I’m pregnant."

His breath leaves him in a long, shaking exhale.

"Shit, darlin’," he says, voice thick, low, reverent. "You mean t’ tell me that pretty little womb of yours held on? Even after all the times I—"

You nod again, cheeks warm. Your lip trembles.

"I—I’m late. My body feels…different. I don’t know how else to explain it. I just…I know."

He groans. Presses his forehead to your collarbone, breath catching.

His arms crush you to him.

"Fuck," he whispers. "You gone and gave me a reason t’ stay alive forever."

You laugh, but it breaks into a sob. Not from fear. Not anymore.

You feel it now—settling in your chest like a seed in soil.

This is your life.

This monster. This chapel. This love.

And now…maybe something more.

He draws back slowly, hands cradling your face like he’s holding divinity.

"I’ll build you a nursery, sweet pea. A whole room just for 'em. We’ll paint the walls. You’ll pick the colors, I’ll do the rest."

You laugh again, and this time it sticks.

"I want yellow," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He grins—wide and feral, but tender.

"Yellow it is."

The candlelight flickers as the wind shifts again.

You know you’ll have to bury the bodies. Maybe move the chapel. Maybe seal the doors.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he picks you up in his arms, cradling you like a bride, and carries you to the bed like something holy.

The world can wait.

Because in this place, under this roof, beneath the blood-washed moon—

You are not lost.

You are not stolen.

You are his.

And when he lays you down, his voice curls around you like a prayer.

"You keep that lil’ belly warm f’r me, ya hear?"

Outside, the dawn breaks over the swamp in soft gold and red—

but the only thing growing here now is you.

[hellfire--cult]

Omega!Emperor Geta x Alpha!Barbarian!Fem!Reader

+18 omegaverse, fem!alpha, dark tropes, very slight dubcon that turns into con, gore, blood, animal death, slapping, tyrant Geta, scenting, knotting, biting, p in v, oral sex (m and f receiving), bondage, breeding kink, mentions of injuries, as well as very threatening dialogues, murder and allusions to murder.

wc: 14.5k

Plot: The Emperor hid his true designation since he presented thanks to a concoction he made out of the blood of Alphas, but what happens when one particular woman enters his colosseum, and he can't look away? He won't give up his throne. No mercy. There shouldn't be. So why isn't the omega inside him listening? Why did it have mercy on her?

A/N: This man is not an Alpha. No matter how people try to paint him as, he is a whimpery man, and I want to see him tear up. thank u to @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby for beta reading and also Hailey for just saying 'm-preg' on a chat and my brain went brr.

Warning before reading: Alphas have penises, being male or female. Omegas have vaginas. This does not mean they identify as the other gender they were born in, or change it at all when they present. It's a secondary gender. Reader has a cock (testicles replacing the ovaries inside), Geta a pussy (with a cocklette instead of clit).

A reblog is better than leaving just one like.

MERCY

Mix. Mix. Mix. Smash together. Crunch it up. Mix some more. Pour. Drink.

It was automatic at this point. The scent of herbs, the stench of iron, the dead body in the corner of his room, the blood jar that contained the remaining blood of a past dead man. The golden bowl on his table with the concoction he created, a transparent red, with an oily texture, and particles of herbs floating all around. 

The emperor dipped his index and middle finger in and then rubbed the liquid in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He made sure to smother it well, on both sides to be certain to cover it up very well. He proceeded to take more and lay it all over his wrists, leaving a red tint behind but he can cover it with his tunics. He grabbed the bowl and his nose scrunched as he raised it towards his face, the smell pungent, wooden, filled with ash as well. He opened his mouth and drank the rest of it, letting go down his throat. His stomach revolted as he put the bowl down with a slam, his breathing turning heavy as he groaned, his hand coming to cover his mouth.

No matter how many times he did this, it didn’t get any less disgusting. His bottom half cramped and he grunted, his hands slamming on the table as he held himself upright. His head turned to see the dead body that lay there, marching towards it and kicking the slashed stomach, his foot now stained with its blood.

His jaw clenched tightly as anger filled him, his body trying to betray him like it always does but he never lets it. He can’t let it. His eyes went to the face of the man’s body. He was cute, but he sadly knew too much. This stupid fucking Alpha knew too much.

Yet, he can’t help but also be thankful for him being nosy, because if he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be able to get the blood he needs. To make that perfume that covers up his darkest secret, one his brother doesn’t remember, one that only his personal confidant doctor knows about, because if it were to get out, he would not be on the throne, and his brother is not in the best state of mind to rule by himself. 

Because no Roman would bow to an Omega.

He heard a knock on the door and he closed his eyes as he turned around to grab his robe, putting it on as he headed towards the big golden framed doors, opening one to see his doctor, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, and then followed by a sniff, angering the emperor.

“Yes, you cannot be smelled, Emperor Geta.” He knows it's part of his job to make sure it actually works, but he still gets enraged when his doctor has to sniff him because it reminds him of this vulnerability of his. This forsaken misery the gods have imposed on him as if it would have stopped him from being ruler of Rome. 

“Get disposed of the body. Feed it to the dogs or to the people saying it’s rhinoceros meat, I don’t care.” His voice was cold as Caius walked in with a silver trolley, closing the door behind him. His simple robes were white, one shoulder exposed with a small golden badge to hold it on the side, signaling he was part of the royal personnel.

“As you wish, dominus noster.” His doctor walked towards the body to inspect it, making a small tsk noise, making Geta’s eyebrow twitch. “You were pretty light on this one. Just slashing his stomach, his neck… Surprised to not see guts on the floor.”

“It’s getting messier to clean up, and that has to be quick, so stop talking and get to it Caius!” His voice was loud, almost scratching an ear drum, and he managed to control his whine thanks to the liquid he had prepared finally sitting in his stomach. The blood of an Alpha on his scent glands and in his system, and it’s enough to cover his omegan stench.

He has been killing the barbarian Alphas for as long as he can remember, buying them off after a game, and people thought that the Emperor loved the atrocious act of making another Alpha submit to him, taking them to his bed, an Alpha on Alpha is what his people called it. Little did they know that it was to take their blood out of their succumbed bodies after he made a mess out of them.

He was very graphic at the beginning thanks to his anger, but as clean up took longer and his brother liked visiting him in his chamber, he had to do things a little quicker now. His dear brother who, thanks to his illness, forgot about what he truly is. His Beta brother forgot his sibling was an Omega and fully believed he was an Alpha thanks to the scent the concoction gave him. The Alpha from the day before had smelled him once he got inside the room and the Emperor quickly disposed of him, but fear struck him.

He put more blood in this time, harder to swallow but maybe it has more effect than the last few mixes he did because that Alpha could smell him, even if just a bit. A recipe brought by Caius the moment Geta had presented, his mother begging for mercy from the doctor and to not give away her prodigy’s child secret. Caius, indebted to Julia for saving him from the streets, accepted the task, and through many experiments and sacrifices, he came up with this ‘medicine’.

“I’ll extract his blood back in my office. You should get ready for the games of today. I heard there is a big surprise, a new gladiator coming to prove themselves.” Caius mentioned as he grabbed the cleaver from the bottom of the trolley where many blankets waited to be drenched in the man’s blood, for when the doctor would start chopping him up in pieces in order to carry him out.

“Not a drop wasted. You hear me?” Caius nodded, the Omega bowing his head to another who pretended to be an Alpha. For being an Omega, Caius was very calm and collected, not letting his pheromones show at all, or make it known by his actions or reactions. Geta envied him. He knows that if an Alpha came along who could spark his interest he would immediately fold for them, submit in ways he wouldn’t be able to control.

He would rather kill himself than show submission to an Alpha.

He was sitting on the stone throne next to his brother, upon the closed imperial box next to the podiums where the elite Romans cheered. 

Caius sat behind him wearing new robes, the general Acacius behind Caracalla with his wife next to him. Geta’s attention went to Dondas, his brother’s pet, or best friend, or he doesn’t know if he considers her a sibling at this point. The monkey was making happy noises as Caracalla fed it small treats, a giggle in his lips. 

“I wonder what’s the surprise. I’ve been hearing we are going to be quite shocked, brother.” Caracalla says as he looks at Geta with a wicked smile on his face, yet excited. Geta reciprocates the gesture, his own crazed excitement building in his chest as he awaited to see how much blood might be spilled today. One of the things he liked the most was knowing that there were barbarian Omegas fighting below him sometimes, fighting for their lives, trying not to choke on their own blood after being stomped by elephants that were brought into the field.

He was a hidden omega ruler. He felt like he was a god, managing to make people worship him not knowing his true nature. His true intentions. The sick methods he has to go through in order to hide his true self. Yes, he should be considered a god among the Romans at this point. 

The announcer makes the soldiers behind him blow their horns as he steps out in the announcing box, the people cheering as he raises his hands with a smile on his face. The emperors clap with grins, getting more comfortable in their thrones as they wait for the announcement.

“Welcome! Today we have a very special surprise waiting for all of you!” The crowd cheers as Geta hears Caracalla clapping excitedly, cheering loudly, making him chuckle at seeing his adrenaline. “I hear you. This is no ordinary surprise. We caught a barbarian back on the island of Corsica. One who fought with every fiber of their being, and you would be surprised, but that barbarian is the one who caused the scar on General Acacius' face!” 

Geta’s eyes widened as he laughed, looking back to look at his general, who was closing his eyes in pity. The emperor didn’t understand the gesture, but the excitement didn’t lower at all in its levels. He felt his blood running hot in anticipation, the smell of excited Alphas around the podiums while there were cowering Omegas at the top balconies, the bottom of the social chain. 

“He got you good, didn’t he!?” Geta snickered as Acacius looked at him, an unreadable expression lingered, and the emperor turned his head again to keep listening as he played with the rings on his right hand.

“Fighting against lions who have been starved for over two days, here are the gladiators of this day!” The crowd cheers once again as the gates slowly open for the men to come out, having very dull swords as weapons and wooden shields but then the crowd gasps and remains silent as the last one comes out, the announcer wearing a smile on his face as the imperial box sits in shock, except for the wounded General.

“What in the heavens…” Caius exclaims in shock as Geta looks wide eyed at the field below him.

“And here I give you… The first ever barbarian woman to make it to the games!” 

Your walk was confident, your face clenched as you came to stand next to the other gladiators. Your sword in hand, the shield on the other, no different than the men that stood on the same patch of dirt as you did. And then, gasps, screams, yelps and whines coming from the crowd. Caracalla pinched his nose tightly as he gasped, Caius falling on his chair as he choked on his spit and then there was Geta.

Who was wide eyed in shock, his body trembling as there in the field stood a Female Alpha.

They were rare, very rare. The only Alpha woman he ever met was his aunt, who was stupidly judged, and exiled from the city. But that was not the only thing that made his breath cut short. It was the fact that he felt his body shake aggressively, his skin starting to profusely sweat in seconds and his breathing became elaborate as he stood up from his throne.

He felt his throat closing up on him the more he got of you, your scent too potent even from this distance. What were you? Were you a prime Alpha? Those were rare, and for you to be one, a woman, it shouldn’t be, it couldn’t. He saw how you were staring at the crowd who was still silent as they looked upon you, the men next to you fidgeting in fear as you all waited for the game to start.

And suddenly, wind picked up softly, Geta felt his robes moving thanks to it, not paying any mind as he kept looking your way. The wind slowly got to you, and your nostrils flared up in an instant. Geta saw how your eyes widened, how you lowered your sword as you slowly turned your head until it finally landed on him. Your eyes clashed with his and for the first time in his life–

‘SUBMIT.’

He fell back on his throne as he clutched his chest, Caius immediately getting up to kneel next to the emperor, seeing how Geta was sweating all over, making the doctor anxious as he whispered to him.

“You are washing away the medicine. What is going on, our lord?” But the emperor could not speak as he breathed heavily, looking down at you as your eyes stood fixated on him. The smell got worse. It was as if the dirt was burning, as if there were wine being spilled all over him. He felt his body growing hotter and then, you took a step towards the imperial box.

And the horns blew off.

“Let the game begin!” And Geta wanted to yell to stop it. Yell to cancel this game but– what would his excuse be? His head turned to Caius who was still looking at him worriedly. Caracalla leaned over with a worried frown and teary eyes.

“Are you okay, brother?” Geta gulped and nodded, trying to dismiss it as something trivial.

“Y-Yes, it caught me off guard.” His brother gave a nod and then smiled back into the field. A loud cheer was let out from him as the gates for the lions started to be pulled up. Geta’s eyes snapped towards the gates as he saw the lions roar loudly, hungry for the people that were on the field, leaping out at quick speed. 

His face contorted in worry as your eyes snapped to look towards the animals that were going to pounce on all of you. The first gladiator took a bite to the head as a lion lept towards him, while another one was able to cut a lion’s belly as he ducked when the beast jumped over him. The field became a bloodbath but the crowd’s eyes as well as the emperor’s never left your figure.

You were enraged, your movements aggressive as you stabbed, slashed, ducked, jumped over these beasts and no one was realizing you were doing this while getting closer to the imperial box. Every time you got closer, a lion came to attack you. You were covered in blood as the minutes went by, only three people remaining in the field out of the ten that got in, and two more lions.

One of the men got a bite out of his side and took the opportunity to stab the animal in the head, while the last lion attacked the man that was standing next to you, biting the middle of his stomach as he screamed in agony. You jumped on top of the lion’s back, the beast roaring loudly in distaste as you growled in a low and threatening demeanor, making the lion suddenly whimper. The crowd gasped as they witnessed how the lion slowly lost its struggle as you hissed loudly.

Geta could only stare as he trembled, the sound of your growl having sent electricity shocks all over his body, his hands gripping the armrests’ edge tightly, his knuckles turning white. Your eyes fixated on him again as the lion gave another roar, jerking upwards as it got out of the trance you put him in. 

The emperor stood up as he leaned towards the balcony’s edge, worry showing in his features when the lion started thrashing around with you on top of him. You held tightly around his neck, your arms coming together to begin a chokehold on the beast, the alpha pheromones making the entire crowd almost kneel in their place, even the Alphas. He wonders if the Omegas at the top had to be escorted out by now. 

Your right hand gripped your left elbow tightly as you used your entire strength to choke the animal that was now struggling more and more, throwing itself on the floor, rolling to try to get you off of it but you didn’t let it, even if your body fell to the sides, your arms never left its neck. You growled loudly as you bared your teeth, clamping onto the lion’s right ear and biting down fiercely. The animal roared in pain as you yanked and tore it all off, making it lose the air in its lungs thanks to the noise it had to make, slowly starting to wobble on its feet.

The crowd stood in silence as the lion finally tumbled to the ground leaving you panting on top of it. You slowly let go of your arms, unwrapping them from around the animal’s neck as you stood up again, grabbing the sword from the ripped-apart Omega the lion was eating before you jumped on top of it. Making sure it’s dead, you stabbed the animal’s head with it, and let the sword stay there as you finally looked up to see the imperial box, spitting the ear away.

Geta was gulping as he felt his thighs start to be covered in slick. He had to run away but his eyes were fixated on you, wanting to jump down from the balcony to rush to you, to kneel in front of you, to let himself be claimed once and for all. Why you? Why a woman? Why?

‘Submit. SUBMIT.’ 

The voice in his head was loud, knowing it was his omega side betraying him after all these years. The gate opened again to reveal soldiers coming out, ready for the emperor’s orders.

“MERCY! MERCY! MERCY!” He suddenly heard the crowd start cheering and he looked all over, at every single Alpha yelling for him to have mercy on this… woman. His eyes went back to you as you stared back at him, with blown out pupils, nose flaring and he knew you knew. He knew you could smell him despite it all. He knew you knew he was an Omega, and you were trying to make him submit to you.

He raised his trembling fist up, putting his thumb right in the middle. You have to die. You have to die right now. No one can know about him. You will destroy him because he knows you will tell everyone. He knows you will give his secret away. He has to kill you. He has to fucking let those soldiers rip you to shreds.

Caius was staring at the emperor as well as all the people that sat in the same box, waiting for his decision. The doctor knew something was going on. He never saw the emperor react this way, ever, and he could only guess it had to do with the Alpha barbarian standing in front of the imperial box with the blood of animals all over her as she breathed heavily while looking at Geta. Could it be?

“MERCY, MERCY, MERCY!”

‘Submit. Submit. Submit.’

“MERCY, MERCY, MERCY!”

‘Mate. Mate. Mate.’

His hand trembled. His finger was shaking as it remained in the middle. He has to kill you. Your guts have to fill the floor below you, make you learn your place. He doesn’t care if you're an Alpha. He doesn’t care. You have to fucking die.

And his thumb went upwards as the crowd cheered.

He was pacing back and forth in Caius’ office as the doctor looked through a book.

“There has to be an explanation! You’re my doctor so you can save me and protect me if anything were to happen to me!” Geta’s voice was strained as he felt his body burning all over, the medicine the doctor had prepared not helping at all as slick kept sliding down his legs, not being able to stop it.

“I am looking, but I cannot find anything. These are signs of heat.”

“But your suppressant things always help! They always help Caius!” He was borderline pathetically about to cry.

“Gods, I understand, trust me boy, I do! I don’t know why you got affected by that Alpha–”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m planning on killing her tonight.” Caius' eyes widened, getting up from his chair so he could approach the emperor with shock on his face.

“She is now a known face around your loyal subjects. Even the Omegas cheered for her today. You will not be liked if you decide to kill her–”

“She knows.” That made the doctor stand frozen. How could you? You were so far away from them. You weren’t a prime alpha. He noticed it because he did not get afflicted as much as the emperor did. Prime Alphas make all omegas in their radius fall to their knees, and the only one that was about to crumble was Geta.

“How…?” The emperor shook his head, not knowing how to answer for he did not know. He doesn’t know how you managed it. Even over his homemade scent blocker that no one ever was able to break through, and over the immense distance the two of you had between each other.

“I will kill her tonight. I already bought her and they’re bringing her to my chamber and cuffing her to the bed.” Caius could only reluctantly nod at the emperor’s orders, sighing.

“I will prepare the medical kit–”

“Alone.” Caius’ eyes widened, shaking his head furiously.

“No! You cannot be alone with an Alpha like that! We don’t know why you are weak to their scent and–” Geta pushed the doctor away from him, to then slap him right across the face. The emperor breathed heavily as Caius held his cheek in shock, looking back at the man before him. Anger filled the slapped Omega, giving Geta a slow bow. “As you wish.”

“I will call on you if I need help. So stay behind the doors.” He ordered his doctor and said man only bowed once more, making the emperor straighten up and fix his night robe, chest showing until his happy trail poked from the bottom of it. He took a deep breath in as he felt his heart hammering in his chest. He walked out of Caius’ office, with the doctor following right behind him. They quickly moved to avoid guards from smelling the Emperor. They passed by Caracalla’s room, who was put to sleep by raw chamomile herbs Caius gave him so he wouldn’t wake up in any way in the night.

He stopped in his tracks when he was outside his own chambers. He could smell you. He could smell your potent Alpha stench, overpowering everything around you, and he felt his knees tremble underneath him. He shouldn’t go in. He should go in at least with Caius so he could help take care of you, but the thought of someone seeing you like that made him want to growl. His mouth trembled as he felt his heart about to implode in itself, the hammering of it against his chest almost painful. 

“I will be out here, dominus.” Geta turned to look at him and gave him one single nod, handing him the key to the chains that held his door together. 

“Open it once I tell you it is done, or if I need help. Got it?” The doctor gave the emperor an understanding nod, and proceeded to sit on the bench that was placed next to the entrance of his room. Geta took a deep breath in and stared at the handle of his door, his hand reaching to grab it, shaking as he felt the slick gushing out of him the more he smelled you.

He held the air in and pushed the door open. The scent was now stronger, way stronger than before, and it made him want to stumble back from the power of it. He closed the door behind him and he heard the chains moving, knowing Caius had locked them inside. His head turned to walk into the dimly lit room by the candles, his big bed right in the middle with golden bedposts and sheets draping from the edges of it. 

You were lying there in the middle, hands cuffed with iron prison cuffs on his bed posts, arms spread as your back rested against the headboard. Your head was hung low and he heard how you took a sharp breath in before slowly lifting your gaze up at him. His legs almost gave up on him as your eyes settled on him, his neck sweating as he gulped loudly. Your face and body were cleaned, wearing just a hitched-up tunic over you, but– 

His eyes widened when he saw the tent you had on your bottom half.

A dark chuckle was heard in the room, his eyes flying to meet yours once again. You looked feral, yet he couldn’t help to think you were the most beautiful alpha he had ever seen in his entire life. He licked his lips as he slowly approached the bed, just small steps, and your eyes traveled to his exposed chest and back to his face.

“Nice to meet you, lord.” Your voice was mockingly sweet, yet with sarcasm filled all over. He wanted to kiss your lips to see if he could taste your voice, but he had to keep a straight face and a stoic mind. He had one task tonight, and he had to complete it. He couldn't fail.

“Name.” You stared at him for a long while, your mind not moving, and his eyes were big in frustration, his teeth slowly baring. “NAME!” 

You wanted to laugh because of the false Alpha tone he tried to use, but you humored him, telling him your name. 

“Why did you buy me off?” Geta rounded the bed, standing far still as he cocked his head your way.

“Because I have to kill you.” At his words, you let out a loud cackle, your head hitting the headboard behind you. Geta’s eyes were wide and in shock as he saw how your laughter slowly lowered as seconds passed.

“Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Because I say so.” His response was short, but a smile was kept on your lips as your head tilted to look at him with an incredulous look in your face.

“Are you sure it is just for that reason… Omega?” 

He choked on his own breath as he felt a punch, a cramp happening in his belly. It was painful, yet it caused more slick to gush down his legs, stumbling backwards from just a mere word you said to him. Something no one ever called him before, not even his own mother. Your eyes were piercing through him and he felt his body burning as he grabbed a sword from the weapon rack and marched towards you, pressing the tip of it on your throat.

“You know too much. I have to kill you, you dumb stupid Alpha!” You chuckled, feeling the tip of the pointy metal on your skin.

“How did you do it?” You asked and he huffed, shaking his head. You closed your eyes and he saw how you took a sniff out of the air, a smirk appearing on your lips. “Alpha blood. Ingenious.”

“Good job on finding that out you filth. And I don’t know if you’re dumb or a knothead like all Alphas are, but you do realize why I need to kill you now, don’t you?” He tried to make his voice sound authoritative, hating how it didn’t sound at all like yours even if you were a woman. Your voice was strong, made to obey. Your laughter made every joint of his become pliant, wanting to just get on the bed and on top of you, take what he wanted from you.

“No, you won’t.” Your laughter ceased, only glaring at him and he snarled, pressing the tip even harder against your skin, pricking it and letting blood flow out. 

“An emperor does not give out empty threats you damned slug! Why do you believe I won’t, huh!? What makes you believe I will have any mercy for you right now?” And a confident smile spread on your lips and it made his belly cramp once again as his eyebrows twitched at your stance.

“Because you want me, Omega. You want me to taste you, take that purity away from you, knot you and breed you until your womb takes.” Your statements made his palms sweat, his body convulsing as the heat spread all over him, his eyes becoming glossed over as he stared at you, and his hand lost its strength, making the sword fall down and onto the floor.

Out of nowhere, you lifted your body off the headboard, ripping your hands away from the cuffs. His eyes were wide as he saw blood coming down your forearms, the skin around your wrists now teared thanks to the friction of getting your hands out of those constricting iron bracelets. He didn’t notice you had been slowly wiggling your way out of them and, how could he have been so naive? 

You kneeled up, grabbing the back of his head, getting hold of his scalp and hair in a tight and painful grip that made him yelp. He tried breaking free, but his strength was not there. He huffed in pain as you threw him on the bed, making him bounce on it and the moment he did, he felt your scent ten times stronger. You have been sweating over his sheets, and– Fuck– Fuck, he could smell your precum. He could smell it.

“No–! Let go!” You growled at the Omega’s defiance when you straddled him over his hips, and for the first time in his life, Geta shut up. His eyes were wide as he looked at how your hands immediately grabbed onto the string of his robes and pulled. He gasped and was about to yell only for a choke to escape him when he felt you punch him right in the stomach, a wave of nausea washing over him.

“Don’t underestimate the strength of an Alpha in a semi-rut, Omega.” His robes opened, falling on his sides and your eyes raked over him as he held his stomach, coughing from the punch you gave him. 

“Damn you…” You weren’t listening to him, and his eyes followed yours, and he realized you were looking at his loincloth, how drenched it was thanks to his slick, and he clenched around nothing at all as he smelled how aroused you were, a twitch happening on the tent over the skirt of your tunic.

“How threatening…” Your hand grabbed onto one of his wrists, his body trying to make him go limp for you, to submit, but he cannot let it, so his legs start kicking up, trying to get you off him, which only made you laugh as your grip around his wrist tightened, fingers digging into his flesh. “-- An Omega in heat is as strong as a thread of silk.”

Geta’s body was reddened, the burning of his blood becoming unbearable each second that passed. You were strong, very strong, or like you said, he was weak at this point. He let his instincts decide your fate, and he shouldn’t have trusted them. He shouldn’t have trusted his stupid instincts because they were clearly in your favor. He delivered a swat to your face with his free hand, which you dodged easily, an unamused look on your face as you stared him down. Your eyebrow twitched at how much he was moving around as you tried to put his wrist over his head.

“Stop moving or I'll cut your legs off.” Your voice was low, a tone that was never used on him before, something that made his insides turn in delight, in disgust, in excitement, in shame. His body fell limp beneath you as he tried to make it listen to him again, but his mind was clouded for a few seconds, tears filling his eyes from the sudden need. The sudden need of you. 

You put his hands over his head, tying them together with the sling of his robe, and then tied the end of it to one of the cuffs you got yourself out from. Your eyes went towards your own wrists, seeing the open wounds, your raw flesh exposed as it stung slightly. You would have to take care of it later, and the emperor’s eyes followed your sight to see the wounds you provoked on yourself.

Your eyes widened when you heard a small whine. It was very small, and short, but it was enough for your ear to pick up the sound. Geta’s face was that of shock, not knowing where the sound had come from, nor why he did it against his own will. 

“Aw… does someone care for their Alpha?” That made Geta’s anger arise despite the arousal and the slick gushing out of his cunt. A cunt he hid for so many years, putting items in his loincloth to make it pretend he had a bulge. A cunt that is now clenching over nothing as it begs to be touched for the first time, and not by just anyone. You. It wants you. He hissed, baring his teeth at you as he yanked on the binds you put on his wrists.

“You are not my Alpha! I have no Alpha! Never will!” That made your face twitch with distaste, your nose scrunching up slightly but then you let out a small chuckle, catching his attention. 

“Oh, but I am. And you are my Omega, and if you think that I’m going to let you walk out of this room a virgin and unbred, you are greatly mistaken, my lord.” 

‘Submit.’

“No– No–! CAIUS! CAIUS!!!” He started screaming as the voice in his mind became loud, and consistent, making his body grow weaker and the slick between his legs thicker. He yelled for his doctor, but he heard no chains being opened. He heard nothing, making his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. You looked over your shoulder and back down at him with a twisted smile.

“It seems someone ditched you, my emperor.”

‘Mate. Mate. Mate.’

“No, no, no, no– I worked too hard– No!” He kept screaming his doctor’s name, and you just watched him, waiting for his vocal cords to fail on him, for him to grow tired. His arms were still fighting, his legs trying to kick you off still, and you pressed yourself harder onto his hips, right on his pained belly. His voice cut off, making him grunt as he threw his head back at the feeling of pressure on his cramps.

“You can’t fight it. You were mine the moment I stepped into that field, as well as I became yours.” Those words made him look at you, his eyes connecting with yours and a shock of electricity rushed through both of your bodies, a sweat of pleasure washing over as a moan came out of your lips and his. His legs stopped moving, falling limp on the bed as he breathed heavily, his hivemind slowly taking over, his rationality being thrown out a balcony in the lapse of minutes. Everything he worked for, all of his resolve, was rendered to nothing in these few moments he spent with you.

“I– I should kill you…” You shook your head at him, a grin on your lips. 

“Let me show you why you shouldn’t.” Geta felt his skin as if acid had been thrown on it. It was burning him, painfully, but with pleasure. He had never experienced a proper heat because of how much he rejected his designation, and he is still wondering how did you of all people manage to trigger it. 

He gasped when you leaned forward, pressing your lips on his chest, your tongue lolling out to lick some of his sweat away, a pleased moan residing in your throat. He whimpered, trying to hold the stupid and pathetic moan in, just by you licking him. You licked your lips before placing another kiss to his collarbone, then moving up to his neck, your nose grazing his mating gland for just a second, but it was enough for the emperor to flinch in fear, your head snapping to look at him.

“No– No, don’t–”

“No need to fear me… I won’t. But you will want it by the end of this.” He wanted to scoff and deny your words, but as soon as your mouth pressed against his pulse point, he was rendered speechless, choking on his spit as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull. He could feel your lips, your tongue licking all over, your teeth nibbling on him, tasting every little piece of skin that you could. He suddenly felt you sucking on his flesh, making his eyes snap open, his body wiggling underneath you.

“No marks! Don’t you dare in the hells mark me!” At his defiance, you growled, your teeth clamping on the side of his throat, and he cried out of pain, fear, your teeth way too close to his mating gland. You were not going to listen to him, adamant to keep up the intention of making him yours. You pulled away from him, looking down at his face, your lips stained red because of the blood you drew from the bite.

“Don’t you dare order me.”

“I am the Emperor… I can command anyone to kill you in just a second! You should fear me, not defy me, much less–” His voice was cut short when your hand immediately wrapped around his throat, his arms yanking against the bindings you made, trying to set free as he choked on your hold, his legs kicking up behind you, but your strength– it was too great.

“Don’t threaten me, Omega. You are talking way too much for someone who is pinned on the bed with no way of protecting himself at all.” He whined underneath your hold, and then he winced when he felt a cramp punch him right in his bottom half. They were getting worse each second that passed and his mind was losing oxygen because of your hold. You immediately let go of him, and he choked for air as you stared down at him. 

“You’re… You’re crazy.” He spat out with venom. He hated you. He hated you. He wanted to kill you. He wanted to rip your chest open to take your heart out. He wanted to dip his hand in the middle of your stomach to take your intestines out… He hated you. He hated that he wanted you. He hated the fact you were making his slick come out in quantities he never experienced before. He hated that he wanted you to take his purity away.

He hated that he wanted to submit his Omega to your Alpha.

“You’re one to talk, now shut the hell up.” Your mouth went back down to kiss his chest, making him groan as you kissed your way towards his left nipple. He gasped as your mouth enveloped it, your tongue flicking the nub over and over again until it perked up. He whimpered as his body trembled at each flick, not expecting it to feel this good. He had touched himself, but he was untouched by others. The concubines were a fake, a show he put on to make him more believable, to make his facade the more believable.

He wanted to protest but his mouth did not move because his body was succumbing to what you were making him feel for the very first time. Your mouth went to his right nipple to give him the same attention you gave the left one and his back arched slightly off the bed, making you chuckle underneath your breath. You were loving his reactions, and he knew you were because your excitement could be detected through your arousal. He knew his bed sheets would have to be burnt in the morning… if he survived until then.

Your lips started trailing down as your body moved, crawling backwards as you kissed his navel, making him jerk from the sensation, goosebumps being displayed all over his arms and chest. You licked around his belly button, and he whined at the strange feeling, not knowing he was sensitive in that area at all, but then his eyes widened when he felt your body wiggling itself in between his legs, trying to spread them apart but he did his best to keep them closed.

A warning growl came from you and his body acted against his will as his legs spread open for you to finally slot yourself in the middle, your fingers hooking on the edge of his cloth and he held his breath in. The only one who had ever touched him there for inspection had been Caius to check on his health and overall look of it. His body trembled in anticipation, nerves, fear, excitement, lust - he no longer knew, yet, you didn’t pull his cloth down, your lips pressing against his left inner thigh.

Were you trying to calm him down?

He felt the air becoming lighter, as if a weight had been taken off his chest, a weight he didn’t know was there at all. He could breathe more easily now, and he realized you had released soothing pheromones in the air for him. He didn’t know what you wanted anymore. You looked like you were going to take what you wanted no matter what he said, yet you also acted like he was the most delicate flower there was.

“Calm.” It was authoritative, but not like the other times. He felt like there was no threat behind the voice, but rather a warm blanket of a caring emotion. He wanted to laugh at that statement. You had punched him in the stomach for him to stop struggling, there is nothing caring about this. Yet–

He gasped when you licked the slick that was stuck on his inner thighs, and a pleasured growl vibrated throughout the whole room. You were tasting him. Someone was tasting him for the very first time and he didn’t think this day would ever come. He assumed he would have died a virgin for the sole purpose to rule until the end of his days. Rule. He has to rule. His mind snapped back into reality for a second, finding his voice once again.

“Y– You can’t–” He didn’t want to stop, his body didn’t want you to stop, but what about the rest? Everything he struggled with, everything he had to do to be where he is right now, all being thrown down into a pit of snakes because of you, because of your goddamn existence.

“I can, I will and you won’t be able to stop screaming for me, Omega.” He snarled at the name, not wanting to be called that, he wasn’t used to it, no matter how right his body told him it was, his mind could not fathom it. Your fingers hooked on the edges of his cloth once more and you started taking them off, making him gulp loudly as he felt the coldness of the room hit him right on his wet cunt, sending shivers all over his body.

You had your eyes closed, nose flaring aggressively as you took off this piece of fabric. He saw you throwing the loincloth away, and you finally opened your eyes, staring at the untouched cavity no one had the pleasure to be in or taste before. A place that was never to be seen by others, touched, or defiled. Your breathing grew elaborate as you smelled him. You smelled the slick dripping down towards the crack of his ass and down to his robe that you never got to take off.

His eyes looked down towards your tunics, the tent still up, and his head started to wander. What size could it be? Do female Alphas have the same size? Smaller? Thinner? His curiosity is there, he wants to know, but he knows he shouldn’t because the moment he sees your member he is probably going to submit completely and he is not ready for that. Not yet. 

“You are pretty. The gods have really blessed you with it.” Your voice was anything but sarcastic or with venom. It was honest, and you almost sounded drunk. He wiggled slightly underneath you, feeling the embarrassment of being watched so intensely for the first time. Watched with another intent than just giving him a medical check-up. 

“S-Stop. I didn’t ask for it. If it were for me I would have never chosen it!” His voice was loud, high pitched, and his hands yanked once more, feeling his arms growing tired from being in the air for a while now. You were still looking down at his center, completely out of it, high off of his scent. You slowly bent down, laying on your stomach as you positioned your face right in front of his entrance. He was wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to do in this situation. 

He felt a cold air sharply brushing over his small cocklette. He looked down to see you blowing over him, sending shivers all over his body, and goosebumps on his legs and arms. You didn’t react to him, your mouth still agape as you stared at his core. You closed your eyes as you took a sharp intake of his smell, and then exhaled, opening your eyes again to lock them with his own. His breath hitched in his throat, wanting to fight back, wanting to push you off, but his body was betraying him. After all these years, his body is retaliating back.

He threw his head back when he felt your tongue sharply lick from the bottom of his slit, to the top, and then flick his cocklette in one movement. A gasp got stuck in his throat at the new sensation. What was that? He could have been feeling that all this while, and he was willing to never know about this for the sole purpose of keeping his throne?

Yes. Yes, he was. 

“Stop–” He needed you to stop because if you didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from calling out to you. To call out for you. 

“No. This is mine.” You said in a growl, surprising him with how possessive you sounded. How brutal that statement was, yet it wasn’t unpleasant to him even if he wanted to feel it was. Before he could answer, his back arched upwards, his mouth falling open as you started circling his cocklette with the tip of your tongue, to then take it into your mouth. 

“Damn you–” He clenched his teeth together as he held in his sounds of pleasure, trying to focus on not enjoying it, focus on his throne, focus on rome. But it was hard to do when you were slurping him as if he were the ambrosia Demeter promised Demophon of Athens. And he was. To you he was even more than that, more delightful, as if you were tasting all constellations. You let go of his cocklette with a pop, drool already pooling at the corner of your mouth.

“You taste delightful… delicious… remarkable.” Your tongue lolled out to lick a strip all over his slicked up folds. His body trembled beneath you, your hands on his inner thighs to keep them separated, and for him to not have a surge of power and clamp them together over your head.

“Ngh–” He was holding back his moans, the more you licked, the more he sweat and the more scent he was exuding. He didn’t want to give in to the pleasure. He didn’t want to give in to you. He didn’t want to yet his body was reacting, and betraying him over and over again and he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop you. He couldn’t stop this.

You kept licking, tasting, ravishing him with your tongue in ways he never thought he would experience. This was never supposed to happen in his entire life and yet, there you were, between his legs, eating his biggest secret. And he was loving it. His body was absolutely ecstatic of feeling like this for the first time in its life and his mind was slipping away each lick of yours, each sucking on his cocklette. 

He gasped as his back arched off the bed when your tongue entered him. He didn’t know what to think of it, feeling you inside, feeling something inside for the first time in his life aside from his own fingers. He whimpered as he felt you swirling around inside of him, your moans vibrating against his core, and he could hear your slurping as he felt more slick coming out of him.

You were addicted, and he could smell how much you were enjoying him. He wanted to hate it, hate the fact you were enjoying yourself so much, but no… he was so happy. He wanted to chirp for the first time in his life, knowing you… an Alpha, was aroused by pleasuring him. That you were finding him delicious. That you wanted to make him climb into those mountains of pleasure no one ever took him before, and much less reach the very peak of them.

You pulled away with a gasp for air, and he lifted his head to look down at you, seeing how you licked all over your lips, still looking at his center with blacked out eyes. His legs trembled as his belly twirled around with need for more, a rope that was slowly becoming tighter with the intent of snapping apart.

“The gods were so good to you… making you this delicious, and only for me to taste.” Your voice was sultry and as if you were not entirely there. It was low, with the hint of a purr in the background of it and Geta’s skin grew goosebumps because again, he was delighted to hear an Alpha purr for him. Yet, a bit of his rational mind, or what he thought was rational, remained.

“I never asked for it–” His eyes widened when he felt your middle finger running along his slit, wetting it with his slick. He tensed up, clenching on nothing as nerves and fear overtook him for a second, yanking on his arms once again. He felt you kiss his right inner thigh and then a purring voice.

“I am going to take care of you… relax.” His omega does as told instantly, relaxing for you as he slumped back on the bed, not knowing how tense his entire body got. You hummed in approval, pushing your finger in, slowly, letting him engulf you at his pace. His mouth fell agape, his head falling back on the pillow underneath him. He felt you invaded him, a stranger, and he should hate it. He should hate it just like he always thought he would have and yet, he wants to moan out your name.

He wants to call out for you.

His belly cramped in pleasure, and he heard a chuckle coming from you, but he didn’t have the strength in him to retort at you, or to snap like he always does. You let him adjust around your finger for a second before pulling out and pushing back in again. The feeling was foreign coming from another person, and much more when it was an Alpha. It was as if the pleasure was heightened. As if he had an aphrodisiac injected into him, and he could only blame his heat for this.

You started thrusting your middle finger in and out of him, and his body flushed all over, heat engulfing him from head to toe, burning him as if he were inside an iron bull. His eyes closed as he fought to keep his mouth closed, but it was getting harder and harder to keep his noises in. You felt him slick your finger, making it so easy to slip in and out of him, so you decided to add your ring finger, slowly, pushing it next to your other one and the Emperor gasped, a strangled small moan escaping him for the first time in the night.

“What a good Omega. If it feels good, you have to let yourself enjoy it, pretty one.” He whined at your words, but still he wanted to listen to you as you started pumping your fingers in and out of him. Small little pants escaped him as his body moved slightly, up and down on the bed thanks to your thrusts. The rope started getting tighter and he wanted to curse the hells for making his body this way. It was all because of your designations, it’s just because of that reason only.

His walls started fluttering around you, and his legs trembled, letting you feel the reaction with your free hand which was still gripping his inner thigh, nails digging into the flesh. Your hips were rubbing against the mattress below you, trying to get friction and your growls of need started vibrating on every single wall of the room. Your cock had fully come out, and you needed to knot the Omega below you before your semi-rut makes you go insane. 

You curled your fingers upwards at the same time you engulfed his cocklette into your mouth, sucking eagerly and feeling some of his slick coming out of the tip of it. He let out a cry of pleasure as he felt something weird. It was different and it felt too good. You were rubbing something deep within him that he had never felt in his entire life. Was this his heat? It was making his belly cramp as his orgasm got closer and closer, ready to unravel him in front of you.

You kept slurping on him as your fingers increased their pace in short and quick movement, abusing that soft spot inside of him that was making him tremble underneath you, trying to move around, not knowing what to do with his body. He knew his scent was a mix of emotions, but he didn’t know what to think of this. It was a pleasure he never felt in his life, and his moans were now unrestrained, making you purr against him.

“W– What is– Oh, I’m–” You hummed against him, urging him to finally let go on you, to let himself get washed away in a tsunami of pleasure. A pleasure you are giving him. 

The constellations flashed over his eyes as his back arched off the bed, his wrists yanking against the restraints as his thighs wanted to clamp on anything because he felt he was on fire down there, clamping around your fingers like a vice. His belly burnt and tightened as his climax crushed through him and his mouth opened, ready to call out for you for who you were. But his own gush of slick cut him off, surprising him as his cries were heard around the room. 

You took everything he gave you from his cocklette, gulping it all down as you slowed your fingers, helping him ride his orgasm out. He was having some spasms as you felt him unclench around you, slowly pulling your mouth and fingers away from him. He let his body fall slump on the bed, and you saw how his chest went up and down with heavy breaths. You looked down at his center, your tongue licking all the slick that was coming out from his orgasm.

“So delicious, damn you…” You mumbled into him as he twitched, little whimpers of overstimulation escaping him. He felt his sight slowly coming back to him, and he didn’t understand why but… he wasn’t satisfied. His belly started hurting again and he realized that he wasn’t going to ever be until he was knotted. He needed a knot… your knot.

Your ministrations were cut off when you heard a small sob coming from above you. You immediately pulled away from him, crawling up his body, both hands now resting on each side of his head as you looked down at him. He was whining, tears running down his eyes, his charcoal liner leaving dark streaks from the corner and towards his ears. Your hand reached over, slowly touching his cheek only for him to hiss and shove his head away from you.

“You… You are just going to take it…” You tilted your head at him, confused. Your arousal was interrupted with worry and he didn’t understand why you were acting this way when all you wanted was to break him.

“Take it��? Your vir–”

“My throne. You– You are going to take my throne…” His tears started rolling down once again as he shook his head. “You are going to reveal who I am, and it will be over for me, and–” 

He gasped when he felt your lips on his forehead, a surge of calmness washing over him. He could smell your scent, a warm and kind fire. The scent of lemongrass all around him, something he didn’t smell on you before. You pulled away as you shook your head at him, his mind reeling with confusion.

“I don’t want your throne.”

“What? Don’t you dare jester me–”

“I just want you, Omega. We are destined.” At those words, Geta’s eyebrows pinched right in the middle, not understanding what you were saying at all.

��What are you saying?” You chuckled, a genuine smile on your lips, despite all that hard exterior you had shown him all night and at the games, making his body tremble slightly underneath you.

“We are scent mates. You were the only scent in my life to trigger a small rut and it seems I am the only one who could trigger a heat on you, despite any method you took to avoid them and suppress them.” 

The Emperor was stunned at your words. Was there something like that in the world? He never heard of it before, and Caius didn’t either because he didn’t find anything on that subject. Scent mates… then, it means he cannot leave you. He cannot kill you. He cannot make you leave because he doesn’t want to. He can’t.

“Y– You… how… I don’t– I don’t want to give up my throne–”

“And you won’t. Make me your second general in command. I am a very respected Alpha back in my city, and I have an army of three thousand barbarians.” He blinked a few times up at you, his mind blank as it slowly started filling with warmth and with some clarity. His hivemind started to take control of him the more he heard you talk.

“You want… to give me your army?” You nodded at that, your hand reaching out to rub his cheek once again and this time he didn’t pull away, letting you rub against his skin, his eyes closing as his chest warmed up to the feeling. 

“Protecting you is my number one priority. If you want to rule as an Alpha or an Omega, it’s your choice, but I will stand behind you, not in front of you, my Omega. I would never forsake you.”

And his body felt as if it were laying on clouds. It felt as if he was enveloped in warm comforters crafted by the olympus with gold linen all over the seams. Your eyes showed honesty, and he could smell that you were in fact being truthful to him. Why didn’t you start with that? Why didn’t you begin with those words so he could fully enjoy you? To let him fully succumb to this heat and the need to mate with you?

“Protect me… Alpha.” He saw your body tremble, a strangled moan choking you up as he saw your eyes turn deep black once again. “Untie me.”

You looked down at him for a few seconds, your breaths starting to become heavier as your mind started slipping away into a knothead rut. You managed to let a shaky breath out of your lips as your hands reached over to untie him, struggling a little thanks to the trembling of your fingers. His gaze was stuck on your face, his chest going up and down as he breathed heavily, feeling the string of his robe coming undone, his wrists burning from the friction, but he no longer cared.

His arms immediately wrapped around your shoulders, his face flushing with rosy cheeks as you looked down on him. He didn’t know what to do, but his instincts were telling him to try and lunge forward, do something, and gladly, you realized and took that initiative for him. Your lips clashed on his and he immediately whimpered in ecstasy, feeling a current of electricity running through his bones as your arms wrapped around him.

His hands started going down towards your neck, feeling how hot your skin was, basking on being able to finally touch you. Your lips moved desperately on eachother, sloppy, messy, filled with drool and tongue. It makes your length twitch underneath your tunics, making you groan. Your hips connected with his middle, and you both moaned into each other’s mouths as you started slowly swaying back and forth on him.

He could feel you. It was big from what he could guess, and his core slicked all over at the thought of getting knotted by you. Never in his life he thought he would hear those words in his head. His cocklette was being rubbed in the most delicious of ways, making him whimper and groan in your mouth. Your moans were sweet, deep, and in need, and he cannot believe his destined Alpha would be a woman. He never thought of the possibility of there ever being a destined person, or a scent mate in his life. He was never taught that or no one ever gave him a slight mention of it.

But it seems that’s because of royalty. You came from a city filled with legends, old tales, no one to rule over you. A community being a community. He doesn’t understand it.

You pulled away from him, kneeling up and undoing the string in the middle of your tunics. He was staring at you, rising up on his elbows to take a better look at you as you pulled the fabric up and away from you, revealing you had no underwear on yourself. That’s why he could feel you so harshly. His eyes widened when he saw you, all ready, throbbing, hard, large, and with precum coming out of your tip.

And his mouth salivated.

He whimpered as his eyes turned glossy, fully sitting up, his body acting on pure impulse and desire. He leaned forward, tongue lolling out, to tentatively lick the tip of your lenght. You choked on a growl, both hands coming to cover your mouth. He could sense the spike of arousal in you, and he could taste it on his tongue as more precum oozed out of you. He smirked, looking up at you while his hand engulfed your base.

“So pretty for me, Alpha.” And you were. You were beautiful. Your breasts, your perky nipples waiting for his mouth, for his touch. Your pupils completely engulfing the irises of your eyes. You were perfect. A perfect Alpha and just for him. He saw you shiver and he heard you whimper for the first time in the night, the roles reversing for a split second.

“Please…” You moaned out, and he looked back down at your throbbing shaft that bobbed for attention on his face. He didn’t know how to do this. He wasn’t skilled, he had no experience, but god, does he want to satisfy his Alpha with everything he has in him. He moved forward again as you stayed kneeled up, his hands coming to grip your backside as he kissed the tip of your length.

You couldn’t help the moan with his name on your lips as he kept giving kisses and tentative licks to it. His hands went upwards to hold onto your breasts, a moan escaping him as he felt your nipples on his palms. He fondled them, basking on them, worshipping the first pair of breasts he ever touched without any fabric or coverage on them. He often did it to his ‘concubines’ to keep appearances, but never touched them raw like he is now and he is loving it. His kisses traveled along the length, reaching your base and you shivered as you let your hands drop to your sides again as your head fell backwards.

You smelled so good to him, making more of his juices gush out of him, staining the robe beneath him and probably seeping through it and down to his sheets. Now he doesn’t want to burn them at all. He wants to keep them unwashed for days, or weeks, just so he can smell you every minute and hour of the day. He got your nipples in between his index fingers and thumbs, pinching and rolling them as he felt you jerk slightly on his grasp.

He finally opened his mouth to take the tip of your shaft into his mouth, the head of it feeling excellent on his tongue as he swirled it around. You whined as your hand went to the back of his head, running your fingers through his ginger hair as you basked on how good he looked doing this to you. Suddenly, he whined as a cramp kicked in his belly, making him pull away from you, his hands coming to rest on it.

Your arousal got interrupted as worry for your Omega took over, your free hand coming to hold his cheek so he could look up at you. He had a tear running down his face as his face reddened in need.

“I– I don’t know– Something is missing–”

“Your nest, my sun. Your nest is missing.” You instantly pulled away from him, a desperate whine escaping him as you stepped off from the bed to grab your tunic again, crawling towards him again, handing the garment to him. “Smell this.”

He did as instructed, his hands snatching your tunic away, his nose dipping into the filthy cloth only for your scent to fill his lungs. He moaned at it, his head whipping behind him to look at his pillows. He shrugged his robe off, moving in order to get it off from under him as well, and he placed it on one side of his pillow, while your tunic was put on the other side. His belly uncramped slightly, but it was hungry for more.

He kneeled up, turning around to see you again and he had to look down slightly to be able to meet your gaze. He was panting as his whimpers were coming out of his mouth, not being able to control them. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to him, your shaft in between the both of you, smearing your own seed on his body.

“Please… I–” You nodded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss. He moaned into it, his palms flat all over your back, touching everywhere he could as you two kissed fervently.

‘Submit.’

He pulled away, laying back down on the bed, spreading his legs to reveal his wet center to you and his hand was raised for you to take it. You took it and he pulled you into him, falling in between his legs, your chest hitting his. Your lips found his jaw, kissing it gently and you could hear him whimper as his hips canted upwards onto your length, making you hiss.

“I will take care of you. I’ll make the pain go away, Omega.” And Geta purred, for the first time in his life. He had never purred, not even for his own mother or brother. He had denied his designation since the first minute, and he denied having any omega behaviour, even as small as a whine. 

It felt good.

Your eyes widened at the sound, your shaft now slickened up thanks to rubbing it up and down his folds and against his cocklette. Your canines elongated as a deep growl in delight, assimilating a purr, vibrated in your throat. Your hips went backwards and your tip caught onto his entrance, making his breath hitch. His hands were on your waist, while yours were caging his head against the bed.

“I’m ready, my Alpha.” You shivered at the sound of that. My. Mine. Yes, it sounded right. You started pushing forward, slowly, torturous for you, but new to him. His eyes widened as he threw his head back onto the pillows, tilting his head to where your tunic was for your scent to fill his nostrils. He couldn’t find his voice as you kept splitting him open, feeling this new intrusion inside of him, a much bigger one. 

“Relax, my sun. You need to relax for me…” He tried to let go of the air he was holding in, slowly, trying to get his breathing under control. Your lips connected to his neck, giving it soft pecks as he felt your hot breath on his skin. That made him relax, untense, his body falling deeper into his soft bed. The moment he unclenched on you, you kept going, breaching him open as his digits dug into your waist.

He felt himself shaking as he felt the extreme pleasure running all over his limbs, as well as the pain of the loss of his virginity. But you were being so careful with him, and he felt protected by you. A gift sent by the gods themselves. He didn’t know you were thinking the exact same thing, and now you didn’t feel any sadness towards your city. The invasion caused you to meet him, it caused you to finally reach him and be where you are now.

He choked on his spit when there was some strain as you were about to bottom out in him. It was painful, making him hiss at the pain, but his belly was screaming for you to break it. It needed you to break it. It was just one more little push, one more little thrust and his purity will be long gone. Your eyes locked with his, and he saw how fast your breathing was, how flushed you looked, how much you were holding yourself back with him, even in a semi-rut. He gave you one nod and–

“Damn–!” He cried out as you gave one strong thrust, finally getting through the restraint. You let out a breath, choking on it as you took another in, shaking as you did while looking down at where you two were connected, pelvis to pelvis. His eyes were closed as he tried to adjust to you, thinking it was going to be impossible but it was becoming so easy as he kept letting his strangled breaths out. 

You couldn’t begin to explain what you were feeling. It was as if you solved the logical explanation of a long lost legend. As if you’ve won a war that would give you everything you’ve ever wanted. And for the Emperor, he felt like conquering something more than Rome, than all the cities around him. You were more than anything he ever put his power onto. 

Your eyes met his, his right hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you down into a kiss that made you twitch inside of him, and he felt the first sweat of pleasure all over his body, making him moan into your mouth. He pulled away from you, keeping his nose against yours as he looked into your eyes.

“Move.” He commanded, the roles now reversed, and you didn’t mind it at all. Your hips went backwards, and he groaned as he looked down where you were connecting with him as you slowly pushed back in. His face contorted into a pleasured one in an instant as he felt you against his walls, making him look into your eyes again. Your jaw was clenched, setting a slow pace on him to accustom him to the feeling.

He started letting out soft breaths as the pleasure grew more intense the more you thrusted into him. It felt like he was slowly losing himself, his mind telling him things he never thought of before. Mating. Breeding. Him pregnant with your pups. His round belly as he looked at himself in the mirror. He wondered if your thoughts were going in the same direction as his.

“You feel so good, my Omega.” He flustered at that, his mouth opening to let out a moan as you quickened the pace, and his fingers dug into the back of your neck and your side. He started feeling his belly turn in delight, more slick than ever coming out of him and around you, smearing all of his sheets and your pelvis and thighs. 

“More– More–” He couldn’t recognize his desperate voice, feeling a need like never before. You kneeled up with a groan, getting hold of his knees as his hands fell to his sides. He was confused as he panted only for his eyes to widen when you started moving rougher, your hips now snapping against his, and he heard the skin slapping, his core squelching thanks to how much slick he produced. 

You were moaning, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, and his cries for you grew louder, calling out your name, a new prayer in his lips. He felt himself burning, his body just engulfed in flames as if Hell had sucked him in for punishment. He felt you going in and out of him, your hips angling at one point and–

He gasped as a whimper followed when he felt that sweet spot being hit by your tip once more. He didn’t care what it was anymore, just that it felt divine. His hands gripped the sheets below him as you kept that rough pace, sweat all over your body, nails digging into his knees as you kept his legs spread for you. He was crying out for you, looking at you through hooded lids, tears of pleasure running down the sides of his face as drool pooled on the corner of his mouth.

“So pretty, Omega. My Omega. My beautiful, powerful Omega.” Oh, he loved the sound of that, his core fluttering around your length, making your hips stutter slightly before continuing your pace with a growl. His belly needed more, but he didn’t know how to get it, or what that more was. He just needed it, making him whimper in the middle of his moans.

“Alpha– I don’t– I need more–!” You nodded, your right hand leaving his knee, moving in between the two of you to get hold of his cocklette. His back arched as he cried out when you started rubbing him, your hand squeezing lightly to cause friction as you kept slamming your hips against his. He felt his belly turning and turning, the threat of an orgasm approaching him as his nails dug into his mattress.

You moaned out his name, over and over again, feeling him clench and unclench around you. There was fire between the both of you, the air around you musky, filled with the scent of sin, of beautiful sin. He didn’t want this smell to leave his room now. Not ever. His body moved back and forth as your skin slapped over and over, feeling you deep within him, and he swore you were hitting his belly. 

But you kept abusing that soft place in him, making his entire body tremble in anticipation as he felt himself being lifted into clouds the more you railed into him. His moans started coming out choked, his breaths were stuttering as he tried taking deep ones in. His body was red in color as you looked down on him, your hand moving faster on his cocklette, your mouth watering at the sight before you.

“Let go, my lord. Let go, Omega.” And that he did. His eyes clenched shut as his walls tightened all around you, making you stop your hips, a choke coming out of your lips. He couldn’t find his voice as he shook underneath you, his back arched, his neck all red as he couldn’t help throwing his head back. It was a strong orgasm, and it was so good doing it around your shaft. It felt too good. He finally cried out your name as his belly kept fluttering, the orgasm ongoing.

You were breathing heavily as his back touched the bed again, and you stopped the movement of your hips, trying to catch your breath as he finally unclenched around you. He was panting as he kept his eyes closed, trying to regain some consciousness as his mind kept reeling with you, some rationality seeping through that was making him think of the future.

He saw you choking on your breaths as your hands landed on his chest to hold yourself up, the hand that stroked your cocklette smeared with the small spurt of slick that came out of it. You hissed when you felt the burning starting to happen at the base of your length. You pulled your hips back and moved back in, your name coming out of his mouth as his hands went up to cradle your face. 

He wanted it. He needed it. So he started begging.

“Please– Please–” He pleaded for you and you shivered on top of him as you moved your hips once again, setting a normal pace, because if you went rough you would not be able to control your hivemind, already feeling your canines wanting to elongate inside your mouth. 

“I– I won’t knot you, my lord.” 

His eyes widened, a loud whine escaping his throat, eyebrows meeting in the middle with pure sadness. What did you mean? Why not? Why? 

“What–? What– no! I order you–!” His voice was strained as your hips stilled, just half of your length in, and he knew your knot was slowly inflating because he could feel a different thickness trying to enter him. He whined when he felt it and you were not pushing it in, not wanting to lock inside of him.

“I– If I knot you, I will mate you. I will bite you– I– I don’t want to make my Omega unhappy, and if ruling makes you happy– Biting you means you will live as an Omega.” 

He now understood what you meant. You really wanted him to keep ruling, and for that he would have to give up the idea of ever mating you, knowing that at one point he would be pregnant with your pups. Everyone will know he is an Omega… the entirety of Rome will rise against him. Probably even kill him for the deception to the whole community… yet–

“Protect me. You told me you would protect me… I want to keep ruling with your bite on my neck.” His face was twisted as he grinned up at you, wickedness displayed in his features, ideas brewing in his head that the more he thought of, the more he enjoyed. You saw the shift in Geta’s gaze. He had come up with a plan. 

“Are you sure?” Your gaze turned dark, thoughts of protecting your omega against everything and everyone, blood on your hands as you ripped open skulls, pushed eyes into their sockets… Yes, you enjoyed the mere idea of killing for the emperor. For your Omega.

“Mercy– I beg you– I want it–” He whined now, tears spilling from his eyes as his hips tried to move towards you, wanting you back inside of him. “Have mercy on me, Alpha.” 

And suddenly, he saw that smirk of yours that he saw the first time. It was evil, filled with dark emotions that he himself has inside. You kneeled up again as you raised your hand towards him, your thumb in the middle. He watched expectantly, the heat in his body rising to extraordinary levels as the anticipation was killing him from inside out.

“If tyranny is what my Omega wants… Tyranny is what you are going to get.”

And you turned your thumb upwards.

The crowd was cheering loudly as the gladiators fought on the field below.

Caracalla was laughing, clapping as he looked back at General Acacius, but the man’s eyes were fixated on the person on his left, the one that was behind the other throne. 

You were standing tall as one of your hands rested at the top of the throne while the other was being gripped by your Omega’s hand, over his right shoulder. Your attire had changed into a general’s. You were wearing golden gear, with a red cape hanging from your shoulders. Women never wore these attires, much less, women didn’t go to war, even those who were Alphas. You were the exception at the Emperor’s orders.

When you two mated two months ago, you had sworn you would protect Geta, at any cost. That he will rule, even if the people and the council found out he was an omega. But before that, you two had to pay some people a visit. The council.

The moment Geta walked in with you right behind him, all the men in the room winced in disgust, getting up from their seats as the emperor sat next to his brother who was shocked, his mouth agape as he smelled his sibling. You walked to stand next to him, your eyes filled with the intent of murder, with the thirst of blood, which made the men in the room sit back down, slowly, and against their will.

“I have deceived you all. As you can smell, I am not an Alpha. I never have been, but I plan to keep ruling as an omega… I have been for years now, you all didn’t notice. It doesn’t change anything.” At that, all the men in the room started yelling, Alphas and Betas pointing fingers at the emperor, and you wanted to growl loudly, warn them to not overstep, but Geta held your hand, noticing how angry you had gotten. The men fell silent as they saw the gesture, now looking at you.

“You have been mated.” One of them said, and Geta nodded with confidence. His brother smiled and clapped in excitement, making him look at Caracalla with surprise in his features.

“A mate! A mate! Everyone rejoice!” Geta smiled with teeth, feeling his belly turn with excitement, squeezing your hand in the process. Your chest puffed up with pride, a nod towards Caracalla in appreciation, even if you knew his dementia had gotten the best of him, he never stopped feeling happy for his brother.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Your head and Geta’s turned to look at the man at the back, an Alpha, getting up from his seat as he walked to the middle of the room, facing the emperors and yourself. “Rome has never been ruled by an Omega and never will! Omegas are at the bottom of the class chart, and you are no exception! Demoted! BEHEADED! You must be demoted–”

Before he could finish his sentence, his head was falling to the floor. Everyone sat in silence as they shivered, some peed themselves in fear, and even Alphas were about to whimper as they looked at the sword that was dripping blood and then at the bearer of it. Your eyes were looking at how the headless body now fell to the floor, your eyes moving upwards to the council in front of you.

“The moment you touch one single hair of his… is the moment I kill your kin in front of your eyes, and I shove their guts down your throats.” The men in the room stayed silent, even the women who served as concubines and servers who stood in a corner of the room. Your eyes scanned everyone as you raised the bloodied sword to them.

“This–” A man tried to respond, but your eyes dug deep into his skull before he could finish.

“Emperor Geta will rule Rome. My army is already on its way here, an army of 3,000 men and women. Barbarians that the only way they know to fight is to rip the intestines raw from your stomachs and strangle you with them.” You lowered your sword as you turned to look at everyone in the room. “The moment you do something to him, is the moment I burn Rome down. No man, woman, child, baby, or dog will be spared. There will be nothing left to rule.”

The room stayed silent for just a few seconds before one of the men raised his hand up in acceptance and surrender. The rest followed through.

The people were not happy, but as they saw your soldiers on the street, witnessing how vicious they were to whoever protested, they calmed down. They have swallowed the fact an Omega is now ruling Rome, their home, fearing for their lives. Nobody had ever tried to take Geta down. Not when you are standing right behind him every second of every day, like his own personal shadow.

“I have one more surprise for you, my love.” You whispered into Geta’s ear, and he smiled as he got up from his chair, seeing all the gladiators now dead on the ring thanks to your men. Guts were all over the dirt as if a painter had done marvelous work. Your men stood in a wide circle as a gate opened, a figure walking in, stumbling. Geta’s eyes widened as he turned to look at you. “I may have kept him alive and lied to you about his departure to savor this moment.”

The Emperor looked back to the field, a small smile appearing on his lips as the crowd remained quiet. Caius stood in the middle of the field, beard now on his features, much more skinnier, bruises on his skin and a sack of potatoes as his only clothes. He looked up at the emperor with tears rolling down his eyes.

“Just for me…”

“He locked you in, intending to murder you. You and I were lucky that the Alpha in that room was me, my sun.” Geta turned around to face you, leaning down to place an appreciative kiss on your lips. Displays of affection were not something common and were frowned upon for indecency, but he couldn’t help himself, and he was the emperor. He could do whatever he pleased. You moaned into the kiss, and he pulled away with a smile, turning around once more, looking down at the doctor who had betrayed him months back.

“Mercy… I ask for mercy, please!” He begged. Mercy? Geta's top lip twitched as he snarled at the man, his right hand coming to rest on his belly. His left hand raised up, thumb right in the middle as you stood behind him. There was no shakiness in his hand. This is Rome. Your Omega’s rome. And you will defend it and him until the day you perish.

And Geta’s finger turned downwards.

the end

a/n: look, i did say the demons won, and this is not everyone's cup of tea, i do know this, but this man is not an alpha. also, a reblog helps

i will tag a few people that interacted with the geta posts: @keeryhours @doomsdaybby @userchai @xgrxcefulx

dividers by @saradika-graphics, banner by me.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Would a Tighnari alphabet be alright?

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He likes to be spooned after sex, the little spoon of course. Having your arms wrapped around his torso, his hands clasped over yours, and gentle breathing on his neck or in his hair.

Tighnari is great at checking in during sex, and afterwards he's great at making sure you get what you need to recover correctly. Even when he's the one getting his shit rocked, he will make sure you're well taken care of.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I mean, his ears are pretty soft and useful… but besides those, I think Tighnari would be proud of his arms and shoulders.

Of yours, I'd say he would love your chest the most, because it makes a damn good pillow 😁

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Lewdnari loves to cum in your mouth and have you cum in his mouth. The taste, the feeling of accomplishment, and the more submissive side of accepting all that your partner has to offer — all things that make it enjoyable for him.

Also, he has this habit of humping things after he cums. Usually it's the sheets or your hand, but sometimes he'll simply hump the air if that's all that he can manage.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tighnari will cum so hard if you hold his tail up and rut against his hole/in between his cheeks. Full on tongue hanging out, drooling, eyes crossed while he cums so hard, humping the bed during the aftershocks kind of orgasm.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I do think Tighnari would be a virgin for most of his early adult years, but he's not clueless or dumb. Bro literally studies nature, he's well aware of sex between all sorts of species. Regarding the intricacies of human (or hybrid) sex, he learns quickly and is great at observation, so picking up on tiny cues that tell him what you do and don't like comes naturally to Tighnari.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Doggy style, bent over anything and everything, and knelt between your legs.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Not particularly silly, although there are rare times when Tighnari will make a funny noise and it gets a chuckle out of you (and him, sometimes), but that's not on purpose.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Oh, his pubic hair is really cute! It's the same dark colour as his other body hair, just with some green highlights mixed in, and yeah, that's a natural occurrence. It's a pretty jewel tone green and it looks so beautiful when you brush your fingers through it.

His bush is extremely thick btw. No way he's shaving it either.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Quite intimate, I would say. Tighnari is all about the emotional connection during sex, as well as the physical closeness. Being able to experience such a level of intimacy is something that he treasures greatly.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

It's rare for Tighnari to masturbate, but when he does decide to feel himself up, he likes to use some form of herbal enhancement on his dick. Knowing his way around the ecosystem, he's definitely discovered some interesting ones to mix and incorporate into his private times.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Size difference kink, not a shadow of a doubt with that one. I could also picture Tighnari liking object insertion, and I guess drugging in a sense? He likes to experiment with different herbs and their effects soooo…

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

In nature for sure, but not where there's heavy foot traffic. Tighnari does not enjoy exhibitionism…

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Touching his ears in a specific way can easily turn him on. You have to begin by combing through his hair for a while, then gradually creep towards the base of his ears and slowly massage them, by that point Tighnari's cock is probably twitching in his pants, and he may even rock his hips unconsciously. From then on, you can either touch his cock directly and possibly get him to cum prematurely, or you can whisper to him about how dirty he is for getting turned on this easily and drag the situation out~

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No truly public sex, in front of actual people/a crowd. That's his biggest no-no.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves both way too much! Tighnari is a bit obsessed with cock, taking cock, sucking cock, having his cock sucked, and just having your cock next to his face. Likes to lay his head in your lap while you're chilling and subtly slip your cock out of your pants, sucking on it through the fabric, bobbing his head like a good boyfriend while you play with his ass or rub his ears.

I think he would be very good at giving head too. He's trained his gag reflex well, and can take you down his throat with almost no issue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

A good mix of everything honestly. He's more eager for fast pounding when he's in heat, and generally prefers a more balanced mix of paces otherwise.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

They're ok as long as that's not the only type of sex you're having. Tighnari needs longer sessions that tire him out more often than most people.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

I'd say yes, with a lot of things. As long as you're not doing it in public, Tighnari is willing to experiment. And as long as you're willing to experiment with all sorts of concoctions to spice up your sex life in return.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

E for excellent stamina! Tighnari can last for an absurdly long time, withstanding multiple rounds and multiple orgasms with little to no trouble.

In fact, he offers to bounce on it just to allow you a break, so that you can keep going in a bit.

Going into heat makes him impossibly insatiable. It's not exactly what he wants, but you had to buy a couple dildos for him to bounce on just to keep him from fucking your cock clean off…

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Going off of that last section, Tighnari isn't a fan of toys, but you do own a couple of dildos just for him to use during his heats. He's going to ride you for as long as physically possible, but once you tap out Tighnari will have to sink down on a large silicone cock and get his fix that way.

If your slutty partner gets too noisy, just take a dildo that he's not using and fuck his mouth with it. That's usually enough to make him go limp and give you a short break.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Maybe a little teasing here and there isn't that bad… but Tighnari isn't really into pushing your buttons that much. Just enough to make you sink your dick into him quickly and get right to the fun, that's all~

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

LOUD. Nonstop noises of some variety. Usually he just moans and pants heavily, but as I mentioned earlier, Tighnari can create some silly noises too. Shrill squeaks when you catch him off guard, he might snort or snarl when he's feeling more frustrated and antsy, or even hiccups from crying during a particularly satisfying round.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

This guy is a nuzzler. Loves to nuzzle your nose, your cheek, your chest, your thighs, and… nuzzle against your cock.

He very much enjoys rubbing his face all over your clothed cock, getting it wet with spit from sucking on it through your underwear first, then letting it rest on his face while he stares up with stars in his eyes. Tighnari is perhaps a little bit of a cock addict…

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

A pretty 6 inch dick, not girthy, more on the skinny side. I'm not going to definitively say whether he's cut or uncut, because I think he could be either.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Quite high, it matches his stamina in a way. You don't notice it at first because Tighnari is great at hiding it to focus on his work as a forest ranger, but trust me, his libido is kind of crazy once you realize it.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

With as much stamina as he has, if Tighnari ever does fall asleep it's not for a long time, and when he wakes back up he will expect you to pick up where you left off.

[areislol]

‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfox's devotion

pairings. m!kitsune x gn! reader

warnings. slight yandere tendecies, nothing too much, proof-read. set in ancient japan. kitsune wears a yishang despite it beingset in japan so don't mind that.

a/n. i love fox hybrids :') if there are any mistakes please let me know!

wordcount. 2.1k

the quiet forests of the yamashiro mountains were no place for a lone traveller, especially with the whispers of mischievous spirits haunting the winds. but you had no choice.

you were sent to retrieve herbs for your ailing grandmother, and the rarest ones only grew in the deep woods, where mortals dared not venture.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the dense trees as you carefully made your way along the narrow path. you’d heard the stories—how travelers would be lured off their paths by strange lights or laughing voices, never to be seen again.

kitsune were the most feared, ancient fox spirits with the power to trick even the wisest of sages.

but you didn’t believe in such tales… at least, not until you met him.

it started with laughter—soft, melodic, but undeniably playful. the moment you heard it, you stopped in your tracks, eyes darting around for the source. there was no one in sight, but you felt a presence, something watching you from the trees.

“h—hello?” you called out hesitantly, gripping your basket tighter.

more laughter, closer this time. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and before you could react, a figure appeared before you. he seemed to materialize from the mist itself—standing tall, his molten silver hair cascading down his back in waves that seem to shimmer under the moonlight, as if alive with an ethereal glow.

his sharp, golden eyes, reminiscent of a predator, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. every movement he makes is smooth, graceful, and effortless, as though he’s one with the very wind itself.

he’s draped in yishang, its silken fabric flowing around him in delicate layers. the garment, though traditional, carries a mysterious air, its texture almost too smooth, too fluid, as if it was woven from the very essence of the night.

even when the air is still, his robes sway gently, giving him an otherworldly presence, like a mirage that could vanish at any moment. and when he smiled, his sharp teeth gleamed in the fading sunlight.

but the most striking feature? the nine tails that swayed lazily behind him.

a kitsune.

“you seem lost, little human,” he purred, his voice as smooth as silk. his lips curled into a sly smile. “or perhaps… you’re just looking for a bit of company?”

your heart raced as you stepped back, your mind screaming at you to run, but something about his gaze rooted you to the spot. he was beautiful—dangerously so—and the playful tilt of his head as he regarded you made you feel like prey.

“i—i’m not lost,” you stammered, trying to sound braver than you felt. “i’m just gathering herbs.”

the kitsune’s eyes gleamed with amusement, and he took a step closer, his movements graceful and almost predatory. “ah, how noble of you,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “but these woods are no place for a delicate thing like you. it’s dangerous.”

“i’ll be fine,” you insisted, though your voice wavered. you tried to sidestep him, but he blocked your path effortlessly, his tails flicking with amusement.

“i can’t let you wander around like that,” he said, his smile widening as he leaned in, his voice a low, teasing whisper. “what if something happened to you? i’d feel terribly guilty.”

you frowned, trying to put some distance between you, but his presence seemed to fill the entire space, surrounding you. his scent—like wildflowers and something musky—invaded your senses, making it hard to think clearly.

“i don’t need your help,” you said firmly, taking another step back. “i’ll manage on my own.”

the kitsune’s expression darkened for just a moment, his eyes flashing dangerously before returning to their playful glint. “oh, but i insist,” he purred, circling you slowly. “i can’t leave such a lovely human alone in these woods, after all. it wouldn’t be right.”

without warning, he vanished in a puff of mist, reappearing behind you in the blink of an eye. you gasped, spinning around to face him, but his long fingers had already wrapped around your wrist, gentle but unyielding.

“let me go,” you demanded, trying to pull free, but his grip only tightened, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a fierce intensity.

“why would i ever do that?” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “you’ve captured my interest, human. i’ve been watching you for some time now.”

your heart pounded in your chest. “what do you mean?”

the kitsune’s lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “i’ve seen you… in the village, tending to your family, always so kind, so sweet. you didn’t know, but i’ve been waiting for you. and now that i have you…” his grip on your wrist tightened slightly, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“i’m not letting you go.”

you swallowed hard, feeling your pulse race under his touch. “i… i’m just a healer. there’s nothing special about me.”

the kitsune chuckled softly, his tails swaying behind him like flickering flames. “oh, but you are special. you see, humans are so fragile, so fleeting… and yet, you’ve managed to catch my attention.”

his words sent a chill down your spine. "i don’t belong to you,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled slightly.

the kitsune’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the playful mask he wore slipped, revealing something far more dangerous beneath. "right."

you tried to pull away again, but he was faster, his arms wrapping around you in an almost crushing embrace, his nine tails curling around your body like chains. his face was inches from yours, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that left you breathless.

“you’ll see,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “i can give you everything. power, immortality, anything you desire… as long as you stay by my side.”

your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing for a way out, but the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became. he wasn’t going to let you go.

“i don’t need power or immortality,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to let him see your fear. “i just need to get the herbs and be on my way.”

the kitsune tilted his head, his smile returning, though it was far more sinister now. “you’ll learn to love me,” he said softly, his voice filled with dark promise. “i’ll make sure of it.”

before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips sfotly brushing the edge of his lips, the heat of his body pressed against yours, and for a moment, you felt yourself slipping into the depths of his obsession.

but you weren’t ready to give in. not yet.

with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him back, breaking the kiss and stumbling away from him, your chest heaving.

"wha—what do you think you're doing!?" you exclaimed, cheeks flustered. that was your first kiss!! and he just took it so casually!!

the kitsune stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his smile returned.

“feisty,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with approval. “i like that.”

and with that, he vanished into the mist, his laughter echoing through the trees.

but you knew this wasn’t over.

it had been days since your encounter with the kitsune in the forest. though you managed to escape his immediate grasp, his presence lingered in every corner of your mind.

his laughter echoed in your thoughts, and you often felt his eyes watching, even when you were alone.

you tried to go about your daily life, but the eerie sensation never left you. every shadow, every rustle of leaves, felt like him—waiting, lurking, ready to reappear.

and, as you feared, he did.

you had returned to your village, thinking maybe being surrounded by people would keep him at bay. but even within the walls of your modest home, with your grandmother sleeping soundly in the next room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

the silence of the night was thick and oppressive, and the flickering light of the oil lamp seemed to dance in the windless air.

suddenly, you heard it—soft footsteps outside, impossibly light yet unmistakable. you froze, your heart pounding in your chest. it was him. you knew it.

“don’t,” you whispered to yourself, but your feet moved on their own, leading you to the door.

the moment you slid it open, the cool night air hit you, and there he stood—leaning against the entrance, his golden eyes glowing under the moonlight, the tips of his tails barely visible in the shadows.

“miss me?” he purred, his voice laced with amusement, though there was a hunger in his gaze that made your skin prickle.

“i told you to leave me alone,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt. “i don’t want anything to do with you.”

his smile faltered for a split second before returning, though now it held a dangerous edge. “you keep saying that, little one, but you don’t really mean it.” he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “i can feel it. i can feel how your heart races when i’m near.”

lord, did he have to say that outloud?

his presence was overwhelming—suffocating, like he was weaving a web around you with every movement, every word.

“Iive been patient,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “but my patience is wearing thin. i’ve watched you every night, waiting… and now, i’m done waiting.”

you took a shaky step back, speaking up. “you don’t own me,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “i’m not yours...”

in an instant, his hand was against the wall beside your head, trapping you. his nine tails fanned out behind him, glowing faintly in the moonlight as if reacting to his emotions.

“oh, but you are,” he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “you were mine the moment i laid eyes on you. and now, no matter what you say, i’m not letting you go.”

your heart raced, your mind spinning as his words sunk in. there was no reasoning with him, no escape from his obsession. he truly believed that you belonged to him.

turning your head away from him you shook your head, "absolutely not!! i will not be your prisoner!" you hissed, trying to ignore the flutter of fear and something far more dangerous creeping into your chest.

the kitsune chuckled softly, his fingers gently tilting your chin back toward him. “prisoner? no, no, no… i don’t want to trap you. i want to protect you. keep you safe from the world that doesn’t deserve you.”

his words, so tender yet possessive, made your stomach twist. he leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch deceptively gentle. “i’ll give you everything you need,” he whispered. “i’ll care for you in ways no human ever could.”

“and if I say no?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath. you hated how weak you sounded, how difficult it was to stand your ground when he was so close, so overwhelming.

his golden eyes narrowed, his smile fading ever so softly. “you won’t say no.” his voice was soft, but the warning was clear.

before you could react, he pressed his lips to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. his hands, now gently cupping your face, were trembling slightly—as if holding back some deeper, more dangerous impulse. his tails coiled around your body, binding you to him as if to remind you that there was no escape.

you tried to pull away, but the kiss deepened, his lips moving with an intensity that stole your breath. it wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim, a promise, a binding of your very soul to his.

when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes glowed with triumph. “you feel it too, don’t you?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. “that pull between us. you can’t deny it forever.”

you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, torn between fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous—something that threatened to draw you in.

his touch, his words, his very presence, seemed to wrap around you like a spell.

this was bad.

without another word, he stepped back, the cool air filling the space between you once more. his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he vanished into the night, his form dissolving into mist, leaving you breathless and shaken.

he would return. he always would. after all, he had already decided—you were his, he was yours, and there was no escaping a fox’s devotion.

[mochinomnoms]

I don't know if you've already answered this, but how would ptm go if Jade was the one reading Yuu's mind instead? Or if the ability switched over to him for some length of time, how would he use it?

I do have some ideas of how it can get switched over to other people in PTM, I just haven't decided how exactly. Though I have written two short drabbles about Riddle and Azul having Yuu's telepathy for a bit!

I think it would be funny if Jade somehow got their telepathy right around the time that Yuu is at the brink of insanity trying to figure out how to get Jade to confess to them (they can't comprehend doing it themselves, they chicken out).

Perhaps they unintentionally transfer their power one evening to Jade, after a study session, and when they wake up in the morning, they're panicking because they can't hear anyone's thoughts. Originally, this might have been a blessing, but they've gotten so used to it, it's been a habit to talk to their friends discreetly through it, and it's been their one-way ticket into Jade's heart! He might not have even liked them as much as he has without it (nevermind that his feelings were established well before their telepathy developed).

So they're walking around school, immensely distressed and getting spooky by everyone every minute. It's awful, Riddle tries to console them by telling them how much better it's going to be now that they don't have to deal with all of that extra stimulation feeding into their head.

When they talk to Azul about it later on, he surprisingly doesn't seem very surprised about it. He does advise that perhaps they limit their interactions with Jade, though he doesn't say exactly why. It makes sense to them though, they can't act accordingly to how Jade wants them, and if they start acting weird now it will ruin...whatever it is that the two of them have.

Of course, they both are in the same potionology group, so it's hard to avoid him. It's worse when Yev asks that the two of them go alone to the botanical gardens later to forage for some ingredients. You both show up separately, Yuu arriving before Jade.

They hate not being able to hear anyone, it would be so easy to sneak behind them. But really, they just are still distress about not being able to hear Jade.

Ugh, should I just be like super cool-faced? Will that throw him off? Maybe I should be cutesy? He likes cutesy, right? UGH! WHY DO I EVEN CARE NOW???

Yuu kicks at a rock in their path, huffing and stomping over to the magical herbs section.

I didn't even like him that much! Why do I even like him now? He thinks weird lewd thoughts about me and tries to get me alone with him to make them become real! That's weird! That should make me not like him, why do I feel the exact opposite!

They're so deep in their thoughts that they don't hear the footsteps behind them, though if Jade doesn't want to be noticed, then he won't.

Stupid! It's not fair, I want to kiss his stupid face and hold his stupid hand. Why can't he confess first? It's not fair, he's had feelings way longer than me! If he wants me, maybe he should initiate one of his stupid, lewd fantasies instead of just dreaming about it!

Yuu is well aware of the irony in their sentence, but they won't admit it. Not while they're pulling the vervian.

Hmph. My doesn't he take initiative, hmm? H-he's got that stupid long tongue, I've seen it! H-he can kiss me and m-make me all dizzy, a-and scrape those stupid teeth down my neck…Ja-Jade would be gentle…right? O-or maybe he'll be a little mean, and leave a mark as he goes further down and down and—

They choke on a scream as they feel a pair of hands grab them, one around their waist and another grasping their right hand.

“Oya~ You're quite the hypocrite, aren't you?”

Jade was purring in Yuu's ear, his breath fanning over their neck and making them shiver.

“J-Jade! What are you—”

“When I woke up this morning, I thought that perhaps I'd been cursed. It was like I was hearing everyone speak in layers, they'd say one thing, but mean another.”

A shuddering whimper left their mouth, their left hand clasping over, as Jade's lips pressed against the back of their ear.

“Huh? J-Jade this is really in—”

“Azul gave it away, of course. He's never been able to really hide his thoughts from Floyd and I. But add this sudden gift of, what do you call it...telepathy? And he's like a treasure chest that's been forced open and presenting me with a trove of knowledge.”

Yuu froze, icy cold fear coursing their veins as Jade's grip on them tightened. Like he knew that their flight response was gearing to go.

What. He's got—no, he doesn't—

“Yes, my pearl, it's exactly as you think!” Jade sighed, nuzzling into the side of Yuu's neck and inhaling at the bend of their neck, where their pulse was rapidly increasing. “I was surprised, hearing from Azul, that you'd been struggling with this all year. Even more when his mind slipped that you'd been particularly stressed because of me.”

Jade sighed, a sad and deep sigh as he pressed another kiss into their neck, using his nose to push their collar to the side and kiss their shoulder.

“Devastating, isn't it? To know that my beloved, my mate, my pearl was distressed because of me! Aaah, that knowledge just broke my heart...”

Oh. God. Oh god, oh godoh god—

Yuu swallowed, deciding to take a peak at Jade from the corner of their eyes, freezing as Jade's own bi-colored eyes bore into them, a smirk on his lips growing as soon as he noticed them looking.

“At least until I came in here, and heard those delicious thoughts of yours.”

A low chuckle left Jade as he scraped his teeth along Yuu's jaw.

“Would you like me to make the first move? Would you like to to, what was it you're imagining? Take my 'stupid long tongue' and make you 'dizzy with it?' That was it, yes?”

Jade's hand around their waist ghosted down, fingertips grazing down to rub and squeeze at their inner thigh.

“You wanted me to go, how did you imagine? Further down and down with my tongue until...well, you didn't finish that thought, did you? I interrupted you, so...why don't you tell me?”

I-I can't...

“Of course you can, I'm being quite vulnerable with you. Won't you do the same with me, my pearl? I beg.”

Jade's voice turned whiny, meek, pleading as he brought Yuu's hand up to press a kiss to their palm.

“J-Jade, I want you to-to—” Yuu whimpered, finally turning their head to look at Jade, who tilted his head in curiosity and delight.

“Yes?”

“C-can you kiss me? Please?”

His eyes softened, lips slightly opening as he let out a gentle breath.

“Oh, why, of course, my pearl.”

Who was he to deny them. Who am I to deny myself. He thought as he obliged to the simple request and fulfilled both of their wishes.

[katyawriteswhump]

Second chance (soul)mates 💖

For @stmarchmm day 14 prompt, ‘Second chance romance’ (very late, I’m sorry, though this also sort of works with day 28, ‘broken mating bond,’ so I can pretend I’m early!) Also, @steddiebingo fill, ‘Tears for Fears.’

Some of the herbs/flowers come from amazing fantasy plant designs from @moonjelly69, please check them out here and here. They deserve to be at the heart of a fic of their own, but they helped me get this one going again—thank you 🪻🌹🌸🌺🌻🌼

Rating: M; WC: 4200; CW: Biting, bite-puncture licking, unhealed injuries, saliva as healing balm, rashes, collars, alcohol, sick fic, and passing mentions of drug dealing. Tags: O!Steve, A!Eddie, protective Eddie, sick Steve, hurt/comfort, angst with a very happy ending, herbal medicine, happy ever after. Read on Ao3

🌸💖🌸💖

When Eddie began dating Steve, Eddie was a senior the first time around, and they’d both recently presented their secondary genders.

In a High School drenched in blockers and dampeners, Steve’s dreamy magnolia musk whispered to Eddie. On their first date, they’d shared a black-cherry-and-vanilla sundae at a diner… and their first kiss behind the bike sheds had rocked Eddie’s world. Steve had practically liquified in Eddie’s arms, his perfume blending with Eddie’s tangy cherry and skullcap-herbs.

Unfortunately, they were young and dumb.

The night it ended, Steve threw a party—it was at his house, while his folks were out of town. He’d told Eddie it’d be kinda intimate, and Metallica was totally on the playlist. Eddie, idiot that he was, was actually looking forward to it.

And then he did something crazy.

He spent the afternoon picking flowers from Granny Munson’s garden, plucking the perfect blooms to match Steve’s scent. Then, with guidance from Granny, he foraged deep into the forest to locate herbs and deeply buried roots that matched his own.

It took so long to scrub the dirt off he was late for the party. By which time, Steve was doing shots with that obnoxious beta, Tommy H.

“They’re pretty,” said Steve, when Eddie presented the bouquet.

“Glad you like. The cherry blossom and herbs are from the forest. The wild crimson roses and the rest came from my gran’s garden, which is also in the forest, so—"

“Jesus, can’t afford a florist, Munson?”  Tommy snorted with laughter. Steve vaguely giggled, dumped the flowers in a bucket of melted ice then… apparently forgot about them.

Eddie was pissed, though perked up when Steve dragged him outside to make-out by the pool. Steve was buzzed, his delicate flavor fucked-up with vodka, so it wasn’t surprising he’d not paid attention to the bouquet’s scent. With Steve grinding against his thighs, his hands on Steve’s ass and his tongue delving for Steve’s tonsils, Eddie figured he’d moved on.

Steve kept drinking. They both kept drinking. And then, Steve started asking if Eddie loved him. Whining on and on about it, in fact.

That was when Eddie realised that he’d not quite forgiven Steve’s snub of the flowers.

Fuck, he was seventeen! No way was he gonna drop the l-bomb to some spoiled Omega brat bawling what were doubtless crocodile tears at him.

They wound up screaming at each other. Tommy H and the rest of the dickwads watched from the sidelines, stuffing candy and popcorn. Soon after, Steve threw up into a potted palm—with Eddie pausing in his anger to hold the Omega’s hair back and generally sooth him.

As soon as Steve recovered, he reverted to whimpering about love. Tommy put on Tears for Fears again—Nope, not a single Metallica track had made it onto the playlist. Still, the pop lyrics hit home. Right now, Eddie Munson would happily ‘turn his back on mother nature,’ and he was freakin’ thrilled ‘nothing ever lasts forever.’ He flipped the bird at his sulking Omega and stomped out of the Harrington’s, out of Steve’s life.

They barely talked through the next two years at High School, and any slight whiff Eddie caught of Steve scent made him wanna lose his shit.

Steve graduated. Soon after, Eddie heard he’d gotten engaged to some hotshot banker. Which, for reasons Eddie didn’t want to analyse too hard, made him want to punch a hole in a breezeblock wall. Eddie scraped through graduation the same year as Gareth, then decided he was through with Hawkins.

He said goodbye to Wayne, took off in his van with his guitar and his dreams.

Neither of which made him any cash. But hey, he dealt pot like the stealthy pro he was. He got by. He even peddled legal herbs from his van, courtesy of Granny Munson’s teaching and notes, which she’d bequeathed to him when she sadly passed.

Every few months, he turned his van back toward Hawkins to check in on Wayne. He was heading that way, when he strolled into a liquor store in some small town south of the Indiana state line.

And performed the most profound double-take of his life.

Yeah, that sad, little Omega hunched at the checkout was Steve Harrington.

Eddie’s eyes didn’t lie. Neither did his nose, which caught the faintest whiff of Steve’s fragile magnolia scent, which was, somehow, totally soured and simply off.

Eddie instantly spotted one reason why. Steve wore an ugly brown-leather collar, which smothered his throat from collarbone to chin. Wow! This was fucking incredible! Only the worst kind of trad parents forced chastity collars on Omegas these days. Fired by an anger and protectiveness that blindsided him, Eddie grabbed a random six-pack and made a beeline for the checkout. By which time, Steve had noticed Eddie. A blush spread up the Omega’s too-pale cheeks.

 Eddie plonked down his six-pack. “Hey.”

“Hey! Wow. It’s, uh, great to see you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s fixed-feeling grin concealed how his heart ached. Okay, the hair was still pretty cool. The rest of Steve? His cheekbones were never that sharp before. The shadows beneath his eyes were stark as bruises, and frankly he looked sick.

“You just gonna stare? ‘Cos, ya know, getting creepy.” Steve winced and tugged his collar.

Eddie shook himself out of his fury and grief-drenched trance.

“Great to see you too. Kinda surprised to see you working here, that’s all. Thought you got married?”

“Let’s just say that didn’t work out as planned,” said Steve, keying the price into the register. “That’s three dollars ninety-five, please. Should probably ask for ID, but…”  He rolled his eyes. “Not like I don’t know how old you are. It’s been, what, four years? You graduated yet?”

Eddie shrugged, any words jamming behind his clenching teeth. With every passing moment, he grew more furious at seeing Steve so blatantly uncared for. Worse, Steve would sense that anger, without knowing what it was about. The Omega’s eyes grew saucer-huge. Eddie conjured a tight smile and presented a five-dollar bill:

“When do you clock off? Would be cool to catch up. How ‘bout I buy you dinner at that diner across the street?”

Steve jolted and actually squeaked.

“No pressure,” added Eddie.

The woman behind Eddie in the queue started huffing and hassling them. Eddie glared at her. Steve passed Eddie his change in silence, and his hopes faded. Till Steve shoved the six-pack at him, whispering, “I finish at seven.”

Eddie waited in the diner, watching from across the street. At 7.17, Steve hadn’t shown up and Eddie… Nope, he wasn’t angry, not with Steve. He wasn’t that seventeen-year-old knot-head anymore. He was beating himself up more than anything. Had he scared Steve off with his anger at seeing the Omega so… unloved.

Steve said that his marriage hadn’t worked out. That didn’t mean he wasn’t stuck in a bad marriage where some son-of-a-bitch husband made him wear that collar for punishment, or simply to keep other Alphas at bay. Then again, Eddie hadn’t spied a wedding ring, so did Steve’s parents force the collar upon him? That had been Eddie’s primary hunch, although, as far as he knew, Steve’s parents still lived in Hawkins.

Eddie was revved up to serve any of them a knuckle sandwich. That said, if Steve didn’t want to meet him, he must accept it. He was only shocked at how much that idea pained him.

He paid for his coffee, left the diner. That’s when a faint thread of Steve’s scent hooked him—horribly soured, more than even earlier. Eddie followed his nose around the back of the store where Steve worked, and located the Omega crouched between two dumpsters, which were kinda stinky, though Eddie easily blotted those out. All his senses fixated on Steve.

Steve, meanwhile, must’ve sensed Eddie's approach, because he didn’t startle. He was trying, with trembling hands, to buckle his chastity collar back on.

“Hey, it’s okay. Do you need help, Honey? What are you doing here?” Eddie crouched at Steve’s side, and Steve dropped the collar, instead covering his face with both his hands. Eddie shoved his face closer to the Omega’s throat, because… “Holy crap!”

Steve’s collar had concealed an angry red rash. At its heart was two weeping bite holes. They looked like they could be recent, and… Fuuuuuck! This was why Steve’s perfume was so ruined. He reeked not only of sorrow and rejection. His own scent was polluted with the acrid-protein marker of whatever a-hole Alpha had sunk their dirty fangs into Steve’s sensitive gland, munching deep as those preciously quivering veins.

“It’s so gross. I’m so gross!” Steve crumpled forward into a ball, sliding his knees up to hug them. “My skin gets so itchy and scabby,” he mumbled. “I had to take it off, just to breathe, and…  Seriously, I was doing you a favor, standing you up. Dinner would’ve been nice and all, but I don’t feel so good, and… Get lost, Eddie. You’ve seen the truth. I’m fucking ruined.”

“Ruined? I never gave a crap about that conformity BS, remember? And you could never, ever be gross to me.” It was true. Even now, his inner Alpha wanted to blanket the Omega with his body, to smother this Omega’s pain and sorrow until they were distant nightmares, and after that..? Nope, those thoughts were forbidden-fucking-fruit right now.  Very gently, he laid a hand on the Omega’s shoulder. “I can’t ditch you like this. How about a ride home? If you’re not comfortable with that, I can call you a taxi?”

“My bike’s not far away,” sniffed Steve, peeping up. “I’ll be fine.”

No way could the Omega cycle anywhere in this palpably trembling state. In the end, when Eddie refused to leave him up some dingy alleyway, Steve said he’d prefer Eddie gave him a ride: “No taxi driver would take me anywhere stinking like this.”

It was probably true. Though, to Eddie’s nose, Steve and all his hurts didn’t smell terrible, only tragic. Eddie helped Steve to his van, the Omega leaning heavily against him.

After Eddie collected Steve’s bike, they headed off. They chitchatted about High School and anybody they’d kept in touch with, until Steve, between giving directions, said, “Guess you wanna know how I fucked up my life. Don’t worry, you’re allowed to piss yourself laughing.”

Eddie wanted to growl, I would never! Instead, he struggled not to howl with rage, as Steve spilled his sad tale.

He’d gotten engaged soon after graduation to one of his mom’s business partners. He’d courted Steve with lavish gifts, and silky vows, and Steve had liked him well enough. Enough to let the Alpha plant a claim mark on his gland, before they were actually wed.

Then a business deal fell through, and Steve’s fiancé got the hell out of Dodge.

Steve gingerly fingered a couple of raw-looking blisters under his chin. “So yeah, believe it or not, these marks are over two years old. My parents made me wear the chastity collar while they healed. They wanted to deny it ever happened and get me back on the marriage market… but the punctures never knitted. Happens sometimes, when you’re rejected with a shit-ton of Alpha protein-marker in your blood. So, yeah, I was dispatched here to live with my aunt. Now I have to wear the collar because nobody employs a single Omega with gaping bite holes.” He snickered joylessly. “What a joke. Everyone knows it means the opposite. Might as well have a neon sign above my head flashing, Cheap Omega slut! Oh hey, turn right here, thanks. My aunt’s place is three blocks along.”

Eddie rounded the corner, then pulled up at the kerbside, jerking the handbreak viciously.

“What are you doing?” asked Steve, tremulous.

“Nothing, if you don’t want. Firstly, you didn’t fuck up your life, Steve. None of what I’ve heard was your fault. Secondly, you must know better than me that if your bites never heal, you’re gonna be sick and weak pretty much all the time. You are sick, and look, I reckon I can help you. Listen, I sell herbs, and—” His turn to snicker—"not all of them are illegal. I got recipes for all kinds of natural medicines and a ton of jars and dried plant stuff in the back. Will you let me mix you something?”

Steve crinkled his nose then sniffed. “Okay, shoot. Thanks. You can see how the dumb collar irritates my skin. It’ll keep me awake for sure, and I’m sooo fucking exhausted all the time.”

Eddie went around to the rear of the van and opened the panel between his stash and the front seats. In the aftermath of what had to be a blast of crazy herb odors, he poked his head through.

“Wow! So many amazing smells.” Steve twisted to meet Eddie’s gaze and quirked a slight smile. “Yours isn’t so bad either, tho’ I… haven’t been able to stomach cherries since we split.”

Eddie beamed dopily, and his tongue wettened across his lips. Maybe he’d try and coax Steve to have that dinner with him tomorrow.

“Look, gonna come clean,” said Steve. “The bites tend to flare up bad when an attractive Alpha wanders into the store. Like, they’re trying to repel anyone interested away from fucked-up little me, I guess.”

The sadness returned to Steve’s voice, which only steeled Eddie’s resolution to ask for… Screw it, he was gonna ask for a date.

It was too dark to read in the back of the van. He shoved a stained and dog-eared notebook through to Steve:

“Right, here’s Granny Munson’s medicine notes. Try under A or B for ‘Alpha bites,’ or ‘bite scars.’ Or we could try C for ‘claiming marks.’” The sudden sour wave of distress from the Omega was among the worst Eddie had detected yet. “Steve, what is it?”

“Those flowers you brought me… that night. They were from her garden, right? Your granny.” Steve’s voice wobbled, and he turned sharply away. “In the morning, once I’d stopped feeling so shitty, I smelled them. They were beautiful, and the herbs, they reminded me of… Oh crap, you’d matched our scents. It was incredible, and I wanted to apologise. I was such an idiot. I-I nearly said sorry, so many times. I was too proud… Such an idiot!”

“Hey, it’s all good. We’re all good now.” Eddie reached to give Steve a little squeeze, relieved when the Omega leaned into his touch. “I was a douche that night. It was only three little words you wanted to hear, and with parents like yours… I get it, ’kay?”

Now I know how horribly they treated you.

“I didn’t deserve it,” said Steve, wiping his tired-looking eyes. “Glad you didn’t lie. I’ve… thought about you a lot, you know, over time.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

In fact, as Eddie well knew, those six weeks with Steve remained the longest relationship he had ever had.

Steve read out the ingredients, including heart-fruit and bitter midnight-bloom nettles. Eddie mixed them in his mortar and pestle, adding spring-water and soothing cucumber-like water-way to lessen any sting. Then a pinch of one of his own staples, skullcap, for good luck. He returned to the driver’s seat, showed the paste to Steve, who scented it curiously. “You wanna spread it on? Or should I?”

“I’m fine with you. I’ll only make a mess. As long as you’re not too grossed out?”

“Nope.” Only grossed out that somebody could leave you in pain like this.

He frowned in concentration, using his fingertips to smear the herbs across Steve’s sad skin. Steve shivered.

“Cold?”

“No,” breathed Steve, “it’s nice. Soothing. Erm… The notebook said you leave it for a minute or so, and we’re done. I’ll get outta your hair.”

“Noooo rush.”

Eddie applied the rest of the paste as delicately as he could. Steve sank back into the seat, eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Alpha. Soooo nice.”

His voice shook with something that might’ve been a faint comfort purr, and Eddie revelled in it. With Steve’s eyes closed, Eddie even sneaked a suck of his fingertips—yum—before wiping them dry on a Kleenex. Easing an Omega’s pain always made him happy, and soothing this Omega’s pain?

It made his chest puff with intense and super-protective feelings, though one thing didn’t sit right. A minute didn’t sound long enough for the medicine to work. He plucked the notebook from the Omega’s lap to doublecheck.

Steve startled awake. “Oh crap! No, please. You don’t have to do the rest.”

“The rest of wh… Ah!”

Eddie’s eyes raced across granny’s ink-splatted handwriting, and his brows shot high. For the herbs to work best, an Alpha should lick the paste off, mingling their saliva with the medicine. The page also explained how an unwanted Alpha’s protein mark could be erased completely from an Omega’s blood.

“Oookay,” said Eddie, rubbing Steve’s arm, hoping to allay his obvious panic. “If it’s all right with you, I’m happy to do the honors licking it off. I’m afraid to suck out the protein marker, it says I have to be in rut, so—”

“I wouldn’t dream of you having to do that. Simply the thought of licking me must be totally disgusting for you.”

“Gonna be honest. You look kinda tasty.” Eddie beamed toothily and sliced up a hand, silencing any protests. “Not a lie, Honey. Oh, and if I’m gonna have the pleasure of licking your scent gland, I really think we should try again for dinner tomorrow. If you’d like that? A date?”

Steve puffed his hair from his clammy brow. “Yeah, all right. Only if you let me pay.”

“We’ll argue that one out tomorrow. Now, how do we get comfy to do this?”

After some debate and wrangling, and some abortive leaning over the gear-knob, Eddie came around to the passenger seat. Steve slid onto his lap and hooked an arm loosely around Eddie’s neck. Eddie enfolded Steve and found himself perfectly aligned to burrow into the Omega’s throat. Steve kinda fidgeted, started protesting that this was too yuck again.

“Ssssssh, I got this. Relax, Honey.” He couldn’t keep a raspy growl from his voice. “Can you do that for me?”  Steve answered with an adorable little whine. Those years of separation began falling away, and he sagged against Eddie with a faintly floral sigh.

“That’s it, Omega. Take it easy. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Eddie settled one hand in Steve’s soft hair, fingers lightly threading, and rested the other in the small of the Omega’s back. He drew Steve to him, nuzzled beneath the Omega’s ear, and simply breathed him in. “You smell divine,” he whispered, sliding his nose lower so he could drag his tongue tenderly up over Steve’s sad little scent gland.

The bitter tinges of sickness couldn’t disguise how Steve was—always had been—beyond edible to him. His own skullcap musk—mixed with the earthy-kick of the healing herbs and heart-fruit—perfectly complimented Steve’s natural spring-petal nectar. The worst of the roughness and swelling on Steve’s skin seemed to smooth out beneath his tongue, and… Gnnnnng!

Steve’s whole weight suddenly collapsed into him, and Steve flopped his head back, eyes heavy-lidded, bearing his throat completely. The Omega’s prey instincts were kicking in, as were Eddie’s predatory ones. It was all he could do to stop his Alpha fangs quickening and piercing the Omega anew. Thank fuck they were fully clothed! Even so, if he did this long enough, maybe he would go into rut.

Cool it, Munson. You’re here to heal and protect.

He pulled back, effortfully calming his own racing blood, cradling Steve’s drooping head, while savoring the Omega’s contented, faintly purring, sighs. Eddie licked around his own mouth—yum YUM—and swallowed. Calm-ish again, he planted his lips over the quivering heat of that now pretty much uncovered gland with those evil little holes. He lapped leisurely, up and down, lathing far as the super-sensitive flesh beneath Steve’s ear.

When Steve mewled and whined, Eddie couldn’t help it—his Alpha dick stood swiftly to attention. Steve, meanwhile, turned more liquidy than ever, perfuming adorably as during that first never-forgotten kiss. So long ago.

Too long ago.

Briefly, Eddie struggled against a fiery anger. Since they’d split, apart from that son-of-a-bitch who’d hurt him, Steve must’ve been starved of much-needed intimacy like this. No wonder he was sick. Still, Eddie shoved down those thoughts, because the last thing he wanted was to scare the Omega on his lap with more angry vibes.

If Steve tensed, however, it was fleeting, and soon they relaxed into a relatively chaste rhythm. Eddie noticed that each time he stopped lapping to exhale, Steve snatched a swift inhale. Yup, they were literally inhaling each other, and as they did, Eddie felt something inside him untwist and release. As if Steve healed some restless part of his soul he didn’t realize needed fixing.

Soon, every trace of the herbs was gone and all he tasted was Steve’s natural sweetness. The bite-holes seemed to have knitted slightly already and were definitely less raw and weepy. Eddie drew a final, lingering inbreath, which tingled deep as his lungs, then reluctantly drew back. Steve dropped his head to Eddie’s shoulder and cuddled around his neck.

 “Better now, Honey?” whispered Eddie.

“Much better, Alpha,” said Steve sleepily.

Eddie huddled the Omega closer, barely resisted kissing his flushed pink cheek beneath those long fluttering lashes. All those feelings from their teen romance were fully returned, this time, so much more intense and real. Trouble was, Steve wasn’t just the sweetest smelling Omega Eddie had ever met. He was, Eddie knew now for sure, the one he’d die to protect and, also, without rival, the hottest.

Which presented other problems. As while licking, Eddie tried to keep himself calm and cool—after all, Steve was still kinda unwell! Didn’t work. He still nursed a constant semi, which no fidgeting or adjustment could hide.

Steve didn’t seem freaked, though. Quite the opposite.

He snuggled against Eddie for a while, and Eddie could’ve happily nested down for the year. That Steve could trust like this, after everything… It kinda made Eddie want to weep. Unfortunately, a cop eventually knocked on their window to ask what the heck they were up to. After giving away half his marijuana stock as a bribe, Eddie reluctantly took Steve back to his aunt, who freaked out big-time that Steve was being brought home by a strange Alpha. She thawed when Steve wearily explained Eddie was an old school friend and cheered up no end when she noticed Steve’s neck.

While still angry and red, the wounds had one-hundred-percent closed up, and Steve’s rash had faded to a faint cherry flush.

She invited Eddie in for supper, and the next day, Eddie and Steve had that dinner. By the third date, Steve had ditched the collar and wore a rollneck sweater. By the fourth, he wore a silky magnolia scarf Eddie gifted him, which got accidentally dipped in their cherry sundae. Between their dates, Eddie invited Steve back to his van and gave him several more doses of medicine. And of Alpha tongue. And of other kinds of fun, though Eddie was already making plans to offer something better than a van for his Omega’s first real nest.

A few weeks into their courtship, they sat facing each other across a booth in the diner. Steve unfolded a piece of paper from his purse, and a bunch of dried petals tumbled from between.

Magnolia flower, cherry blossom, and wild crimson rose, its petals still mottled and rough.

“They’re from the bouquet you gave me that night we split. I pressed them and saved them—couldn’t bear to see them all die. Thought I was just torturing myself, until—"

Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands and kissed him, thoroughly and claimingly, and above all, nurturing and lovingly. Everything Steve deserved. Everything he’d been denied.

Everything, Eddie realized, he’d denied himself too.

“There’s something I need to say,” said Eddie, when they finally broke for air. “I’m in love with you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve blinked. “Huh?”

“Steve, I love you.” He caressed Steve’s not-that-surprised face with his thumbs, then stooped to nip a kiss on Steve’s delicious throat. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Deep down, I know I always loved you, we were just…”

“…young and dumb? Yeah, we were. And you were totally wrong when you said I didn’t fuck up my life, because I did. That night we split up.”

“We both fucked up, Honey.”

“I guess. Oh, in case it wasn’t screamingly obvious… I love you too, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie went into rut a week later, pulling Steve simultaneously into heat. The very first time they made love, he nipped the flesh of Steve’s shoulder, deep enough to suckle out that other Alpha’s wretched protein marker. The second time, with Steve gasping and begging for it, he bit Steve’s throat all over again, sealing the forever bond that already sang between them.

Steve was thrilled with his two pretty pink claim marks. When they returned to Hawkins to set up their alternative medicine business, he proudly displayed them to everyone, including his parents, who swiftly left town. Nobody missed them. Steve’s sensitive Omega nose soon led them to Granny Munson’s garden, beside her old tumbledown cottage—lost so deep in the forest even Eddie and Wayne had forgotten the way.

The Omega took one look at the overgrown hovel, squealed, and coiled himself around Eddie like a freakin’ vine. They both knew, without a word passing between them, that this was where they were gonna raise their pups.

🌸💖🌸💖

Thank you for reading 💖 You can find my other steddie omegaverse fic on Ao3 here 💖

[clonetrooperjournals]

I hope you are having a great day today! 😊 I am so obsessed with your two fics about stuttering. You portray everything so well! I was wondering if I could request something similar with Tech and someone who struggles with putting sentences together and having smooth conversations. Thank you so much if you feel like it!

Summary : You're a field medic working with the bad batch. while working on your field guide of medicinal herbs and plants you catch the eyes of the batch's resident genius. Pairings : Tech x Fem!reader (Field medic) Warnings : reader has a stutter, fluff, slight angst, cutie tech, happy ending, pre-order 66 (before echo) Words : 1.6k masterlist here A/N : Thank you so much for this request! I was actually half way through writing this when you requested! I hope you love it these stutter reader fics are my favourite to write!

“C-Can you h-help m-me p-please?”  

Tech looks up from his data pad to your burning cheeks and downward gaze with a small smile on his lips, “Of course.”  

You lead him over to a large tree with high branches that had small yellow flowers gently blowing in the breeze, “I-I n-need the... the...,” you point to the flowers.  

“The flowers. How many do you require?” he asks you gently.  

You look up at the tree thinking, “Um... F-Five should b-b-be g-good.”  

Tech throws his grappling hook over the thickest branch and then climbs up to grab a handful of the flowers. He'll never say it out loud, (but it is quite obvious to his brothers) that he enjoys helping you, and having you ask him for help. Even though you are very shy and have a rather hard stutter he finds it quite endearing and adorable.  

At first when you got assigned to Clone force 99 as their field medic, he found your stutter to be quite annoying, believing that you just lacked the mental capacity to form coherent speech, and he told you so. The boys chewed him out for that one telling him that it wasn’t your fault that you talk the way you do and that if he paid close attention, he would see how incredibly intelligent you are. He did pay attention after that, and he did find that you were in fact, incredibly smart.  

You were creating your own medicinal herb kit from the plants and flowers found on the planets they visited and writing a field book on all your findings and how to use them in an emergency. Tech then became intrigued by you and your work, apologizing for his first impression of you. You accepted his apology and told him that before you joined the GAR you were a herb healer on your home planet, and you wanted to expand and share your knowledge which is why you joined the army. It gave you the ability to treat people and being a field medic let you go to different planets and explore the flower and fauna for your medical research.  

Most people thought you were really weird, walking around with your large toolbox you used to collect samples, flowers braided in your hair and your shy stuttering demeanor, you couldn’t really blame them. The batch thought you fit in really well with their crazy dynamic saying they needed a quiet one that wasn’t brooding or grumpy like Hunter and Crosshair.  

The boys also noticed how since Tech has gotten closer to you, he has developed a crush on you. He's become more patient and understanding, always letting you speak without judging or would help you finish your thought. He helped you with your research and would seek you out for quiet company when his brothers were becoming too much. Hunter can sense that you two have feelings for each other and has tried to say this to Tech, but he doesn’t listen, saying it's impossible for someone as perfect as you to like him back.  

“Here you go. Is there anything else in this region that you require for your research?” Tech asks you while giving you the flowers.  

You shake your head, “N-no. J-Just these.” 

He looks at the yellow flowers in your hand, “and what medicinal properties do these flowers have?”  

“T-Thier called s-s-star f-flowers. W-When m-m-mashed into a p-p-paste, i-it can t-t-treat b-burns,” you explain with a smile.  

“Time to go you two!” Hunter yells from the ship. You gather up all your supplies and the two of you head back to the marauder. Once back inside you head to your bunk and lay out all your stuff to make the paste while Tech pilots the ship.  

Hunter and Crosshair sit in their bunks quietly watching you while you do your work. Your used to the boys coming and seeing what you're doing or offering to help. You put the flowers in a small bowl and grab your mashing tool, then mash the flowers until it looks like a bright yellow paste. You dip your finger in to make sure it’s the right consistency and then get up and walk over to Crosshair.  

He raises a brow at you confused as you grab his wrist pulling his blacks back revealing the burn that he was trying to hide from you and gently rub the yellow paste over the burn then wrap it up. If anyone else would have touched Crosshair without his permission, they would have a broken nose, but Crosshair knew you, and knew you did everything with pure innocent intentions.  

He scoffed avoiding your gaze, “no point trying to hide anything from you is there petals?” 

You giggle at the nickname, “t-that's r-r-right.”  

He shows you a rare smile and you pat his shoulder and head back to your bunk. You start to clean out your tool kit, reorganizing the mess you made while you were cataloging, while also sneakily peeking to see if Tech would come and join you. He usually found his way over to you eventually saying that he was the best person to assist you. You smile to yourself thinking about the adorable genius that you’ve come to love, sure he’s straightforward and brutally honest but you’ve come to admire those qualities in him, even if he offends you half the time you know he’s not doing on purpose, it’s just how his wonderful mind works.  

Hunter sees you smiling to yourself and chuckles, “You ever gonna confess to him or do we have to continue watching the two of you pine over each other?”  

Your eyes go wide and cheeks start to burn, “I-I d-don't know what... what y-y-ou're talking ab-bout.”  

“Sure you don’t,” Crosshair crosses his arms looking between you and the cockpit, “apparently the two smartest people on the ship are really the dumbest.” 

“Crosshair...” Hunter warns.  

Tech leaves the cockpit to join the three of you, “Oh! Did you need any assistance with your cataloging? I am momentarily free...”  

“S-Sure Tech.” Hunter grins at you heading to cockpit with Wrecker while Crosshair lies in his bunk looking at his bandaged wrist with a soft look.  

... 

Currently you and the batch were on Raydonia, a forested planet in the outer rim near Dathomir. Something was malfunctioning on the ship and Tech had to land so he could repair it before you all headed back to Kamino. You had heard about the trees on this planet that had blue glowing fruit, and you had to collect some. Tech and Wrecker were working on the ship while Hunter and Crosshair went to check out the settlement and you figured you could sneak away to collect some of the fruits before anyone realized you were gone. So, you grabbed your supplies and headed into the forest by the ship staying within view so you don't get lost.  

 You find a tall tree with large fruits that would be perfect for your studies. After trying to shake the fruits from the tree with no success you decided to climb it, thinking you could just slide down the tree afterwards. However, once you were in the tree with a handful of the fruits you realized that you couldn’t get down without dropping and squishing them and it was in this moment that Tech jogged over slightly frazzled. 

“What have we told you about going off on your own?”  

You blushed, “S-Sorry T-Tech... I w-was j-j-just...” 

He sighed, “yes you were trying to collect the fruit but next time inform one of us so that we can assist you and more importantly keep you safe.”  

“O-Okay.” You glanced down at Tech with a warm rosy cheeked smile, making his heart flutter. 

“Can I assist you?” he asks gently.  

You nod, “T-Take the... f-fruit p-p-please.” Then you throw the glowing fruit down, Tech catching them with ease. He puts them in your toolbox and turns back to you as you start to climb down the tree. Except what should be a simple slide down the tree doesn’t happen when instead, your foot gets caught on a lower branch and you fumble, falling hard and fast towards the ground. You close your eyes expecting a hard landing but instead you feel warm arms and hard plastoid envelope you as Tech catches you bridal style before you can hit the ground.  

“That was close.” He says looking you over to make sure you were okay. You were frozen in his arms blushing uncontrollably as Tech admires how beautiful you are. The red of your cheeks, the small pink flowers you braided into your hair, and your favourite coveralls that you hand embroidered with colourful flowers, you looked like a walking garden, kriff he was so in love with you.  

You put your feet down, but Tech doesn’t let you go still holding your arms, “T-Thank... you T-Tech.”  

“Forgive me but I have to speak my mind about something I-,” he brushes a stray hair behind your ear, “I have developed feelings for you.” 

 Your eyes widen in surprise, “w-what!?”  

“I-I’m quite in l-love with you...” he admits nervously, his cheeks just as bright as yours. 

You smile at him giggling, “y-you’re s-stuttering.” 

He laughs, “I-I am, aren’t I...”  

You put a hand on his cheek feeling the burning blush under your fingers, “I-I love... you t-t-too.” 

“May I... kiss you?” he asks timidly.  

Leaning in you feel his breath mix with yours, “y-yes please.”  

The kiss is gentle and shy just like the both of you, and as you pull away you see his eyes twinkle under his goggles.  

“Finally! I thought we’d have to wait at least another 200 rotations before they said anything.” 

Tech sighs, “Crosshair!” 

You laugh and grab his hand, “L-Lets go... f-finish the sh-ship.” 

He leans in and kisses your cheek, “Good idea my dear.”  

[domnamewoman]

what would shang tsung, syzoth, smoke and rain be like with a gn!witch? who do spell with more natural things, like crystal, herbs, etc... imagine them being like "I found this little rock, maybe you'd like it" and their s/o picks it up like it's a goblin lol. I love your work, u are amazing 🌟

Characters: Rain, Shang Tsung, Reptile, Smoke

Warnings: Witch!GN!Reader

Masterlist

Requests Are Open

“Can you hand me the duck feathers?” You ask, reaching out your hand to Syzoth.

Syzoth picks up the feathers from the table and walks over to you, placing them in your hand.

“Thank you.” You grab the feathers and stir them into the brewing elixir.

“It amazes me that all these random ingredients can be mixed together to create magic,” Syzoth says in wonderment.

“It’s not so much the ingredients than it is the intention of the person mixing them.”

“Hmm, so the real power comes from you,” Syzoth contemplates as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, I guess in a way.” You nod, “But I can’t enchant someone without them being exposed to the potion in some way.”

“You seemed to do a pretty good job of enchanting me,” Syzoth mumbles into your cheek as he places a kiss there, “Making me fall for you.”

“You are so cheesy,” You grumble, loving every part of it.

“I think I might pass out…” Zeffeero pants as he hovers over the toilet.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” You apologize as you rub comforting circles on his back.

“Why”–heave–”Why would you even need a p-potion that induces vomiting?”

“It can be useful to demobilize an enemy during a fight,” You reason sympathetically.

“Except I’m not an enemy who's trying to fig-” Zeffeero gets cut off by more contents getting expelled from his stomach.

“I mean it is kind of your fault. Why would you drink a random liquid you haven’t seen before?”

Zeffeero turns his head to you and glares, “M-My fault? I was thirsty. Why was your potion in the refrigerator?”

“The ingredients had to be cold in order to fuse together properly,” You sigh as Zeffeero is hit with another bought of vomiting, “Okay, I should have labeled it. I’m sorry.”

“H-How long is it s-supposed to last?” Zeffeero pants out.

You cringe, “Two hours…”

“Two hours!?”

Shang Tsung stares at the potion you were brewing with repulsion. He leans over and takes a sniff before quickly covering his nose and holding back a gag.

“You know, I would be most delighted to teach you my sorcery. It is more sophisticated than creating vile concoctions like this.”

“Oh shush, there is more than one way to do magic, Shang. This is mine,” You say as you add five drops of toad’s blood to the cauldron.

“It’s tedious and ineffective in an emergency. You have to spend time brewing potions and then have someone consume it for it to work,” Shang Tsung argues.

“They don’t have to consume it, I can also put it in a bottle and throw it at them like a Molotov. Also, making potions isn’t tedious, I actually find it rather relaxing.”

“What could be relaxing about this horrid smell?”

You roll your eyes before turning to Shang Tsung and raising an eyebrow, “Well if your sorcery is so sophisticated, why don’t you zap away the smell?”

You and Shang Tsung stare at each other, your smile growing by the second. Shang Tsung pompously waves his hand before turning around and walking away.

“I thought so,” you chuckle as you turn back to your potion.

You’re standing in your spell room, organizing your crystals and taking stock of potion supplies when Tomas excitedly bursts through the door.

“Baby, I got you something,” Tomas sings as he walks up to you with his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” You excitedly inquire as you try to peek around him.

“Something almost as beautiful as you.”

“Show me already,” You impatiently demand.

“Ta-da!” Says Tomas as he brings his hands in front of him and extends his fingers to reveal a rainbow-colored crystal sitting in his palms.

“Oh my gosh, Tomas-”

“It’s pretty isn’t it? I knew you would lov-”

“No, it’s dangerous.” You snatch it out of his hand and jog to the front door, throwing it as far as you can away from the house. “That is a lifeforce-draining crystal.”

“I-I just thought it was a pretty rock… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head lovingly at Tomas as you comfortingly rub his arm, “I appreciate the thought, anyway. Just leave the crystal scavenging to me.”

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Heatstroke

Tom Taylor x reader

smut 18+, mdni

warnings: blowjob kink, oral fixation, temperature play (steam/sauna), public risk (semi-public spa setting), face-fucking (light), hair grabbing (possessive), spit/saliva play, messy oral, overstimulation (m receiving), gagging (mild, consensual), praise kink, deepthroating, power play (soft dom/sub vibes), eye contact, wetness kink (sweat/steam mixed with arousal)

A/N: Maaaan, do I have a thing for BJs today 😏 Here’s another Tom smut, you filthy animals. (That thirst trap he posted a few weeks ago? Yeah… there will be consequences. Don’t worry 😌) I’m thinking gym locker room sex next?? Since we’ve probably established that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist… but not too much. He doesn’t wanna let anyone else see his girl. Oh, and I almost forgot. This is a repost. However, since I forgot some tags, it only got like three likes 😔. So here it is again. World, be kind😩.

————

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both inside the fogged, dripping silence of the herbal steam sauna.

Everything smelled like eucalyptus and pine, thick in your nose, the air so dense it clung to your skin like a second layer. Sweat rolled down your back almost immediately. You were already damp from the hot shower before, but this… this was wet in a different way. This was thick, sticky heat. The kind that made your skin buzz and your chest feel tight.

Tom sat on the wooden bench, legs spread, hair already curling at the edges from the moisture in the air. He looked flushed, the upper half of his towel clinging to the sharp lines of his torso. You stood in front of him in your towel, heart pounding, the steam blurring everything around you except him. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded. His jaw, clenched just slightly. The faintest drop of sweat trailing down the column of his throat and vanishing into his chest hair.

"You're staring," he said, voice husky, low and slow like the air itself.

You didn’t answer. You just stepped between his knees and dropped to them, kneeling on the slick wood like it was instinct. The steam was hot on your back, your thighs, your face, and you swore you could feel every droplet in the air landing on your skin.

Tom's brows raised just a little. “Here?”

You nodded. “Here.”

And you tugged his towel apart.

His cock was already half-hard, resting heavy against his thigh, humid and flushed from the heat. Your hands curled around it without hesitation, one at the base, the other near the tip. He let out a soft breath, hips shifting slightly, thighs tensing beneath your touch.

“Fuck, you’re serious,” he muttered, voice tight.

You looked up at him through the mist, lips parted. “Dead serious.”

Then you licked a long, slow stripe from the base to the tip, collecting the taste of salt and sweat and skin. His thighs twitched. You did it again, slower, your tongue teasing under the crown before closing your lips around the head and taking him into your mouth.

Tom let out a sharp exhale, his hand coming down to rest on the back of your head. Not pushing, just there. Possessive. Needing to touch.

You sank down slowly, letting him fill your mouth inch by inch, feeling the weight of him press against your tongue, against your throat. He was so hot from the steam, slick with sweat, and the deeper you took him, the messier it got. Your spit mixed with the humidity, saliva dribbling down your chin as you bobbed your head, twisting your fist around what you couldn’t swallow.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, his head falling back against the wall of the sauna, neck long and taut. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Everything smelled like herbs and sex and wood, the scent of your arousal thick beneath the eucalyptus. His cock pulsed on your tongue, and the more noise you made, the wetter it got. Filthy, gurgled, obscene. Spit and precum and steam mixing into something primal.

You sucked him hard, hollowing your cheeks, letting yourself gag a little just to hear the way he swore. You felt him twitch in your mouth when you did it again, deeper this time, relaxing your throat until the tip of him kissed the back of it.

Tom’s hand tightened in your hair. “Fuck, baby, slow.”

But you didn’t want slow. You wanted to ruin him in the steam. Wanted him to remember the way your mouth felt long after the session was over.

So you went faster. Sloppier. Your mouth made obscene wet sounds in the silence of the sauna, echoing faintly off the wood. Your chin was soaked, his cock glistening, your tongue flicking over the head each time you pulled back. Your hand stroked him at the same pace, using your own spit, messy and slick.

His thighs started to tremble. His abs clenched tight every time you swallowed him whole.

“Baby,” he growled, voice hoarse and strained, “if you keep that up I’m gonna,”

You moaned around him, vibrating the length of him with your throat, and he broke.

Tom's hips jerked, his hand clenching in your hair as he came with a groan so raw it made your cunt clench. Hot spurts hit the back of your throat, thick and heavy, and you swallowed around him, not pulling away. You sucked him through it, moaning softly as he filled your mouth, only letting him go when his thighs finally gave a violent twitch and he hissed from the oversensitivity.

You pulled off him with a lewd pop, licking your swollen lips, your chin shining.

Tom looked wrecked.

Sweat soaked his hairline, his cheeks flushed red, chest heaving. He stared at you like you were unreal.

“That,” he rasped, “was the hottest thing anyone has ever done to me.”

You smirked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Steam makes it better.”

He laughed, breathless. “You make it better.”

You climbed into his lap, settling over his now-soft cock, pressing your forehead to his.

Then he whispered, “We’re not even halfway through the sauna timer.”

You raised a brow. “Good. I wasn’t finished.”

[tuttle-did-it]

Murder, She Wrote ‘Portrait of Death’ guest stars

Loretta Swit - M*A*S*H, The Love Boat, Cagney & Lacey, Love American Style, Ironside, Bonanza, Hawaii Five-0, Burke’s Law, Gunsmoke, Mission: Impossible, Mannix

Edward Hibbert The Prestige, Frasier, Blue Bloods, Grace and Frankie, Star Wars video games, Law & Order: SVU, Gilmore Girls, Caroline in the City, Cosby, Everyone Says I Love You, Mad About You, Columbo: Undercover. He usually plays snobbish English characters- and even though his English accent sounds fake, he was actually raised in England.

Herb Edelman returns (8th appearance of 10). Also in The Odd Couple (1968), The Golden Girls, Mission: Impossible (TV), Ironside, The Partridge Family, Love American Style, Diana, Maude, Happy Days, Barney Miller, Ellery Queen, California Suite, Trapper John MD, Cagney & Lacey, The Love Boat, Matlock, St Elsewhere)

Kristoffer Tabori - now primarily a voice actor from video games like Star Wars, he was also in shows like Sliders, Seaquest DSV, Matlock, Quantum Leap, 21 Jump Street (TV), The Twilight Zone (1980s), Trapper John MD, and Designing Women. Final of Four appearances.

10.13 Episode aired 1997

[no-name-omo]

When you get the time can we get some serie x male reader fluff, I don't really have anything specific you can do as you please (・・；)

[A/N] I'm just going to assume that you wanted a head cannon soooo here and I hope you enjoy. Oh maybe I don't know a little bit of ooc but this is how I think she would be

[Type] HC

[Summary] life as Serie lover

[Genre] fluff / relationship

[Pairing / Characters] Serie x m! Reader

Serie has lived for centuries, watching countless people she cared for fade from the world. So if you manage to earn her love, it means you are someone truly rare and incredibly special to her.

Serie was never one for grand displays of affection. You wouldn’t hear her say sweet things or shower anyone with praise... Well not often. But her care was unmistakable, if you knew where to look.

If something troubled you even slightly she was already halfway to solving it before you found the words. A spell gone wrong? She’d fix it with a quiet sigh, her fingers brushing over your notes. “You forgot the stabilizing rune,” she’d murmur, not unkindly. “It’s fine now.”

When you once mentioned wanting to study a rare magical theory, she handed you an ancient grimoire the next day. No explanation, no ceremony. Just a soft, “Don’t lose it.” But the way her eyes lingered on you said more than her words ever could.

With Serie, affection came like snowfall, gentle, quiet, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. But it was always there. In the way she stayed up just a little longer when you were working late. In how she always had a jug of tea waiting, even if she claimed it was for herself.

And sometimes, just sometimes her voice softened when she said your name. Just enough that you noticed. Just enough to know she meant it.

She may never say “I love you.” But when she looks at you, her expression is unreadable but her gaze unwavering, you understand: she already has. And she means it, even if she'll set herself on fire then admit she’s grown fond of a man like you... well, maybe she will say it in the next century.

Serie might never admit it, but she knows that you know anyway. Call it touches starvin or what ever she loves touching you. She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t even try to hide it. It would take too much effort. Instead, she leans against you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Sits in your lap while discussing the First-Class Mage Exam, robes draped lazily across you as if claiming her space was a given from the start. No explanation, no excuse. She simply does it.

And if your hand finds her waist, or your fingers brush through her hair while she reads, she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes might flick toward you half-lidded, unreadable but she stays. When your thumb strokes the side of her face, she doesn’t speak. She just closes her eyes and lets the silence stretch between you, warm and quiet.

She won’t tell you how much she likes it when you pick her up, effortless, unthinking, like it’s second nature to carry her. She won’t admit the way her breath catches, or how she leans into your chest just a little more than necessary. She’ll scoff, maybe call you “insufferable.” But she never tells you to stop and really, she doesn’t need to.

Because again Serie may never say “I love you,” not to the man who’s slowly, wordlessly settled into the corners of her life. But the way she touches you? The way she lets herself be close to you, lets herself be held? That says more than words ever could.

It was late, though neither of you were in a hurry to say it out loud. The soft glow of magefire lanterns bathed yours and Serie’s quarters in a low, golden light. The air smelled faintly of old paper and dried herbs, and on the table between you, two steaming cups of tea rested untouched for the moment. Serie sat curled up in her chair, legs folded beneath her, robe draped loosely over one shoulder. She wasn’t reading or writing for once just watching the tea swirl in her cup, her expression unreadable.

You sat across from her, your own cup warm in your hands. The silence wasn’t awkward. With Serie, it rarely was. Her presence filled the space without demanding anything. After a long pause, she finally spoke, voice quiet but certain.

“You always make it just right.”

You blinked. “The tea?”

She nodded, still not quite meeting your eyes. “You remember how I take it. Most people forget. Or don’t ask.”

There was a note in her voice that lingered somewhere between gratitude and something deeper something she hadn’t quite named yet.

You smiled a little, taking a sip. “Well, it’s not hard. A little strong, not too sweet.”

She hummed. “Still. You remember.”

Another silence followed, softer this time. Then, without warning, she stood and crossed to your side. She didn’t ask permission, Serie never did but she leaned gently against your shoulder, sliding her hand over yours, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. You looked down at her, surprised but not unwelcome.

“You could sit,” you offered, nodding toward the couch beside you.

“I am sitting,” she murmured, already settling herself sideways in your lap, cup in hand. “This is fine.”

She sipped her tea with the serene air of someone entirely at peace, though her fingers still played absentmindedly with yours.

“You’ve ruined my nights,” she said, not looking at you.

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

“They used to be quiet. Predictable. Productive.”

You laughed under your breath. “And now?”

“Now I look forward to them. It’s distracting.”

But there was no frustration in her voice just a faint, almost reluctant warmth. When you kissed the top of her head, she didn’t move away. She leaned into it, silent, content. The tea slowly cooled on the table. But neither of you moved to finish it.

[narianders-gt-hell]

Borrower dress up meme I made to cope with The Consumption

If you want to put your guys in cute outfits here u go !

Explanations for the idk ‘lore’ surrounding these below the cut

A) borrower that lives in a forested area near enough to human settlements that they’ve gotta disguise themself most of the time. Laying down they look like a normal leaf thanks to the hat.

B) standard indoors borrower that patchworked their clothing together quickly without really thinking too much about it outside of resource usage/energy expenditure

C) B U G A R M O R

D) Borrower that saw rollerskates and pony beads and got really really really excited. They and their friends draw on each other regularly with an old ballpoint pen they borrowed

E) Junkyard borrower that lives too close to humans to not disguise themself as trash basically.

F) Housebound guy that saw human clothes and meticulously copied seams and stitches and rewove fabric into more interesting clothing. Their house is covered in copies of vogue

G) Borrower that’s part of a city deep in the forest, hunts bugs and rats and whatnot. They don’t have to care about hiding that much so their clothing serves more of an artistic function than one that’s necessary.

H) Under that cute rat fur cloak is 1 million knives. That they will use to make more cute rat fur cloaks. This borrower lives with some VERY messy humans and they’ve grown adept at slaying whatever crawls through the walls that isn’t borrower-shaped.

I) Woodland borrower that excels at drying greenery. They trade pressed-flower fabrics and preserved herbs for seeds, food, and other goods at a shop they run in a tree hollow or something. Probably swaps techniques and home grown fabrics with the sewing borrower that likes the look of human clothing. Oh they’d probably make a huge beautiful mess together actually.

J) Borrower that lives in a shed next to a house. They only go to the main living space for resupply runs on things that can last for a month or two if they time it correctly. This is like the borrower equivalent of living semi-off-the grid. Also they got into embroidery a bit bc there’s not much to do.

[salixsociety]

Herbal/Plant Magic Masterlist

[wip]

I do not personally endorse all these sources, read skeptically and cross-reference at your discretion. These are, however, all sources I personally use, with varying levels of trust.

Herbaria, Herbals, Botanical Books, etc

EARLY MODERN-CONTEMPORARY

New Flora of the British Isles - Clive A. Stace

The Englishman's Flora - George Grigson

Das Buch der Natur - Konrad Megenbergen

Culpeper's Complete Herbal

MEDIEVAL-RENAISSANCE

Het Biënboec van Thomas van Cantimpré en zijn exempelen [Old Dutch] - Wouter Antonie van der Vet

Jacob van Maerlant's Naturen Bloeme

Hildegard Von Bingen's Physica - Priscilla Throop

Pristina Medicamenta: Ancient and Medieval Medical Botany - Jerry Stannard

Florum, et coronariarum odoratarumque nonnullarum herbarum historia - Rembert Dodoens

Nauwkeurige beschrijving der aardgewassen [Old Dutch] - Abraham Munting

Images in color of the botanical/naturalist art of Abraham Munting

Phytognomonica

Rembert Dodoens' Cruijdeboeck

The Grand Albert

CLASSICAL

Theophrastus' Enquiry into Plants | I through V | VI onward

Pliny's Natural History | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

The Ebers Papyrus

The Medical Features of the Ebers Papyrus - Carl H. von Klein

The Greek Herbal of Dioscorides

Herbal Magic, Using Herbs, Herb Folklore, Flower Language

The Black Toad - Gemma Gary

County Folk-lore - GB Folklore Society

Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland

Scottish Folk-lore and Folk Life - Donald MacKenzie

The Anglo-Saxon Charms - Felix Grendon

Compendium of Ritual and Symbolic Plants in Europe - M. Cleene | Dutch Edition

Anglo-Saxon Magic - Gofrid Storms

Northern mythology : comprising the principal popular traditions and superstitions of Scandinavia, North Germany, and The Netherlands | 2 | 3

La mythologie des plantes; ou, Les légendes du règne végétal - Angelo de Gubernatis

The Language and Sentiment of Flowers - Anonymous

The Language and Sentiment of Flowers - L.V.

The Illustrated Language of Flowers - Anna Christian Burke

Flora symbolica; or, The language and sentiment of flowers - John H. Ingram

The Natural History of the Bible - H.B. Tristram

Handwörterbuch Des Deutschen Aberglaubens - Baechtold-Staubl, Hoffman-Krayer

Antiker aberglaube in modernen ausstrahlungen - dr. Eduard Stemplinger

Der Baumkultus der Germanen und ihrer Nachbarstämme - Wilhelm Mannhardt

The Folk-Lore of Plants - T.F. Thiselton Dyer (read skeptically)

Practical Magic And the Literary Archaeology of the Pagan Past in Two Anglo-Saxon Charms - Jang

Madness, Medication—and Self-Induced Hallucination? Elleborus (and Woody Nightshade) in Anglo-Saxon England, 700–900 - Hall

Elleborus in Anglo-Saxon England, 900–1100: Tunsingwyrt and Wodewistle - Hall

Folk-healing, Fairies and Witchcraft: The Trial of Stein Maltman, Stirling 1628 - Hall

Online Libraries

Native American Ethnobotany Database

Alaska Native Knowledge Base

The Medieval Garden Enclosed

Monumental Trees

Trees for Life

Ecoliterature, Natural History, Cultural History

Gathering Moss - Robin Wall Kimmerer

Braiding Sweetgrass - Robin Wall Kimmerer

---- If you enjoy my work, please consider purchasing or commissioning some of my written resarch, ordering a reading, or commissioning my art. Click here to see the options. Thank you! Consider joining my Discord community!

[rainbowsillz]

𖤐 A BLIND READER THAT IS VERY NAIVE 𖤐

Warnings: Dark, power imbalance, and obsession.

Featuring: Akaza X Gender Neutral Reader.

II. mysterious encounter.

Summary: You were saved by a nice stranger. You didn't know that he was one of the deadliest creatures in Japan.

AKAZA - Upper Rank Three.

This story began a few hours ago.

 It was by chance that he rescued your oh-so-pitiful self from being mauled by inferior beings like wolves in mountains.

Akaza recalled your meek whimpering as he approached you. You seemed so susceptible, he didn't like that at all.

"What is a frail looking h— person like you here for?"

He questioned you as he bandaged your cuts and wounds with medical aid that he 'borrowed' from somewhere else.

"I.. I'm sorry. I was collecting fruits and herbs for m-my older brother and y-younger sister..." You hiccuped, tongue-tied.

Is it so valuable and important to risk your life for? This late?

"But it's 'stupid' even if you do it for your siblings. Demons exist and they will be eager to rip you apart as their meal."

He has a point. You flushed at his honest remarks.

It's none of his business. He shouldn't meddle in your affairs. You are safe, he scrutinized with caution as he turned away.

"Please, let me repay your kindness at least?"

The demon is too vexed why you sought for dainty flowers and then proceeded to hand him one like it's an ordinary day.

Such precious moments shouldn't belong to 'him.'

"I can't see your face. I must thank you once again."

Akaza huffed but he pulled it out of your fingers.

That explains why you didn't run when he talked to you. He watched you bow and it tugged on his heartstrings.

Humans fear the unknown, and so will you.

"It's a blessing that you didn't." Was his dry comment.

You reminded him of a memory long forgotten. A promise he wasn't able to uphold. However, he will protect you.