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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

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Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

THIS WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most consequential series of investigative journalism of this decade was the Propublica series that Jesse Eisinger helmed, in which Eisinger and colleagues analyzed a trove of leaked IRS tax returns for the richest people in America:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

The Secret IRS Files revealed the fact that many of America's oligarchs pay no tax at all. Some of them even get subsidies intended for poor families, like Jeff Bezos, whose tax affairs are so scammy that he was able to claim to be among the working poor and receive a federal Child Tax Credit, a $4,000 gift from the American public to one of the richest men who ever lived:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-secret-irs-files-trove-of-never-before-seen-records-reveal-how-the-wealthiest-avoid-income-tax

As important as the numbers revealed by the Secret IRS Files were, I found the explanations even more interesting. The 99.9999% of us who never make contact with the secretive elite wealth management and tax cheating industry know, in the abstract, that there's something scammy going on in those esoteric cults of wealth accumulation, but we're pretty vague on the details. When I pondered the "tax loopholes" that the rich were exploiting, I pictured, you know, long lists of equations salted with Greek symbols, completely beyond my ken.

But when Propublica's series laid these secret tactics out, I learned that they were incredibly stupid ruses, tricks so thin that the only way they could possibly fool the IRS is if the IRS just didn't give a shit (and they truly didn't – after decades of cuts and attacks, the IRS was far more likely to audit a family earning less than $30k/year than a billionaire).

This has become a somewhat familiar experience. If you read the Panama Papers, the Paradise Papers, Luxleaks, Swissleaks, or any of the other spectacular leaks from the oligarch-industrial complex, you'll have seen the same thing: the rich employ the most tissue-thin ruses, and the tax authorities gobble them up. It's like the tax collectors don't want to fight with these ultrawealthy monsters whose net worth is larger than most nations, and merely require some excuse to allow them to cheat, anything they can scribble in the box explaining why they are worth billions and paying little, or nothing, or even entitled to free public money from programs intended to lift hungry children out of poverty.

It was this experience that fueled my interest in forensic accounting, which led to my bestselling techno-crime-thriller series starring the two-fisted, scambusting forensic accountant Martin Hench, who made his debut in 2022's Red Team Blues:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

The double outrage of finding out how badly the powerful are ripping off the rest of us, and how stupid and transparent their accounting tricks are, is at the center of Chokepoint Capitalism, the book about how tech and entertainment companies steal from creative workers (and how to stop them) that Rebecca Giblin and I co-authored, which also came out in 2022:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Now that I've written four novels and a nonfiction book about finance scams, I think I can safely call myself a oligarch ripoff hobbyist. I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, enraging, and, most importantly, energizing. So naturally, when PJ Vogt devoted two episodes of his excellent Search Engine podcast to the subject last week, I gobbled them up:

https://www.searchengine.show/listen/search-engine-1/why-is-it-so-hard-to-tax-billionaires-part-1

I love the way Vogt unpacks complex subjects. Maybe you've had the experience of following a commentator and admiring their knowledge of subjects you're unfamiliar with, only have them cover something you're an expert in and find them making a bunch of errors (this is basically the experience of using an LLM, which can give you authoritative seeming answers when the subject is one you're unfamiliar with, but which reveals itself to be a Bullshit Machine as soon as you ask it about something whose lore you know backwards and forwards).

Well, Vogt has covered many subjects that I am an expert in, and I had the opposite experience, finding that even when he covers my own specialist topics, I still learn something. I don't always agree with him, but always find those disagreements productive in that they make me clarify my own interests. (Full disclosure: I was one of Vogt's experts on his previous podcast, Reply All, talking about the inkjet printerization of everything:)

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/brho54

Vogt's series on taxing billionaires was no exception. His interview subjects (including Eisinger) were very good, and he got into a lot of great detail on the leaker himself, Charles Littlejohn, who plead guilty and was sentenced to five years:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/charles-littlejohn-irs-whistleblower-pro-publica-tax-evasion-prosecution

Vogt also delved into the history of the federal income tax, how it was sold to the American public, and a rather hilarious story of Republican Congressional gamesmanship that backfired spectacularly. I'd never encountered this stuff before and boy was it interesting.

But then Vogt got into the nature of taxation, and its relationship to the federal debt, another subject I've written about extensively, and that's where one of those productive disagreements emerged. Yesterday, I set out to write him a brief note unpacking this objection and ended up writing a giant essay (sorry, PJ!), and this morning I found myself still thinking about it. So I thought, why not clean up the email a little and publish it here?

As much as I enjoyed these episodes, I took serious exception to one – fairly important! – aspect of your analysis: the relationship of taxes to the national debt.

There's two ways of approaching this question, which I think of as akin to classical vs quantum physics. In the orthodox, classical telling, the government taxes us to pay for programs. This is crudely true at 10,000 feet and as a rule of thumb, it's fine in many cases. But on the ground – at the quantum level, in this analogy – the opposite is actually going on.

There is only one source of US dollars: the US Treasury (you can try and make your own dollars, but they'll put you in prison for a long-ass time if they catch you.).

If dollars can only originate with the US government, then it follows that:

a) The US government doesn't need our taxes to get US dollars (for the same reason Apple doesn't need us to redeem our iTunes cards to get more iTunes gift codes);

b) All the dollars in circulation start with spending by the US government (taxes can't be paid until dollars are first spent by their issuer, the US government); and

c) That spending must happen before anyone has been taxed, because the way dollars enter circulation is through spending.

You've probably heard people say, "Government spending isn't like household spending." That is obviously true: households are currency users while governments are currency issuers.

But the implications of this are very interesting.

First, the total dollars in circulation are:

a) All the dollars the government has ever spent into existence funding programs, transferring to the states, and paying its own employees, minus

b) All the dollars that the government has taxed away from us, and subsequently annihilated.

(Because governments spend money into existence and tax money out of existence.)

The net of dollars the government spends in a given year minus the dollars the government taxes out of existence that year is called "the national deficit." The total of all those national deficits is called "the national debt." All the dollars in circulation today are the result of this national debt. If the US government didn't have a debt, there would be no dollars in circulation.

The only way to eliminate the national debt is to tax every dollar in circulation out of existence. Because the national debt is "all the dollars the government has ever spent," minus "all the dollars the government has ever taxed." In accounting terms, "The US deficit is the public's credit."

When billionaires like Warren Buffet tell Jesse Eisinger that he doesn't pay tax because "he thinks his money is better spent on charitable works rather than contributing to an insignificant reduction of the deficit," he is, at best, technically wrong about why we tax, and at worst, he's telling a self-serving lie. The US government doesn't need to eliminate its debt. Doing so would be catastrophic. "Retiring the US debt" is the same thing as "retiring the US dollar."

So if the USG isn't taxing to retire its debts, why does it tax? Because when the USG – or any other currency issuer – creates a token, that token is, on its face, useless. If I offered to sell you some "Corycoins," you would quite rightly say that Corycoins have no value and thus you don't need any of them.

For a token to be liquid – for it to be redeemable for valuable things, like labor, goods and services – there needs to be something that someone desires that can be purchased with that token. Remember when Disney issued "Disney dollars" that you could only spend at Disney theme parks? They traded more or less at face value, even outside of Disney parks, because everyone knew someone who was planning a Disney vacation and could make use of those Disney tokens.

But if you go down to a local carny and play skeeball and win a fistful of tickets, you'll find it hard to trade those with anyone outside of the skeeball counter, especially once you leave the carny. There's two reasons for this:

1) The things you can get at the skeeball counter are pretty crappy so most people don't desire them; and ' 2) Most people aren't planning on visiting the carny, so there's no way for them to redeem the skeeball tickets even if they want the stuff behind the counter (this is also why it's hard to sell your Iranian rials if you bring them back to the US – there's not much you can buy in Iran, and even someone you wanted to buy something there, it's really hard for US citizens to get to Iran).

But when a sovereign currency issuer – one with the power of the law behind it – demands a tax denominated in its own currency, they create demand for that token. Everyone desires USD because almost everyone in the USA has to pay taxes in USD to the government every year, or they will go to prison. That fact is why there is such a liquid market for USD. Far more people want USD to pay their taxes than will ever want Disney dollars to spend on Dole Whips, and even if you are hoping to buy a Dole Whip in Fantasyland, that desire is far less important to you than your desire not to go to prison for dodging your taxes.

Even if you're not paying taxes, you know someone who is. The underlying liquidity of the USD is inextricably tied to taxation, and that's the first reason we tax. By issuing a token – the USD – and then laying on a tax that can only be paid in that token (you cannot pay federal income tax in anything except USD – not crypto, not euros, not rials – only USD), the US government creates demand for that token.

And because the US government is the only source of dollars, the US government can purchase anything that is within its sovereign territory. Anything denominated in US dollars is available to the US government: the labor of every US-residing person, the land and resources in US territory, and the goods produced within the US borders. The US doesn't need to tax us to buy these things (remember, it makes new money by typing numbers into a spreadsheet at the Federal Reserve). But it does tax us, and if the taxes it levies don't equal the spending it's making, it also sells us T-bills to make up the shortfall.

So the US government kinda acts like classical physics is true, that is, like it is a household and thus a currency user, and not a currency issuer. If it spends more than it taxes, it "borrows" (issues T-bills) to make up the difference. Why does it do this? To fight inflation.

The US government has no monetary constraints, it can make as many dollars as it cares to (by typing numbers into a spreadsheet). But the US government is fiscally constrained, because it can only buy things that are denominated in US dollars (this is why it's such a big deal that global oil is priced in USD – it means the US government can buy oil from anywhere, not only the USA, just by typing numbers into a spreadsheet).

The supply of dollars is infinite, but the supply of labor and goods denominated in US dollars is finite, and, what's more, the people inside the USA expect to use that labor and goods for their own needs. If the US government issues so many dollars that it can outbid every private construction company for the labor of electricians, bricklayers, crane drivers, etc, and puts them all to work building federal buildings, there will be no private construction.

Indeed, every time the US government bids against the private sector for anything – labor, resources, land, finished goods – the price of that thing goes up. That's one way to get inflation (and it's why inflation hawks are so horny for slashing government spending – to get government bidders out of the auction for goods, services and labor).

But while the supply of goods for sale in US dollars is finite, it's not fixed. If the US government takes away some of the private sector's productive capacity in order to build interstates, train skilled professionals, treat sick people so they can go to work (or at least not burden their working-age relations), etc, then the supply of goods and services denominated in USD goes up, and that makes more fiscal space, meaning the government and the private sector can both consume more of those goods and services and still not bid against one another, thus creating no inflationary pressure.

Thus, taxes create liquidity for US dollars, but they do something else that's really important: they reduce the spending power of the private sector. If the US only ever spent money into existence and never taxed it out of existence, that would create incredible inflation, because the supply of dollars would go up and up and up, while the supply of goods and services you could buy with dollars would grow much more slowly, because the US government wouldn't have the looming threat of taxes with which to coerce us into doing the work to build highways, care for the sick, or teach people how to be doctors, engineers, etc.

Taxes coercively reduce the purchasing power of the private sector (they're a stick). T-bills do the same thing, but voluntarily (they the carrot).

A T-bill is a bargain offered by the US government: "Voluntarily park your money instead of spending it. That will create fiscal space for us to buy things without bidding against you, because it removes your money from circulation temporarily. That means we, the US government, can buy more stuff and use it to increase the amount of goods and services you can buy with your money when the bond matures, while keeping the supply of dollars and the supply of dollar-denominated stuff in rough equilibrium."

So a bond isn't a debt – it's more like a savings account. When you move money from your checking to your savings, you reduce its liquidity, meaning the bank can treat it as a reserve without worrying quite so much about you spending it. In exchange, the bank gives you some interest, as a carrot.

I know, I know, this is a big-ass wall of text. Congrats if you made it this far! But here's the upshot. We should tax billionaires, because it will reduce their economic power and thus their political power.

But we absolutely don't need to tax billionaires to have nice things. For example: the US government could hire every single unemployed person without creating inflationary pressure on wages, because inflation only happens when the US government tries to buy something that the private sector is also trying to buy, bidding up the price. To be "unemployed" is to have labor that the private sector isn't trying to buy. They're synonyms. By definition, the feds could put every unemployed person to work (say, training one another to be teachers, construction workers, etc – and then going out and taking care of the sick, addressing the housing crisis, etc etc) without buying any labor that the private sector is also trying to buy.

What's even more true than this is that our taxes are not going to reduce the national debt. That guest you had who said, "Even if we tax billionaires, we will never pay off the national debt,"" was 100% right, because the national debt equals all the money in circulation.

Which is why that guest was also very, very wrong when she said, "We will have to tax normal people too in order to pay off the debt." We don't have to pay off the debt. We shouldn't pay off the debt. We can't pay off the debt. Paying off the debt is another way of saying "eliminating the dollar."

Taxation isn't a way for the government to pay for things. Taxation is a way to create demand for US dollars, to convince people to sell goods and services to the US government, and to constrain private sector spending, which creates fiscal space for the US government to buy goods and services without bidding up their prices.

And in a "classical physics" sense, all of the preceding is kinda a way of saying, "Taxes pay for government spending." As a rough approximation, you can think of taxes like this and generally not get into trouble.

But when you start to make policy – when you contemplate when, whether, and how much to tax billionaires – you leave behind the crude, high-level approximation and descend into the nitty-gritty world of things as they are, and you need to jettison the convenience of the easy-to-grasp approximation.

If you're interested in learning more about this, you can tune into this TED Talk by Stephanie Kelton, formerly formerly advisor to the Senate Budget Committee chair, now back teaching and researching econ at University of Missouri at Kansas City:

https://www.ted.com/talks/stephanie_kelton_the_big_myth_of_government_deficits?subtitle=en

Stephanie has written a great book about this, The Deficit Myth:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#deficit-myth

There's a really good feature length doc about it too, called "Finding the Money":

https://findingmoneyfilm.com/

If you'd like to read more of my own work on this, here's a column I wrote about the nature of currency in light of Web3, crypto, etc:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

#pluralistic #mmt #modern monetary theory #warren buffett #podcasts #pj vogt #billionaires #economics #we can have nice things #taxes #taxing billionaires #the irs files #irs files #jesse eisenger #propublica

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ilovemarvel97 · 2 months ago

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Written in Our Souls

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: In a world where soulmates are marked with their destined partner’s name on their wrist, Wanda Maximoff always dreamed to meet hers. But what if life is too hard on her, making her give up on it. Will it be too late when she finally meets her soulmate?

Word Count: 4,309

Warnings: angst, romantic, and a little tragic.

Note: I had this idea and I needed to write about it. I plan to make more parts of it, but I am not sure how long it will be. Hope you’ll enjoy it.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda first learned about soulmates from her mother back in Sokovia. Her mother had told her about two souls who were destined to meet.

"Why do you have Papa's name on your wrist, Mama?" Little Wanda asked as she traced the name with her fingers.

"That's because your papa and I are soulmates, sweetheart," Iryna replied with a soft smile.

"Soulmates?" Pietro asked, curious.

"Yes, soulmates. Soulmates are two people whose souls are meant to meet. They will always be there for each other and love each other deeply," Iryna explained.

"Like the way you love me, Mama?" Wanda asked innocently.

Iryna chuckled. "No, sweetheart. It's stronger than that. Your papa is my soulmate, and we love each other *very* much."

"Is that why you're married?" Pietro asked.

"Yes. That's why we're married." Iryna gently ruffled Pietro's hair.

"Why don't my wrists have a name? Pietro's doesn't either." Wanda showed her empty wrist.

"That's because you’ll only know when you turn sixteen. On your sixteenth birthday, a name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you'll know who it is," Iryna explained.

"So, I won’t know who my soulmate is until then?" Wanda asked, disappointment in her voice.

"That's right, sweetheart," Iryna smiled.

"Cool!" Pietro said, his attention already elsewhere. "I’m hungry," he blurted out, making Iryna laugh.

While Iryna and Pietro continued their conversation, Wanda kept gazing at her wrist, wondering when the name would appear.

---

Wanda's 16th Birthday

Wanda had been eagerly waiting for this day for years. Her sixteenth birthday wasn’t just another day—it was the day the name on her wrist was supposed to appear, the day she would finally know who her soulmate was. Even after everything that had happened in Sokovia, the loss of her parents, and the chaos she had endured with Pietro, there was a small part of her heart that still clung to the belief in the soulmate bond her mother had told her about.

She and Pietro shared the same birthday, so their celebrations were always intertwined. But this year felt different. It was a birthday they wouldn’t be able to celebrate with their parents. There was no cake, no presents, and no laughter echoing through their childhood home. But it was a night they’d still find something to celebrate—something they couldn’t see, but something they both longed for.

The winds howled outside, a stark reminder of the storms they had weathered together. Yet inside, they had managed to find shelter in the abandoned building they had claimed as their temporary haven. There was warmth in the air, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the unease that lingered in Wanda’s chest. She sat cross-legged on the dusty floor, staring down at her wrist, watching for any sign of the name she had dreamed about for so long.

Pietro sat nearby, already distracted by the cramped quarters. His eyes flickered across the space, darting from one corner to another as he kept fiddling with the old television they had found in a corner of the room. He wasn’t as invested in the idea of soulmates as Wanda, but the concept fascinated him nonetheless.

“Hey, Wanda, look at this!” Pietro called out to her, though his attention was clearly divided. He gestured to the static-ridden screen. "Maybe we can finally catch something good on this thing."

Wanda barely registered his words. Her thoughts were consumed with the waiting, the anticipation that was growing stronger as the night wore on. She could still hear her mother’s voice in her head from all those years ago, when she explained the concept of soulmates to her and Pietro.

“On your sixteenth birthday, the name will appear on your wrist. When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you will know who they are. It will be a bond you cannot ignore.”

Wanda could still feel the soft warmth of her mother’s hands on her shoulders, the way she’d smile so fondly when she spoke of her father, her own soulmate. It was a fairytale Wanda had always believed in, even if it seemed far too perfect to be true. But what if it wasn’t? What if, like her mother said, the name would truly appear when it was time?

But time felt like it was standing still. Every moment, every second seemed to drag on as Wanda clutched her wrist, the bare skin tingling, yearning for something. Her heart beat faster now, each pulse filling her with growing excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. She wanted to believe.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp, tingling sensation on her wrist—a warmth, a gentle pressure. Wanda’s breath caught, and she looked down, her pulse quickening.

Y/N.

The name appeared, written in soft, curling letters across her skin.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her fingers tracing the letters delicately as she tried to take in the moment. It was real. It was finally happening.

She had never heard of anyone by that name before. The feeling inside her—something deep and primal—told her this was the one. The soulmate she had always wondered about, the one her mother had promised would come into her life. But who were they? Where were they? And when would she meet them?

As her fingers lingered on the name, she felt a slight brush against her skin—the gentle touch of her twin, Pietro. She hadn’t even noticed him move closer.

“What does it say?” Pietro asked, his voice filled with curiosity, though he was still half distracted by the television.

Wanda instinctively pulled her wrist back, covering it with the sleeve of her jacket. She felt a rush of embarrassment, a strange unease, even though there was no reason to hide it. It was just the name of the person she was meant to be with.

“I… I don’t know them,” Wanda said softly, her voice tinged with a sense of disappointment. She tried to focus on her brother, but she couldn’t shake the fluttering in her chest. “The name that appeared is… Y/N.”

Pietro shrugged, not quite grasping the significance. “So? It’s just a name. You haven’t met them yet, right? Maybe it’s someone out there in the world.”

“Maybe…” Wanda murmured, still staring at her wrist, trying to imagine who Y/N could be. Was it someone in Sokovia? Someone she’d meet in the future? There were so many possibilities, but none of them felt real until she met them.

Pietro suddenly grinned, showing Wanda the wrist of his own arm. “Mine says ‘Crystal.’ Still don’t know her either,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Wanda glanced at his wrist. He wasn’t wrong. The name Crystal shimmered faintly on his skin, but he didn’t seem as affected by it as she was. To Pietro, it was just another oddity in the world, another mystery to solve or ignore. He was more concerned with finding something edible than pondering soulmates.

“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” Wanda asked softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“Who knows?” Pietro said nonchalantly, picking at his sleeve. “Maybe one day. But I’m not worried about it.”

Wanda couldn’t quite understand how her twin could be so carefree about the idea of soulmates. She had spent her entire life dreaming of this day, and now that it had arrived, it was as if the universe had sent her a message she couldn’t decode.

That night, as the storm outside raged on, Wanda couldn’t sleep. She lay on the thin mattress, her wrist pressed to her chest, staring at the ceiling. The words *Y/N* were burned into her memory, etched into her skin. She tried to imagine who they were, what they would be like, and how her life might change when their paths crossed. But for now, all she could do was wait.

---

As the years goes by and the war still happening in Sokovia, the Maximoff twins felt helpless. So, when Hydra came to them with promises of power—promises of revenge against those they felt had wronged them—their initial resistance crumbled. Hydra had their own agenda, but they knew how to prey on the broken, the vulnerable, and the angry.

Wanda and Pietro were not exempt. They had lost their family. They had watched their country crumble beneath the weight of international politics and war. Now, Hydra offered them the means to fight back—abilities beyond human limits, the chance to make a difference. It wasn’t much of a choice. The twins signed on, each carrying their own burdens, seeking to right the wrongs that had been done to their people.

In the early days, the experiments weren’t so bad. The twins were subjected to the brutal training and manipulation Hydra was known for, but they believed in their cause. They believed they could change things, even if it meant sacrificing parts of themselves along the way.

Then came the experiment with the scepter. The Mind Stone. It was the final piece that would make them unstoppable—at least, that’s what Hydra promised.

Wanda gained powers, and it was then that she began to see things. The Mind Stone had changed everything, but not in the way they had hoped. While Pietro thrived with his new speed, Wanda’s powers took a darker turn, feeding on her anger, her grief. She could manipulate minds, conjure illusions, and bring chaos to life with a thought.

But despite everything, Wanda clung to one thing—the belief in the soulmate she’d always dreamed of. In the back of her mind, she clung to the memory of her mother’s words: “You will meet your soulmate when the time is right. When you do, you’ll feel it in your heart. The name on your wrist will burn, and you’ll know.”

But that belief was beginning to fade.

Hydra’s experiments and manipulations had broken something inside of her. Her mind became consumed with chaos. She felt no peace, no calm—only an ever-growing storm inside her. The people she was supposed to trust—the ones who promised to help her fight for Sokovia—were nothing more than puppeteers, controlling every move, every thought. In Hydra’s cold, sterile labs, she felt the weight of her powers but no joy, no fulfillment. She was a weapon, not a person.

And it was in that environment that Wanda began to lose all hope in the idea of soulmates. She couldn’t understand how something as pure and beautiful as soulmates could exist in a world that had given her nothing but suffering. The idea of a destined partner, someone whose name would appear on her wrist to guide her through life, felt like a distant, naive fantasy. Her heart was breaking from the inside, and no one, not even a soulmate, could fix that.

Her anger grew, and her resentment toward the world intensified. The name on her wrist, Y/N, had long since ceased to be a comfort. It was a reminder of something she could never have. She began to resent the idea that there was someone out there meant for her, someone who was supposed to be her other half. It felt like a cruel joke.

---

It wasn’t just Hydra’s influence that broke her spirit—it was the death of her brother, Pietro, that truly shattered everything.

When Ultron was born—the twisted creation that should never have existed—everything spiraled out of control.

Wanda had tried to stop him, together with the Avengers. The world was at war, and Sokovia—her home—was at the center of it. As Ultron began his destruction, Wanda saw her country being torn apart once more, and she felt helpless. The anger that had burned in her chest for so long erupted, but it was not enough.

Then came the moment she would never forget—when Pietro threw himself in front of one of the avengers to protect them. It was too late to save him, and as Wanda felt her brother dies, she felt something snap deep within her.

Her brother, her twin, her protector—gone. The one person who had always been by her side, who had shared her pain, her anger, and her dreams—was dead. In that moment, Wanda’s grief became an all-consuming black hole. She didn’t just lose Pietro; she lost any hope she had left. If the universe had a plan for her, it was cruel. If soulmates existed, they certainly weren’t for her.

Wanda’s heart shattered, and the idea of soulmates—the very thing that had once offered her a glimmer of hope—became a bitter, painful reminder of everything she had lost.

How could she still believe in a soulmate when her brother was dead, when her country was destroyed, when she had nothing left but the wreckage of her past? How could she trust in the idea of a perfect match when nothing had turned out the way it was supposed to?

And yet, deep down, buried beneath all the chaos and the hurt, a small part of her still wondered if *Y/N*—the name on her wrist—was out there, waiting. But the thought was fleeting. Because the world had already shown her that destiny was cruel, that love was a fleeting illusion. And she had no place for either.

---

In the aftermath of Sokovia’s destruction, Wanda was left broken, a shell of the person she once was. Her grief over Pietro’s death consumed her, and the very concept of soulmates—something that once held so much meaning for her—had been shattered along with her home and family. But even in the midst of her pain and anger, a quiet, unexpected connection began to form, one that she couldn't ignore, even if she tried.

It began with Vision.

At first, Wanda didn’t know what to make of him. He was a creation—born from the Mind Stone and created by Tony Stark. An artificial being, a machine, with human-like qualities and a presence that was both calming and unsettling. She couldn’t understand how to feel about him. To Wanda, the Mind Stone had been the source of so much pain—the catalyst for Hydra’s experiments, for the chaos that had consumed her life. So when she first saw Vision, the last thing on her mind was finding comfort in him.

But there was something about him. Something different.

Vision wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t a weapon, not in the same way she had become. He wasn’t fueled by rage or revenge. There was a quiet gentleness to him, a wisdom that far surpassed his mechanical origins. His connection to the Mind Stone, the very same force that had torn her world apart, gave him a strange understanding of her—something Wanda couldn’t quite explain. Was it because he had the stone which gave her powers? She didn’t know.

The first time they spoke alone, it was at the Avengers’ compound. Wanda had been avoiding the team, retreating to the quiet corners of the compound where she could brood and mourn in peace. Vision had approached her with no agenda, no need to fix her or tell her to "move on," like so many others had. Instead, he simply sat beside her, his voice calm, unhurried, as if he understood the weight of her silence.

“I know you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Vision had said, his tone almost soothing. “But you are not alone.”

Wanda had looked at him then, truly looked at him, and for the first time since Sokovia’s fall, she didn’t feel completely lost. There was something in his eyes—something genuine. No judgment, no expectation. Just understanding.

Over the next few weeks, their interactions grew more frequent. Vision didn’t speak to her out of obligation; he sought her company because, in his own way, he wanted to be there for her. He wasn’t like the others on the team. Tony was often wrapped up in his own projects, Steve and Natasha were too focused on the mission, and Clint had his own family to think about. But Vision? He was always there, always patient, always present.

Wanda began to find solace in their conversations. Vision never pushed her to reveal more than she was comfortable with. He understood that grief wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight. Slowly, he helped her find moments of peace again. When she sat with him, he wouldn’t ask about Sokovia or her powers or the loss of her brother. He would just talk about things—philosophies, thoughts on existence, the nature of humanity. The Mind Stone had granted him immense intelligence and perception, but it was his kindness and openness that helped Wanda heal.

But it wasn’t just the deep conversations or the quiet companionship. There was something else—an almost magnetic pull, a connection that she couldn’t explain. Wanda had always felt something strange whenever Vision was around. It wasn’t the same as the pull she had once hoped for with her soulmate, but it was real. It was an undeniable connection, one that lingered in the air whenever they were near each other. She felt it when they would train together, when they would share a brief moment of silence, when she looked into his eyes and saw something that resembled understanding—something familiar and safe.

Wanda tried to deny it at first. She tried to push away the feelings that slowly began to grow inside her. After all, Vision wasn’t human. He was an artificial being, a construct of the Mind Stone and Tony Stark’s technology. How could she possibly—?

---

But then came the day when everything changed.

They had been sent on a mission together, and afterward, when they returned to the compound, they found themselves alone in a quiet room. The others had dispersed, lost in their own tasks, but Wanda and Vision remained. She was still exhausted from the mission, but when she looked at him, she found herself speaking more openly than she had in days.

“I never thought I’d find comfort in a creation,” Wanda admitted softly, her voice almost a whisper. “But there’s something about you that… makes me feel less alone.”

Vision turned toward her, his expression unreadable, though she knew he was listening. He was always listening.

“I am not truly like you, Wanda. I have no true identity, no past,” Vision said. “But I believe the connection we share is real. Even if it is not the same as what you expected.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She wanted to tell him that she had never expected anything like this—this slow, growing bond between them. She had spent so long mourning what she had lost, but now she was beginning to see that there was something worth holding on to again. Something she could never have predicted.

“We’re not so different, you know,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “Both created in the image of something greater, but still… searching for meaning. For connection. For something that makes sense.”

Vision’s gaze softened, and for the first time, she saw him not as a machine, but as something else—someone else.

“I understand more than you think, Wanda,” he said. “I, too, search for meaning. But what I have learned is that meaning is not always found in what we expect. Sometimes it’s found in the simplest things—the quiet moments, the people who offer you their trust without needing anything in return.”

And in that moment, Wanda realized the truth. There was something deep and real between them, something she couldn’t ignore any longer.

The next few months were a quiet comfort for Wanda. She had learned to accept that the universe wasn’t going to give her the perfect soulmate she had once imagined. But Vision was something different. He had become a refuge for her—a steady, reliable presence in a world that had left her behind. And in his presence, she began to believe in the possibility of healing, not in the fairy tale way she had once hoped, but in a more grounded, more human way.

Vision had become her comfort, and as time went on, she found herself relying on him in ways she hadn’t thought possible. He was no longer just a creation. He was a person—a person who understood her pain, her fears, and her struggles.

So, when Vision asked her to marry him, Wanda said yes.

---

It had been a month since Wanda had said “yes” to Vision’s proposal. The days were still full of uncertainty, as their relationship blossomed quietly amid the chaos of their lives. But, for the first time in a long while, Wanda felt at peace. She no longer felt the crushing weight of her past. She was healing—slowly, but surely—and she had Vision by her side, supporting her with every step.

It was an ordinary morning at the Avengers compound, and Wanda had just finished a training session. She wiped the sweat from her brow, tired but satisfied with her progress. As she walked toward the common room, she overheard Tony and Steve talking about the arrival of a new recruit. The conversation was light, but there was a certain buzz in the air—everyone seemed to be curious about this new addition to their team.

“Come on, Fury. Just tell us her name,” Tony was saying, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed as he grinned mischievously.

“Her name is none of your business until she’s here,” Fury shot back, his gruff voice barely masking his amusement. “But you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’m sure she’s going to be just as entertaining as the rest of us,” Clint said with a chuckle, tossing a bag of chips to Sam, who was sitting nearby.

Wanda paused at the door, intrigued but not entirely invested. She had her own thoughts to sort through. Her engagement to Vision still felt surreal at times—her past haunted her, and there were moments when the reality of what she had agreed to overwhelmed her. But every time she saw Vision, those doubts started to fade, and the warmth between them only grew stronger.

Before Wanda could enter, there was a sharp knock on the door. Fury, ever the taskmaster, didn’t hesitate. He rose and opened the door, and standing in the doorway was a woman—tall, confident, with an air of quiet authority that seemed to immediately capture everyone’s attention. Her Y/H/C hair framed her face in soft waves, and when her eyes scanned the room, they locked with Wanda’s in a way that made the world around them fade to nothing.

For a heartbeat, Wanda forgot how to breathe.

The air shifted between them, electric and undeniable. Wanda felt her heart skip, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time—the same kind of pull she had once felt toward the name that appeared on her wrist when she turned sixteen.

“Everyone,” Fury said, his voice cutting through the stunned silence, “this is Agent Y/N Y/F/N. She’s our new recruit. Welcome her to the team.”

Y/N smiled, but it was more than just a polite gesture. There was something deeper in her gaze, something that made Wanda’s pulse quicken. It was as if they had known each other for years, but Wanda couldn’t place it.

Wanda’s wrist, where the name—the name she had long since stopped thinking about—was faintly burning, as though it had been waiting for this moment. Wanda instinctively rubbed her wrist, a tingle of warmth spreading through her skin.

And then, without breaking eye contact, Y/N spoke, her voice soft but firm: “Wanda…”

The room fell into a stunned silence. The others exchanged glances, but neither Y/N nor Wanda could look away from each other. Wanda’s heart was racing now, her mind reeling with disbelief. It was as if time itself had frozen.

Wanda’s wrist burned again—hotter this time—and her mind flashed back to the childhood memory of her mother’s voice, explaining what a soulmate was.

“When you meet your soulmate, the name will tingle, and you’ll know who it is.”

The moment the words echoed in her mind, it was as if everything clicked into place. This was it. This was the person her mother had spoken of all those years ago. Y/N was the one her heart had been waiting for—this woman, this stranger who now stood in front of her, was the one whose name had appeared on her wrist all those years ago.

Wanda's breath caught in her throat, and for a brief, terrifying moment, her world seemed to crumble. She was engaged to Vision, the one who had been there for her when she felt completely lost. How could this be happening? She thought she would never meat her soulmate.

Y/N gaze never wavering from Wanda’s. She was doing the same thing—rubbing her wrist, the same fire in her touch, confirming what both of them knew.

Wanda felt numb.

The words felt stuck in her throat, a swirl of emotions flooding her heart. She had never imagined that this would happen—never imagined that the universe would present her with a choice so complicated, so fraught with the past she was still trying to escape.

The room was still silent, everyone watching the exchange with confusion. Tony, sensing the tension, cleared his throat, trying to steer things back to normalcy. “Alright, I don't know what's going on, but, Welcome to the team, Agent Y/N!”

But Wanda barely registered his words. She felt like she was in a dream. She had been given a choice, one she didn’t know how to make. Her heart felt heavy, torn between the future she had begun to build with Vision and the soulmate she had been waiting for all her life.

---

Part 2

---

This is part 1. Let me know what you think about it.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #soulmates

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bartonomy · 4 months ago

Text

A GLIMPSE BETWEEN THE VEIL

PAIRING James Potter x Whimsical!Reader

SYNOPSIS James Potter has never put much stock in divination, but when a peculiar classmate offers to read his future, he finds himself unable to resist.

CONTENT WARNING talk about the future, James freaking out, angsty but not too bad, not exactly romantic but the reader is implied to be interested

WORD COUNT 1.2k

library.

James Potter never fancied himself the superstitious sort. Sure, he had vague notions of grandeur- winning the Quidditch Cup, making his parents proud, marrying a cute girl with a laugh as sharp as her hexes- but actual predictions? No, thanks. That sort of thing was for people who saw shapes in tea leaves and claimed the wind is responsible for every little mishap.

Which was precisely why he was sitting crisscrossed apple sauce across from you, mildly bewildered, as you shuffled an old deck of tarot cards with an almost hypnotic grace.

“You’re taking an awful long time, darling,” James teased, propping his chin on his hand. “Are you searching for a particularly good future, or just one that doesn’t end with me embarrassing myself?”

You smiled, a slow, knowing thing that made his skin prickle.

“The cards take the time they need, James.” Your voice was soft, melodic, like you were speaking from somewhere just beyond reality. “patience, or you might spook them away, the nargles have been especially fussy these days”

“Wouldn’t want that, do we” he murmured, glancing down at the cards with skepticism.

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the fire casting warm shadows across the walls. Most of the house was either out on the grounds or in Hogsmeade, but James had lingered behind, half out of laziness, half because he’d overheard Sirius mention your readings and got inexplicably curious.

Sirius, for all his bravado, had walked away from his session looking rattled. Which was interesting and absolutely hilarious.

You sighed contently, spreading the deck between your hands like a fan. The firelight flickered, casting warm shadows over the cards, their edges frayed from years of use. James had seen you doing readings before- sometimes for your friends, sometimes for curious younger students, and even once for Professor Whats-Her-Name in the Courtyard.

“Please pick three,” you instructed with the same soft tone you only used in class.

"Aye, aye grand Seer", James did as he was told, amused despite himself. “So, how does this work? You going to tell me I’m going to be rich and famous or that my soulmate, the love of my life is around here??” he snorted "please let it be the latter one"

"You are already rich" you pointed out, laying the three picked card neatly in front of you and discarding the unused deck in your satchel "and whether or not you will find love...well. That remains to be discovered, hm?"

With that he rolled his eyes playfully and you hummed, drawing the first card and laying it gently in front of you. The Fool.

James blinked.

“Oi, that’s just rude.”

You laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not at all. The Fool isn’t the fool we all know, James. He’s someone at the beginning of a great journey, standing on the edge of a cliff, about to take a leap of faith.” You tapped the card. “He’s full of potential, but also reckless. Fascinating, don’t you think?”

James grinned. “Sounds about right so far.”

You drew the next card. The Lovers.

James coughed. “Oh, well—”

You tilted your head, studying it with quiet reverence. “This isn’t always about romance, you know. It can mean a choice, a connection, a relationship that defines a person. It’s about harmony and consequence. Something you can’t escape.”

James swallowed. His mind, without permission, conjured an image of Lily Evans—her oh so fierce green eyes, the way she scrunched her nose adorably when she was annoyed, how she never hesitated to call him out.

You watched him closely, as if seeing the thought pass across his face. He didn’t like how sharp your gaze was, like you were peeling him apart with nothing but intuition.

“Shall we?” you murmured, pulling the third card.

You turned over the third and last card.

James frowned at the image—a great tower, struck by lightning, people falling from its heights. The air around you both seemed to shift, the easy playfulness from before fading into something heavier.

“The Tower,” you murmured.

James swallowed. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

You traced the image with a careful finger. “Not bad. Just… necessary.”

James gave a dry laugh. “Destruction is necessary? On my buttocks, you are just like us, little troublemaker”

“Sometimes.” Your voice remained gentle, but the certainty in it made James shiver and his uneasy smile faded. “The Tower comes when the foundation isn’t steady. It doesn’t destroy for the sake of it—it forces change. When the dust settles, the world isn’t the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s worse.”

James stared at the card, feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest. Something about it—it felt too close, like a whisper against the back of his mind.

“What kind of change?” he asked quietly.

You studied him for a long moment, then examined the fated cards in front of of you

James stared at them. The Fool. The Lovers. The Tower. A journey, a choice, a fall.

He let out a quiet breath. “You sure you didn’t stack the deck?”

You smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, you gathered the cards and shuffled them again, your fingers delicate against the worn edges.

James watched you, the tightness in his chest still there, lingering.

“Do you ever do readings for yourself?”

The question was simple, but it was enough to stop your fingers mid-motion. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. It was an unexpected question. You weren’t sure why, but the thought of reading for yourself felt like stepping into uncharted territory, where the gods will have full access of your being, your soul, and your mind.

“I... would rather not” you answered softly, your eyes now focused on your hands,“I mean, It is possible if I do, but it’s not something I like to do often.”

“Why not?” James asked, his curiosity piqued, though his tone was lined with the previous horror of his reading. “Scared the cards might tell you something you don’t want to hear?”

You chuckled, but it came out strained. “Something like that.”

James leaned in a bit closer, tilting his head. “Come on, you’re always so ominous with the cards for everyone else. Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few little 'whackspurts' messing up your head.”

The mention of whackspurts—those silly, fuzzy little creatures from your gardens, made you stiffen slightly, but not in the way he intended. It was funny, yes, but also something you had come to associate with the fuzziness that clouded your mind whenever you thought too much about yourself. The confusion, the uncertainty, the inability to make sense of your own feelings. You’d often joked about whackspurts being responsible for any moments of mental fog, but in truth, it was far more than that. It was a kind of fear—the uneasiness of confronting the unknown parts of yourself, the parts that were tangled and elusive.

“I don’t think it’s whackspurts,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “not entirely at least, It’s more like… what if I look too closely and find things I’m not prepared to see? What if there’s something inside me that I’m not meant to understand?”

He only shrugged, " then you are forced to confront them no matter what. I mean, with the bullock of a reading you gave me, I can't entirely avoid it can I?" he gave you his signature smile, all teeth and stirring something foreign inside of you.

“You believe in fate, don't you?” you asked after a moment.

James shook his head. “I believe in making my own future.”

Your smile was soft. “Then do.”

The words settled into him, deep and warm, and he suddenly had the strangest feeling that one day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—he would look back on this moment and realize just how much the universe had been trying to warn him.

#james potter x reader #james potter angst #james potter #james potter drabble #the marauders #the marauders angst #harry potter #whimsical!reader #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x yn #james potter x you #james potter fic #hp marauders #hp fandom

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thedemoninme141 · 4 months ago

Text

It doesn't matter. (anon asks)

Pairings: Wednesday x Female reader.

Theme: Angst. Warnings: Discussions of suicide, depression.

Wordcount: 3.5k.

Wednesday sat on the railing of her balcony, her legs hanging over the edge, boots scraping against the cold stone.

Enid was sleeping softly in her side of the dorm. Peaceful. Oblivious. Even Thing had curled up on his little makeshift bed, unmoving, trusting that she would do nothing drastic. They thought they understood her.

They thought she was above weakness, above fragility.

Fools.

She had studied death. Pored over it. Dissected its meanings, its finality, its inevitability. She had wielded it in her hands like a sharpened blade, used it as a threat, a weapon, a fascination. But now, she wondered: was a fall from this height truly lethal? Would her bones shatter on impact? Or would she suffer, twitching on the cold stone until the void finally claimed her?

The world below seemed so far away, yet so close. A single misstep, a slight shift in weight, and she would no longer be perched between life and death, she would simply fall.

She had read about people who had jumped. Some regretted it before they hit the ground. Some had died on impact, their bodies broken beyond recognition. Some had lived, haunted by the knowledge that they had failed at escaping.

Would she regret it?

A foolish question. She didn’t believe in regret. She believed in action.

It didn’t matter.

It really didn’t matter.

She sat in the quad, her fingers curled over the spine of a book she had long since stopped reading. Her dark eyes were fixed on a single point across the courtyard.

You. It had been a year since she talked to you, that day.

She was watching you again.

Why?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t even aware of when it started.

You were reading. Or, at least, you had been.

Now, your book was gone, ripped from your hands by a sneering group of students who thought themselves superior. She had seen this before. Watched from a distance. The same group. The same scene, playing out like a wretched cycle. A hand shoved at your shoulder, another voice laughed in your face. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your fingers curling into fists, but you did not fight back.

You never did.

You had been like this for a while now, silent, withdrawn, smaller. You never stood close to her anymore, hadn't been for the past year since that day. You never hovered near her anymore.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen this.

She had been seeing you, as you closed yourself from.. everything.

Wednesday could end it.

It would be easy. A single glare, a few well-placed words, and they would scatter like cockroaches under a harsh light. She could terrify them, send them running, make them regret every second they had spent trying to break you down.

But how could she?

How could she, when she had done the same to you?

The wind was colder now, biting at her skin as she sat motionless on the railing. Wednesday didn’t move, didn’t blink, only stared at the ground below. She understood now. Why you had chosen her. It wasn’t because you were fascinated by her, nor because you admired her, no, you did admire her but not in the way the others did.

The Hyde investigation had reached a standstill.

Wednesday gritted her teeth, Yesterday’s rain had washed away what could have been critical evidence. It was infuriating. She hated inefficiency, hated wasting time, hated failure.

And then there was you.

Trailing behind her like a shadow, quiet but persistent.

“…Maybe it’s not someone from this school at all, but an outsider?” Your voice was soft, hesitant, barely loud enough to rise above the sound of her footsteps.

Wednesday didn’t reply. Her mind was a swirling storm of deductions, dead ends, and mounting irritation.

“I mean… you’re so smart, Wednesday. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”

A compliment. Empty words, spoken with sincerity, but meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Wednesday stopped walking.

“Stop talking.”

Her voice was flat, sharp, laced with barely contained irritation.

She didn’t have time for this.

You flinched, but you didn’t leave. Instead, you simply adjusted the grip on your notebook, as if grounding yourself, as if trying to take up less space. Your footsteps became softer, your presence dimming, but still there.

Still following.

Still clinging.

By the time they reached the main hallway, the low hum of students passing through only made the irritation coil tighter inside her chest. The voices, the movement, the constant press of bodies—it was suffocating.

And then—

“…I could help if you need someone to brainstorm with…”

She still doesn't understand what was wrong in that sentence that caused her to lash out.

Wednesday stopped abruptly.

You hadn’t been expecting it. You barely had time to react before you bumped into her shoulder, the force of it barely anything, but it sent a fresh wave of irritation through her already frayed nerves.

She spun around, her hand latching onto your arm before she shoved you against the nearest wall.

“You are insufferable.”

Your back hit the cold stone, you froze, your notebook still clutched to your chest.

“Do you not understand the concept of personal space?” Her voice was rising now, sharp enough to cut. “Or basic social cues? How many more insults will it take to penetrate that thick skull of yours and make you realize I am not interested in your pathetic attempts at friendship?”

She remembers she noticed it.

The way your eyes flickered around, the way you took in the students stopping, whispering, watching.

She didn’t care back then.

“I don’t care about your feelings. I don’t care about your problems. And I certainly don’t care about your pitiful attempts to get closer to me.” Her voice was ice, unwavering, merciless. “So why don’t you do us both a favor and stay the hell away from me?”

She didn’t wait for a reaction.

Didn’t wait to see the way your fingers trembled around the edges of your notebook.

She just turned and walked away.

And now, sitting on the railing of her balcony, she understood.

You had clung to her because she was a wall, an impenetrable fortress of indifference and cruelty, and as long as you stayed near her, no one else could touch you. No one else could hurt you.

You weren’t trying to befriend her. You were trying to survive.

She had been your shield.

You had felt safe around her.

Safe.

Wednesday stood outside your dorm, the same day she had watched as they surrounded you, as they tossed your book aside like it was worthless, as you stood there and did nothing, accepted it like it was as natural as breathing.

And now she was here, because… because what? Because she felt responsible? Because she had spent a year noticing the silence you left in your absence? Because something about the way you had looked, empty, resigned—had made something inside her twist unpleasantly?

Her hand hovered for only a second before she knocked twice.

“Wednesday?” you asked, your voice quiet, indifferent.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it.

She had spent the past hour deliberating over this moment, she had thought of this moment in her head, had run through different variations of how this conversation might go, but now, standing in front of you, she realized she had no idea what to say.

She expected—no, she had prepared for—the possibility of anger, of bitterness. Perhaps even avoidance, a door slammed in her face, a sharp remark thrown back at her in retaliation for last year.

But this?

This quiet, unreadable calm?

It made her skin crawl.

How can she bring this up? How could she string together words that didn’t sound weak, didn’t make her feel foolish?

You tilted your head slightly, waiting. Then, after a beat, “Do you need something?”

Wednesday finally forced herself to speak.

“I saw some students bothering you today,” she said, her voice clipped. “Why didn't you even try to fight back?"

It was a simple question. A reasonable one. And yet, the moment she said it, something in your expression shifted.

You looked… surprised.

As if the very idea of someone asking had never even crossed your mind.

Then, slowly, you smiled. A sad, small thing that barely touched your eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm used to it."

Wednesday studied you carefully, but there was no tension, no bitterness, no frustration—just quiet acceptance, like this was simply a fact of life, an inevitability you had long since resigned yourself to.

“I’ve learned not to fight battles that don’t matter,” you added.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. “That sounds like cowardice.”

She expected a flinch, a glare, some kind of reaction at the insult.

But you only looked at her, that same faint, almost knowing smile on your lips. "Maybe," you said. "Or maybe I’ve just realized there’s no point."

There was no weight behind the words, no emotion for her to latch onto. Nothing.

That should have pleased her. Wednesday had always hated dealing with overly emotional displays, found them exhausting, unnecessary. But this wasn’t peace. This wasn’t calm.

This was a void.

And it unsettled her more than anything else could have.

Wednesday held your gaze for a long moment. Then, before she could stop herself, before she could convince herself it wasn’t necessary, she forced the words out

“I haven’t spoken to you in a year,” Wednesday said, her voice uncharacteristically soft, though still blunt. “That day in the hallway…”

You tilted your head slightly, as if trying to recall something distant. “I don’t blame you, Wednesday. You don’t need to apologize.”

The statement caught Wednesday off guard. She hadn’t been planning to apologize, not exactly. But the fact that you brushed it off so easily, as if it didn’t matter at all, made her feel even more uneasy.

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” Wednesday said quickly, more to reassure herself than you. “I don’t apologize. I just..." she sighed, taking a deep breath.

"I just wanted to say I am not one to dwell on past mistakes, nor do I often feel the need to correct them. However…" A pause. Her fingers twitched at her sides. "I shouldn’t have said what I did. Last year."

Nothing.

No flicker of relief, no sign that this meant anything to you at all.

You simply nodded, voice as steady as ever. "It’s fine."

It wasn’t.

"It really doesn’t matter," you added.

Wednesday’s jaw tightened.

It didn’t matter.

That was what you had said.

The same way you had said it about the group who bullied you.

The same way you had said it about yourself.

It should matter.

But you spoke like someone who had already accepted things would never change. Like someone who had given up long ago.

She didn’t know why that bothered her so much. Wednesday exhaled slowly.

"If they bother you again, tell me."

Your polite, practiced smile returned.

"I’ll keep that in mind."

You wouldn't.

Wednesday was feeling tired now, she hadn't been able to sleep for the past few days. And there was the round glowing thing, up there in the sky, judging her.

So the next time Wednesday didn't hesitate. “Are you all incapable of finding something more productive to do than harass the same person every day?” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The bullies froze, their smug expressions faltering as they turned to face her.

“Look, Addams, we’re just—” one of them began, but Wednesday raised a hand, silencing them.

“I don’t recall asking for an explanation, if you want to keep your body parts intact, I would suggest moving away now.” she said icily.

Before she could take another step toward them, you stood abruptly, placing a hand on Wednesday’s arm.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice steady.

Wednesday frowned, her eyes narrowing. “It’s not okay.”

You shook your head, your gaze meeting Wednesday’s for a brief moment before dropping again. “Please. Just leave it. It doesn’t matter.”

Those three words, and here she thought she hates the other set of three words.

She was beyond frustrated. “Of course, it matters—”

But you cut her off with a faint, almost pleading smile. “Thank you, Wednesday. But I can handle it.”

Your calmness only made Wednesday angrier, but she allowed herself to be stopped. The bullies muttered something under their breath and walked away, clearly unwilling to push their luck further.

You let go of Wednesday’s arm and gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ll see you later,” you said quietly, before walking away without another word.

Wednesday watched as you walked away, the ghost of that practiced smile still lingering on your lips.

It unsettled her.

She should have felt satisfied. The bullies had left. You were no longer being bothered. By all accounts, this was a resolution. Yet, as she stood there, the frustration in her veins had not lessened. It had thickened.

Because you weren’t relieved. You weren’t grateful or upset or anything at all. You were just… neutral. Indifferent. As if nothing that had just happened actually mattered.

And that was what disturbed her the most.

She hadn’t intended to seek you out again that day, but as evening settled over Nevermore, she found herself in your presence once more. It was not premeditated. At least, that was what she told herself.

You were at your usual spot in the library, tucked away in the corner where few people ventured. Your book was open, but Wednesday could tell you weren't reading, your thoughts were elsewhere.

Wednesday sat down across from you without invitation. You looked up, but instead of questioning her presence, you simply nodded in acknowledgment before returning to staring at the pages in front of you.

She waited for you to speak.

You didn’t.

“I assume you have no opinion on this novel?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You blinked, finally lifting your eyes to hers. There was no confusion, no curiosity—just quiet patience, as if waiting for her to get to the point. “It’s fine,” you said simply.

Fine.

Wednesday studied you for a long moment.

A year ago, you would have said more.

A year ago, you would have tilted your head, started a conversation, told her what you thought, even if you knew she might not respond.

But now?

She felt a strange, unfamiliar irritation.

Wednesday exhaled sharply. "You used to be more talkative."

You blinked, tilting your head slightly, as if this was a strange observation. "Did I?"

Wednesday's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes."

You hummed, as if considering it, before turning the page of your book. "I guess I don’t have much to say anymore."

There was something deeply, profoundly wrong about that.

"You always had something to say before," Wednesday pointed out.

“I suppose I grew out of it.”

Wednesday didn’t believe that.

Not for a second.

But she didn’t know how to make you tell her the truth.

Wednesday had never been one to admire beauty—she found it frivolous, a distraction from the inevitable decay that awaited all things. And yet, she could not deny it.

The moon did look beautiful tonight.

And perhaps it's too late to notice this... has she always been too late to notice things?

It's alright, it doesn't matter.

Somewhere in the months that followed, she had begun to notice things.

Small things.

The way she was drawn to your presence more than she cared to admit. The way her mind wandered when you weren’t near. The way irritation clawed at her when she saw you retreat into yourself, as if part of you was slipping away, disappearing into the quiet that had settled around you for the past year.

She found herself seeking you out, not out of curiosity or obligation, but because she wanted to.

It was unnatural.

It was wrong.

But it was happening.

And she noticed that something else was happening, too.

You were changing.

At first, the silence had been suffocating. Wednesday had spent months trying to pry something—anything—out of you, trying to provoke a reaction, to hear your voice the way she used to. But it had been slow, painfully so, like pulling teeth.

Then, one day, she made a comment about Xavier's iq, and you—

You laughed.

It wasn’t much, just a quiet huff of amusement, barely even there. But it was real.

Perhaps that's what pushed her over the edge.

It started happening more often after that.

Little things.

A subtle smile when she made a dark observation about the world. A quiet response when she asked you a direct question.

You weren’t how you used to be. Not completely.

But you were less silent.

And Wednesday—who had spent her entire life preferring silence—found herself desperate to hear more.

One evening, as you sat across from her in the library, she caught herself staring.

You were focused on a book, your expression calm, lips slightly parted in thought. A stray strand of hair fell in front of your eyes, and without thinking, you reached up and tucked it behind your ear.

It was an utterly mundane action.

And yet, something inside Wednesday twisted.

She dropped her gaze immediately, pressing her nails into her palms.

This wasn’t right.

She knew what this was. She wasn’t stupid. She had read about these things, seen them infect others like a slow-spreading disease.

She was falling for you.

And it was unacceptable.

But the realization did nothing to stop it.

She still sought you out. She still lingered in your presence. She still noticed every detail about you—the way you fidgeted when deep in thought, the way your voice softened when you spoke to her, the way you had begun to meet her gaze a little more often.

She noticed how you were changing.

And she noticed that she was, too.

She had tried to fight it. Tried to ignore the way something inside her clenched whenever you smiled—really smiled, not the polite, practiced one you gave so often.

But it was pointless.

Because this had been building for months now, like a slow-burning fire that refused to be smothered.

And perhaps—

Perhaps she didn’t want to smother it anymore.

Wednesday wasn’t blind to the world. She knew what affection looked like, even if she had never experienced it herself. She had read of it, studied it, dissected it through history and literature and human observation.

And now, she was living it.

There was something deeply unsettling about the realization.

But there was something else, too. Something almost… comforting.

It wasn’t so bad, she supposed, to have someone she didn’t mind being around. To have someone who had seen the worst of her and still—still—remained.

Maybe she could allow this.

Maybe, for once, she could let herself have this.

The Raven was approaching.

Wednesday had never cared for such events—meaningless social gatherings. It was an evening of vanity, of shallow declarations and fleeting romances, none of which had ever interested her.

And yet, for the first time, she found herself anticipating it.

Because this year, it had a purpose.

This year, she would ask you.

The realization should have unsettled her, but it didn’t. Not anymore. She had spent months fighting this, dissecting it, rationalizing it, but there was no use in denying the inevitable. She had fallen for you. The thought of it no longer felt like a weakness.

Perhaps, in some ways, it was a strength.

She had spent so long trying to bring you back—trying to restore the version of you that had been buried beneath silence and indifference. And it was working, wasn’t it?

She could already picture the moment in her mind—she would find you alone, somewhere quiet, away from the noise of the others. She would state it plainly, without unnecessary theatrics or hesitations.

You would say yes.

And after the Raven—

She would tell you.

That she had fallen for you. That somewhere between your silence and your soft smiles, between the way you had once tried so hard to reach her and then stopped entirely, she had found herself tangled in something she could not escape.

She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen afterward. But she would deal with it when the time came.

For now, she just needed to ask you. She just needs to go to your dorm and ask you. She just needs to go to your room and find you.

Wednesday sat on the edge of the balcony railing, her legs dangling over the side.

In her hand, a letter trembled, one she had found beside you.

Her fingers curled tightly around the paper, the words smudged in places where she had gripped it too hard, as if by crumpling it, she could change what was written, change the reality of what had happened. But the ink did not bleed, and the words did not disappear.

They stared back at her.

"I'm sorry."

""I'm tired, Wednesday."

"It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault."

"Don't blame yourself."

But Wednesday did.

How could she not, when she had seen the signs too late? When she had spent so long convincing herself that you were getting better, that the quiet was no longer something suffocating? When she was the reason you got away?

You were smiling more. Talking more. Responding when she reached out.

For all her investigation skills, she should have known better.

It was never real.

She had studied death all her life, dissected it, understood it in ways most people never could.

And yet, she found herself wondering—

Would a fall from this height be lethal?

It doesn't matter.

She was going to find out soon anyway.

[Author's note: This was a one-shot ask. So blame anon for the heartbreak. I can't believe I wrote all that in one sitting lmao.]

[Worklist.]

Taglist: @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr (If you guys don't wanna be tagged in one-shot asks, inform me, I don't mind.)

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plethorawrites · 5 months ago

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Guys! Clark has started to invade too!!! Anyway, today I was thinking about Smallville Clark Kent (personal go to when thinking about the character) with a new neighbor from the city...

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Clark Kent: Who sees you by the fence, petting his family's horses, and doesn't recognize you, which is odd because he recognizes everyone in such a small town.

Clark Kent: Who quickly realizes from the way you dress to the lack of an accent that you're not just new in town, but from some larger city that probably has apartment buildings with more tenants than the entire town has people.

Clark Kent: Who brushes off your apology for petting the horses, which you'd only done because you've never seen any in real life and couldn't resist how sweet they looked.

Clark Kent: Who watches you insist on going home to unpack instead of keep talking, but runs into you at school the next day and offers to show you around.

Clark Kent: Who you offer a ride home in your car as a thank you for being an extremely patient tour guide.

Clark Kent: Who accepts, under the condition that you let him show you the town too and when you tell him you pretty much have with how small it is, shakes his head and tells you there's a lot of places people don't know about aside from him or a few other kids.

Clark Kent: Who not only shows you his favorite places the next time you're both free, but also says he would be glad to teach you to ride, if you ever wanted.

Clark Kent: Who is thrilled when you take him up on it and spends several hours on a trail with you at a calm pace, keeping close in case anything suddenly spooked your horse. Although they were incredibly good horses so there weren't any problems.

Clark Kent: Who was fascinated by watching you slowly get more accustomed to the town—wearing clothes that were from a local boutique instead of a designer brand, engaging in the rather silly but beloved town traditions, even cutting off some of the friends from the city who you realized weren't really your friends at all after they once visited and immediately started making fun of Clark and his friends.

Clark Kent: Who was surprised at first, when you showed up at his family's door one day asking to help with the animals, but quickly got used to you coming over to help him feed or bathe them, which you claimed was your way of thanking him for the riding lessons but he suspected you just wanted an excuse to be with the animals.

Clark Kent: Who knew you'd fit in with his friends after they got over their own prejudice of you being rude or pretentious because you're from the city and likes hanging out with you with them but likes it just as much, maybe more, when everyone leaves and you're able to stay a bit longer in the barn.

Clark Kent: Who leans out the window next to you, enjoying the breeze as the sun sets and tells you he's glad you moved to Smallville.

Clark Kent: Who sees you shudder from the cold and instantly wraps his jacket around you, conveniently ignoring your blushing cheeks in case he was misreading the situation.

Clark Kent: Who still carefully tucks a piece of hair out of your face—while the voice in head screams not to ruin things—just to see it better and wets his lip while staring at yours.

Clark Kent: Who leans in slowly, waiting for the moment you'd slap him and walk out for daring to try something with you, but only sees you leaning in too.

Clark Kent: Who kisses you for the first time while you're in the barn, wearing his jacket, but promises himself then and there that it wouldn't be the last.

#x reader #headcanon #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent #smallville #smallville clark kent #x you #plethorawrites

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months ago

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♰ ₥ØĐɆⱤ₦ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ♰

♰ Pairing: slasher!yunho x chubby!fem!slasher fucker!reader

♰ Genre: smut/dark romance/horror

♰ Summary: With a ruthless, brutal killer on the loose the safe thing to do would be to stay as far away from dangerous men as possible. But you've never been the kind of girl to play it safe and when danger comes in the form of a man like Yunho, how's a girl to stay away?

♰ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♰ Warnings: Yunho's a literal serial killer, neither of you die but someone does, sorta vivid description of a limb being chopped off, voyeruism in a way, slasher fetish, sadism, masochism, dom daddy Yunho, choking, restriction of movement, a lil nipple play, penetrative sex, sex covered in blood, dirty talk, scratching, hickeys, other forms of marking, creampie, manhandling, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), you're both kinda psychos...obviously.

♰ A/N: I'd like to say, "Oh, I wrote this because Halloween is coming up!" but, no, I didn't. I'm just a slasher fucker, okay? A part of this was inspired by one of my favorite horror movies and if you can guess it then let's get married. Love you forever.

On a side note, thank you @dawn-iscozy for suggesting Yunho for this. I didn't regret that decision for a solitary minute.

There’s a killer on the loose. A brutal, wicked man who stalks the night preying upon unsuspecting victims. Some say he only goes after those he perceives as having done something wrong. His own perverse way of balancing the scales, righting the wrongs that the cops don’t have the balls to fix.

Others say it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Your chances of being butchered are all the same, sinner or saint. One thing’s for sure, once he has his sights set on you not even god himself can save you from the fate that awaits. You’re gone in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. At least not in one piece.

You’ve heard the warnings a thousand times over but none of them struck fear into your heart. On the contrary, you have quite the erotic fascination with his art as he calls it in the letters he leaves behind. There’s something about what he does that taps into a fetish for danger that you dare not tell another living soul about. You want to play with fire, scorch the tips of your fingers in his flames. That’s how you ended up here, straddling the lap of a man who claims to be the killer your sick little heart yearns for.

You met at a club. The kind where people go to indulge their wildest fantasies, no matter how depraved. You were wandering around alone in a tight latex mini dress that fit the richness of your curves like a glove. You had your hair pinned up the way you do now, waterfalls of curls spilling down to frame your face. Expertly applied black lipstick adorned your kissable lips, drawing men in enough that they’d lose their minds thinking of all the things that pretty mouth could do. The man beneath you was among them.

He spotted you from across the room, your figure bathed in red neon light as you sat at the bar plotting your next move. You let him buy you a few drinks, loosening you both up enough that secrets began to spill as freely as the vodka in your glass. “I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?” the dark haired man whispered in your ear, a hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. You swore that you would, hand over your heart. And that’s when he confessed. Your clear fascination with the man known as the Seoul Slasher had prompted him to reveal himself to you.

You couldn’t believe it. A real live serial killer, an absolute monster, so hypnotized by you he was nearly drooling down your cleavage. Going against every self preservation tactic they taught you in school, you invited him back to your place for a bit of fun. An offer he excitedly accepted. For a man whose entire modus operandi is control, he was more than happy to relinquish it to you. In no time you had him spread out on your bed, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed frame.

The entire room’s dark save for the flickering wicks of a few candles sprinkled about the room. You run a hand down his bare chest, sharp nails nicking at his tattooed flesh. He hisses at the sting, grinding his hips up against your core to add some pleasure to the pain.

You let out a giggle, fingers teasing the waist of his pants, “Tell me how you did it.” You flash your doe eyes, tightening your plush thighs around his hips.

“How’d I do what?” he asks, far too preoccupied with your body to hone in on your words.

“Those last two guys you killed. I wanna know every gory detail. You can tell me while I ride your cock.”

Your words certainly aren’t falling on deaf ears. He heard you loud and clear. He takes a calculated pause before providing you with a less than satisfying answer. “I used a butcher knife. Chopped them up real easy. Some of my best work I’d say.”

“Oh” you pout, shoulders dropping. You fold your arms across your chest, your disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “You really shouldn’t lie, you know? It’s a nasty habit.”

“Lie?” he scoffs, a nervous smile creeping across his face. His deception has failed and he doesn’t have enough brain cells to save this sinking ship. “I’m not lying, babe. I’m telling you. I used a butcher knife.”

You point an accusatory finger at him, applying pressure right between his eyes. “Dirty, dirty, liar” you sing, “You aren’t the Seoul Slasher.”

“And how would you know?” he asks, unjustly offended at the fact that you aren’t stupid enough to buy his bullshit.

You lean in close, the warm flames of the candles reflecting in your eyes like hellfire. “Because I’m already fucking him and he’s not too happy about you going around pretending to be him. It’s just bad manners.”

His smile grows more strained, his nervous laughter tickling the tip of your nose. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not but this is getting a little weird. Even for him. You watch him for a moment before erupting in soft, sweet laughter that mocks him. Reaching underneath your pillow you pull out a gag and shove it right into his mouth, shutting him up for the first time tonight.

“Baby, I’m done playing now!” you call out like a housewife announcing that dinner’s ready.

You sit back up, climbing off of him, and skip your way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. You hop up, feet giddily swinging back and forth to the tune of heavy footsteps descending the hallway. The man’s eyes dart over to the closed bedroom door, his heart thumping out of his chest. You can make out a few muffled protests but you dare not take it out. There’s nothing he can say that interests you now. Not that it ever did.

When your best friend first told you that a guy at the club was going around claiming to be the Slasher, you couldn’t believe your ears. Especially not when the real one was sleeping peacefully beside you. Further investigation proved that your best friend had been telling the truth so he had to be dealt with. Then another popped up and another. This one will make for the 4th and you must admit, as annoying as identity theft is for your boyfriend, you get a kick out of luring them here.

They always start out so cocky but once the gag’s in and those footsteps come, getting closer and closer at an agonizing pace, they’re not so confident anymore. At first they freeze up just like the corpse they’re soon to be. The shock does need a few seconds to set in. And then they panic, screaming through the gag and tugging at their bindings, their bodies writhing like a fish out of water. This one’s no different than the others. You can guess his next move like a film you’ve watched a dozen times and all of it’s in vain.

Sweat slicks his brow as the door creaks open and your face lights up like the Fourth of July. You breathe a sigh of relief. There he is. You’ve only been apart for hours but it feels like an eternity. A tall figure steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, revealing a handsome man in tailored black pants and a black button up you pressed yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, tucked just below the elbow where a pair of long black latex gloves begin. He spares the unfortunate soul strapped to the bed a passing glance before approaching you. He leans forward, palms flat on the dresser, caging you in.

“Did I do okay?” you question innocently, always hungry for the praise he never fails to feed you.

Yunho nods, gloved fingers stroking your soft cheek, “Oh, my good girl. You did more than okay. What would I do without you?”

Taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that would soak your panties if you were wearing any. He takes a deep breath as he pulls away, not wanting to but knowing that time is of the essence.

“Did he touch you?” Yunho’s jaw tenses, gloved hands flexing to warm up for the night’s events.

You peek around him to check in on the dark haired man. His face is wet with tears and he’s sobbing all over your new gag. You pray he hasn’t pissed himself. You’re not in the mood to have to buy a new mattress again.

You look back to your boyfriend and nod. “In the car he put his hand on my thigh.”

“Thank you for telling me, baby,” Yunho says, kissing you on the forehead. He turns around, eyes darkening as he approaches the foot of the bed. “I’ll start with his hands.”

Kneeling down, he slides a large case from underneath the bed and pops it open to reveal his tools. The spread is a pristine assortment of autopsy tools, not a lowly butcher knife in sight. He delicately runs his fingers over them, settling on the fine toothed bone saw. Your gaze never leaves him as he rounds the bed, aligning the sharp teeth of the saw with what you’ve come to know as the ulna. The bone right on his inner forearm.

Yunho grinds the saw against it and the man’s arm tears open, tattered pieces of flesh splintering off to the side as he carves his way through tough tendons. Blood gushes from the man’s arm, drenching the brand new sheets in a river of crimson. Yunho’s movements are precise and purposeful. The saw taps bone as the body below him convulses violently, the pain beyond anything you can imagine or ever care to.

Your boyfriend pauses, glancing over at you, and you know it’s about that time. You open one of the drawers beside you, fishing out your phone and a pair of over ear headphones. You sync them up, hitting play on your favorite song, and smile lovingly back at him.

He can’t be as brutal when he knows you’re listening. It’s one of few things about his profession he’s never quite been able to bring himself to expose you to. Even with the man’s cries muffled, being dismantled brings sounds out of someone that could give the most vile person nightmares. You can watch all you want but you won’t hear them.

It’d be easy to say that you weren’t like this before you met him. You were a sweet, delicate flower and this charming psychopath came along, corrupting your young soul. But a girl doesn’t get wet watching her boyfriend dismember people because she had her purity corrupted.

You were never innocent, you’d simply presented yourself as such. Yunho just freed you from the prison of feeling guilty about what got you off. Power. Not being at the mercy of anyone. Yunho treats you like a princess. You’re never left wanting for anything. Your every desire is satisfied. So what if your Prince Charming comes with a body count? Nobody’s perfect.

Yunho makes quick work of the body. After the slice to his second arm the man’s already at death’s door and the severing of his knees puts the final nail in the coffin. Yunho tosses the body parts to the ground like the limbs of an old doll. Breathless and blood soaked as he licks splatters of scarlet from his lip, he goes in for another cut.

You’re the only other thing he looks at like he does his work. The excitement of the kill is borderline orgasmic, dopamine coursing through his veins with every gruesome cut. Once he starts he has to keep going, chasing his high until it’s finished and the body’s nothing more than scattered pieces of an impossible puzzle.

Shoving the torso to the floor, he steps back to catch his breath, waving to get your attention. You slip your headphones off, setting them down to navigate the landmine of limbs and entrails to reach your love.

“You need some water, Yunie?” you ask, throwing your arms around him. The blood weighing down his clothes sticks to your arms, cool against your skin. It used to feel a bit strange but after a few times you’ve come to find it refreshing like a cool shower on a hot day.

Yunho shakes his head, a dazed look in his eyes. Usually the adrenaline begins to die down after that final cut but it��s only getting more intense. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he salivates over you like a man on the brink of starvation. “No, I need you. Right now.”

His lips crash into yours at a thousand miles per hour and you don’t even attempt to stop him. Why would you? Bloody gloves cling to your dress, stripping you of the material. You rip his shirt open, sending buttons raining down onto the slippery hardwood floor. Yunho’s hands ravenously explore your body as you rid him of his pants, painting your plush figure in blood like a canvas.

Attempting to feast upon your body through gloves is as close to torture as he’s ever come so he tears them off, groaning in delight as his bare hands sink into your pillowy ass. He picks you up, tossing you back on the bed, your breasts bouncing marvelously as you land.

You grin watching your boyfriend stare down at you like an absolute animal. His body’s everything dreams are made of, his flawless, rigid cock already leaking in anticipation. You spread your thighs, teasing him with the arousal dripping from your entrance. Bringing two fingers between your legs, you stroke them between your lips, spreading yourself open for him.

“You want it?” you moan, back arching as you pinch your sensitive clit.

Yunho positions himself between your legs, palming his cock above a pussy that’s clenching wildly at the ghost of what could be. He places a hand on your thigh, admiring the view. You in a sea of blood toying with yourself for his pleasure. What a sight to behold.

“You aren’t teasing me are you?” he asks, gripping your thigh tighter. His voice is low and rough, feral in every way.

You bring your slick fingers up to the head of his cock, coating it on your juices. “And what if I am?”

You motion to get up, your brain set on tasting his cock on your tongue, but Yunho’s quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms over your head. His free hand wraps around your neck, the veins of his arms pulsing as he applies the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless but not in pain.

“Do you want it?” He bumps his cock against your slit, missing on purpose to drag it between your folds. Your body shudders as much as it can with his full weight on you.

“Mmhmm” you hum, knowing he won’t hurt you but loving that you’re completely at his mercy.

“You know that’s not enough, baby” he smiles, squeezing your throat tighter, “I need to hear it, princess. Tell me you want it. Beg for daddy’s cock.”

He presses his throbbing tip to your entrance but this time he arches into you, giving you the head and nothing more. The stretch of that alone is disorienting, a wave of heat rushing through you. Releasing his hold on your throat, he brings his lips to yours, parting them to taste the desperate pleas that spill out.

“I want you to fuck me, Yunie. I’m so needy for your cock. I have been all night” you whine and his tongue traces your lips. You taste delicious. He inches into you, feeding you a little more then stopping. A little more then stopping. And your body jumps with every motion, pitiful sounds pouring from your lips onto his.

“Fuck me” you beg, an undeniable brokeness in your tone, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck…” Your voice trails off, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. He lifts off of you, still holding your arms in place above your head, and thrusts into you ever so gently. You clamp down around him tightly enough that it’s hard to move, your pussy's too needy to let go.

Yunho grins, cupping one of your breasts, “I didn’t know watching me kill got you so hot. You’re sick, you know that?” He pinches your nipple harshly and you squeal, twisting in his hold.

“I know” you moan, blowing him a kiss, “But so are you.”

“Fuck, I love you” he growls, pulling you under with another dizzying kiss.

His thrusts grow harsher, your warm, spongy walls drawing him in impossibly deeper. His fingers knead the tender flesh of your breast as he brings his tongue down to soak your bud in equal parts blood and spit. Taking the bud between his teeth, he wraps his lip around it, suckling at it without losing his rhythm between your legs.

“Yunie. So good. So, mmph, aah…” you’re moaning but he gives one particularly hard thrust to your cunt, knocking the words right out of your mouth.

You want to touch him so badly. To dig your nails into his back while he fucks into you. To run your fingers through his hair, tugging at the deep brown strands as his tongue swirls around your bud.

“Touch” you pout, wiggling your hands.

Yunho pops your bud free of his lips, licking his way up your breasts, across your heated skin, along your neck, until you’re eye to eye. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna touch you. Please, daddy” you plead. You’re so helpless. So beautiful.

Yunho watches you squirm, feigning indecision. After an agonizingly long contemplation, he turns your arms loose, the redness on your wrists marking where he held you. Your hands are drawn to him like magnets, scouring every inch of him they can reach just to feel him.

Your nails find his back, digging into the flesh. Yunho buries his face in your neck, moaning at the sensation. “Harder” he whispers, fingers knotting in the sheets beneath you. You dig your nails in deeper, breaking skin, and he’s on the edge of a whimper, the sensation nearly too much for him.

Slipping an arm around your back, he keeps you flush against him, sinking into you over and over. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed closed. You’re saying something but nothing’s coming out. Only whines and moans, the occasional fractured piece of his name.

There’s no bracing yourself for a cock this long and thick. You just have to take it, let it destroy every bit of you until there’s nothing left. A sense of euphoria surges through you and your legs instinctively lock around his waist.

“That’s it” he coos, fawning over the string of hickeys he’s left on your neck, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” Yunho grabs for your wrists one last time, locking them above your head. He pounds into you so hard the bed creaks, maybe even moves a few inches. “I wanna feel you gushing around this cock.”

Suddenly your breath hitches and your body feels weightless. It’s as if you’re floating above yourself. Watching this gorgeous man fuck you into the mattress like his own personal whore. And you are. You’re more than happy to be. Your senses come back to you in a rush of ecstasy and you’re trembling, crying out as you do exactly as he said. Creaming, gushing, dripping down his length.

Yunho pulls back, kneeling between your legs to drag his cock out and glide it back in. He goes all starry eyed at the sight of his cock glistening in your cum and soon he’s spilling inside of you. Your needy walls milking his cock of the warm, white liquid that overflows from your delicious pussy.

His hand comes down on your plush belly, enjoying its softness as he feeds you those last few strokes. You’re still moaning weakly when he finishes, laying back on the bed and pulling you on top of him.

Curled up safe and warm in his arms, you bask in the afterglow, thoughts of the man your boyfriend dismantled little more than a distant thought now. But ultimately it’s difficult to ignore. Especially when your eyes drift up and you notice something dangling in the corner of your eye.

“Yunie” you say, lightly petting his shoulder.

Yunho strokes your hair, looking down at you lovingly, “Yes, baby?”

“I think his hand’s still attached to the handcuff.”

#ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #ateez smut #yunho x you #yunho x reader #yunho smut #chubby reader #plus size reader #ateez au

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sir-twitcher · 2 months ago

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Calloway ‘Siegfried’ Darling - Prime Asset OC

Calloway was born in Germany, and grew up with his father after his mother passed during labour. His father was an underground doctor, claiming that he was ‘doing good for those who couldn’t afford it’ and Calloway being only young at the time, saw nothing wrong with this. In fact he envied his father. He was fascinated with the human body after watching countless operations done by his father. At around the age of fifteen they moved to New York, where Calloway’s love for music started to grow. He basically grew up in the theatre, particularly falling in love with classical music. It gave him a sense of power whenever he heard it. And so he enrolled at a music school for the naturally gifted. Music made him someone. Without it he was just ‘the back-alley doctor’s sissy son’. He knew he was destined for greatness. He was going to show them. Even if it meant getting a little messy.

Twelve years pass and Calloway’s father has finally been caught for all the illegal operations he does. On the night that the police were meant to collect him, all they could find were rooms and rooms filled to the brim with classical instruments. And amongst them, Calloway. He tells the officers he hasn’t seen his father, but rather suspects he’s gone on the run to avoid being arrested. The police don’t see anything that sticks out so they leave. What they didn’t know was that Calloway’s father was right there the whole time. Just a little scattered. His head in the tuba, his body stuffed into the piano, his hands ready at the violin. Calloway wasn’t going to let his father’s stupidity drag him down. He was in his prime now.

Another ten years goes by and Calloway is at the top. His blood, sweat and tears has brought him to this very moment. His name in lights, his face on posters and billboards. His live orchestras are the best in town. Many people like to joke that it’s due to his unusually elongated fingers on his right hand. They say he doesn’t need his baton. He was born to do this. God chose him. He always lets that comment get to his head. He loved the power he got when he was conducting. He was in control. Until the curtains dropped that was. He knew he needed more. The instruments never sounded right. They never had that rawness he was searching for. It needed a more ‘human’ touch. And no, not a singer. Nothing could ever be that easy.

‘The sound a human body makes is more sweeter than any instrument in the world. A guttural scream is much better than anything a trumpet could do. I can make you beautiful, I can make you sound perfect.’

Turning humans into his instruments was what he craved. That’s what he’s been needing. And thanks to his father, he knew just how to do that. He knew that no one would truly understand his image. A maestro with ‘living instruments’ wasn’t a thing. That was just a mad man. Calloway would make the people see his vision. One way or another.

Calloway’s appearance is a mess between a bunch of different instruments. Piano keys lodged in his head. Harp strings attached to the side of his torso and the underside of his arm. He has a violin bow sticking out his leg and the classic f hole carved into his leg. And of course you can’t forget the trumpet hanging from the bandages clinging to his tux. He believes he’s one with the instruments. And will mainly use his baton to end his victims.

‘Music is a labyrinth with no beginning and no end, where mystery remains eternal’

(Forgive me if anything is grammatically wrong I’ve been so tired lately 😞)

#the outlast trials #outlast #outlast trials #oc #oc art #original character #prime asset oc #callowaydarling #prime asset #outlast trials fanart

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sweetvoidstuff · 2 months ago

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Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Epilog

Jungkook x Reader I Werwolf x Witch I Fated Mates I Slow Burn I Strangers to Lovers I Supernatural Romance I Protective Jungkook

Summary : As the festival approached, Jungkook and you grew distant due to their responsibilities, but an innocent misunderstanding about a claim mark left you feeling insecure.

Word Count: ~6K

Masterlist

A/N: I tried to write an epilogue that ties up all the loose ends and also includes some of their intimacy. I hope you all like it! If you do, please let me know. Writing the lovely bits was difficult, but it was also a fun challenge—so I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Epilogue: A Night of Celebration

A full year had passed since everything changed. Since you left the safety of your coven, since you healed Jungkook’s people, since two groups had learned to trust each other. It wasn’t perfect—there were still tensions, still old wounds that hadn’t fully healed—but tonight wasn’t about the past.

Tonight was about celebrating what you had all built together.

The festival had grown beyond what you initially planned. What was meant to be a small gathering of your coven and Jungkook’s pack had turned into something much larger. People from outside villages had heard of the event and wanted to witness it themselves. Some came out of curiosity, some to find opportunities, and others, you suspected, just wanted an excuse to drink and enjoy themselves under the stars.

The town square had been transformed with colorful banners, tables covered in food, and little stalls where both witches and wolves shared pieces of their culture. A bonfire would be lit once the moon was high, and music would carry the festivities deep into the night.

It was exciting, exhausting, and—

“Do we have to invite Yoongi and Taehyung?”

You bit back a smile, glancing up from where you were arranging spell-bound lanterns that would float into the sky later. Jungkook stood beside you, arms crossed, lips slightly pursed like a child who had been told he had to share his favorite snack.

“I thought you liked them now,” you teased.

Jungkook scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I tolerate them.”

“You were literally drinking with them last month,” you pointed out.

“They forced me.”

“Right. And when I walked in, you were laughing.”

Jungkook scowled. “I was laughing at them.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You know, it’s okay to admit you like them. I promise it won’t damage your scary-werewolf reputation.”

Jungkook huffed but didn’t argue further. Which meant you were right.

You reached out, lightly tugging his wrist until he was closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t steal too much of your time tonight.”

Jungkook pretended to think about it, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if they annoy me, I’m shifting and chasing them through the festival.”

“As long as you don’t scare the guests.”

“No promises.”

You laughed, and Jungkook’s expression softened at the sound.

You had spent an entire year learning how to love him.

And he had spent an entire year showing you how much he adored you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

At first, it was simple things—Jungkook keeping close when you walked together, brushing his fingers against yours when no one was looking, finding reasons to stay in your space a little longer than necessary.

Then came the mornings where you woke up to find him already awake, watching you with the softest expression on his face. The way he reached for you in his sleep, the way he curled around you like he was meant to be there.

He made you laugh so easily. Even when he was being stubborn, even when he was insufferable, there was something about him that made you feel lighter.

And then there were the little things—

Jungkook sitting on the floor of your workshop, watching you weave magic like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Jungkook nuzzling against you whenever he was tired, pressing his face into your neck and mumbling something about how you smelled nice.

J<ungkook cooking for you, and looking so damn proud of himself that you had to eat all. Jungkook, who once swore he didn’t like cats, letting the stray that lived near your house curl up in his lap while he scratched behind its ears.

Jungkook, who loved you.

And you—who loved him just as much.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

But before either of you could linger in the moment, a familiar voice called your name, and you sighed.

Duty called.

As the festival approached, the hours slipped away in a blur of last minute preparations. You spent your time weaving magic into decorations, helping with the food stands, and ensuring everything was running smoothly. Jungkook, meanwhile, was occupied with his own responsibilities.

His pack had come, some of them still untrusting of witches, some too eager to cause trouble. Jungkook had taken it upon himself to ensure everyone behaved, running patrols, checking in with Namjoon and the other Betas, and generally making sure no fights broke out before the night had even begun. Without meaning to, Jungkook had become the one keeping the wolves in line, the one they instinctively looked to for guidance. Within the coven, he was their alpha in all but name. But no matter how naturally the role fit him, he still followed Namjoon.

It meant that, by the time the festival was finally in full swing, you had barely seen him.

And it was around then that you noticed her.

A young woman, standing near one of the food stalls, laughing with her friends. She was a wolf—one that came with you all, nearly a year ago—and at first, you thought nothing of it. But then you noticed the mark on her neck.

A bite.

It wasn’t fresh, but it looked deep, and instinctively, you worried for her.

You frowned, instinctively stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

The woman blinked, looking at you in surprise. “Oh! Yes, I’m fine.”

“I just noticed your—” you gestured to your own neck, “—bite. Does it hurt? I can check it for you, if you’d like.”

She immediately flushed, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no. It’s not a wound. It’s… it’s my mate’s mark. He claimed me.” She said it with such pride, such warmth in her voice, that it caught you off guard.

Your mouth opened slightly. “Oh.”

She must have noticed your confusion because she tilted her head. “You’re Jungkook’s mate, right?”

You felt the familiar rush of warmth at the word. “Yes.”

She hesitated. “Did he not…?”

You suddenly felt cold.

“No,” you said, voice quieter than you intended.

She nodded slowly, looking a little embarrassed. “I see. Well, every bond is different! He must have his reasons.”

You forced a smile, murmuring a quick excuse before slipping away.

But the damage was done.

For the rest of the night, the thought lingered in the back of your mind.

Jungkook had never marked you.

It wasn’t something you had ever thought about before, not really. He had never brought it up, and neither had you. But now that you knew it was something wolves did—something he hadn’t done—you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Was it because you weren’t a wolf? Because he didn’t feel the need to?

Or was it because, deep down, he wasn’t as committed as you thought?

It started as a small ember of doubt—something barely noticeable as you rushed between preparations. Then, it grew. Faster than you expected. Hotter than you could contain. And now, it was wildfire, burning you from the inside out.

You had spent all day avoiding Jungkook.

It wasn’t hard at first—he was busy with his wolves, making sure everything was safe, keeping order among the visiting packs and guests. But as the hours slipped away, as the festival began and the crowds swelled, you felt his presence more and more.

He was looking for you.

And you couldn’t face him.

So you hid.

Not physically—there were too many people for that. But you hid with Hoseok.

After the hunters had been dealt with, after the dust had settled, Hoseok had warmed up to you almost immediately. Jin had been right with his assumption back then. Hoseok had been afraid you could be no good for one of his best friends. At first, he was cautious—polite, but distant. Then, he was genuine. He was easy to be around, his warmth infectious, his sharp mind always three steps ahead of whatever problem needed solving. And he soon became your friend as well.

Tonight, you clung to that warmth like a lifeline.

Hoseok, to his credit, didn’t question it.

When you wordlessly approached him by one of the festival stalls, he simply tilted his head, then smirked and draped an arm around your shoulders. “Finally tired of your wolf?” he teased, leading you toward a quieter corner of the festival.

You forced a smile. “Something like that.”

He didn’t push.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed with him, lingering at the edge of the celebration, pretending to enjoy the night. But eventually, you felt it—

A shift in the air.

A presence behind you.

Hoseok felt it, too. His body tensed slightly before he sighed, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Well,” he murmured. “Looks like he found you.”

You swallowed hard.

Then, before you could react, a firm hand curled around your wrist.

“Come with me.”

Jungkook’s voice was low, steady—but there was something else underneath it. A quiet demand. A thread of frustration laced with concern.

Hoseok let go of you instantly, stepping back with both hands raised. “All yours, Alpha,” he said lightly, tone teasing, though his eyes flickered with amusement.

Jungkook ignored him. His gaze was locked onto you.

You hesitated.

Then, finally, you nodded.

And let him pull you away.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Jungkook didn’t stop until you were far from the festival. Away from the music, the laughter, the glowing lanterns floating into the sky.

The moment you were alone, he turned to you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

You crossed your arms. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “Don’t do that. You’ve been avoiding me all night.”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped closer. “You were hiding with Hoseok.”

Your eyes flickered away. “I wasn’t hiding—”

“Then why did you run from me?”

You bit your lip, the words tangling in your throat.

Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look,” he said, voice softer now. “If I did something, just tell me please. Because this—” he gestured between you, frustrated, “—is driving me insane.”

Your emotions surged. The wildfire inside you flared, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“Why didn’t you bite me?”

Jungkook froze.

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “…What?”

Your throat was tight, your heart pounding. “I saw one of the wolves tonight. She had a mark on her neck. She said it was her mate’s claim.” You exhaled shakily. “You never did that to me.”

Jungkook stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath.

“That’s what this is about?”

You flinched at the way he said it. “Is it stupid?”

His face softened immediately. “No,” he said quickly. “It’s not stupid.”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “I just… I don’t know. I just thought it was something wolves did. I thought it was important.” You swallowed hard. “I thought maybe it meant—”

“That I don’t want you?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Jungkook’s expression darkened.

Then, in a single, fluid motion, he stepped forward, crowding you against the nearest wall. One hand braced beside your head, the other curling under your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath caught.

His voice was low, rough. “I didn’t bite you because I didn’t want to scare you.”

You blinked up at him, stunned. “Scare me?”

His thumb brushed against your jaw, his gaze flickering over your features like he was memorizing every inch of you. “A claiming mark isn’t just a bite,” he murmured. “It’s forever.” His voice dropped lower, more intense. “It’s not just a symbol—it’s a bond. A permanent one. And I know you. I know how much you value your freedom.”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

Jungkook’s fingers curled slightly, his grip firm but gentle. “I didn’t want to take something from you that you weren’t ready to give.”

Your chest ached.

For hours, you had been spiraling, drowning in insecurities you hadn’t even realized were there. And all this time, the truth was so simple.

Jungkook hadn’t hesitated because he didn’t want you.

He hesitated because he respected you.

Because he loved you.

The wildfire inside you dimmed, settling into something warm instead of destructive.

Your hands lifted, grasping at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. “I didn’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I should have told you,” he murmured.

You swallowed hard. “Do you still want to?”

Jungkook let out a quiet, breathy laugh. “I have wanted to claim you as mine since the moment I first held you,” he rasped. “Since the second you saved my people. Since you kissed me. There hasn’t been a single day I didn’t want to put my mark on you so every wolf—every creature—knew you were mine.”

Your breath hitched.

You had no idea.

You had spent all this time thinking you weren’t enough, when in reality, Jungkook had been holding himself back.

You reached for him, your fingers sliding into his dark hair, pushing a stray strand from his face. He stilled under your touch.

You smiled, soft but certain. “Then do it.”

Jungkook’s breath shuddered.

His hands trembled slightly as they cupped your face, as if making sure what you meant. “You want to be claimed?” His voice was raw. “Are you sure? It’s forever.”

Your smile widened, eyes shining.

“It’s been forever since the moment you kissed me.”

Something inside Jungkook broke.

He kissed you, hard and deep, a desperate, consuming thing. His hands shook as they pulled you close, his entire body pressing into yours like he needed to feel you—like he needed to make sure this was real.

You melted into him, fingers gripping at his hair, his shoulders, his chest—anywhere you could reach.

Jungkook growled against your lips, tilting your head back to kiss you even deeper, his hands trailing down your spine, gripping, possessive.

Then, suddenly, he froze.

With visible effort, he wrenched himself away, panting. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dark, his hands still gripping your waist like he couldn’t let go.

Jungkook barely gave you a second to catch your breath before his grip tightened around your wrist, his body practically vibrating with restrained urgency. His steps were fast, relentless, and you stumbled slightly, barely able to keep up.

“Jungkook—” you gasped, trying to match his pace, but he didn’t slow down.

His grip was firm but careful, threading his fingers between yours as he pulled you through the village, past the glowing lanterns and the sounds of laughter and music. The festival thrived around you, but it felt a million miles away.

Jungkook wasn’t looking at anything but the path ahead.

Your heart pounded—not with fear, but with anticipation.

He was rushing.

You barely made it past the edge of the village before he hoisted you up without warning. You gasped, arms instinctively wrapped around his neck as his strong arms held you close.

“Jungkook—”

“Hold onto me,” he growled, voice low and rough, pressing his forehead against yours for just a second before breaking into a run.

The world blurred around you, the cool night air whipping through your hair as Jungkook carried you effortlessly. You could feel the raw strength in his body, the barely contained tension in the way his muscles coiled with every stride. He was fast—unnaturally fast—taking the back route to your home, avoiding the main paths, avoiding people.

Your breath was ragged, though whether from the wind or the sheer intensity radiating off him, you weren’t sure.

The moment your house came into view, Jungkook didn’t slow down. He reached the door, fumbled for a second, nearly kicking it open, stepping inside before slamming it shut behind him.

Then—silence.

For a long moment, the only sound in the dimly lit room was the ragged rhythm of your breaths mingling.

Jungkook’s grip on you was ironclad, his arms still wrapped around your body as if he physically couldn’t let go.

You swallowed thickly, hands resting against his shoulders as you stared at him in the low candlelight. His face was cast in shadows, but his eyes—his eyes—burned.

“…Why were you in such a hurry?” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his head dipping down to press his forehead against yours again. His nose brushed against the bridge of yours, and you felt his breath, warm and unsteady.

“Because,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion, “I’m going to claim you.”

Your breath hitched.

His hands tightened on you. “And that is not something for the pack to see. Or your coven. No one.”

You shivered.

Jungkook’s grip trembled slightly, his restraint hanging by a thread. “This isn’t for them. This is ours.”

Your chest ached at the weight of his words, at the depth of feeling behind them.

He had never wanted to claim you as a show of dominance, as some spectacle for others to witness. He had never wanted to make it a public declaration, even if it was something that meant everything to him.

Because you weren’t a prize to him.

You were his.

And that was something sacred.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, Jungkook’s mouth was on yours again, desperate and raw, his hands gripping your body like he could mold you against him.

You whimpered against his lips, and Jungkook groaned, stumbling towards the nearest surface—your table, your counter—somewhere—but it wasn’t enough.

With another low growl, he turned sharply and carried you deeper into your home.

You were on the bed in an instant.

Jungkook laid you down with a gentleness that was almost startling—a stark contrast to the desperate intensity in his grip, in his burning eyes, in the way he hovered over you, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. Where you belonged.

Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed up at him.

Jungkook was watching you like a predator, his pupils blown wide, the amber of his irises nearly swallowed by black. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows over his features, sharpening the cut of his jaw, the tension in his expression, the slight tremble of his fingers as he held you in place. He was trying to be careful. Trying to go slow.

But you could see it. The way his fingers curled into the sheets near your hips, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his eyes flickered to your throat when you swallowed, fixated on the movement.

He made a sound deep in his chest—a low, rumbling noise that sent a shiver down your spine.

Then, in a voice raw with hunger, he murmured, “My mate.”

The words sent heat coursing through you, and then Jungkook’s lips were on your throat.

You gasped, fingers curling into his shirt as his mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. His lips were warm, softer than they should have been, moving slowly—too slowly—over your pulse.

Your body arched beneath him, desperate for more, and Jungkook groaned, the deep sound vibrating against your throat. His hands tightened around your hips, grounding you, keeping you still.

His mouth moved lower, placing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, trailing warmth wherever he touched. Every kiss was a slow burn, every nip of his teeth sending sparks dancing along your nerves.

You whimpered, the sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Jungkook’s grip on you twitched.

A sharp nip at the curve of your neck had you gasping again, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he exhaled sharply against your skin, his breath coming out ragged.

“You sound so good,” he murmured, voice thick with need.

His hands slid up, fingers tracing along your waist, slow but possessive. He held you like you were something precious, something he needed to keep close, something he had craved for so long that he could hardly believe you were real beneath him.

His lips found your pulse again, his teeth scraping lightly over it, testing, teasing—

And then he soothed the spot with his tongue, pressing a softer kiss there, as if apologizing.

“Jungkook—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his fingers tightening at your hips.

“Say it again.”

You trembled, his mouth still hot against your throat, and whispered, “Jungkook.”

A deep, shuddering breath. A barely contained growl.

His teeth grazed your skin again—just enough to make your pulse jump—before he kissed you there, pressing his lips against your fluttering heartbeat.

His hands moved, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your clothes, warm and reverent as they traced over your skin. Every touch was claiming, but not in the way you had feared. This was not about possession.

This was about belonging.

He kissed along your collarbone, his nose brushing against your skin as he exhaled shakily.

And then, his voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Are you sure?”

You knew what he meant.

Knew what this meant.

There was no hesitation.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, pushing back the loose strands that had fallen over his forehead. Your heart pounded, but there was no fear, only certainty.

You smiled, soft and knowing, looking at him with nothing but love.

“You are my forever,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “and I choose you every day.”

Jungkook made a sound between a groan and a whimper—something desperate, something relieved—before he kissed you, hard and urgent and needing.

His hands trembled where they touched you, but he didn’t stop.

Because you were his.

And tonight, finally, he would make sure the world knew it.

Jungkook’s fingers moved with urgency, making fast work of the ties and fabric of your dress. There was nothing rushed about the way he touched you—only a deep, burning need, a quiet desperation that made his hands tremble as he peeled the garment from your body.

Every time he saw you like this, bare beneath him, he felt that same breathless awe. That same overwhelming gratitude.

His lips parted slightly as he took you in, his gaze drinking up every inch of newly exposed skin. He swore he could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

You were always stunning, but like this—soft and open and his—you were devastating.

His fingers traced along your waist, mapping the curves of your body as if he were memorizing you all over again. As if he didn’t already have your image burned into his mind from all the nights you had spent together.

The anticipation coiled low in your belly as you reached for him, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, nudging at the fabric, silently asking for it to be gone.

Jungkook understood immediately.

He pulled away just long enough to yank the offending material over his head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Your dress lay beside it, both forgotten, discarded in favor of something much more important.

And then his mouth was on you again.

A sharp gasp left you as his lips met yours, urgent and consuming, drinking in every sound you made.

His hands roamed—over your hips, up your sides, his thumbs brushing along your ribs. His touch was scorching, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

His lips traveled lower, tracing the path of his hands, his breath warm against your skin.

Down the slope of your neck.

Across your collarbone.

His tongue flicked against the delicate skin there, his teeth grazing the spot before he soothed it with his lips.

Your breath hitched, and Jungkook groaned, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

You gripped at his arms, his shoulders, anything to keep yourself anchored. But it wasn’t enough—not when his hands were on you, not when his mouth was worshiping every inch of exposed skin, not when he was pressing you into the bed, surrounding you, claiming you.

He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of your wrist, his lips warm and reverent.

Nothing was safe from Jungkook’s lips.

And he had done nothing more than kiss you—no more than touch you, hold you—yet already, you were a wrecked mess beneath him.

Your chest heaved, your lips parted, your body burning for him.

Jungkook pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and intense, searching your face as if to make sure you were still with him.

The sight of you—the way your skin was flushed, the way your lips were kiss-bruised and swollen, the way your eyes were clouded with need—nearly undid him.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly where they held you.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if it was his hands or his lips that first traced down the valley of your breasts—he only knew that every inch of you was intoxicating. His mouth followed the curve of your body, trailing lower, past your ribs, past your navel, where your breath hitched sharply beneath him. The soft tremor of your muscles beneath his touch, the way your skin rippled at every kiss and caress, made his own breath falter.

He could lose himself in you—and he did.

His fingers brushed over your heat, his mouth followed, and the sound that left your lips sent a shudder down his spine, a deep, aching pull that settled in his chest. The way you responded to him, so beautifully, so effortlessly, made something in him tighten and snap all at once.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers moved with practiced precision. When he looked up, he saw the effort you put into watching him—the way your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven, your lips kiss-swollen and parted as soft, needy sounds escaped you. And you were his. You had always been.

Then you moaned his name, a plea wrapped in something raw, something primal.

"Jungkook… Mate."

The word shot through him like lightning, his control unraveling at the seams. He wanted to drown in you, to claim you in every way, to make sure there was no doubt left in your mind that you belonged together.

"Please… I need you."

You hadn’t even reached your peak yet, but how could he deny you? He never could. With a low, approving hum, he moved up, his dark eyes watching you, drinking in the way you looked beneath him—flushed, wrecked, beautiful. His own restraint was hanging by a thread as he shed the last of his clothes, the final barriers between you falling away.

Sitting back on his knees, he reached for you, his voice deep, rough, filled with need.

"Come here, my little mate."

The way he spoke like this, voice thick with desire, was just as dangerous as everything else about him. You obeyed without hesitation, moving onto his lap, your body pressing into his, your heat so close to his own that it felt like you could burn. A shudder ran through you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, one hand tangling in the soft strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself in him.

And then you kissed him—deep and desperate, tasting yourself on his tongue as he guided your hips up, just enough to position himself at your entrance. The anticipation made you tremble in his hold, and then—

He moved.

Slowly, he helped you sink down onto him, inch by inch, stretching, filling—until there was nothing left between you. You didn’t know who broke the kiss first, only that when you took all of him, a broken, breathless sound escaped you—half a moan, half a cry.

And Jungkook—your mate—growled in response, his grip tightening, his control shattering completely.

Instead of rushing—of consuming you in a frenzy—Jungkook moved deliberately. Every motion was raw and full, unhurried yet overwhelming in its intensity. He guided you, helping you move, the slow rise and fall setting your entire body alight. You could feel him everywhere—the gentle strokes down your back, his fingers gripping your hips in a steady hold, his lips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in teasing nips.

Your chest brushed against his with every motion, the friction sending shivers through you. And with every movement, he filled you completely—so deep that you weren’t sure where you ended and he began.

God, you loved him.

You were shaking. Not from fear, but from something else, something more. You didn’t know exactly what would happen when he claimed you, but you hadn’t expected it to feel like this—like possession. Like every part of you was already his, and now, this was just the final step.

But you weren’t complaining.

"Kook—" The question formed on your lips but never fully left, because he growled against your throat, silencing you with nothing but the sound.

"I... I wanna be yours."

You didn’t know what you expected from that confession, but the groan that rumbled deep in his chest told you just how much your words affected him. His grip on you tightened, his body somehow felt even hotter, harder between your legs.

"My little beautiful mate." His voice was low, reverent, but there was something dark beneath it. "You will never be able to choose someone else. You want that?"

You nodded instantly. "Or do you want me to choose someone else?"

A pause. A dangerous tilt to his head.

"No."

The word left him and the growl that came from Jungkook was feral, sending a delicious shiver through you. The answering nip at your neck—sharp, possessive—was all the reassurance you needed.

His hand moved between you, finding you exactly where you needed him most, and the shift in sensation was immediate. A shudder wracked through you, your body arching into his touch.

"Jungkook—"

"It will hurt for a second," he murmured, his voice thick with promise, his lips brushing over the junction of your neck.

You didn’t hesitate.

"Claim me."

A deep, rumbling growl against your skin. A slow lick over the spot he had chosen.

And then—he bit down.

It was everything at once.

Pain laced with pleasure, the sharp sting of his fangs sinking into your skin, followed immediately by a wave of warmth flooding through you. The heat of the bond sealed between you, flowing freely, wrapping around you like fire. His touch burned where he held you, his fingers working you higher, coaxing you toward the edge.

And then you shattered, trembling in his arms, your release crashing into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

Jungkook held you through it, never letting go.

"Y/N."

Your name was all he grumbled between kitten-soft licks against your neck. His voice was low, rough, like gravel and honey all at once.

You shuddered.

You weren’t coming down.

For a moment, panic clawed at you. Your body still burned, your limbs still trembled, and Jungkook was still inside you—still warm, still full, still impossibly hard. Your pleasure hadn't waned, only deepened, stretching into something more, something overwhelming.

"Jungkook—" Your voice shook as you tried to speak, tried to understand what was happening to you. But before your mind could spiral, before the pleasure could consume you entirely, his words grounded you.

"Mark me, Y/N."

Your breath hitched. "What? How—"

But before confusion could take hold, he moved, guiding your hips again, his length dragging against your sensitive walls, prolonging the intoxicating high. His fingers brushed over your neck where his claim lay, his touch reverent.

"Here," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, baring his throat to you. "Bite me here. You won't hurt me, love. Choose me."

Something inside you cracked open.

Your shaky breath fanned over his skin as your lips met the column of his neck. You kissed him there, slow and deliberate, your tongue sweeping over the taut muscles beneath his skin. A shiver ran down your spine when Jungkook's fingers traced it, the lightest touch that sent a shock of pleasure straight to your core.

His own breath hitched at your touch, his pulse hammering beneath your lips, his grip on your hips tightening as he rocked into you once more.

And then—on your next downward movement—you bit him.

Jungkook groaned.

A deep, guttural sound, like a growl and a prayer wrapped into one. The sound shot through you, and as you felt him pulse inside you, another wave of pleasure crashed over you—hot, blinding, endless.

You shook.

So did he.

You held onto him as his arms wrapped around you like a vice, keeping you flush against him as you both trembled through the overwhelming force of your bond settling into place.

And when you finally pulled away, lips and teeth leaving his neck to meet his eyes—you were home.

You weren’t sure how long you just looked at Jungkook—breathed him in, felt him still inside you, his warmth, his presence. He was doing the same, his eyes roaming your face like he was memorizing every inch of you all over again.

And then, he grinned.

That sweet, boyish grin that made him look younger, softer, less guarded. The grin that was just for you. Just for moments like this.

"I love you."

His hand found the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his. His pinky brushed over the fresh mark he had left on your skin, the touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Your legs trembled from your shared exertion, and you tried to shift off of him, but his grip tightened ever so slightly.

"Jungkook, my legs—" you tried to reason, voice half-laughing, half-pleading.

He grumbled but relented, carefully helping you lift yourself off of him. The both of you shuddered as he slipped out of you, the loss making your breath hitch.

And then—

A yelp left your lips as Jungkook suddenly flipped you over his shoulder with ease.

"Jungkook!" you gasped, hands scrambling for purchase against his back, but you couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from you as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

His only response was a playful smack to your rear.

"Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed."

Later, as you lay in bed, tucked beneath his chin, his strong arms keeping you close, your nose brushed against his neck, right over the mark you had left on him. A soft kiss pressed to the spot where your teeth had claimed him, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. It was still new, the reality of what you had done, of what it meant. And yet, despite your earlier worries, it felt… right. Natural.

"You’re mine," you whispered against his skin, testing the words out loud.

Jungkook’s hold on you tightened.

"Mmm," he hummed in response, already half-asleep. "Damn right, I am."

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"It doesn’t feel different."

Jungkook hummed sleepily. "No?"

"No," you mused. "Maybe you never needed a mark to prove to me that I’m yours."

His grip on you tightened just slightly, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

His fingers lazily traced along your spine, up and down in slow, soothing strokes. His breathing started to even out, his body relaxed, but you could still feel the possessive way he held you—like even in sleep, he refused to let you go.

"Still," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with warmth and love, "I like knowing everyone else will see it now, too."

And with that, you let yourself drift, tangled together in warmth, in love, in something eternal.

You only smiled, closing your eyes, letting the warmth of your mate lull you to sleep.

#bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook bts #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #bts #bts oneshot #bts imagines #bts stories #jungkook fanfic #jeon jeongguk

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koqabear · 1 year ago

Text

Lamb To The Slaughter

♫: Gods & Monsters, Lana Del Rey

"An act of kindness goes a long way, your parents told you once; their words stuck with you all your life, your pure heart never failing to follow their philosophy— though, it seems your naive self was left unaware of just how far an act of kindness can go."

wolf hybrid!beomgyu x lamb hybrid!fem!reader x herding dog hybrid!soobin

Genre: smut, hybrid au, angst, porn with the world's smallest amount of plot

Word count: 15.8k

Warnings: barely edited oops, heavy predator/prey themes, injuries/blood, use of scents, scent glands and scenting, mentions of kidnapping and murder, psychological abuse i guess… this fic doesn’t let you forget that they’re hybrids btw, (showcases animal-like behaviors and habits), soogyu are stronger than the mc, obsessiveness, manipulation

Smut Warnings: DUBCON. threesome, mean dom!gyu, soft dom!soobin, sub!mc,inexperienced!mc, pet names (pretty, doll, good girl, etc.) manhandling, marking, subspace, possessiveness, choking kinda, dry humping, praise, praise kink, humiliation, dacryphilia, fingering, exhibitionism/voyeurism, degrading, orgasm control, dumbification, finger sucking, cum eating(?), spanking, begging, mind breaking, unprotected sex, jerking off ig, jealousy, hair pulling, rough sex, corruption kink maybe, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration… brief mentions of breeding, creampies, knotting, claiming, mc blacks out. (lmk if i should add anything.)

Notes: look at these stupidly long paragraphs of warnings oh im gonna kms. this story almost had me plucking my hairs out one by one, i’ve never been so stressed out by a pwp before. it was originally an ot5 au and was supposed to come out during october but… yk. shit happens. (i saw a post that changed the entire trajectory of this fic)

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The forest at the edge of the village is something that should’ve been closed off long ago— but there’s no resources, no men to work on the border, no money— so the townspeople have resorted to old myths and tales to ward off wandering children and defenseless women instead.

There’s a killer in the forest— fairies will lead you down the wrong path and trap you in the woods forever; there’s a hidden pond so deep that if you fall in, you’ll sink forever. Typical tales that are told around the bonfire, where people cower and whisper from the thrill of the stories. Yet with each varied warning, one thing stays the same.

There are wolves in the forest.

Large and strong and invincible, with a terrifying bloodlust and noses so keen they could spot you the moment you cross the barrier; tearing you to shreds, eating you alive and forcing you to feel the pain all throughout it. The wolves are always hungry, insatiable, and lurking about for its next prey— anyone who would enter the woods willingly would be deemed suicidal.

You’ve never been one to believe such tales; how could you, when you’ve grown alongside the forest?

There are wolves in the forest, that much you’re sure of— but the fantastical tales and myths are nothing but a farce, crafted from the fear of the unknown and the dark, entangled landscape that lies past the backyard of your small cottage; belonging to your deceased parents, now left to fend on your own and care for the gardens and lush plants your mother had carefully cultivated since you were a child.

She taught you everything you needed to know about the forest; which paths to take, which areas led to steep cliffs or poison ivy, and where to find herbs and plants that would aid to the medicinal business your family ran— you were fascinated by the craft, even as a young child, learning with eager eyes and an even more eager mind as you stored all the information in your small, worn down journal; the pink material of the cover faded and torn at the corners, filled to the brim yet still useful to you as you took it with you on every trip.

Tonight, you pull on a warm coat dress; it’s thick and durable, a cute piece gifted on your birthday by the baker’s son, the border collie family always making sure to look after you since the day you were left on your own. The shawl sewed into the coat hangs over your shoulders like a small cape, adding in extra warmth as you look out the window and onto the cold scenery; the leaves have begun to abandon the trees, and if you hadn’t memorized the forest layout like the back of your hand, the covered paths might’ve concerned you— but you’re confident as always, grabbing your wicker basket and perching it on the crook of your elbow, glancing down to make sure your journal is already inside— and with one last mental check to make sure you have everything you need, you slip on your boots and make your way outside.

“Soobin,” you say in surprise, swinging the door open, getting scared at the sight of someone already waiting for you outside— the said man only smiles at the sound of his name, laughing fondly at the way you press a gentle hand against your startled heart; his ears perk up at the sight of you and his black hair is slightly disheveled, though you guess it’s probably from his habit of running a hand through it whenever he’s restless— he holds a basket of his own, and your eyes fall onto it with a curiosity you don’t bother to hide.

“Hello pretty,” he smiles softly, the nickname never failing to make a heat flush up the back of your neck— you really hope he doesn’t notice your flushed expression, his eyes narrowing with fondness as he brings his basket up, opening it to show you the contents, “I made an extra batch of bread, and I thought you’d like some. Business will get busy for us both soon, and I’d hate for you to get hungry because you don’t have time to eat.”

He’s sweet and caring, and it never fails to leave your knees weak— he looks at you with nothing short of affection, raising a brow in curiosity and glancing down at your already occupied arm— his brows furrow, biting his lip in thought as he finally pieces everything together.

“Are you going to the woods?” he asks softly, reaching past you and into the doorway, placing the basket of bread on the table next to the door— his hands are immediately coming up to your shoulders, smoothing out the soft material of the coat with narrowed eyes— and they’re filled with worry again, ears angling down and tail swaying slowly from side to side, searching your face that can’t seem to lie to him, “It’s dangerous to go at this hour, you shouldn’t.”

“It’ll only be dangerous if you continue to stall me,” you tease, shrugging his hands off and wrapping your own around his elbow, tugging him until you’re both stepping out of your home; he allows you to, and you’re locking it up with ease, even as he continues to tell you not to, to go another day, another time— you huff, shaking your head and frowning at the way he begins to offer to come with you; his instincts must be kicking in again, eyes filled with a calculated look he only sports when looking out for your safety— and with you being nothing but a fragile little lamb in his eyes, this look was something you’ve become very familiar with.

“No, you mustn’t come with— it’s dangerous, and I’m the only one who knows my way around the woods,” you scold him, and even though he stares at you with that intimidating, stern look, murmuring about something about his keen senses, you stand your ground, “I’m too one-track-minded to guide someone else through these woods— I’d hate for you to get hurt because of me.”

He sighs— and you know you’ve gotten him good by the way he remains silent, stalling his leave as he tries continuing to reason with you— but you keep refusing in return, cooing softly that you’ll be okay, that you’ll be quick.

“I’ll wait for you,” he finally says, refusing to back down even as you express your worry; after a moment of bickering, you finally give in. Your eyes widen in surprise as he gently pulls you in for a hug, engulfed entirely in his embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling your scent with a content sigh— warm, comforting and pure, like jasmine with the hint of a pure, soft vanilla, his nose subconsciously poking at your gland in search for more— and you shiver at the feeling, engulfed in his calming scent, a sage and rich pine, allowing yourself to melt in his arms and hold you tighter, ignoring the way your heart begins to race the longer your remain there.

“Come back to me safe.”

Soobin is just as solemn and loyal as he was the day he declared that he would always protect you— and it makes your heart race a bit faster, a dopey smile stuck on your face as you wave him goodbye— you sigh pathetically the moment you’re finally in the woods.

The leaves crunch under your feet and birds chirp in the distance; it’s comforting to you, humming softly to yourself as you walk the paths you need to take without much of a thought, gathering herbs and plants as you slowly check them off your list; everything goes as smoothly as it always does, your mind in awe as you witness the sun beginning to set.

You should get going soon; it was never ideal to be in the woods after dark, no matter how familiar you were with the landscape. The thought makes your steps quicken and your eyes sweep over the land in acute concentration, looking for the last plant on your list— you’re freezing entirely when you hear a shift against the leaves.

You’re still; was it a false alarm, or a harmless rabbit passing by? You’re not entirely sure, wicker basket heavy in your hand as the other presses firmly against your heart; trying to settle your heart rate, breathing deeply as you look for any signs of movement, any signs of life around you.

Just when you think the coast is clear, you hear it again; rustling against the leaves, harsh and erratic as something else greets your ears— sharp pants and sounds of struggle, a pained yelp resounding into the vast space and sending you into action before you can think twice.

You round the thick oak tree ahead of you, searching for the source of the sound— and stumble back in surprise, an involuntary gasp escaping you as sharp eyes and equally sharp teeth point your way— a man lays before you, injured and weak.

Except, he’s not just a man; that much is made clear to you the moment your eyes sweep over his frame once more, taking in the ears that press flat on his head and his fangs that remain bared at you, the injured man—wolf hybrid— growling lowly at you and shuffling back to curl against the thick tree that once covered him; your hands shake as you hold onto your basket a little tighter, wide eyes sweeping over his figure and inevitably landing on the source of all this commotion; a twisted ankle, rendering the man before you immobile.

You must run— you must, and it’s all your instincts seem to yell at you, your muscles becoming rigid with tension, white ears pressing flat against the top of your head and fluffy tail quivering with fear— but you have yet to, something about the look in the wolf’s eyes making you ignore your instincts, just for a second; behind the dangerous fangs that glint beneath the remaining light and his eyes that are narrowed threateningly, you can still see the pain he’s found himself in.

Something inside you clicks— your weak heart twists and your hands grip your basket a bit tighter, a voice in your mind telling you that you can’t just leave him like this; you can do something to help. Next thing you know, you’re taking cautious, slow steps toward him, hands held out to show that you’re nothing close to a threat— though you’re sure that the smell of fear that rolls off you in waves is enough of an indicator— and your soft voice is whispering out your intentions, continuing your approach even as he bares his teeth at you in warning.

“I want to help you,” you say softly, finally at his feet as you place your basket gently next to him; and he growls at you once more, though you don’t find yourself to be afraid— if he were dangerous, he would’ve attacked long ago. It’s the only thought that repeats itself in your mind like a prayer, pretending as though your hands don’t tremble as you reach into your basket, as you grab the herbs you were just stocking up on and the bandages you carry for emergencies.

He lets out a particularly harsh growl that makes you jump; it makes you hesitate to touch his skin, bruised and broken and bloody, eyes jumping to meet his— and though the action was meant to be confident, nothing can hide the fear that taints your eyes, the way your frame shrinks slightly when you’ve found that he has no issues holding eye contact— and after a standstill moment, you finally continue, ripping a piece of the bandage and attempting to clean the wound as best as you can.

You’re a bit clumsy at first; unable to look away from the man, his strikingly dark red hair that's matted to his head from a thin layer of sweat, dirtied clothes and face that’s twisted in a mean glare— but eventually, it softens, the deep heaving of his chest calming as he watches the way you tend to him with deft hands, not seeming to care if he’s soiling your pretty coat as you tug him closer to you.

The bandages are tight on his ankle and you’ve placed herbs within to help soothe the swelling— all tricks you’ve learned from your mother, from the times when you would run about carelessly and twist your ankle in some hidden hole, only calming your cries to see her work her magic on you.

Reassuring words don’t do much in the grand scheme of things, but you still whisper them sweetly to the injured man before you, dry bandage cleaning along the rest of his calf as you tell him to rest, to try and not overexert himself. And though you don’t know if he can understand you, though you’re unsure of where he came from— because as far as you know, wolves have been banished from your village for decades— you still find yourself caring for him. It’s something he can pick up on in your eyes, gentle and reflecting the last of the sun’s golden rays that leak through the woods.

It’s quiet; it’s peaceful. Warm fingers lingering on his skin much longer than you intended, a curiosity leaking through your wide eyes as you take in his figure, the tall dark ears that stand on his head, the tail that lays on his side, thumping rhythmically— and you think you’ve finally found the courage to ask who are you? Lips parting to speak, you’re cut off by the sound of rustling, a new overwhelming scent overtaking your senses; something is approaching.

The man before you doesn’t seem to be worried; it’s you that’s whipping around to the source of the sound, shrinking pathetically once you spot something emerging from the dark, thick mass of trees behind you; eyes, multiple pairs, glowing and angry as they stare at you like you’re their next meal— you’re not sure how many pairs there might be, but you’re stumbling to your feet quickly, eyes widening as you realize that the sun has set long, long ago.

You almost slip on the leaves beneath you; one last glance at the man behind you shows that his hands were out as though to catch you, expression twisted with what you’re surprised to see is… concern. But as a rough growling begins to surround the two of you, a sharp pang of fear courses through your body, the gravity of your situation finally sinking in as your eyes sweep around the area in one last, terrified glance.

They’re targeting you.

Before you can think twice, you’re turning on your heel and running— though nothing follows behind, you still let adrenaline take its course, shallow breaths and teary eyes guiding you back to your home; you don’t realize how crazed you must’ve looked until you’re finally reaching your front door, a worried Soobin immediately interrupting your flee and scooping you into his arms, whirling around to shield you away from the forest.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Dear, what happened?” he’s breathing out the concerned questions against the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your middle and the only thing keeping you up as your knees buckle with fear; his gaze sweeps down to the state of your cute coat, the once pristine and pink material now dirty and bloodied; his hands hold onto it with a newfound panic, lifting the coat and attempting to find the source— it isn’t until you’ve let out a few pathetic sniffles that you can finally reassure him the blood is not yours.

“Is everything okay? Did something happen to you? Oh, I should’ve—” Soobin has pulled away to cup your face in his hands, wiping away the tears that escape your sweet eyes like a fountain; thumbs caressing your tear-streaked skin lovingly, brows knitted together as his concern pours off him in waves— and you shake your head softly, attempting to dissuade the guilt he must’ve felt for leaving you on your own.

“It’s fine, I’m not hurt,” you croak out, grabbing onto his waist for support as you finally regain the strength in your legs, “I just— had some encounters with a wolf— but I’m safe, they didn’t hurt me, I’m just a bit shaken, is all.”

“A wolf?” Soobin asks, much more concerned by your words as he pulls away to inspect you once more; his hands run gingerly over your shoulders, running along them until they’ve stopped at your neck, eyes honing in on the spot for a moment before he sighs in relief. His gaze is hardening once more, cupping your face and looking at your sternly as he speaks. “Where were they? Did they follow you? Did you interact with them?”

“No, no— it’s alright, I’m alright, I promise,” you breathe out, hoping that Soobin doesn’t notice the way you shrink under his gaze, the way your body warms up at his touch— but he’s much too concerned about your safety to pick up on it, dismissing every cue of your body as nothing but fear, instincts heightened as he looks behind you and back at the forest you just came from. He watches the woods carefully, eyes narrowed and ears perked in concentration— but nothing happens, and he’s left to reluctantly believe your words, even if he wants nothing more than to run into the woods himself and make sure there’s no threat to you.

After a moment of observing the forest, Soobin is turning back to you, and his gaze immediately softens at the sight. The brave front you put up isn’t fooling him, and it’s quite obvious that you’re still shaken from your encounter, delicate ears still pressed close to your head, eyes wide and scent muddled with distress— like rotten flowers, earthy and pungent— and with all the adrenaline ebbing away from your system, you’ve found that your legs have become pure jelly once more; Soobin is quick to catch on to the way you tremble and hold on to him tightly.

“Oh, my doll,” Soobin sighs softly, fishing for your keys in your coat pockets and unlocking the door for you, leading you inside with a careful hand— as though you were made of porcelain, still shaken and anxious as he leads you to sit down, “it’s alright, you’re safe now— I’ll keep you safe.”

Soobin insists on taking care of you long after you tell him you feel better; he’s keen to protect you through and through, keeping his distance yet still doting on you as he makes you tea, helps you out of your coat, and even offers to wash it for you— the sight replaces the heavy fear in your stomach with butterflies.

When he bids you goodbye, his eyes are soft, his movements slightly reluctant— but he must, it’s unlawful for him to stay the night with you; an unclaimed little prey like you, spending the night with Soobin, even if he was nothing short of perfect and kind, was enough to have the town gossiping like a storm. The very thought has your cheeks hot and your tongue stumbling on words, telling Soobin to get home safe with a shy, sweet voice— and he brushes his thumb against your cheekbones, smiling fondly before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead; he lingers there, and you think you might just melt against him before he finally bids you goodbye.

Your heart still races long after he’s gone; you suppose all this makes up for the fact that you forgot your basket in the woods, mourning the fact that you’ll have to go back to get it tomorrow— but for now, you’re content with giggling softly at the memory of Soobin’s lips against your skin, completely unaware of the eyes that watch you twirl around your kitchen happily.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you wake up, you find something peculiar at your doorstep; your wicker basket is placed before your feet, pristine as it was when you first took it out.

Your brows furrow, looking around the area and wondering how it got here— your mind is going back to the wolf you tended to, eyes slowly sweeping over the dense forest, ears twitching in attention, listening for even the slightest rustle of leaves, wondering if he’s still lingering— but the world around you is still, and it seems to be only you here. You bend down to pick the basket up carefully.

Everything is intact— your herbs, your bandages, your worn down pink journal— and the closer you bring it to your face in order to inspect it, the better you’re able to catch something peculiar; a scent, your nose twitching in curiosity and your eyes narrowing. The unknown scent only grows stronger the closer you get to the handkerchief you used to line the inside, and only then are you able to get a good sense of it— light and heady, like an amber and smoky smell filling your nose, finding yourself oddly enticed by the scent.

You’re far too wrapped up in attempting to decipher the complicated notes of this new scent to notice someone approaching; your senses have gotten so used to Soobin’s presence you no longer find yourself alert around him, only perking up at the approaching sound of leaves crunching and the familiar, sage filling your senses— tucking the basket behind your back, you send him a meek smile, cheeks heating up as you silently hope he didn’t see you curiously nosing at your basket.

“Hey, pretty thing,” Soobin rumbles out lowly, smiling fondly at the way you practically preen at the name; you’re terrible at hiding your expression, the way your ears twitch at his words not helping your attempts to seem nonchalant before him.

“Hi Soobin,” you smile, fingers restlessly playing with the wicker basket behind your back as you tilt your head curiously, “what’re you doing here today?”

“I needed to check on you,” he says immediately, a soft oh leaving your lips at that, “I couldn’t sleep well knowing I just… left you here on your own. I needed to make sure you were safe.”

“Soobin, it’s fine, really,” you reassure him softly, fluffy tail wiggling behind you at the fact that he confessed how worried he was about you, his dedication to keep you safe, “Nothing happened— as long as I’m in my home, I’m safe.”

Soobin wants to argue against that, you can tell. But you don’t give him a chance to, inviting him in with a tug at his arm, smiling at the way he immediately relents; you tell him about your plans for today over a cup of tea, that you have to make a few deliveries to some homes across the village— Soobin practically jumps to offer to come with.

“You– won’t you be busy?” you ask shyly, staring down at your teacup and stirring your spoon in a feeble way to distract yourself.

“No, I’m not needed at the bakery today,” Soobin immediately reassures you, reaching over the table to place a delicate hand over your own— and you stiffen, a heat rushing through your body at the sudden contact; the smell of sage wafts over to you as his thumb rubs soothingly over your skin, your mind mulling over his offer as you bite at your lip in thought.

He’s eager to hear you say yes; his tail wags slowly behind him, ears perked up and eyes honed in on your every expression— and after a moment, you finally nod meekly.

“It’s only a house or two, but the walk is… it’s far,” you say, standing at the doorway and reaching over for your basket, placing the bottles and jars filled with homemade remedies inside carefully— but before you can continue your explanations and tuck your basket snuggly into the crook of your arm, Soobin is taking it from you, his brows knitted together as he stares down at the item in confusion.

“I thought you lost this,” he says quietly, rotating the item in his hands, taking in its pristine condition with a frown— his ears are perking up and his tail is straightening, head whipping over to you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did you go into the woods to retrieve it?”

“No!” you say, oddly defensive as you shake your head adamantly, “It just— it was at my doorstep this morning, I think someone might have found it—”

“The wolf,” Soobin sneers, his tone much darker than it was mere moments ago— it makes your ears flatten against your head and your figure shrink, his scent turning earthy and thick and rendering you docious and pliant— his eyes are darting from the basket and back to you, only to go back to the basket in order to examine it closely; the moment Soobin brings it closer to his face, you’re able to see the very moment where that same, smoky scent enters his senses— his pupils dilate, and his nose twitches.

The same scent as before. Soobin recognized it as the same scent that you were drenched in the moment you found him, shaken and face aghast— your coat and skin reeked of nothing but that scent, wanting nothing more than to take you inside and replace it with his own— but the most he could do in the moment was hold you close and hope that it would wash off.

The owner of this scent must have brought you the basket back; Soobin’s head races to find meaning, to find reason, adrenaline coursing through his body that yells at him to take action; this must be a threat—you’ve been followed, they know where you live.

“It isn’t safe for you to stay there anymore,” Soobin proceeded to tell you, only confessing how he felt once you were far, far away from your home— from the woods. And you could only shake your head at that, the reassurances an automatic response in your head at this point.

But Soobin wasn’t going to go down without a fight this time; knowing that the wolf was out there somewhere, that he knew where you lived and even went as far as to visit your home— it made Soobin tense with anger.

“That wolf was at your doorstep without you knowing,” Soobin continued to reason, all throughout your walk back, “you don’t know who they are— what their intentions are.”

It was only then that you decided to mull through his offer to stay, or for you to stay with his family— images of a bloodthirsty wolf at your doorstep filled your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel like your nine year old self again, sitting at a fireplace and telling each other scary stories about the forest only a few feet away from you— your young self would always be left shaken and paranoid, asking your parents if you could sleep in their bed.

Maybe you’ve become too used to being independent; you’ve survived this long on your own— most lamb hybrids you knew couldn’t walk around at night without having a trusted predator around to protect them, just in case— yet you were so used to depending only on yourself that you seem to have forgotten how truly vulnerable your species is; Soobin made sure to remind you with a stern look and crossed arms.

“I don’t see why you’re insisting so much, binnie— I promise nothing happens here, this place is dead,” you tell him as you make dinner for the two of you, the sun now long gone and the man still stuck to your side, leaning against the counter beside you and watching you cook dutifully— his eyes drift over to the window behind him, looking over his shoulder and at the dark, gloomy forest that obscures his view; his eyes can’t help but narrow and pick apart each shape he sees, nose keen and eager to sense any changes, any hint of that smoky smell— but he sees nothing, and he’s turning back around to catch the way you send him a slightly incredulous look.

“I understand why you might feel this way— you’ve been on your own for longer than you can remember, after all,” Soobin says softly, taking in the way your eyes remain downcast and you shy away from his gaze. Hesitantly, he shifts to stand behind you, a gentle hand placing itself on your bicep before his head lowers to rest on your shoulder; his forehead rests against you, able to smell the restless, flowery notes of your scent— despite the strong front you put up, Soobin’s keen senses are still able to pick up on the tenseness of your body, the way you keep glancing out the window and into the forest unsurely.

“You have to allow yourself to be helped— there’s nothing wrong with that, doll,” he coaxes softly, ears atop his head twitching at the sound of the shaky sigh you let out— the stove is turned off, and the food is done— but you don’t seem to care about that much.

Carefully, Soobin nudges at your jaw with his head; allowing your neck to tilt slowly, to expose it to him as his nose runs along your skin delicately, until it’s pressed against your scent gland, inhaling slowly and taking in the intense mix of smells and emotions within you— and he presses his lips softly against it, a gentle kiss that turns your scent sweet and fresh like a blooming flower; your heart pounds against your chest for a second, then proceeds to relax against Soobin’s hold the moment his scent invades your senses.

“I’m here to protect you.”

His words stick to you for the rest of the night— as does he, his presence reassuring enough to make you forget of why he was here in the first place— enough to allow you to miss the glowing eyes that peek from the edge of the forest as you get a glass of water in the middle of the night, taking in your drowsy figure and eyes that are heavy with sleep; unaware of the pair of eyes that take you in hungrily, the tongue that runs along a sharp set of teeth, nose twitching to get another gust of your sweet, clean scent, the muddled vanilla that makes his mouth water.

With Soobin lying in the guest bedroom, you’re almost able to forget that there are wolves in the forest. That there is one that has now set his sights on the cute little lamb that tended to him with wide eyes and an innocent heart.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

It’s early in the morning when you bid Soobin goodbye; your cheeks are flushed and you’re barely able to look him in the eye, despite not having done anything more than talk the whole night. He finds your shyness nothing short of endearing, placing one last affectionate kiss on top of your head before he tells you to call him if you ever need anything— to never be afraid to ask for help. You nodded to his words with a soft smile.

Watching him leave had left a bit of an empty feeling in your heart; you couldn’t seem to help but watch him leave pathetically, standing at your doorway even after he had long gone; his scent still drifted around in your senses, the warm and sturdy scent helping you remain calm as you finally went back inside— closing the door behind you, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your home still smelled strongly of him.

You had over ten different orders you needed to work on; you were able to busy yourself with making medicine throughout the rest of the day, boiling herbs and making remedies for colds and illnesses and burns. It was a tedious and slow process, and as you finally began to reach the end of your list, you couldn’t help but frown.

You ran out of two different herbs needed for these next three orders; without them, you wouldn’t be able to make the medications at all.

Glancing out the window, you gulped; it wouldn’t be another thirty minutes before the sun set, but after your encounter a few days ago— paired with Soobin’s warning and harsh reality check— you were much more hesitant to go into the woods on your own.

You could call Soobin— ask him if he’d like to accompany you, stay put until you finally had proper protection. You mulled over the idea for a moment, your traitorous mind whisperering encouraging words in order to see him again; it’s just for protection, you told yourself, walking over to your landline phone before you began to dial his number, tangling the long cord around your fingers absentmindedly as you did; you tried to dismiss the nervous pounding of your heart, the way you bit at your lips in anticipation of hearing his voice again.

“Hello?” you’re gulping slightly at the sound— part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually answer. Clearing your throat softly, you muster up the courage to do what you’ve been hesitant to for so long.

“Hi Soobin,” you start softly, listening to the small hum of acknowledgement from the other side, “I— I’m sorry to bother, but I just wanted to ask; I have to make another trip to the forest— it’s urgent— and I… well, I was wondering if you’d be able to accompany me. For protection.”

The shyness and hesitance in your voice is horribly apparent; it makes you face burn and your hands grow clammy, feeling as though there’s a lump in your throat as you wait for him to respond— it feels like eternity, but in reality, it’s merely seconds—- and you’re practically slumping against the wall in relief when he gives you a soft of course I can in response.

“Wait for me inside until I get there,” he says, and you nod, letting out a sound of affirmation as well, “I’ll be quick.”

Soobin hangs up promptly after; you’re left to scurry around your home in preparation of your trip, changing out of your sullied work clothes and into something more comfortable— inevitably, the same coat from before finds itself wrapped around your form, and as you wait by the doorway with your wicker basket in hand, you realize with a smile that the item is practically drowned in Soobin’s scent— the item is wrapped around you tighter and your nose is burrowed deeply into the soft plush-like material, your senses spinning with the warm, earthy smells that belong to the man.

The sun is setting— but he’ll be here soon, a fact only proved by the sound of footsteps your keen ears manage to pick up on; you’re practically racing to make it to your front door, only to pause at the sound of something else— more footsteps.

Instinct brings your body to the floor and away from all windows; your back is pressed up against your door, ear pressed tightly against the wood as you remain alert, subconsciously holding your breath in fear of getting spotted in any way— but whoever is currently surrounding your home knows you’re here, judging by the way they take careful, calculated steps closer to your door— you will your heart to remain calm, to not alert them that you currently lean on the very item separating the two of you, but the fear that courses through your veins is simply too strong.

Your mind is racing a mile a minute; you try to calculate who it could be, why they’re here— and you’re thinking back to Soobin’s warnings the night before, eyes widening as you scold yourself for being such a naive idiot— because as you pick up of the soft sounds of sniffing and low growls, you realize that you’ve managed to lead a pack of wolves right to your home.

It all happens too quickly; you’re running from the door at the sudden spike of scents, like a dirty smoke that approaches your door in the blink of an eye— the wood practically flies off its hinges with the way it’s broken into, a scream involuntarily leaving you as you grab the nearest thing to you as a weapon— the fire pit poker is thin and old in your hands, but that’s the last thing on your mind as you back away slowly, taking in the wolves that make their way into your home with sheer terror.

One, two, three— it’s only three of them, but it’s enough to have your limbs trembling and your ears pressed flat against your head; tall, broad figures, disheveled in appearance and looking at you with eyes dilated, filled with nothing but a carnal hunger that makes your stomach twist into knots.

It’s a standstill. They watch you with coy smiles and blown out eyes, watching as you press yourself against the wall, wondering if you can make it to the back exit of your home if you try enough— but they’re perceptive to even the most miniscule movement, every twitch of your muscle garnering a step closer from any one of them; you remain still, and so do they. It’s silent, save for the ragged heavings of your chest and the low grumbles that resonate from theirs— they have yet to make a move, locking eyes with the tallest and watching as his lips quirk into a smile.

You feel nauseous. They’re toying with you.

They could easily take you— kill you— in a split second; the second you try to run, they’ll be hot on your heels, outmatched three to one and left at their mercy entirely. And judging by the way they practically salivate at the smell of fear that radiates from you, you don’t think your fate with them will end well.

You gulp. They watch you, keen eyes taking in the way your throat bobs, the tears that fill your eyes— the way your legs look as though they’ll give out on you any moment now, the flimsy poker in your hands nothing but a joke as you point it at them in warning— as though it would do anything, they muse.

One of them, with a head of ginger hair and eyes sharp as a knife, begins to approach; you tense, bringing the poker forward more, inhaling sharply and taking a step back— but that only garners a sharp growl from another, with pitch black hair and a gaze so threatening it renders you pliant; hesitantly, you meet the eyes of the man who stands before you, narrowed eyes taking you in with amusement.

He reaches towards you— again you tense, flinching at the movement and weakly yelling at the wolf to stay back—! But it can only come out as a breathless whisper, your entire being rendered useless, instincts doing nothing but telling you that this is it; accept your fate, it tells you, weakening your muscles and sending off waves of fear so thick the room reeks of death and rot; your figure shrinks the moment he grabs your poker, ignoring your clearly empty warning as he lowers it forcefully, fighting easily against any strength you had left.

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiles, baring his teeth that only makes your blood run cold— sharp canines, strong and in great condition to bite and chew even the toughest of meats— “We’ll take good care of you.”

A sharp growling impedes the man before you from closing in on you, from taking away what little space was left between you— the sound is loud and furious, making the three wolves before you turn immediately in search of the source; including you, the foreign sound making your knees buckle and the poker fall from your hands as you paralyze with fear.

Standing in the doorway is a figure you remember quite well— the sight of him makes your eyes widen and you heart flicker a dim light of hope, watching the way he sends the three wolves before you a pointed glare, enough to make the two nearest to him avert their eyes the moment his gaze lands on them.

“Beomgyu,” the wolf near you sneers, “what the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother answering the question; his eyes land on you, on your figure that visibly trembles with fear, nostrils flaring at the scent that radiates from you and fogs the room— and he growls.

“Get out.”

It’s a simple command given by the man— Beomgyu— to the others, eyes filled with an unbridled rage that makes the others flinch; they’re confused, glancing to where you remain frozen before they’re turning back at the man, as though waiting for him to back down on his words— instead, he bares his teeth, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed with rage, and repeats himself.

“I said, get. Out.”

Silence; you can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you watch the two wolves glance at the man with the bright head of ginger hair— as though looking to him for their next move. The two remain in a standstill, refusing to look away from the other, as though silently communicating. And after what feels like eternity, the wolf near you scoffs, lips upturned in annoyance as he finally looks away— he turns back to you, eyes scanning your shaken figure, and he smiles the moment your eyes meet.

“Don’t expect any mercy from him.”

You’re sure you might be on the verge of fainting as you watch them all exit, one by one; tails practically tucked between their legs, only wolf to make a fuss being the orange-haired one from before; you watch the two of them bare their teeth and make comments you can’t quite pick up on, pressing yourself firmly against the wall and jumping the moment they snap warningly at each other— a threat to bite, the sight of their sharp fangs enough to have you retreating slowly to the exit of your backyard.

The second his back is turned from you, watching the wolves retreat to the forest, is the second you make an attempt to escape— hurried steps leading you to the kitchen, walking backwards in order to keep an eye on him— your shaking hands remain pressed against the wall in an attempt to keep yourself upright, keen eyesight taking in any small movement from him, body alight with adrenaline as you wait for the moment you can book it.

His ears, a dark auburn just like his hair, twitch; his head snaps over to where you stand, dilated eyes meeting yours in milliseconds.

You’re turning around to make a run for it— the floorboards creak behind you from the very sound of Beomgyu running after you, a yelp leaving you involuntarily; your feet are falling harshly on the cool tile of your kitchen, but before you can so much as outstretch your hand and reach for the doorknob of the back exit, strong hands are wrapping around your middle and spinning you around, away from your last taste of freedom.

“Please!” you cry out aimlessly, a pained groan falling from your lips as your back collides with the wood of your counter; you’re pinned into the very corner, tears pricking at your eyes and weak hands pressing against the strong chest of the wolf before you— your eyes remain glued to the floor, soft tail trembling with abandon and ears willing hopelessly to hide your face.

“You’re running? After I just saved you?” is all you get in response, his voice gruff and genuine as he remains unfazed at the weak pushes against his chest; his arms cage you in, body impossibly close to yours as he looms over you, watching the way you cower and make yourself shrink with wide, interested eyes. “Why do you run from me, my flower?”

The pet name makes your stomach lurch; a soft sob escapes you, eyes closing in defeat as your mind makes peace with your demise— your shoulders shake with every attempt of yours to breathe properly, every inhale only flooding your senses and clogging your mind with the scent of the wolf above you, like a thick smoke that burns your lungs and leaves your thoughts impaired.

Beomgyu is all but salivating at the sight of you; your soft, fragile body, the tremble of your limbs, your pure and fluffy ears that are pressed flat atop your head, hands subconsciously gripping onto his shirt in a feeble attempt to keep yourself upright— your heartbeat overwhelms him, quick and panicked just like your scent; it makes his brows pinch together and a confused pout form on his lips, the familiar, delicate flower no longer radiating from your figure.

“Are you scared of me?” he murmurs, ears twitching in curiosity as you remain silent; he leans down, willing to get close even after you continue to shrink away in response, curling into yourself and keeping your chin tucked in dutifully; his hand flies to your waist in attempts to prevent you from shifting away any further, rough claws digging in through your dress and making you jolt in surprise— a shaky breath leaves your lips, the wolf that continues to inch closer to you, cocking his head in fascination. His eyes all but burn through your skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple as he speaks; you remain frozen, stiff, feeling the way he continues to wander down, nosing at you softly in search for a sign of that sweet, intoxicating smell you once gave off.

“You’re safe with me— remember?”

Your voice remains stuck inside you— all you can muster is another shaky breath as you feel his lips brush against your jaw, wandering along until he’s at your ear— then he trails down, forcing your head to tilt as his nose runs a soft line along the column; a weak whimper falls from your parted lips the moment he presses down against your pulse point, feeling him inhale slowly before he presses a soft kiss against your sensitive neck— like an automatic reaction, warmth blooms from the spot, spreading through your body, your heart telling you to calm down— but you refuse, and though Beomgyu is able to smell the sweet vanilla and the flowers that blooms from his action, it all dies into one muddled mess that leaves him to huff frustratedly.

His hands have begun to wander— large and warm, sharp claws scratching at your garments and running up your sides before he hugs you tight, pressing your figure flush against his— and as have his lips, pressing soft kisses against your scent gland repeatedly, in search of the scent that he was only granted a mere glimpse of— soft, careful kisses at first, listening to the way you whimper and cry against him, trembling hands balling up his shirt in your fists— only to feel himself grow more desperate, out of control, his lips parted and harsh as he presses his kisses against one of the weakest points in your body.

Beomgyu’s nose is sharp, is able to pick up on even the slightest changes within your scent— so when he picks up on the warm, subtle twinge of vanilla that peeks through everything else, he’s unable to find himself exhibiting restraint. Warm and wet, you feel his tongue press against your skin, the sharp, accidental scratch of his fangs following after— and you gasp, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling above you as your mind finally processes what his intentions truly are, feeling your instincts take over soon after— the moment of clarity passes, and your vision fogs; your body melts against Beomgyu’s.

You’ve been sandwiched between the counter and Beomgyu’s body; even more so now that Beomgyu’s felt you submit to him, head lolling to the side and displaying your most fragile part to him, a smell of vanilla, warm and sweet like a pastry, filling his lugs soon after— you’re presenting yourself to him, eyes glassy and lips parted as you simply let out a shaky exhale.

Your legs are parted with every attempt Beomgyu makes to get closer to you, feeling him stand in between them as he continues to cage you in, continues to kiss and lick along your exposed skin, huffing and sighing in satisfaction with every soft keen you let out in response, your mind and soul still convinced that your time has come to an end.

From a distance, Soobin senses it; he sees the dim lights of your cottage, the door that is left ajar, crooked on its hinges— most of all, he’s able to pick up on the intoxicating sweetness that escapes from the cottage, the innocent jasmine that’s intertwined with the scent that travels with the wind— and his ears stand straight, keen senses straining to hear the soft sob that leaves your delicate lips— his body reacts before he can, and he runs straight to you.

The sharp call of your name is all Soobin can get out before he stumbles to a stop at the kitchen doorway— his eyes remain wide and focused on the sight before him, body on edge and tail stiff as he grits his teeth in rage.

Your doe eyes meet his instantly— they’re shining and incoherent, and Soobin wonders if you’re even conscious of where you are, of the way you whine out his name in the most fragile tone he’s ever heard. The rest of you is covered— you’ve been pressed tightly against the kitchen counter, back arching backwards due to the sheer pressure of the body that weighs you down; ragged clothing covers your own, the pink coat obscured by a white flowing, dirtied white button up, falling off the owner’s shoulder and pooling at his elbow— Soobin’s eyes follow the line of movement, taking in his arms disappear behind your waist, forcing your lower halves to be glued together, your dress bunched up at your thighs from the crude way they’ve been forced open.

“Soobin,” you whine again, taking his attention as he watches a hand of yours appear from where they were caged in, outstretching shakily toward him before it falls limp, hanging over the arm that pulls you closer against him.

Dark, long hair covers the face that is buried in your neck— ears of the same color adorn the top, twitching with interest at the sound before they stand forward— roughly, the head emerges from its hiding place, eyes blown open with nothing short of hunger; the wolf before Soobin bares his teeth and growls, hugging you tighter against him, stepping back and shielding you away from the dog’s view.

Soobin doesn’t hesitate to mimic the other’s threats— he means every bit of it and more, face alight with rage and body poised in an aggressive stance— and though your face has been tucked into the wolf’s chest, though the arms that wrap around your body attempt to prevent you from being seen at all, Soobin is still able to catch glimpse of your tail that quivers with fear, of your figure that shakes pathetically from instinct.

Loud, angry growls and spiked scents fill your senses and leaves you docile; Soobin’s sharp, strong pine mixes with Beomgyu’s thick, intoxicating smoke, painting the scene of a burning forest as they continue to warn the other, narrowed gazes and sharp canines creating yet another standstill.

Beomgyu’s eyes catch onto Soobin’s restlessness with ease— and before he’s able to make a move, Beomgyu is manipulating your body once more, spinning you around and pressing your back firmly against him, feeling the way you follow his every command without a second thought— and when you present yourself to him for a second time from pure instinct, Beomgyu grins; his eyes lock with Soobin’s and his head cranes down, dangerously close to your scent gland that continues to release its tempting smell.

“Stay.” is all Beomgyu growls out, eyeing the way Soobin freezes immediately, wide eyes watching the way Beomgyu’s mouth opens, tongue lolling out lazily before it’s running slowly against your shoulder, gliding along until it stops dutifully against the joint of your neck, pressing down to feel your pulse— Soobin flinches, undoubtedly wanting to lunge forward, but is stopped again by the wicked smile Beomgyu sends him, sharp canines meticulously on display.

You’re all left frozen— Beomgyu’s arm that has been thrown around your waist toys with the hem of your cute coat, the other that presses against your heart feeling the quick pounding against his palm— and he laughs, inching his hand up slowly until it’s around your neck, his index and thumb exuding little effort to keep your head upright, watching your eyes slowly meet Soobin’s.

“Any sudden moves,” Beomgyu begins again, eyes flickering down to your neck, watching the quick rise and fall of your chest with fascination, feeling the way your throat constricts with every swallow against his palm— and he smiles, looking back at Soobin and allowing his tongue to run over the top row of his teeth leisurely, “and she’s mine to claim.”

Silence; Soobin takes a moment to weigh his options, to inspect the scenery before him— the wolf means it, Soobin is quick to realize, seeing the way he all but drools over your exposed neck and faint figure— and he meets your eyes again, attempting to decipher what you may be thinking, only to realize that you’re not composed at all; you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your basic survival instincts, and yet it seems as though your brain has told you that it’s best to give up any fight you have left inside you.

Soobin feels his jaw ache from the way his teeth grit together angrily— and with a soft huff, he becomes the first to look away from Beomgyu entirely, turning his head in defeat and forcing his body to back down.

“Good dog,” Beomgyu coos mockingly, grinning unabashedly at the sight of Soobin’s face twisting up in anger; he turns to you, placing a slow, lingering kiss on your cheek before he murmurs softly into your ear. “My flower, don’t you want to show him how perfect you are for me?”

Beomgyu doesn’t expect a response from you; the way you whine and shift restlessly against him is enough, having already felt him rutting against you the moment he had you caged against the counter— and he continues to do so, even now, the hand on your throat forcing you to tilt your head, allowing him access to suck and bite on the clean canvas of your skin; your eyes flutter shut, and you’re left to rely on his strength to hold you upright, body rocking gently with every thrust that is delivered from the wolf behind you.

“So sweet for me,” Beomgyu groans, his hands letting go of their respective places before they begin getting busy; your legs feel shaky and you’re left to watch as he undoes the ties of your coat, slipping it off before he reaches to bunch your thin skirt at your waist— you gasp softly, face heating up at the feeling of being so exposed, hands flying to pull down your skirt on instinct— but you’re granted no such reprieve, stilling immediately as a growl leaves Beomgyu’s lips at your action.

Soobin’s head is snapping back at the two of you at the sound of the threat— his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, a clear mistake that only makes Beomgyu grin— your scent, thick and progressively needier, clouds Soobin’s mind, clouds his judgment, unable to do anything more than stare at the way Beomgyu has you in his arms, canines still glittering under the soft lights of your home as a constant warning.

“You smell it too,” Beomgyu speaks, his words less of a question and more of a fact— Soobin’s eyes dilate and his nostrils flare that moment Beomgyu’s lithe fingers begin to wander around the hem of your panties, feeling your thighs press together and your hands grip at his forearm shyly; from Soobin’s distance, he’s able to pick up on the tears that hang on your waterline, the way your lip quivers from the humiliation of being exposed so crudely.

“Innocent thing…” Beomgyu murmurs, dipping down to swipe the pad of his middle finger across your slit, listening to the yelp that escapes your lips, feeling your body buckle against him— and sure enough, a spike of your scent follows after, like an addicting toxin that only fuels the desire of the two canines before you, “So tempting. So good.”

You’re crying softly at the way he continues to tease you, overwhelmed by the foreign sensation, mouth parting in shock as his hand sneaks past the waistband of your panties; you feel as though shocks of electricity flow through you the moment he brushes against your clit, teasingly at first, only to begin circling it steadily soon after— and you can only moan and whine for more, unknowingly bucking your hips forward in search for something else that can satisfy you.

When your eyes meet Soobin’s, you can only feel a hot wave of shame flow through you— his expression is unreadable; is he embarrassed of you? Disgusted, ashamed that you have already given in to the simplest threats? You’re not remotely near as strong as he is, you defend yourself mentally, you’re sure that it was either this or— or…

“You filthy mutt,” Beomgyu spits out beside you, laughing softly at the way Soobin has yet to take his eyes off you, eyes narrowed meanly and brows tugged together, an expression that could be easily read as rage— but Beomgyu knows better, watching as the said man jumps at the sudden sound of the other’s voice, gaze hardening the moment they lock eyes; Beomgyu huffs out another mocking laugh.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beomgyu asks, as though he were sharing a secret— behind you, you feel his hips buck against you, able to feel the hardness of his cock as he uses his free hand to press just below your navel, forcing you back on him— and you gasp, his ministrations against your clit never ceasing as he continues to fuck against you slowly, groaning breathlessly at the feeling of your warm body against him; Beomgyu’s eyes never leave Soobin’s, however, pupils filled with nothing but a mocking joy as he continues breathlessly.

“You want her.”

Another wave of arousal floods though you at his words, filling the room and reaching the two men before you with ease; you’re able to see and feel the way their chests rise slowly, the way they take in your essence before letting out pleased sighs, their own strong, heady scents filling your senses as you simply flutter your eyes shut and whine with need.

“No need to deny it,” Beomgyu grins, leaning his head against yours fondly, middle finger abandoning your clit to tease your entrance, your mouth falling open and hips twitching in surprise at the feeling— the man behind you simply watches with amusement, watches the way you meet Soobin’s gaze shyly, body heated up with embarrassment as you can only let out pathetic cries and breathless gasps with every new stimulation— and Beomgyu’s finger enters you slowly, meticulously, angling himself just right; your vision is fogging at the stretch, hands gripping onto the strong forearm that helps keep your upright as you merely beg for more.

“I’m sure she’d love to give you a show,” he continues, palm pressing against your clit, other hand guiding your hips to roll steadily against his hand— he chuckles softly at the way you’re pliant for him, following his every command without a second thought, “filthy, greedy thing.”

Though Beomgyu directs those comments at you with a voice of acid-like hatred, the way he stares at you is anything but; his eyes are just as keen as the rest of him, willing to not miss a single reaction you make for him, from the way your voice breaks with need to the way your fingers twitch helplessly against his skin— his body buzzes with a desperate energy, his cock pulsing and begging to be inside you the longer he feels you rock helplessly against him— lucky for him, you seem to be getting just as desperate.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Soobin seethes, though he’s unable to make a move to get you away— a single twitch of his tail enough to garner a harsh sneer from Beomgyu, teeth snapping together in warning— the idea of having you claimed, taken, and possibly killed by the monstrosity that holds you hostage is enough to keep Soobin complacent for now, undoubtedly waiting for the moment the wolf no longer has easy access to such a vital part of you to make his move.

Beomgyu doesn’t heed the other’s comment— if anything, he laughs, prodding a second finger at your entrance, forcing the other to listen to the way you perk up and cry in panic, poor inexperienced body not used to the stretch, to the curve of his fingers as he presses against your soaking, tightening walls, calloused skin making you shiver as he forces you to grind against him, to fuck yourself on his fingers.

“Hmm? Don’t touch her?” Beomgyu asks, curious fingers stretching you open slowly, grinning at the way you throw your head back against his shoulder and whine, a hand slapping over the arm that currently fucks your slowly, pressing against it in feeble attempts of getting more, “What, does it upset you that you won’t be getting to her first?”

With a particularly calculated thrust of Beomgyu’s fingers, you’re jolting up and letting out a broken moan; he proceeds to continue to abuse the weak spot within you cruelly, watching with an amused gaze as you continue to fall apart against him like clockwork. You’re getting wound up quite quickly, not used to the intense feeling of pleasure being provided to you— and Beomgyu takes in the sight eagerly, smiling in amusement before he’s stopping abruptly, watching your head hang and your chest heave from the sudden loss of stimulation.

“Does it anger you?” his fingers slide out from your cunt slowly; you twitch at the feeling of emptiness, barely processing the way his hand slowly snakes its way back up, grabbing at your neck and forcing you to look forward again— his fingers, covered in your arousal, prod at your mouth, and in your dumbed state, you can only follow his commands and part your lips dutifully; your tongue circles around his digits and your lips close around them, flushed face painting a lewd scene that only makes Soobin tense; beside you, Beomgyu smiles wickedly.

“Knowing that you’re about to watch her get fucked open— get knotted good— by a wolf?”

Soobin thinks he might be seeing red at this point; his hands remain by his side, closed into a tight fist that has his nails threatening to break through his skin— but that’s the least of his worries, especially with the way your ears twitch and your body perks up at the wolf’s words— both of the men are able to pick up on your reaction with ease, one clearly much happier than the other at the sight.

“You know, if you behave, I might give you a turn.” Beomgyu looks over at you, chuckling softly before he removes his fingers from your mouth, only to grab at your face and turn it roughly to look at him; his fingers dig into your cheeks and his forehead presses against yours, taking one glance at your hazy expression before he’s cooing softly. “I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

All you can do is muster a broken whine in response.

Beomgyu is letting go of your face with a soft chuckle; slowly, you muster the courage to look forward once more, inevitably meeting Soobin’s gaze as a result— his expression is unreadable, and it makes your knees feel weak— your mind races to try and decipher what he may be thinking about, left unaware of the way Beomgyu has let go of your dress, letting the skirt fall slowly over your front as he busies himself in lifting it from the back instead, allowing himself access and grazing your skin curiously; it is only then that you’re coming back to your senses, heart rate picking up with a panic and body bristling the moment you feel the wolf’s hands wandering across the swell of your ass, muttering soft praise that doesn’t quite reach you— a firm hand grabs at your waist, keeping you in place the moment you tried to shift away from him shyly, tried to cover yourself with a weak protests that only garnered yet another growl; with wide eyes, you looked to Soobin, unaware of the helplessness that coated your glassy pupils.

“Soobin,” you cry yet again, blood growing cold at the way he simply seems to stand and watch; his gaze seems to have wandered, seems to have been following Beomgyu’s every action, adam’s apple bobbing at the sudden sound of impact that filled the room, the sound of your yelp followed by the sight of your pathetic hands attempting to swat Beomgyu away, easily overpowered the moment the wolf gathers your wrists in his tight hold and scolds you to stay still, his claws digging threateningly into the soft skin— and again, your head whips back around to look at Soobin, ignoring the keen stance of his ears and the slow, interested sway of his tail as you simply call out to him again, “Soobin, please…”

You’re not sure what you’re begging for any more. All you know now is the feeling of Beomgyu’s broad chest pressed against yours, the muddy feeling of your brain as smoke fills your lungs, allowing your head to loll back against his shoulder, allowing your hips to begin to grind back against the hard bulge that has begun to tease you, shivering softly at the way Beomgyu’s head remains buried in your shoulder, pulling you back against him firmly— you barely register the way your voice whines in protest the moment you feel his lips pull away from your delicate skin, abandoning the gentle kisses and sucks to sneer triumphantly, his low voice a half-hearted replica of yours as he proceeds to parrot your words softly.

“Soobin…” Beomgyu sing-songs, reaching his free hand down to tug at the waistband of your panties, soaked through with arousal that leaves your inner thighs shining pathetically; the said man is snapped out of his trance immediately, enticed gaze hardening the second his eyes find Beomgyu, chin perched on your shoulder leisurely as he continues to tug your panties down, feeling the way they slip down your hips ever-so slowly, “Soobin, come here.”

When Soobin refuses, Beomgyu scoffs— though, he doesn’t seem to be surprised in the slightest.

“Come on Soobin,” Beomgyu repeats again, softly this time, eyes half-lidded as his mouth dips down to kiss your skin; right at your scent gland, tongue darting out before his eyes dart up to lock eyes with Soobin— you can feel goosebumps form on your skin as Beomgyu laughs breathily, mouth still open as he proceeds to nip at the spot gently; not enough to break skin, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squeal and jolt in surprise. Soobin flinches.

“Come.”

It takes a pleading look from your tear-brimmed eyes for him to move. A slow, hesitant step first, pausing momentarily to gauge Beomgyu’s reaction— the said man quirks a brow in amusement, a silent encouragement to continue— and Soobin finally finds himself looming over the two of you, eyes dark and narrowed as he watches you reach out for him with a trembling hand— curling his shirt into your fists, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his chest, body unintentionally arched forward and left in the perfect position for the man behind you— Beomgyu simply coos softly at the action, a false sense of endearment that makes Soobin’s teeth grit with rage; when their eyes meet, the wolf simply smiles.

“Kiss her,” Beomgyu says, the words almost inaudible from how softly they were uttered— but then he’s grabbing at your head and forcing you to look back up, ignoring the sound of protest you make and holding you up by your jaw as he tilts your head to look at Soobin, fingers squeezing your cheeks and forcing them into a soft pout, “Go on. She’s dying for you to touch her.”

Beomgyu speaks as though he were the one in control of your body and mind— and perhaps he is, you find yourself thinking, teary eyes unable to communicate anything more than want as you feel your panties slowly dragging down your thighs, the wolf behind you hissing softly at the sight of the string of arousal that sticks to the fabric, your slick cunt tightening around nothing in response— Beomgyu’s fingers find themselves teasing your entrance again, three this time, dipping in and out of your cunt, stretching you yet leaving you craving for more.

“I…” Soobin breathes out, reaching out slowly for your face; Beomgyu’s rough hand retreats, and it’s replaced by Soobin’s large, gentle ones that cup your face and stroke your cheekbones, watching the way your eyes flutter up to look at him, tears clinging to your lashes like crystals; his eyes follow the path one makes as it falls, thumb wiping it away softly as he finds himself leaning closer, watches the way your lids fall and leave your eyes hazy and obedient.

This is it, Soobin realizes, eyes flickering back to where Beomgyu continues to tease you, much too lost in the sight of your cunt trying desperately to suck in his nimble fingers to pay much attention to the two of you, this is his chance— he can save you.

You seem to catch onto Soobin’s calculative gaze quite quickly this time— and your heart flutters with a slight hope, your chest falling in quick, shallow breaths as your hands tighten against the fabric of his shirt— his eyes flicker back to yours from the action, taking in the way they hold that innocent light of yours he’s always adored— and his heart breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

There’s nothing you can say to that; his lips are on yours before you can so much as let out another breath. They’re soft, hesitant, as though you could shatter if he touched you wrong. His hands shake slightly as he holds your face close to his, feels the way your mouth remains frozen for a second, only reciprocating once you’ve felt the soft pass of his tongue against you— and your overwhelmed mind blanks entirely. For the final time tonight, you submit.

The kiss is slow, it’s deepening out of your control, and it’s everything you imagined many moons ago, when you first began to feel a spark of desire for the man before you— when you swooned and flustered at the comfort you found in him, the warm feeling that always settled in your chest when he was next to you, knowing you could always go to him for protection.

So as you feel his hold on you become firmer, feel the way he sighs against your mouth with no intentions to let you go soon, you wonder what it is you feel now— trapped between the two canines, lungs burning and and mouth left open as you allow Soobin to venture inside, not allowed any reprieve from the man who keeps you close, a soft groan leaving your lips as your sensitive ears pick up on foreign, slick sounds behind you, hisses and sighs of pleasure from another— because the feeling that pools in your stomach isn’t remotely reminiscent of the gentle, delicate warmth you always felt around Soobin; it’s hotter, angrier, greedier— it begs to be satiated and throws away the last good sense of judgment you had within you.

“Soobin— oh god, Soobin—” you hiccup suddenly, finally able to escape from the said man’s mouth that seems to chase endlessly after yours; even now, you still can’t help but cry for him, your body unprepared for the sudden feeling of a cockhead swiping at your slit, the wet noises that arise from the sheer arousal that continues to leak out of you. You cry and you beg with hot shame burning at your skin, unsure of whether you plead for mercy or for more— your body arches and your hips seek for more, cunt throbbing at the feeling of Beomgyu’s tip pressing at your entrance, his rough hands rubbing circles along your ass absentmindedly, but your heart twists and makes a thick lump build in your throat, wishing nothing more than to be experiencing this all differently, in the comfort of your room and in the secure, warm embrace of the man in front of you— you wish for something more intimate, something as gentle as the love you felt.

But all Soobin does is watch. He strokes your hair with a slow hand and cups your cheek fondly, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead before wandering down to press another at the tip of your nose— and he soaks up the pitiful sounds that make your voice break, feeling your hands attempt to steady themselves against him as Beomgyu begins to enter you; slowly, salivating at the way he feels your walls stretch around him, struggling to adjust to merely the tip— he stares down at your dripping pussy with a parted mouth, letting out a slow breath at the sight of your legs that threaten to buckle and your fluffy tail that goes wild with every inch he eases in— and he finds himself having to take deep breaths to not take you as he wants then and there.

“It’s okay. I know, I know— I’m right here, I’m right here with you,” Soobin murmurs against your skin, placing slow kisses along your jaw, allowing you to duck into the crook of his neck for solace— and he smooths your hair as he feels you nuzzle into him, eyes hooking onto the sight over your shoulder of Beomgyu entering you, the feeling of his hips flush against your ass bringing about another shuddered sigh from your lips, nails digging into Soobin’s chest as you attempt to overcome the new sensations.

“I got you, don’t worry my doll,” Soobin utters, a hand going to place itself on top of your own, intertwining his fingers with yours before he begins to weigh it down, to guide it down his chest— he lets out a shaky sigh, feeling you cry and squirm against him, “It’s okay… just relax and you’ll feel good, okay?”

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” Soobin coos against your temple, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you nod against his shoulder, feels the way your hand has successfully breached past his underwear, pants already undone and still guided by his much larger hand as he brings you to palm him slowly, wrapping your shaky fingers around his length; you’re hesitant, unsure of your actions as you allow Soobin to show you what to do— though, you don’t think your brain has truly processed what he’s doing with you yet, preoccupied instead by the thick smoke along with another smell that leaves you feeling lightheaded, along with the feeling of hands groping and smoothing over your skin as a heavy cock continues to twitch inside you.

Beomgyu isn’t quite fond by your sudden shift of attention; his lips remain upturned in distaste, watching intently as Soobin continues to use you however he likes, your face that remains hidden in his neck directly able to smell the calming, dizzying scent Soobin exudes, placating you and dumbing you down to nothing but a fuckdoll for him— his eyes trail down to where he has you jerking him off slowly, Soobin’s lips pressing kisses to the top of your head as he continues to murmur soft praises that have you melting against him— an unfamiliar, hot streak of rage courses through Beomgyu’s system at the sight.

“So ungrateful,” Beomgyu scolds suddenly, reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and bring you back— he’s forceful, uncaring of the way you protest, an arm that’s wrapped around your stomach pressing you flush against him as he forces the two of you to move— and you’re left bent over the counter, face pressed against the wood and wrists secured behind your back as Beomgyu bunches the skirt of your dress at your hips and bottoms out inside you once again; you hiss at the feeling, looking to the side to see that Soobin is unfazed by the action— if anything, his eyes cloud with lust at the scene before him, taking in the way you’re stuffed full and arched prettily with a gulp.

“Why won’t you pay attention to me?” Beomgyu asks breathlessly, looking down at your pliant figure with blown out eyes, tail whipping side to side in anger as he catches the way your gaze still seeks out Soobin’s, eyes unknowingly pleading for reassurance— and he growls, low and heavy in his throat, catching the attention of both of you successfully— but he only cares to have your eyes on him, fully engrossed in the way your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back the moment he ruts into you with rough, slow thrusts.

“Look at me,” Beomgyu groans, pulling out slowly as he speaks, all the way out until the tip of his cock is the only thing catching at your entrance. You’re squirming, trying to move your hips back against him, but the brutal hold Beomgyu has on you keeps you in place; ears pressed flat against your head, you look over your shoulder, back at the wolf who continues to fuck his tip into you with subtle thrusts, sneering at your glassy eyes that continue to look at him with a jarring innocence.

“That’s right,” he breathes, sinking into you oh so slowly, filling you up and laughing cruelly at the way your hands scramble to hold onto something for stability, for a simple comfort Beomgyu denies, “Eyes on me.”

Beomgyu fucks you to prove a point; he fucks you so your eyes roll back and your mouth spills moans and whines dumbly, cock filling you to the brim and stretching you out in a way you never knew was possible— the sounds are lewd and has your skin burning, slick, wet sounds of skin against skin filling up the room and mixing along with your cries of pleasure. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be doing any better than you, transfixed entirely on the sight of your cunt sucking him in eagerly, dripping with slick that makes his cock shine and falls to the floor in a mess, of your ass that ripples with every smack of his hips against you— this is all so new to you, he can tell, your body buzzing with an insatiable need that turns you into nothing more than a cock-hungry whore, your tail wiggling desperately with every harsh thrust of his, as though hypnotizing him to keep going.

The sight of you— a drooling, crying, moaning mess— is the polar opposite of your sweet, naive self, your trusting self that got you into this situation in the first place— and it makes Soobin’s cock twitch with raw lust, the spectacle of you becoming ruined so easily something he never thought he’d witness; such a pure thing, Soobin always felt as though you needed to be treated like glass— but Beomgyu is more than willing to prove that’s not the case with you, growling pure filth at you as he continues to fuck you into the counter, watching the way he hovers over you, practically caging you in with his body, as though wishing for the two of you to become one. And just like before, Soobin watches. He stands to the side and listens to every sweet mewl of yours attentively— after all, he’ll get his hands on you soon enough.

“Tight little cunt— fuckin’ takes me so well,” Beomgyu murmurs into your ear, panting and groaning at the way you tighten around him, “such a good girl for me— shit, you like that? Like it when I talk nice to you?”

Beomgyu is quick to catch onto every little reaction of yours, including the way you tighten hopelessly around him every time he sings soft praises into your ears; it makes you want to hide your face in shame and deny his questions, but you barely get a chance to speak with the way he fucks you— fat cock stretching you out, leaving you speechless as he continues to pound into you firmly, sloppy mouth nipping and marking all over your neck; feeling him on your shoulders and back, canines brutishly ripping at your clothes to get more access to your innocent skin, feeling the way your walls squeeze with every scratch of his sharp teeth against you, eager to get his lips onto any part of you he can.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re— shit– you’re squeezing me so tight, can barely fuck you,” he rambles off, hand letting go of your wrists so he can grab your hips and pull you back onto him— you’re wailing at the feeling, hands failing to stabilize you as you hold onto the counter, eyes screwed shut as you babble at Beomgyu to slow down— but of course, he doesn’t listen, too caught up in the feeling of you to pay any attention, “Oh, are you close, sweet thing? I can feel you— can feel you getting closer.”

“Do you wanna cum?” He asks you in that same, sweet voice laced with faux pity, smiling unabashedly at the way you immediately nod in response, giving in to his brutal pace, “tell me how bad you want it then.”

“Please… please let me…” you trail off, unable to communicate properly with the way Beomgyu continues to fuck you, not granting you any mercy as he watches you struggle, “need– need t’cum, want it, feels so good.”

Beomgyu laughs, the sound labored and breathy from the way you clench around him throughout it; he finds himself glancing over to where Soobin continues to watch, the sight of him focused entirely on your figure making him sneer— his eyes are hypnotized by you and his ears twitch at every weak word that spills from your mouth, lips parted as he all but drools for you— the drastic contrast in character has Beomgyu’s lips twitching in amusement, wondering just where that overprotective bodyguard of yours has gone.

“Yeah? Am I making you feel good?” he mocks, watching as your bowed head nods instantly; he huffs, glancing back at Soobin before he coos softly at you, “Who’s making you feel so nice? Tell me, pretty thing.”

The sudden mention of the pet name is enough to set you off unexpectedly; your mind goes blank entirely, save for a single thought that continues to roll of your tongue like a mantra:

“Beomgyu,” you cry, sobs wracking at your body from the intense feeling, your voice interrupted with loud, uncontrollable moans, “You— it’s you– Beomgyu— please, please— too much…!”

Beomgyu continues to fuck you until your legs tremble and your body weight is placed entirely on the counter, hips held up entirely by the strength of the man behind you as he finally heeds your pleas; he slows until he’s bottomed out inside you, feeling the way your walls continue to pulse as you whimper quietly at the sensitivity— such a touchy thing, Beomgyu muses to himself, looking down at your messy cunt and feeling the way his cock twitches, still in need to fill you up properly.

“Can’t take anymore?” Beomgyu asks apathetically— and though you weakly let out a sound of affirmation, you can tell he doesn’t really care to hear your answer; not with the way he strokes at your skin in fascination, wandering hand pulling at the base of your tail and watching you squeal in surprise, body arching in an attempt to get away— you all but slump into a pool of overstimulation once he finally lets you go, foggy mind barely able to pick up the way he tsks.

“Don’t lie— you can, I’m sure you can,” Beomgyu tuts, watching with amusement as you pout and petulantly shake your head, “you’re a good girl, you can take whatever we give you.”

You don’t seem to process the meaning of his words to a full extent— you’re too far gone to do so, body turned weak as you continue to try and stabilize yourself, chest heaving with every breath you take. But it doesn’t matter if you’ve caught on to what’s happening around you, your every movement taken care of by the two men that cage you in— your shudder at the feeling of Beomgyu pulling out of you, the slick sound drowned out by the crude praises Beomgyu growls; two, strong hands are pulling you up next, proceeding to maneuver you so you sit on the counter— Soobin stands between your legs, looking at you with eyes filled with want and an undeniable pity; he takes in your worn, marked and messy figure intently, watching as his eyes linger on the rips of your dress and the marks all around your shoulders. His hands go up to the area, and your eyes flutter shut, body craving to be covered, to be coddled and tidied.

“Such a perfect doll for me,” Soobin sighs out, beginning to tug down at what’s left of the material, watching the way you shudder and open your eyes with a slight shock— a whine bubble up at the back of your throat, but you can’t really find the strength to protest the way you’re slowly left undressed before the two pairs of hungry eyes before you, no longer able to find the energy to feel embarrassment from being left bare— Soobin’s voice is as gentle as his movements, feeling him lift your hips so he can slide the dress off you properly; it wasn’t very hard to do anyway, the fabric practically hanging together by a single thread, “It’s alright… I’ve got you.”

When Soobin wraps your legs around his waist and hoists you off the counter, you can only wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean your forehead on his shoulder, seeking for more of the scent that calms you down and leaves you mindless; your grip tightens the moment you feel the head of his cock poking at your entrance, painfully hard as he sighs out shakily at the feeling of your sensitive walls fluttering at the feeling— he’s stretching you out slowly, filling you up, and all you can do is bury your head into his neck and try to calm your breathing, taking in the thick sage that fills your senses.

Soobin stays buried deep inside you for a moment, cursing at the tight embrace of your heat around him; you allow yourself to relax— it doesn’t last long though, body jolting with shocks as you feel another head poking at your already stuffed cunt.

“Wait— wait– I can’t— too full, it won’t fit…!” you cry out, looking at Soobin in a panic; a broad chest pressed firmly against your back, familiar lips pressing a chaste kiss to your shoulder— Soobin’s eyes are dark as he takes you in, ears forward and twitching at your pleas; softly, he shakes his head in reassurance.

“You can,” is all Soobin murmurs, watching your face twist as Beomgyu begins to push into you— little by little, stretching you past your limits, resting his chin on your shoulder and shutting his eyes at the sensitive feeling— tears stream down your cheeks freely, soft hiccups escaping you as Beomgyu’s hips press flush against you from behind; Soobin reaches up to caress your head, to pet gently at your ears, and smiles. “See? You’re doing so well. You can take it.”

You shake your head to refute his claims— but it’s not as though that would change the way they’ve begun to slowly pull out, setting their individual paces that inevitably work together, leaving you full no matter what— and it has your head falling back, mouth falling open dumbly as they begin to fuck you; slowly at first, gently, only because your poor cunt has yet to adjust to the size of them. But once they feel the way you leak onto them, the way your cunt begins to clench as their tips ram into places that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, they begin to find the confidence to use you how they want.

Eventually, you’re nothing but putty in their arms; weakly grabbing onto anything you can for support, one finding a firm grip onto Soobin’s shoulder as the other ventured to tangle itself in Beomgyu’s hair— the said man continues to keep his head buried in your neck, lips having a mind of their own as he continues to nose at your scent gland; the action of him nuzzling against it, of him scenting you, is enough to have you a whining mess, fingers tugging at his hair desperately; it only serves to have him fuck into you harder, hips snapping ruthlessly against yours and rough groans escaping him from the pleasure.

“Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight— ah,” Soobin groans, watching as your eyes flutter open to look at him, teary and catching the moonlight that shines down through the window; he cups your cheek, stroking at your cheekbone fondly as he speaks, “so pretty… you’re so pretty, all I’ve ever wanted— god, you’re perfect.”

The look of adoration Soobin gives you isn’t lost on you entirely— but there’s something else that rears its head within his gaze, hungry and desperate, threatening to swallow you whole— and you realize that, for the first time ever, Soobin seems to be staring at you as though you were nothing but prey; something for him to claim and own.

But it seems as though he’s not the only one who possesses those particular feelings— Beomgyu’s pace seems to be growing erratic behind you, knocking you forward against Soobin’s chest and leaving you to wail at the feeling of his cock ruthlessly pounding into you, uncaring of the rhythm the other has set in place; he mumbles gruff words against your neck, but it’s all muffled and interrupted by huffed out moans he lets out in between— but your poor cunt seems to catch onto what he might be saying quite clearly.

“C-close, oh shit, ‘m so close,” Beomgyu says, finally perking up from his place in the crook of your neck to speak directly into your ear, placing sloppy kisses at your jaw as he does, “Ah, d’you feel that? Yeah? Want me to cum inside you?”

You know what his question really entails— you know what your answer should be. But your body simply trembles and your brain short circuits at the thought, traitorous to the last bits of reasoning within you as you dumbly nod at his request; he lets out a moan at the sight.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Want my knot, wanna be bred— ffffuck, I’ll give it to you, I’ll knot you, make you mine,” his every movement has become erratic; Soobin finds it hard to continue fucking you, undeniably sensitive to the harsh pace the other has set— but Beomgyu doesn’t care, leaning in close to your ear to whisper his next words.

“I’ll claim you,” he breathes out, enjoying the way your little tail thrashes against him at the sound, panic filling your tone for a second before you melt into the idea, too fucked out to be able to refuse anymore— if anything, you tighten like a vice around the two, bringing out sensitive sounds from the two; Beomgyu continues to ramble into your ear, much bolder now that he’s taken control of the situation.

“You want it— oh fuck, yeah, you’ll make such a pretty mate, all for me,” he growls, his words slipping to the other’s ears and alerting him, his eyes widening yet his pace not stopping, “all mine— mine, mine mine— o-oh, shit—!”

It all happens so fast. The swelling of a knot inside you, stretching you out to the point where you find yourself sobbing, pawing at whatever you can and begging for them to slow down, to be gentle— hot cum fills you, your cunt only able to handle so much as Soobin’s cock is pushed out, just enough so his own knot doesn’t catch, his orgasm triggering immediately after— it’s so much, yet it’s not enough, your whole being pulsing with desire for the final thing to push you to the edge— and it comes in the form of sharp canines digging deep into your neck.

The right side of your neck stings— then, your left. Two sets of teeth have found their home within your skin, the last of your freedom stripped away as your orgasm swallows you whole— you tremble and you twitch within their hold, cunt filled and leaking with their cum, unable to do anything more than lie within their embrace and take what they give you.

Your eyes feel heavy; you will yourself to stay awake, but your vision becomes spotted within moments— for the first time in a while, your mind is able to find peace.

≪ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you finally wake, you find yourself surrounded by warmth; with heavy blankets over your figure, you’re able to recognize the place as your room. You attempt to look around, but are immediately met with a searing pain— the night’s events flood through your mind all at once, and suddenly, you’re able to sense the presence of two others next to you; their arms wrap around you and they remain glued to your side, one embrace much more familiar than the other.

Through your line of sight, you’re able to spot the moon that peaks through your window, hovering just above the dark, looming canopy of the forest. You stare and you stare, unsure of what to make of everything— of what you’re feeling, of the bodies that shift beside you, pulling you closer to them, as though it could never be enough.

Your eyes sting, and after a second, you find yourself mourning. Mourning for your loss of freedom, for the overwhelming amount of sensations you were put through, and for this complex, dangerous situation you’ve been thrust into.

You were warned of the forest; you were warned that nothing good came from venturing within.

But even then, nothing could have saved you from the creatures that roamed beyond.

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soangelbaby · 4 months ago

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❤︎ you love when i hate you ; vinnie hacker

‹𝟹 synopsis ; vinnie hacker has always been your academic rival, but on valentine's day, when he sees you with a date at his PR event, he's not having it and he'll remind you who truly owns you.

vinnie holds up his glass in a casual toast, still staring at you with that dangerous glint in his eyes. “to lust, to power, and to the people who know they’re not afraid of either.” he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving the crowd, his presence magnetic, as if he’s already won, already claimed everyone’s attention. “now, let’s make tonight unforgettable.” you roll your eyes, spinning around in your seat back towards ryan, who’s standing there, awkwardly trying to hold his own in this unfamiliar world of power plays and subtle challenges. he’s nervously sipping on his drink, eyes darting between you and vinnie, clearly trying to make sense of the tension in the room.

the air between you and ryan is thick now, charged with the aftereffects of vinnie’s words. ryan’s brows furrow, unsure whether to push further or let it go, but you can tell it bothers him. “is he always like that?” he asks quietly, clearly uncomfortable. you shrug, offering a tight smile. “you have no idea.” you hope that’s the end of it, but the silence that follows is almost unbearable.

the luv & lust event had been meant for indulgence—for whispered secrets in dimly lit corners, for reckless flirtations and champagne-fueled confidence. but now? it felt like a battleground. It was the kind of event where reputations were built and destroyed in a single night, where connections mattered more than credentials, and where power didn’t come from what you knew—it came from how well you could own a room.

and no one owned a room like vinnie hacker.

he was in his element, all effortless charm and quiet confidence as he stood at the center of it all, hosting the event like he had been born for it.

“oh, so this is supposed to be my replacement for tonight?” vinnie’s voice was low, smooth, and dripping in condescension as he tilted his head, eyes flickering between you and the guy standing beside you. ryan—blissfully unaware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere—was trying to impress a small group of people, animatedly talking about some recent academic conference he had attended. his words were confident, sure of himself, but you see it—the slight hesitation, the way his hands fidget on the table. he knows who vinnie is. everyone does. your rival, the arrogant genius who has never backed down from a challenge, especially when it comes to you. and tonight? he had already heard enough.

he blinked, caught off guard. you let out a slow breath, already feeling the tension coil in your stomach. “vinnie,” you started, your voice laced with warning. “don’t start.” but he just smirked, ignoring you completely as he turned to your date, taking him in like he was some fascinating little experiment he was about to pick apart. “what’s your name, man?” his voice is smooth, dripping with amusement, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it. your date squared his shoulders, trying to regain some ground. “ryan.” vinnie let the name hang in the air for a second before he gave a slow nod, feigning interest.

“ryan,” he said, dragging it out like he was testing how it felt on his tongue, stepping closer, his gaze cold and assessing. “major?” he asks, like he’s already decided it’s not going to matter. ryan stiffens, his brows knitting in slight confusion. “economics,” he responds, trying to sound composed. vinnie lets out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, as if the answer is beneath him. “economics? that’s cute. you think you can make it in a world like this with that? bet you’ve got all these big plans in your head, all these ideas, but you don’t even understand the first rule of this game.” vinnie’s gaze darkens, the amusement in his eyes slipping away, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he steps forward again, the space between them narrowing.

ryan bristles, squinting his eyes as he tries to bite back the sting of the words. “i don’t need your approval, vinnie. i know what I’m talking about.” vinnie tilts his head, that signature smirk of his spreading across his face like he’s about to enjoy a show. “no, you don’t get it. you think that major is gonna get you somewhere? trust me, man—nobody gives a shit about theories and numbers when they’re busy playing with power.”

ryan’s jaw tightens, his posture defensive. “i don’t need a lesson in humility from someone who thinks he owns the world.” vinnie’s lips curve into that signature smirk, the kind that says he’s always ten steps ahead. “i know you don’t need a lesson. you need perspective. you think you can waltz in here and impress anyone? you’re not even on the same playing field.” he lets the words sink in, savoring ryan’s reaction. ryan scoffs, trying to hold his ground. “i’m here to have a good time, not compete for a spot in your little playground. but you clearly can’t handle anyone in your space who isn’t part of your perfect little world, huh?”

vinnie steps even closer, practically invading ryan’s personal space. “you’re damn right. this is my space. and you? you’re a tourist in it. you want to pretend you’re important? you want to play with the big dogs? you better learn the rules. or get out.” ryan clenches his fists at his sides, trying to keep his cool. “rules? i don’t answer to you, man. i’ve worked my ass off to get here, and i’m not gonna let you try and belittle me just because you think you’re entitled to everything around you.” ryan’s eyes snap to you, the frustration and humiliation from his confrontation with vinnie simmering just below the surface. his jaw clenches, and his fists tighten at his sides as he tries to maintain his composure. his gaze is sharp, searching yours for something—an apology, an explanation, maybe even some kind of reassurance. but all he finds is your silence.

you can feel his disappointment like a weight on your chest, and yet, you don’t know how to respond. you should say something, anything, to defend him, to make it clear that you don’t agree with vinnie, but the words refuse to come. ryan’s expression hardens, his lips pressing together in a thin line, and without a word, he shakes his head, looking away from you as if the tension in the air between the two of you is too much to bear. “i thought this was supposed to be a fun night,” he mutters, his voice barely audible over the hum of the room, “but it looks like i’m just a pawn in your little game.”

the words sting, and you feel a pang of guilt shoot through you, but you still say nothing, caught between the pull of loyalty and the weight of your own emotions. ryan’s eyes flicker to yours one last time, his expression softening just a fraction, but then, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd. you’re left standing there, the space between you two heavy with unresolved tension, the sounds of the event blurring into the background as the silence between you lingers. as ryan walks away, the sharp sting of guilt and anger crashes over you like a wave. you’re pissed—not just at vinnie, but at yourself, at the whole fucked-up situation. you can’t stand it anymore. you can’t just let it slide.

you spin on your heel, frustration boiling over, and shove vinnie hard, your hands slamming against his chest with more force than you intended. “you’re such a damn asshole!” you snap, your voice low but filled with fury. vinnie barely flinches, a look of amusement flashing across his face as he watches you, all too aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. he steps closer, unbothered by the shove, and before you can move again, he’s got a firm grip on your arm. “yeah, i know,” he mutters with a grin, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. “but you’re not exactly in a position to lecture me right now.”

you try to jerk away, twisting in his grip, your heart pounding in your chest. “let go of me, vinnie. i’m not going anywhere with you.” he ignores your protests, his hold tightening, and with a single tug, he drags you toward the private lounge. your shoes skid on the polished floor as you dig your heels in, but it’s no use. his strength is too much, and the space between you and the rest of the party shrinks with every step he takes. curious glances and knowing smirks, past people who wouldn’t dare to question him. because this was his event. his rules. the moment you reached the private lounge, vinnie didn’t hesitate. the door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music, the noise, the world outside. you barely had a second to catch your breath before your back hit the cool leather of the vip couch—before he was on you.

“you’re mad at me?” his voice was low, edged with mockery, with that infuriating, arrogant amusement that made your stomach twist. “what, for putting that guy in his place? for doing what you should’ve done the second he started running his mouth?” you push against his chest, but it’s weak—your body betrays you as it reacts to him. “shut up, vinnie. you don’t get to do this. not like this.” his hand moves to your neck, fingers gripping with a possessive edge, forcing your head back, your throat exposed to him. you struggle to breathe, your heart racing at the intensity in his eyes. the air between you is electric, thick with the tension that’s been building for far too long.

“you brought him here.” his voice is a growl, barely contained, laced with an anger you haven’t seen from him before. “i don’t care who the hell he is. you walk into my space with him, expecting me to just pretend i’m not here? pretend i don’t know what this is?” the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut. his jealousy isn’t just about the guy you brought to the event—it’s about you, about him not being in control. his eyes bore into yours with the force of an accusation, like he expects you to bow down, to submit to him. a shiver runs through you at his words, but it’s not just from fear—it’s from the dangerous, intoxicating pull he has on you, from the way his touch sends jolts of heat coursing through your veins.

you gasp as his thumb traces your skin, large hangs slipping under your dress, “you’re an asshole. you always have to make everything a game.” he laughs softly, the sound rich with arrogance, his fingers skimming your ribs with that familiar teasing touch. “isn’t that what you love about me?” his lips hover dangerously close to yours, teasing. “tell me you don’t love when i win, even when you think you hate it.” you grip his shirt, pulling him in harder, your chest rising and falling with the heat between you. “i don’t—” your words break off into a soft moan when he presses lips against yours harder, taking the words from your mouth. his tongue slips into your mouth, arms slipping around his neck tugging at his collar. you could hear him fumbling with his belt, hands working quickly to feel you.

his dick brushes your thigh, causing you to gasp into his mouth. he tugs your thong aside swiftly, pressing into you rough, not giving you anytime to adjust—or catch your breath. “shiit, vinnie—” you whine into him, your hands claw at his back, desperate for something to hold onto as he sets the pace, moving with an intensity that leaves you breathless. vinnie chuckles as his lips move to your jaw then your neck, “think you deserve this, bring another man to my event? there’s gonna be consequences.” you try to push against him, but it’s pointless. your body betrays you, responding to every inch of him, every stroke. “fuck you,” you mutter, but your voice wavers with the tension building between you. vinnie’s smirk widens, like he knows exactly how you’re feeling, exactly how much control he has over you. “i think you like me like this. you can say whatever you want, but your body’s telling me a different story.”

every word he says fuels the fire of your frustration, but you’re losing the battle—body and mind are at war, and right now, vinnie’s winning. but you refuse to give in. you can’t. “i don’t like you,” you snap, but it’s weak, your words lost in the mess of tension between you two. “i fucking hate this. i hate you.” you choke out, his tip pounding against your cervix, your stomach tightens in pain and pleasure, and you knew you were close already. he leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear, whispering darkly, “you feel so fucking good around me. i could stay like this forever.” you arch against him, your mind a haze of frustration and pleasure, knowing he’s right—no matter how much you want to fight it. “shut the fuck up, vinnie,” you hiss through clenched teeth, trying to keep the last bit of pride intact. “you don’t own me.” he just smirks, but there’s something darker behind it now. “you keep telling yourself that.”

rini’s note ; omg this is so much longer than i expected it to be LMAO ts barely got out brooo but idk i kinda like it might make a series similar academic rivals is such a hot trope 😩 idk it was rushed af but its kinda cute whatever 💔 (excuse any typos grrrr)

#(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ rinia yaps #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker smut #vincent hacker #vinnie hacker imagines #vinniehacker #vinnie hacker #vincent hacker smut #enemies to lovers #academic rivals #all addicted to me #valentines day

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cece693 · 5 months ago

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She Doesn't Know

pairing: alec lightwood x male reader tags: secret relationship, Alec isn't ready to come out, leads to you being flirted with a lot, jealous Alec, clary being clary, things are changed to fit my narrative better

Alec leaned against the stone pillar in the Institute’s training room, trying to ignore the slight tension coiling beneath his ribs. You were in the center of the open space, demonstrating an elegant series of blade techniques for a group of wide-eyed onlookers: Izzy, Jace, a handful of other Shadowhunters, and of course, the newest arrival—Clary.

There you stood, the picture of confidence and grace. Each arc of your blade elicited murmurs of appreciation from the small crowd, and Alec couldn’t help but feel an all-too-familiar twinge of envy. He watched from a short distance, arms folded over his chest, jaw tight.

You were his boyfriend. His partner. His. Yet, in the eyes of almost everyone else here, you were the Institute’s star: gorgeous, talented, charismatic. Alec had overheard rumors that you were the “ideal Shadowhunter”—the sort of person even the Inquisitor might commend without hesitation. You had been many people’s first crush: from timid recruits who looked up to you as the epitome of skill and kindness, to seasoned warriors who admired your strength and devotion to the Clave.

But none of that changed the fact that you were Alec’s secret—at least, outside of Izzy and Jace. His siblings knew, had known for a while, but it wasn’t something Alec wanted the entire Institute gossiping about, especially not while he was still grappling with how to tell his parents. And definitely not to Clary Fray, the redhead who’d only just discovered she was a Shadowhunter at all.

It didn’t help that Clary had developed an instant fascination with you from the moment she was rescued. Alec suspected it was more than just gratitude. She listened with rapt attention anytime you spoke, eyes shining like you were the only person in the room. And the problem wasn’t just that she was smitten. It was that you, being the gentle soul you were, rarely turned anyone away. You humored her questions, you corrected her stance in training, you comforted her when the nightmares of her mother’s kidnapping returned.

Alec’s heart twisted in on itself every time he saw her giggling at something you said. He couldn’t exactly scold Clary for enjoying your company—she didn’t know you were taken. Worse yet, Alec couldn’t just stride up and put an arm around you to make some blatant claim. Not in front of a group that still assumed Alec’s straight.

“She doesn’t know,” Izzy said softly as she approached. Alec was startled; he hadn’t heard her footsteps. She was wearing her signature confident smile, but it was tinged with sympathy. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Alec sighed, keeping his gaze locked on you. Having stopped your training, you now were talking to Clary, the little girl's laughter echoing through the room, high and bright. Alec could almost taste the jealousy on his tongue. “I know she doesn’t know,” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. “I just—It feels like he’s everyone’s favorite. Even with Jace—”

“Jace is his parabatai,” Izzy interjected teasingly, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you still think he's making a move on your boyfriend. When they drew those runes, he basically gave up those feelings.”

Alec heaved a silent breath. “It’s not…I know Jace respects our relationship. It’s just—he’s my best friend too, right? So it feels strange that whenever I look for him, or for my boyfriend, they’re off training together, or exchanging some inside joke.”

Izzy placed a comforting hand on Alec’s arm. “You’re not used to sharing, but you’re going to have to. You can’t lock him up in your room away from everyone else.”

Alec shot her a glare, but a reluctant half-smile tugged at his lips. “That wouldn't be such a bad idea, actually. But, seriously, that's not what I’m trying to do.”

“I know,” Izzy said, voice gentler. “Talk to him. He’d want to know if you’re feeling this way.” Alec glanced from Izzy back to you. He knew she was right; you’d pick up on his mood soon if you hadn’t already. You always had a knack for sensing when Alec was troubled. Or jealous.

Later that evening, Alec found you seated on one of the long benches in an alcove behind the Institute’s library. Dim overhead lights cast dancing shadows along the shelves. You’d folded your arms on the table in front of you, scribbling notes on a mission report.

He hesitated in the doorway for a moment, admiring the way your hair fell over your forehead, the focus etched across your face. Of course people gravitated toward you—you were breathtaking, inside and out. Alec’s chest warmed at the reminder that, for now, your heart belonged to him.

Taking a quiet breath, he approached and gently rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up, a brilliant smile lighting up your features the moment you saw him. The corners of Alec’s mouth tugged up, and he sunk down on the bench beside you.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting aside your pen. “You okay? You seemed a bit off in training earlier.”

He shrugged, then shook his head, deciding to be honest. “I’m just…” He swallowed. “A little jealous, I guess.”

Your eyebrows arched in surprise before softening with understanding. “Of Clary?”

Alec’s mouth parted, but he hesitated. It felt foolish to say it out loud. “She doesn’t know about us,” he finally admitted. “And I can’t exactly blame her for…flirting.” His lips twisted wryly around the word. “But it drives me crazy.”

You slid closer, your thigh brushing his. A comforting warmth radiated between your bodies. “I can see that.” Your voice was gentler than ever. “I’ve been trying to discourage her without being mean, but she’s persistent.”

Alec let out a breath he’d been holding. “I don’t want to let my jealousy show. And I definitely don’t want anyone else figuring out my…preferences before I’m ready.” The words still felt awkward on his tongue, but it was the truth. “It feels like all eyes are on us, you know? You’re…well, you’re you.” He almost laughed at his own phrasing. “People watch you. They notice who you talk to, who you train with, who you spend time with. If they notice me acting possessive or something, questions will start.”

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “I understand. There’s a lot riding on you, on your family name, on how the Clave sees you.” Your voice lowered. “I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to hide, but I also don’t want to force you out before you’re ready.”

Alec’s chest felt tight. Gratitude washed over him in a gentle wave. “Thank you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the reassuring feel of your hand in his. “I’d never want you to hide either, but—yeah, it’s complicated.”

“It is.” You brushed a thumb over his knuckles. “I care about you, Alec. That’s not going to change, no matter who else needs a training partner or who else tries flirting.” A soft smile tugged at your lips. “And if Clary presses too hard, I’ll find a tactful way to let her know I’m not interested.”

Heat rose to Alec’s cheeks. It felt absurd that a single line could chase away so many of his doubts. You had a way of cutting through his insecurities with your kindness. Every word felt like a reaffirmation of your loyalty to him.

For a second, Alec let himself imagine a future where the entire Institute knew the truth—where he could step forward and simply stand behind you during training, wrap an arm around your waist without worrying about the stares. Where Clary could look at you both and see just how uninterested you were in her. One day. Soon, maybe.

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o-sn4pple · 4 months ago

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“Neuvi, I need you to approve this for me.”

Neuvillette barely looks up from his papers, nearly signing off on the form until he reads the neat script printed at the top. “A…marriage license? Why would you need this?”

“I need this to scare someone off,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll shred it later, but for now-”

“Why shred it?” Neuvillette casually signs the fine line and returns to his own work. “We’ve been married for quite some time now. Having it in print would be useful for tax returns-”

“What?”

Neuvillette dabs his pen into the bottle of ink beside him. “It would make filing for taxes easier-”

“No, I mean-” You step around his desk, bending over to stare the Iudex in the eye. “What do you mean we’re married? ”

Neuvillette hesitates, glancing at the handmade necklace dangling from your throat. The shell is clasped shut, but he knows quite well that the romaritime petals and lone pearl are still nestled within. “You are still wearing the necklace.”

“Yeah, I always do.”

“I gave that to you.”

“Yes, you did.”

Neuvillette stalls again, this time looking at the marriage form he’d so casually approved. After a moment, he says, “You are wearing the necklace that I put on you. That is how a dragon courts its mates.”

Finally, your own expression falls, brows pinched and eyes darting to and fro. The longer you think, the worse your expression seems to grow.

Neuvillette is no better. He sits up straighter and sinks his ink pen into its stand. “Is that not how marriage works?”

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. It closes, then opens, then closes again, each time accompanied by a vastly different expression. He’s seen this before. You had done the same thing when he asked about human breeding seasons.

(That had been a fascinating lesson in its own right. To think humans were so embarrassed by their natural instincts…)

Eventually, you sigh and massage your face, setting the paper aside. “ No, Monsieur Neuvillette. That isn’t how marriage works.” You give your temples one final knead before opening your eyes. The genuine curiosity is expected at this point, but it still eases the storm clouds building outside of the window. “Have you never seen a marriage proposal before?”

“None that I recall,” he says. “Though I’ve presided over many trials regarding divorce.”

“Ah, yeah. Makes sense.” You clear your throat and lean against his desk, the same posture you’ve always done whenever his ignorance rears its head. “So, marriage doesn’t exactly count if the person you’re marrying is unaware that you’re marrying them. You can’t just lay claim to them and expect other people to know…not other humans , at least.”

Neuvillette nods, a trickle of amusement in his thoughts. So, you must have been aware enough to notice the Melusines’ sudden change in addressing after you’d donned the necklace. Good. “But if the other party is aware?”

Your throat bobs, shifting the necklace resting so openly against your skin. “Then sure, that’s marriage. In the court of law, though, it wouldn’t be recognized without the proper paperwork. Also, that would be very…uh…dehumanizing.”

“How so?”

“People have the right to choose who they’re marrying. It isn’t exactly a union of two people if one of them didn’t even know they’re being married. That’s like marrying a fish.”

“...I see.” Neuvillette rises from his seat, stepping forward to remove the necklace. Outside, the storm clouds seem to thicken at an alarming pace. “Forgive me, then-”

You casually slap his hand away and cover the necklace with your own. “What? No, I’m still keeping this.”

Neuvillette hesitates once more, hands awkwardly returning to his side. He…didn’t exactly ask you if you wished to be his mate. You had readily accepted his offered gift, even allowed him to drape the chain around your neck when you claimed you wouldn’t be able to clasp it. If all of what you said is true (which it is, he’s figured long ago you aren’t one for lying), then you still aren’t ‘married’ by your standards. What is he to do, then?

You clear your throat, and the storm clouds nearly rupture as he watches you remove the necklace. Then you grip his wrist, dump the necklace in his waiting palm, and say, “Just ask me if I would like to be your mate”

“Would you like to be my mate?” Neuvillette repeats automatically. It feels silly, having to verbalize such primal instincts, but your amused smile makes it worth it.

“Why, yes, silly dragon, I would love to be your mate!” you tease before turning your back to him. “Would you do me the honor of putting it on yourself?”

Sunlight bursts through the dark clouds beyond the window as Neuvillette loops the necklace around your throat. A flick of his thumb locks the chain in place, and you give it an experimental tug before turning back to him with an equally warm smile.

“There,” you say. “Any other questions?”

Neuvillette glances at your necklace and shakes his head, the last of the gathering storm vanishing entirely. “None, my love.”

#genshin impact #neuvillete x reader #snapple drabbles

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being-worthy · 8 months ago

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Venom & Eddie Brock headcanons

I started this a while back and wanted to have it finished before the third movie, Venom: The Last Dance, would come out. Yet, it got sooo long that I decided to split the first headcanon into several parts (not quite sure how many there'll be).

I might consider doing another one after watching the third movie which would be about their life together during and after Venom 3.

I’m doing a little goal over on my Ko-fi to get some help with unexpected health bills! ✨Any help is super appreciated! 💖

Moodboard credits: Picture found on Pinterest. If someone knows who the creator is, please let me know as there was no name.

Here's the 1st headcanon part set during and after Venom 1 & 2:

To say that Eddie was surprised by your reaction when you saw them in their Venom form for the first time, would be the understatement of the century.

That said, they saved you from a mugger, although V had other reasons, too. He was intrigued by your sweet smell (it had something chocolaty to him, his words).

You were a bit afraid to be honest, after all, Venom is huge and broad, very broad and muscly, and don’t forget the shark-similar teeth. 😬

However, your fascination with V was bigger; wondering what his skin would feel like if you touched it. Would it feel more like touching a snake or slimy like a frog? Also, how would it feel to be hugged by him? Does he radiate warmth when hugging?

You mustered all your courage together and asked them if you could touch their face. V squinted his eyes upon hearing your question and wouldn’t quite know what to think of you at first, it was a mix of ‘brave little morsel’ and ‘naïve little morsel’. Eddie was at a loss at hearing your request.

V indulged you and let you touch their face. Eddie just got along with it, not that he’s got much of a choice when V’s in charge, especially when someone else shows interest in him instead of running away screaming. You took the chance to explore his face with your hands thoroughly.

You were fascinated by him. His skin wasn’t slimy or like a snake’s; it was smooth and had a cool feeling on your hands at first, but it radiated warmth to your hands afterwards.

You thanked them for saving you pulling on V’s arm quietly asking them to bend down a bit further. They did as you asked bending as much as possible to your height, once they were within reach, you lightly placed a small peck on V’s nose, or where his nose would be if he had one) and gave them a faint “thank you”, like this 👇

V’s milky eyes turned into two big saucers at the surprising gesture. They were so happy that you didn’t scream and run off like many before have done and even gave them a soft and warm kiss.

Eddie was also amazed by your reaction. He wasn’t sure if you were a bit crazy or the real deal.

V tried to convince Eddie to take you home with them, but Eddie reminded him that they can’t just “take” you or people in general with them. V annoys Eddie for the whole night for that.

They ensured you made it home safely as they insisted on being your bodyguard for the night and escorting you home.

After that night, they’d regularly bump into you claiming they were just in the neighbourhood, and so not making sure nothing bad happened to you, nor were they keeping an eye on you. This was the start of a beautiful and peculiar friendship.

To be continued...

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Do not copy or translate my work plz!

💫 My Ko-fi page

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akookminsupporter · 4 months ago

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JIKOOK KARMA STRIKES AGAIN… AND SO DOES THE CHAOS

Jimin and Jungkook talking—or better yet, teasing us—really took me back to that last Wlive they did with Joon and Tae, when they were teasing us about AYS. It’s that same chaotic energy, where they drop just enough hints to get us all curious but refuse to spill the details. And now, once again, I’m sure the average Jikooker is sitting somewhere, wondering what kind of stories they were referring to and why they’re suddenly ‘worried’ that we might go somewhere.

Like… go where exactly? What is it that we’re supposed to be running away from? Or towards? Are they concerned we’ll collectively lose our minds and ascend to another dimension? Do they think we’ll all log off en masse? (Unlikely. Jikookers have survived worse. We don’t log off.) Or are they, for some reason, imagining us physically running somewhere? The way they worded it was so dramatic, and considering how… well, dramatic they can be, I wouldn’t put it past them to exaggerate on purpose just to wind us up.

Now, I don’t know about you guys, but the first time I read that whole conversation it sent me in a completely different direction. Hobi said that he’d heard some of these stories before and they made him laugh so hard his stomach hurt and I swear, my first thought was that they were talking about something so funny that we’d all end up running to the bathroom because we’d be laughing so hard, we’d pee ourselves. That was genuinely my first assumption ajajajajajjaaj. I don’t know if that’s me oversharing, but I promise you, that was my immediate thought process when I saw their conversation. Like, they weren’t just hinting at something mildly amusing—they were acting like these stories were comedic gold.

And honestly? Knowing Jimin and Jungkook, I can totally see it. These two have always had a way of getting themselves into ridiculous situations, whether it’s by accident or on purpose. They’re the type of people who will be completely serious one second and then somehow descend into absolute chaos the next. The number of times they’ve been caught making each other laugh uncontrollably, to the point where they’re falling over, hitting each other is endless. So, I can only imagine what kind of things they’ve been through that they personally find hilarious.

But what really gets me is the way they spoke about it. Like, the absolute drama of it all. The way they said it was so unnecessarily intense. It’s such a Jimin and Jungkook thing to do—acting as if they’ve lived through some wild, untold saga when in reality, it’s probably just them being absolute menaces and laughing at the dumbest things. And yet, here we are, hanging onto their every word, waiting to hear what exactly happened. I just know that whatever these stories are, they’re going to be peak Jikook behaviour. I. CANT. WAIT.

Now, Switching topics for a moment—because I need to talk about this—if there’s one thing that has been proven time and time again, it’s that ‘Jikook karma’ is very real. I mean, we’ve seen it play out so many times over the years, and it just keeps happening.

Like, take what happened recently. A few days ago, I saw some Jikookers talking about how the vecinas were up to their usual nonsense, this time about a restaurant. Apparently, the restaurant itself had to step in and clarify some things, which, of course, immediately made the vecinas furious. And what did they do in response? They started sending hate to the restaurant owner and blaming BHM for everything under the sun—again. Like clockwork.

But that wasn’t even the only thing going on. For some reason, the vecinas and Solos also decided to revive their weird obsession with trying to prove that Jimin and Jungkook don’t spend time together. They went back to claiming that the two of them don’t share a dorm—or whatever it’s called in the military—and that they don’t even see each other, which is just… fascinating, considering the fact that Jungkook himself already said otherwise. So, in other words, they were basically calling Jungkook a liar.

And what happened next? Classic Jikook karma. Because not only did Jimin confirm that he and Jungkook do share a dorm (or sleep in the same place, however, you want to phrase it), but both of them also casually mentioned that they’ve been through so much together—so many incredible and probably hilarious moments—that they can’t wait to tell us about them… even though they’re not sure if they can tell us. Like, they want to share, but maybe they shouldn’t. I mean, if that’s not the ultimate ‘Jikook karma’ moment, I don’t know what is.

Now, back to the fun part of all this—because I need to focus on that instead of the nonsense—Jungkook absolutely killed me when he said, "June 11th!" basically implying that the day they’re discharged from the military, they’ll spill everything. The way he just threw that date out there so confidently was hilarious, like, that’s when you’ll know everything! I love him, but yeah… I don’t see that happening.

I don’t know if being a Jikooker has made me pessimistic because deep down, I feel like we’re not actually going to hear these stories they were bragging about today. Like, I want to believe it. I want to trust that they’ll actually spill, but something tells me they won’t. They’ll either decide last minute that it’s too embarrassing, or they’ll just keep hyping it up without ever giving us the details. And honestly? That’s fine. We should be used to it by now. If anything, it’ll just be another inside joke for the fandom. After all, it took almost four years for us to finally hear about the ‘rainy day fight’. Four years. So if we have to wait another few years to hear these new stories, well… I guess we just have to be patient. Again.

#jikook karma #rosie's random thoughts #JKJJMP #JMPJKJ

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artytaeh · 5 months ago

Note

everyone sees lorenze as a sweetheart but in the fic he was introduced in he was a dick, and on tiktok there's this whole thing where he would sleep with girls and then log the points he made by sleeping with them in a little black book, then compare scores with the other boys (i think it was 20-pureblood, 10 or 15- halfblood and 5-muggleborn), so how do you see him? (and can you write some hc's for him lile you did with mattheo please?)

anyways, love ur writing, and hope you have a great day!

A STUDY-CASE OF LORENZO BERKSHIRE; based on personal headcanons. 𓂃 ࣪ ✽ ˒

even though lorenzo doesn't have the same destroying coping mechanisms as mattheo or theodore, it's dangerous to assume that he's a sweetheart. if anything, it's a carefully built persona, a mask that he wears rather than claims as his own personality.

warnings: mentions of trauma, and mature contents advised to +18 readers; read at your own risk and responsibility.

MOST PEOPLE FORGET THAT LORENZO IS A SLYTHERIN— this man is cunning. to the point where people might raise an eyebrow at that.

from childhood, lorenzo learned some survival skills: to observe is to learn how to properly behave depending on the ambience, or the people that surround you. to observe is to learn how to act with certain people, nevermind if you agree with them or not. to observe is to know which mask to wear that would benefit you the most.

you see, lorenzo was more of a lucky child than his half-brother, mattheo riddle; the two were born from the same insane mother, who gave birth to lorenzo first as a riddance of her arranged marriage— lorenzo was freedom, was the one thing she had to do to leave that boring, unsatisfying life that her sister, narcissa black, submitted herself to.

after lorenzo, well, bellatrix lestrange was free to openly show her true colors, not having to poorly hide her affairs with dark magic and fascination for the dark lord— betraying mr. berkshire, lorenzo's father, who was unsure whether this was a good outcome (getting a heir and getting rid of such an unstable woman), or a terrible one for his reputation.

so really, mattheo would argue that growing up away from their mother was a blessing, that lorenzo should be thankful for.

lorenzo berkshire never felt that way.

in fact, lorenzo has a deep feeling of envy, in my perspective. never enough for his mother, who didn't even decide his name— his problems never worrisome or considered within his group, not when mattheo riddle exists, not since theodore's mother died. hell, even draco seemed to have a worse life than him.

to me, despite being more of a trio with theodore and mattheo since childhood, lorenzo has the most empathy and "light feelings" with blaise. since, well, they look like the most lighthearted and objectively happy of the group.

THE LACK OF HIS MOTHER'S PRESENCE had always cut deep within lorenzo: it brought a resentment fueled by envy, jealousy even, ever since his childhood.

looking at other children with their mothers, receiving loving hugs or even scoldings, was something that lorenzo deeply ached for. a maternal presence in his life, someone who cares— his father did the best he could, and honestly, not being related to the dark lord's affairs like draco, theodore and mattheo's family are, well, it was a blessing and offered a much lighter ambience at home.

still. lorenzo berkshire didn't know what to do with all that hatred bubbling inside of him. his family members, his teachers— everyone would praise lorenzo for his beautiful and delicate looks, how well-spoken he is; such a blessed child, right?

then why the fuck wasn't lorenzo worthy of a mother? what did mattheo have that lorenzo doesn't, what is so much more interesting about mattheo that lorenzo lacks— to the point of his mother not even knowing his name?

lorenzo finds it unfair. it's unfair, and behind that sweet smile of his, there's a brewing anger, resentment, jealousy that are dangerously close to explode. the day lorenzo explodes, well, hogwarts might blow to debris as well.

it didn't matter how much of a good father charles berkshire attempted to be; where do you think that lorenzo learned his womanizer ways into the world? seeing his father flirtatiously seduce maids, bring home women that felt awkward under his childlike gaze, how girlfriends rarely stayed for longer than a few months. enzo always wondered if love was meant to have a term. like food, if that make sense; in short time, it'll rot, if you don't consume.

so really, the lack of a maternal presence was what made lorenzo ache for a sense of validation. female validation, to be specific.

( yes, the type of friend who becomes your mother's favorite. lorenzo aches to be the slightest bit loved by them; he's specially close to narcissa, his aunt, since she shares the same blood as his mother. other than narcissa, lorenzo really likes and admires mrs. zabini too. )

draco malfoy is his childhood friend; they're cousins, berkshires and malfoys being two influential families that joined their heirs to be good friends since birth. theodore sparked interest in lorenzo since day one, even though he had been introverted back then. blaise came as a package deal with draco, hence why they have an amicable friendship. and mattheo, well, he... sparked different things in enzo that fueled that dangerous anger that he keeps hidden under wraps.

at first, this group seemed promising to one thing: popularity, and lorenzo ached to be a cool kid. gradually, enzo stopped perceiving them as a means to an end, and began to become truly attached to his friends. to the point where yes, lorenzo berkshire is the one to separate fights, or to keep an eye out to assure that professors won't interrupt his friends' fistfights.

even so, lorenzo feels lonely or an outcast sometimes. draco and blaise were birds of a feather ever since the first days of friendship; theodore and mattheo shared too many matching wounds. despite his proximity with both mattheo and theodore, lorenzo often felt like they were the duo in a trio. in the end, he had no one to claim as his person, nevermind how he's the one who ached for it the most.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE IS A HOPELESS ROMANTIC; dreaming with love at first sight, believing that he'd only settle down for this one goddess, this perfect woman he'd only have eyes for. genuinely, lorenzo believes that everyone has their assigned soulmate, that the one exists. and here between us, lorenzo is dying to meet the love of his life; he has high expectations of the world stopping the moment he sees her, of being tongue-tied on her presence. all of those romance book cliches.

so, in a way, all of these gentlemanly acts, this effort to get to know many people, specially girls... it's all for the sake of his goal: finding this girl that will stop his world.

and as romantic as it can be, such a thing makes lorenzo berkshire become... an asshole.

so he becomes anxious. each girl he dates, he'll anxiously expect or wonder if she's the one for him. this anxiety brings him to be a bit mean, and an inconsequent jerk, who'd find faults in all of the girls he dated for more than a week; by the end of the month, he'd have a whole brainstorming session on his notebook (that bloody, cruel notebook of his) weighting the qualities over their flaws.

and so he'll daydream— and test them. watching closely how they react to this and that, a strange analogy for situations of daily life; a taste of what would be like settling for such a woman. if it's worth it. if he likes it. if their reactions are charming to his eyes.

if he's dissatisfied, well; he'll dump them. lorenzo berkshire has a big heart, meant to love and show the outmost affection—

and even though he'll make a girl feel like a princess, like the most important, prettiest, most special girl at school... one day he'll treat you as the most special, ethereal person that ever existed in the earth— on the other one he won't even spare a glance at you.

LOVE BOMBING works that way. because as soon as lorenzo is bored or dissatisfied, he'll leave; the interest, the thrill of the chase, learning the way to their bodies and what makes them laugh, swoon, blush, give him a cute reaction — after all of that, well.

lorenzo berkshire will be bored.

and leave their lives as fast as he came.

and well, enter the little black book !

you see, for how much of an asshole that lorenzo truly is, is a bit hidden under the wraps; (mattheo doesn't have much of a problem showing it, since his father's reputation got people assuming terrible things about him since day one), but lorenzo berkshire is more discreet.

for those of you who don't know, the little black book is a hard covered notebook, with blank pages meant to be filled with... well, rudely given scores and opinions that should've never been verbalized. as anon mentioned on their ask: this is a game between him and mattheo; like quidditch, you score more and more points to your team.

with this one, each girl they sleep with, adds more points to their game. raised with the pureblood supremacy ideology implanted on their minds, the points were given like this:

⭑ 20 points, if the girl is a pureblood;

⭑ 10 points, if the girl is a halfblood;

⭑ 5 points, if the girl is a mudblood muggle born.

mattheo being lorenzo's partner on this whole little black book deal is a bit of a... tricky situation.

at first, it served as a competition; to prove to himself that he's better than his half-brother, after all. then, it became mean conversations that unintentionally brought the boys together as genuinely good friends who appreciate spending time together.

suddenly, lorenzo doesn't hate mattheo anymore, and starts perceiving him as who he really is, instead of that nemesis he created inside his head— the boy who stole his mother's attention.

SMARTER THAN WHAT PEOPLE GIVE HIM CREDIT FOR. it's part of his sweetheart persona, to make sure people underestimate him; sure, don't worry about lorenzo — look at him, do you really think he'd punch a guy?

(he would. lorenzo rarely gets himself into fights, for the sake of not getting bruises on his face and his reputation; but this guy is feral. get lorenzo berkshire angry enough, and mattheo and theodore have to join forces to separate lorenzo from his adversary.)

enzo won't punch or be aggressive to anyone in public. if anything, he might get them at a secluded corner of the castle and give them a very obvious warning.

but his preferred strategy is to innocently spread gossip about the people that harm his friends. you said that theo had cocaine? funny— it seems like you slept with a professor and got an abortion during christmas break. lorenzo isn't afraid to spread gruesome rumors like that. so be smart and don't start shit with his friends either.

lorenzo also has a hard time knowing himself. in a sense that, because lorenzo shapes himself to adjust to each social circle, he gets lost between the many masks he used throughout his life.

is he capable of being a sweet person, or is he just a really bad guy? lorenzo sees things as extreme. black or white. day or night. the sun or the moon. good or evil. right of wrong. that might be why he has a hard time believing in what people say about him; as in, if you praise lorenzo of being a good friend, he'll have his doubts about that— a good friend wouldn't do the things he's done, or felt jealousy towards them. a good friend wouldn't resent his friends for having problems seemingly bigger than his, right?

( rip lorenzo berkshire you would have loved personality quizzes. )

lorenzo also tends to have a certain distortion of his problems. the issue here is, the minor problems are seen as extreme, alas the truly worrisome ones, diminished. enzo knows when someone is abused — but does he allow himself to feel bad about the grown woman who was his first time at fourteen? no—no. he should like it. boys will be boys. and when everyone patted his back and treated him like a king afterwards, lorenzo felt bad about wanting to throw up.

QUALITIES THAT HE POSSESSES, rather than just spitting out my insight of lorenzo's struggles and some flaws of his, are:

⭑ knows how to treat a woman,

lorenzo is a friend to many girls, and having seeked both comfort and validation from the female audience, interacting so much with the opposite gender offered experience. not just to fuck or making out— lorenzo genuinely has some girl friends that he considers as people he sincerely likes; most of these friends, depending on their personality (cough how enzo judges whether they'd be able to survive his friends' bullshit cough), lorenzo will warn his slytherin friends to find another prey to pester.

besides, he's the one who mostly advises his friends. surely, theodore has good experience with women at his feet, and mattheo knows how to flirt with a girl— however, both suck at apologizing, or redeeming for their mistakes, even though they're not feeling the guilt they should feel.

lorenzo sympathizes with that, but bloody hell, morons— just go get her a bouquet of her favorite flowers and say some sappy bullshit! lorenzo isn't sure whether his friends are ignorant idiots, or if he's somehow included in girl code. lorenzo berkshire promises that it's not that hard to understand women, much less how to treat one right.

( emotionally speaking, well... sometimes lorenzo fails at that. horribly. still, his motto is to make girls cry on his tongue, not for his actions. break her bed, not her heart! )

⭑ the greatest at social gatherings,

hence why lorenzo will be the perfect boyfriend to your parent's eyes; a charming smile, polite and doesn't force any sympathy to be casted upon him. lorenzo's ability to perform in the pureblood society, at home, in hogwarts with different social circles, allowed him to master the art of adapting into the necessary mask. besides, he's a mother's favorite; should you and lorenzo berkshire ever break up, your mother will cry.

⭑ as i've stated before— acts of service,

lorenzo's most genuine display of care is by acts of service. gifts if he wants to impress, physical touch if he wants to seduce— so the things he does for his slytherin friends are the most sincere from him.

⭑ ‌looking out for any professors or filch, to make sure that no one interrupts his friend's brawls; if necessary, lorenzo is one to step up on the fight as well, if things feel unmatched for mattheo or theodore.

⭑ ‌taking care of their drunk selves, even to the point of tolerating them throwing up at each corner of their shared bathroom (a nightmare, i'll tell you.); lorenzo will drop whatever he's doing to make sure that his friends are hydrated, comfortable and sleeping soundly on their beds.

⭑ ‌brings annotations and whatnot to help them at a certain subject. lorenzo has connections and is an acquaintance to many, so really, getting these wasn't that hard.

⭑ ‌saves their preferred dessert or breakfast meal, since lorenzo is very pontual and likes to leave the slytherin's dorms early. or at least before the halls are too crowded for his liking.

⭑ knows their allergies. once saved blaise from suffocating— theodore unintentionally gave him a bit of a tart that had peach. blaise is allergic to them.

⭑ isn't a materialistic person,

at least not like his cousin, draco malfoy, is; money and wealth came easy to lorenzo's life, surely, however he doesn't perceive it as something that dictates a family's value. hence why lorenzo also doesn't look at price tags— knowing that the berkshire's vault at gringotts would be full for many generations to come, but also because money is a trade needed to survive amidst society. besides, lorenzo has money to spoil you! otherwise, why would he need this much?

not looking at price tags might make him a bit ignorant about stuff he buys. 'this? oh, i thought it was cool– does this brand cost five hundred galleons? oh, i wasn't aware.' — won't be able to explain where he got his clothes from, because they might be muggle, wizardry, low cost, or at the expense of a kidney.

besides, lorenzo values handmade gifts much more than bought ones. things you buy because you know a person's tastes are just as endearing— lorenzo melts at the notion that you see him. that you notice him and what he says. even so, give this man a love letter, and he'll unironically sob (and read it every. single. night. before sleeping). this means that lorenzo will also put effort into making something for you, rather than go to the first store and buy the first thing he sees.

⭑ dresses ridiculously well,

lorenzo berkshire doesn't have to pull anything off; the man knows how to dress. an angel will spend their vacation at hell, the same day you'll see lorenzo wearing a mismatched outfit. sounds impossible, right? yeah. it doesn't matter if he's running late either; lorenzo will even show that that adds to his charm: being fashionably late.

he's a bit stingy with clothes, though. doesn't like the thought of sharing them with anyone— however he might lend hoodies, jumpers and shirts to his partner. the biggest drama queen if someone taints or ruins his clothes. if his shirt isn't perfectly ironed, he won't use it. lorenzo berkshire always looks impecable.

⭑ fiercely loyal,

slytherin and hufflepuff walk hand in hand with this one trait: loyalty. in my opinion, you won't find another house who compares to their great sense of devoted trust. lorenzo, nevermind his own mental struggles and unspoken issues, would never betray his best friends in any way.

lorenzo is the type of friend to whom you have to prove that his friends are in the wrong— the proof must be a ridiculously good argument, because even so, lorenzo will side with his friends. enzo's concern over the moralty of their actions falters, into the need of helping his loved ones out of this mess first; besides, lorenzo has a secret (yet loud) urge to be useful, to be needed, from where validation and self-esteem comes from.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— once again: this is my perception of lorenzo berkshire! 🗯️ i posted this with a tinsy bit of fear, since some people might interpret lorenzo as something totally opposite to this... but oh well. i hope you liked it! you won't believe for how long i've had this for ?! and i'm still so not satisfied with it. 🙂‍↔️

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

#slytherin boys #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire headcanons #hp fanfic #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire headcanons #lorenzo is a sweetheart until he's not

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