#my head is spinning and i am feeling weak

[arolesbianism]

There's a well 🎉

[tender-rosiey]

Can u do a drabble with jjk men where their child gets into a physical fight?

"MY KID IS NOT GUILTY, YOUR HONOR!"

— when your kid with gojo, sukuna, nanami, geto, and toji gets into a fight (f!reader)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband happily swings your hands together, as you walk to the principal’s office. meanwhile, you’re worried sick about s/n and what happened to him.

satoru rubs your hand reassuringly before slamming the door open and yelling, “did you win?!”

your eyes widen, but before you interject, s/n replies back enthusiastically, “yes, I did!”

you hurry to your son, kneeling in front of him to check him thoroughly.

you let out a sigh of relief when you see that he isn’t hurt in any way. sensing your distress, he hugs you. “I missed you, mama,” he says, snuggling into your neck.

“me too,” you smile and almost get lost in the moment, but then you hear a camera shutter. you look back and see your husband, holding a camera.

“oops, don’t mind me, hun.”

the dad of the other boy—who you didn’t notice was even there—stands up, livid, “can you take this a bit more seriously?! my son is injured!”

you’re about to reply yourself, but then satoru beats you to it. he stands right in front of the man and looks down at him, “surely, you’re not yelling at my wife, right?”

the man stumbles back into his chair, and satoru stares him down, making him sink even further into the chair.

the mother then speaks to you, “what your son did is unacceptable! look at how my baby is right now!”

looking at the other boy, you decide that the mother has every right to be mad. his nose is bleed profusely. you’re pretty sure it’s broken.

you look at your son and quirk an eyebrow, “s/n? what happened?”

“I was showing my friends the picture I got of you, and he said you were ugly! he can’t do that!”

your husband turns back and gasps, “he did what?!”

as if the dad himself is the one that is getting scolded, his eyes get teary.

meanwhile, you see the mother whispering to the boy, and he nods, ashamed. she looks back at you and says, “however, what your son did is not acceptable.”

“I know that the reaction was a bit much, but what your son did is also unacceptable,” you answer with your son nodding behind you.

“well—can you not be so close to my husband?” she snaps at satoru, whose cursed energy is increasing.

“you and your husband need to get taught a lesson if you raise a kid that’s so stupid he thinks my beautiful, divinie, and drop dead gorgeous wife is ugly,” he states, and the lady finds herself shrinking back beside her husband.

the little boy also scrambles into his parents’ embrace.

you place your hand on satoru’s forearm, and he immediately relaxes.

you smile and press a kiss to his cheek then pat your son’s back before instructing him softly, “you have to apologize for hurting him so much, though, s/n, okay?”

your son, ever the obedient sweetheart when it comes to you, looks at the boy, “I am sorry, but you should be sorry too!”

the other boy nods, crying, “I am sorry!”

your son nods, satisfied with the answer. your husband then picks s/n up and spins him around as he sings his praises, “I am so proud of you for defending mama like that! so so proud!”

the boy grins happily and hugs his dad. satoru then raises his finger, “but you gotta know that people are weak, so we can only do this to them all the time.”

your son nods eagerly, before wiggling to the ground. he runs to you, excited to tell you about his day. you grin and listen to him happily, ignoring the crying family on the other side.

your husband kisses the top of your head before turning to the principal with a smirk, “so, principal, is there anything you would like to say?”

“I am gonna piss myself.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

you dragged sukuna to the principal’s office, after you got a call of a major incident happening involving him. your husband insisted on dismissing it, but you just had a feeling that something is seriously wrong.

you both enter the office, eyes immediately falling on your son who is sitting unbothered on the chair. meanwhile, the principal is resting his elbows on the desk and striking a pose that could only be described as trouble.

when s/n sees you two, his eyes light up, and he runs to give you—and only you—a hug. sukuna scowls, “what about me?”

“you said you don’t like my hugs,” your son huffs, averting his eyes away. sukuna stares at him for a second, before picking him up by the scruff and placing him in his arms.

the boy looks at his dad, shocked, before snuggling into his embrace.

your husband leans his head just a bit on s/n’s head. you both then direct your attention to the waiting principal.

the principal taps his fingers together, but sukuna grumbles, “are you not gonna talk?”

you stifle a giggle—which sukuna notices and you notice the slight smirk now present on his face. the principal looks up at the three of you then speaks slowly, “well, you see…”

he looks up, “your son set my car on fire.”

a few beats pass.

then your husband barks out a laugh, one so hearty that it catches everyone but you off-guard.

the principal looks incredously at sukuna. your son tilts his head in confusion, before sukuna ruffles his hair, “how did you even do that? seriously, that’s my son for you!”

the boy thrives off his dad’s praise, and they get lost in their world, as your son details how he orchestrated everything.

the principal frowns, vexed. he clears his throat to speak up, “sir, I think you might have misheard. I am saying your son—”

“did I ask you to repeat yourself?”

the tone leaves no room for discussion, and it also sends shivers down the principal’s spine. your little boy snickers, and you side-eye him, effectively shutting him up.

the principal shakes his head slowly, then he looks at you for help.

truthfully, the man has every right to be both terrified and offended cause what the hell kinda is able to set a car on fire and act so nonchalant about it? it’s the kinda kid with a dad who backs him up for it.

however, the man assumes that voice of reason is you.

you want to help, but you’re just too tired. so, you smile, “I understand that what happened is harsh, sir,” he lights up, then you continue, “but surely, you can get a new one, right?”

the man pauses and looks at you with wide eyes, before spluttering, “wha—ma’am, you can’t be serious—"

“surely, you. can. get. a. new. one. right?” you glare.

the man nods frantically.

sukuna smirks pridefully, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. he leans his face near your ear and whispers, “my kinda woman.”

you smile and wrap your arm around his waist and squeeze his hip in return. you both exchange affectionate bedroom looks, forgetting about the frightened principal.

meanwhile, s/n looks at you guys, wrorried, and murmurs, “mom, you’re scarier than dad.”

despite what he says, s/n jumps into your arms and nuzzles against your cheek. your husband rolls his eyes with no real annoyance behind them.

with all the courage left in him, the principal smiles nervously and stutters, “you—you can leave now; I sincerely and deeply apologize for the hold up.”

nobody moves an inch.

“…please leave.”

NANAMI KENTO:

you, your husband, and your daughter are now seated in the principal’s office.

you are waiting for the other kid and her parents to come in as well. you’re tapping your feet, restlessly, but kento lays his hand on your knee and rubs it gently.

he nods at you, and you smile.

you know your daughter would never fight unprovoked. said daughter gets off her chair and climbs into your lap. she hugs you tightly, and you instantly start petting her hair.

she lets a small sigh, but then the principal enters the office with the other parents in toe. you see your husband’s eyes narrow, before he leans close to d/n and asks gently, “isn’t that the girl you said was bullying your friend?”

your daughter nods intensely and whispers back, “she was about to hit her today, and you told me not to let people bully others! that’s why I hit her.”

you pat her head, and she grins. kento hums then nods, “I get that, but couldn’t you get a teacher, sweetheart?”

“the teacher would’ve taken too long!” your daughter huffs, and she is right. but, there still is a lesson that she needs to understand.

the principal clears his throat and sits in his chair. “well mr. and mrs. nanami, your daughter has inflicted pain on a friend of hers—”

“bullies aren’t my friends!”

good saying, but this probably isn’t the time. you pat her back, and she instantly understands what you mean, so she—begrudgingly—calms down.

the principal continues, “as I was saying, she hit her classmate, and as you can see, it left a bruise. such violent acts are prohibited in this respected establishment.”

“shouldn’t bullying be prohibited as well?” you ask, and the man splutters.

“that doesn’t happen—”

“i can assure you that my wife is speaking the truth,” kento backs you up, “if you would like, we can check the cameras or what the teachers say regarding the environment you’re fostering.”

your daughter’s head starts spinning from the big words.

your husband places a hand on the top of her head before resuming, “while I acknowledge that my daughter shouldn’t have been physical in defending her friend, you ought to acknowledge that what the other girl did was also unacceptable.”

“and since you want to solve the root of the problem, shouldn’t you punish the one that did the bullying and warranted my daughter to act in defense?” you press on, and the principal gulps.

the father of the girl stands up, “my princess would do no such thing—”

“your record isn’t that pretty either, so I suggest you sit down,” you say with a smile, and it does the trick. the man immediately sticks to his wife—who has said nothing, and you assume it’s because she knew what her daughter did.

everybody keeps staring at each other for a while, with your daughter having a staring contest with the other girl.

“we will deal with our daughter accordingly,” kento speaks up as he stands up, straightening his suit, “but we expect that the girl is also held accountable for her shameful actions. thank you.”

you and d/n get up, and the three of you exit the office—like icons. kento holds your hand and d/n’s, and you giggle, “did you see how they looked?”

“should you be encouraging d/n about laughing at others?” your husband asks with a small quirk of his eyebrow. you nod confidently.

“if they’re rude then yes!”

he shakes his head helplessly with a smile. then your daughter looks up to kento as you are walking and says excitedly, “dad, I won!”

your husband looks down at her then smiles gently, nodding as he gives her a thumbs up. you raise your eyebrows and gasp lowly, “hypocrisy?”

“hmm, I don’t know.”

GETO SUGURU:

your daughters hang off their dad’s back as you guys head to the principal’s office. they squeal and giggle, and suguru has an ever-permanent smile.

he is holding onto your hand gently and says, “don’t worry; I doubt that the girls actually caused damage.”

“I know, but what I am curious about is why they would get into something,” you reply, pensive, “I know my daughters very well,” you smile, and the girls grin.

they start chanting your name, clapping, and saying I love you a million times.

you open the door slowly and are met with the principal standing in front of his desk and a girl standing on top of it. your eyebrows furrow in confusion, as you all enter.

your husband wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. he tilts his head, “so, what’s wrong?”

the man drums his fingers on the desk, leaning back, “your daughters have ganged up on my daughter.”

the both of you take a moment to examine the girl from afar. there seems nothing wrong with her: no bruise, no blood, no nothing.

you exchange looks, and you take the turn to speak up, “your daughter looks okay to me.”

the man huffs and crosses his arms, “she was hurt emotionally! severely too!”

the girl nods strongly and pouts. her dad gasps and hugs her. he then starts coddling her before asking her, “what did they say to you, sugarplum?”

“they said that I looked like a mole rat, daddy!” she replies, hand on her chest as she ‘falls’ to her knees, “and—and that’s only one of the many bad things they said!”

the man gasps yet again and starts comforting her.

you and your husband let out a snort, barely containing your laughter. the girls puff their chest in confidence. you and suguru look at each other with a poorly hidden grin, and you get caught.

the man fumes, “you’re laughing at my dear sweet princess sugar?!”

“no, we are laughing at the insult,” you reply.

“it’s quite creative,” suguru chuckles before turning to the girls who have long let go of him. he kneels down and asks them, “why did you guys do that?”

“she pulled my hair!” one of the twins spoke.

the other chimes in, “and she made fun of me.”

“oh.”

just from that word alone, you can tell which path your husband is gonna take in continuing this conversation. you have a half a mind to make him summon rainbow dragon to take you home.

you just wanted to know the reason, and suguru is probably never going to leave it at that. forget how ‘calm’ he usually is, his family should never be insulted.

“…see, this why you’re all a bunch of monkeys.”

“monkeys!!” the twins scream in unison.

this time both the principal and the daughter gasp incredulously. your secretly a diva of a husband carries your girls then holds your hand before exiting the office.

he walks in silence, and you quirk an eyebrow, “so, what are you going to do, mister ‘filthy monkeys’?”

“I have a feeling that you’re making fun of me, honey.”

“and that feeling would be right.”

the girls settle on his shoulders, freeing his arms, and he takes the chance to tickle you. you squeal, “suguru, stop! I am serious! not in public!”

“but you’re being mean, sweetheart,” he mock pouts, “such bad things you’re saying.”

your roll your eyes, and you guys continue on your merry way back home.

that event passed by like a breeze, but for some reason, the school has been appointed a new principal because the last one went missing.

I wonder why.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

“relax, ma,” your husband says as he rubs your shoulder in hopes of comforting you, “the kid is surely fine; he is our son after all.”

“I know, toji! but what if he did get hurt?” you fret then scowl, “I swear to god, if they harm a single hair on megumi’s head, I will make them wish they were never born!”

toji smirks lightly and ruffles your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, before opening the door. he sees megumi sat, arms crossed and frowning.

involuntary, toji lets out a sigh of relief, and you waste no time in going to your son and checking on him, bombarding him with questions.

“did you get hurt?”

“no.”

“did he hurt you?”

“no.”

“are you okay?”

“yes.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, mom, I am fine,” megumi murmurs, cheeks heating up at your affection. toji chuckles at the display before looking at the principal.

the man purses his lips before sighing, “your son has beaten up jay.”

you and your husband blink silently. then your husband tilts his head, “who?”

the principal grits his teeth before standing up. he crosses his arms before huffing, “jay, the son of the town’s mayor! that boy is as important as his father, yet your son has so brazenly hurt him!”

you frown, “I don’t care who he is, and I am sure that my son won’t hit somebody for no reason!”

megumi nods, and you smile at him.

you pat his hair gently, and he reluctantly leans into the affection. meanwhile, toji has been listening silently before turning to megumi and asking, “who the hell is that?”

“the one with the sea slug hair,” he replies instantly. you let out a hum of recognition.

your husband stares blankly before he clicks his finger, “oh,” he then looks at megumi and ruffles his hair with a small grin, “I hated that kid’s dad—good job.”

megumi lets out a small smile before giving his dad a thumbs up. you roll your eyes with no real annoyance behind them and side-eye toji.

toji chuckles then looks at the fuming principal. the man, now red in the face, yells, “mr fushiguro, that is unacceptable behavior from both you and your son!”

“…okay?”

you shake your head and usher megumi out of the room. you and toji share a look, before you close the door. the moment it clicks, your husband turns to the principal with a blank face.

he takes a few steps, stopping right in front of the man. toji grabs the principal’s shoulder then speaks lowly, “you won’t speak of this, ‘kay?”

he nods frantically, face contorting as he tries to compose himself. toji smirks and heads to the door with a small wave, “see ya never, teach.”

your husband finds you and megumi in the school’s garden.

he sees megumi and yuuji—his friend—playing together, while you relax on the bench. for some reason, toji feels a wave of warmth flood his chest as when he sees you and megumi smiling.

yuuji yells something to you that makes you laugh heartily. toji feels himself relax and smile just slightly. it’s moments like these he feels ever so grateful to have you in his life.

and he swears to forever protect you and megumi. he has acknowledged a long time ago that his only wish is to be by your side.

that’s why, in no time, he is behind you, effectively blocking the sun. you look up from where you’re sat to your husband.

“hey pretty,” he hums.

you chuckle as he rests his elbows on the bench, “slain?”

he grins, “slain.”

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LAY YOUR LOVE ON ME ✶ WHEN THEY CHECK YOU OUT ◞

SCR𝓲PT ᪲ 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾

【 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝒪𝐕𝐄 】 ' 𝒏. enhypen & fem!rea. ❜ 7OO established relationship fluff headcanons ˊᯅˋ kissing skinship petnames &CLICK

다니 ⠀⦂ HAPPY ENHYPEN COACHELLA DAY (> <) by the time this is posted,, they're probably mid-performance or ending TT

LEE HEESEUNG

you’re standing by the mirror, lazily applying a sheer pink gloss to your lips, and heeseung watches from behind—he mutters, “fuck,” under his breath. you glance at him through the mirror, pretending not to notice the way he’s practically burning holes into your reflection. “baby,” he drawls, sauntering up behind you, “you tryna kill me or what?” his hands find your waist, and he dips his head to your ear, voice dropping, “you always look good, but this? this is criminal.” you hum, smirking as you press your lips together for the final coat. “what? a little gloss got you weak?” he groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “you have no idea. come here, pretty girl. lemme ruin it.”

PARK JAY

you do a little spin in front of the mirror, the fabric of the new dress swaying around your legs, and jay just stands there—completely entranced. he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes going up and down. “that’s my princess,” he says, and when you glance over, he’s already walking toward you. “you look beautiful,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “you really like it?” you whisper, a little shy, and his smile only softens more. “i didn’t just like it on the mannequin, baby. i imagined you in it—and i was still underestimating how stunning you’d look.” you wrap your arms around his neck, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. “perfect,” he says again. “just perfect.”

SIM JAKE

you’re casually tying your hair up, completely unaware of the effect it’s having on jake until you hear a low whistle from behind you. you turn slightly, catching him leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, that cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “you do that on purpose, don’t you?” he teases, eyes shamelessly dragging down your neck like he’s already memorized every inch. you roll your eyes, but he’s already up, standing behind you, before his lips brush your neck. “how the hell did i get this lucky?” he mutters. “no seriously, baby, you’re tying your hair and i’m ready to risk it all. you tryna kill me today?” you laugh, trying to squirm away, but he only grins wider. you’re not going anywhere. i’m obsessed, remember?”

PARK SUNGHOON

you’re talking about something random—weekend plans, maybe—but sunghoon’s barely following, his eyes flickering to your lips mid-sentence and lingering a beat too long. he shifts slightly, leans back on the couch like he’s unbothered, but the way he bites his bottom lip says otherwise. “mm, yeah?” he says absently, trying to keep the conversation going, but his gaze drops again and definitely not subtle. “you’re not even listening,” you tease, and he shrugs, eyes flicking back up to yours. “i am,” he says smoothly, voice low. “just... multitasking.” you raise an eyebrow and he lets out the tiniest scoff, clearly caught. “can’t help it, baby. you’re distracting as hell,” he mutters. “keep talking, though. i like your lips—i mean i like listening to you talk”

KIM SUNOO

sunoo leans against the doorway, arms crossed and eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that matters. you’re standing in front of the mirror, carefully putting on your earrings, when you feel his gaze. “stop looking at me like that,” you mumble, heat crawling up your neck, but he just pouts, chin dipping slightly as he tilts his head. “but you’re so cute,” he whines, pushing off the wall and coming up behind you, and staring at you through the mirror. “can’t help it, baby.” his cheek rests against yours, eyes meeting yours in the mirror as he grins, nose scrunching in that way that makes your heart actually do a cartwheel. “you’re gonna make me late,” you huff, and he giggles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “worth it though.”

YANG JUNGWON

you’re half-asleep, tangled in the sheets with your hair sticking out in every direction, face bare and eyes barely open when jungwon walks in, carrying two mugs of tea. he pauses mid-step, eyes softening immediately as he sets the cups down and crawls onto the bed beside you. “you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, brushing a strand of hair off your face. you groan, hiding under the covers. “wonnie, i literally look like a monster.” he just laughs, tugging the blanket down gently. “a very cute poster,” he teases, kissing your forehead with the sweetest smile. “my cute monster.” you swat at his chest, but he just smiles, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. “i mean it, baby. makeup or not—you’re always so pretty to me.” and the worst part is, he reallymeans it.

NISHIMURA RIKI

you’re on your tiptoes, fingers barely brushing the box on the top shelf, tank top riding up just enough to make you curse under your breath—and of course, riki’s there, leaning against the doorway like he’s watching a damn show. “need help?” he drawls, voice low and smug, arms crossed as his eyes shamelessly drop to your exposed skin. you shoot him a glare over your shoulder, “i’ve got it,” but he’s already moving closer, chest brushing your back. “sure, baby,” he chuckles, plucking the box down with ease. “just figured i’d help before you broke your neck.” you swat at him, but he only laughs harder. “you’re so cute when you’re mad,” he murmurs. god, you hate him. hate how your heart races. hate how he knows it. hate how good he looks when he smirks like that.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Used (drabble)

pairing: felix x afab!reader, implied ot8 x reader

genre: filthy smut

wc: 723

warnings: cockwarming, unprotected sex, partner sharing, degradation, praise, LOTS of dirty talk, creampie, breeding kink, reader is called slut

a/n: i'm in a lil writing slump so this is an attempt at getting out of it, enjoy (i guess😭)💕

You were currently lying under your best friend Felix, your legs wrapped around him and his cock buried deep inside your heat. It wasn't the first time he needed the closeness and the comfort and you were happy to be of service, letting him seek your warmth.

You were scrolling on your phone as he almost fell asleep on top of you but then you shifted just a little, making him groan into your neck.

"Y/n." he whined before lifting up and looking at you. You tossed your phone aside and gave him a smirk.

"Spread your legs." his voice was dark and a shiver ran up your spine, doing as you were told.

Felix started to move slowly, fucking your stretched wet pussy, his eyes rolling back at the feeling as he grunted.

You gasped, letting out a string of moans as you clutched onto him.

"Did you cockwarm the other guys like this, hm?" he asked, dragging his cock through your walls.

"Mm, yeah." you whimpered when his tip hit your spot.

"Tell me how you did it." Felix wrapped one hand around your neck, his other squeezing on your breast.

"I- I cockwarmed Hyunjin while he was painting." you started.

"Yeah? Did you let him fuck you?" Felix pinched your nipple, making you whine as he still fucked into you with languid movement.

"Yes. He bended me over his table and fucked me hard." you bit on your lip, your pussy clenching around Felix's length.

"Who else?" he smirked, pulling his cock almost completely out before rocking back into you harder, making you moan.

"C-Chan." you whimpered. "In the studio."

"Mhm." he squeezed your neck a little and you gasped, lifting your middle up to meet his thrusts.

"Did he fuck you good after that?"

"He fucked me so good." you whimpered as Felix gripped your thighs, pushing your knees up to your shoulders.

"And Changbin?"

"I cockwarmed him with my mouth." you confessed and Felix twitched inside you, the image of you kneeling with your mouth stuffed full of Changbin's cock made him weak.

"I bet you liked your little mouth stretched around him, hm?" Felix gripped the flesh on the back of your thighs as he fucked you a little harder, your pussy so warm and wet around him.

"I loved it." you whined, nails digging into the mattress under you.

"What about last night? I heard you and Seungmin." Felix smirked, increasing his speed and making you even more wet, the squelching sounds of your pussy filling up the room.

"He fucked me from behind. I even let him put it in my ass." you whimpered at the memory.

"Damn, you really are just a little slut, aren't you?" Felix groaned, rocking his hips into yours and making you moan as you clenched hard around him.

"I am." you confirmed, biting on your lip.

"Tell me more." Felix demanded, fucking you harder and making your head spin.

"I fucked Jeongin this morning."

"Yeah? Did you ride him like a good girl?"

"I did." you whimpered, so close to release.

"You wanna cum, slut?" Felix grinned, his fingertips grazing your sensitive clit.

"Y-yes, please!" you moaned.

"Cum around me." he ordered, flicking your clit as he kept fucking into you hard.

"Ah, Felix!" you fell apart, exploding around him as he kept fucking you through your high and chasing his own.

"You want my cum, slut?" he panted and you gasped, gripping onto his arms.

"P-please!"

"Fuck, I know you love to be stuffed by all eight of us. Want us to breed this greedy little pussy?" Felix grunted, fucking you so hard that you came around him once again.

"Yes I do!" you cried out and he exploded, ropes od warm cum filling you up.

"Minho told me to stretch you good for him today." Felix breathed hard before pulling out.

"Mm." you whimpered at the emptiness but that was soon replaced by four of his fingers pushing inside your fucked out pussy.

"So, I'm not done with you yet. You're gonna take it like a good slut until Minho comes to fuck you." he smirked at your teary eyes as he continued fucking you hard with his fingers.

You whined, spreading your legs more, happy to be used by all eight of your best friends.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog

[tiramissyoucake]

Omni-man Mark hnnnn, piv, fem reader, he gets to bust inside

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Omni-vincible Mark lucked out the best when it came to you in his universe. You weren't an enemy, a friend, a superpowered phenomenon, you were his wife.

His adorable, obedient little wife. He comes home from a long day doing heroics and he sees you prettying up the house, clad in a comfortable shirt with an apron hugging your figure, adorably tied at your back. You always greeted him with a hug and a kiss and an offer for lunch.

He thought people were weak, sure, but he loves how weak you are compared to him. Mark was already a powerhouse Viltrumite, but watching you easily comply as he handles you never failed to excite him, you were weaker than him and eager to please him, like a good pet.

Your ring glinted, squeezed between his fingers as his hand intertwined with yours, his mouth over yours as he kissed you so deeply it made your head spin, his hips repeatedly pistoning into your warmth. Deep. Deep. Deep. It's like his body was trying to swallow you whole.

He parts from your lips, saliva coating your and his lips as his arms move to bracket your head, watching your expression as broken moans were forced out of you with every thrust of his cock. "That's it," he pants against your lips. "That's a good little housewife." It's impressive how stable his tone was compared to how quickly his hips slapped against yours.

The sound of sheets rustling and skin plapping against skin echoed in your shared bedroom, you were going cross-eyed at your husband's onslaught as your hands trembled and clung to his shoulders, legs helplessly locked around his waist. He loved having you like this, seeing just how much he affected you in its rawest form.

This was the best reward he could ask for, he didn't care for civilian applause, medals or appraisals from anyone outside this home, as long as his adorable wife would welcome him home with a kiss, a warm meal and a warm bed he can fuck you in, he's happy.

Mark had already brought you over the edge twice and it still wasn't enough, he wasn't sure if it's alien stamina or if he was just that horny, but he wouldn't stop until he'd filled you, his dick slamming into you relentlessly as the bed groaned and creaked. "You still with me?"

"Mmmh..! Mmaaark...!!" You looked like you were in cloud nine, every thrust he'd bottom out before another would be delivered, you knew marrying a half-Viltrumite would be tricky but you didn't know he was so... insatiable. But you never had any trouble taking him, he makes sure of it.

He needs to feel you cum and squeeze him in at least twice or three times if he really wanted you drunk with his cock, then he'd take it easy. Pausing to make sure you're looking at him before he'd pepper gentle kisses on your lips, his hips now moving slowly but hitting the same depth in your quivering pussy, a squelching noise replaced the skin slapping as he took his time to finish.

"Who's my adorable pet?" It was sweet, never mocking. You whimper in response, oversensitive and spent as he chased his own orgasm. "M-me... I am...!"

"Mmmh- yes, yes you are..." He pants against your lips, watching your features turn to bliss as he pins his hips to yours as close as possible, finally filling you. "There you go..." He nestled his hips into you with a groan that was overlayed by a moan from you. "Nice and deep, just how you like it.." he murmured, a breathless chuckle escaping him as you whined. "I love you, sweetheart."

he was always so thorough, he wanted to make sure his cum would be embedded into you, globs of white that overflowed threatened to leak past his cock, leaving no room for doubt, a good husband should keep his wife full and satisfied, always.

[banj0possum]

Bloody Red Roses

Yandere!Evil King x GN!Reader

CW: kidnapping, weirdo behavior, pretty mellow for now

👑 It was known throughout the land that King Alistair of the Obsidian Kingdom was a terrifying and cruel ruler. His heart held no mercy for those who opposed him.

👑 His dark magic was one to be feared, many know better than to ever go against him and his undead soldiers.

👑 Recently, he’s set his sights on your kingdom. He was planning on overthrowing a few lands and expanding his territory, and with your kingdom’s promising resources and location, he saw it as the perfect prize.

👑 But he isn’t a war mongering psychopath who declares war right then and there, no no he’s much more sophisticated than that, he’s going to kidnap the princess instead!

👑 He needed a bride anyway, so for him it’s a win/win!

👑 “Sir! We got her! We got the princess!” The door opening and the rattling of bones got Alistair’s attention. He sent a few of his skeleton soldiers to capture the princess whilst on a carriage ride through the borders of his territory.

👑 There were many guards protecting the area, but their weapons were no match for enemies who couldn’t die, and with a little bit of sleeping potion, carrying the princess away will be easy as pie.

👑 “Excellent~ and you brought her to my chambers like I told you correct?”

👑 They nod and scamper alongside the king to meet the princess

👑 “Oh princess~ are you awake ye- !!” His eyes widen and he cuts himself off. The person unconscious and tied up in his bed was indeed a royal, but the princess they were not.

👑 “What. Is. This?” He growls, the soldier’s bones rattle in fear

👑 “W-well you sai-“ “Does this look like a princess to you?! How am I going to take over their stupid kingdom if don’t have a bride!?” He scowls angrily.

👑 He hears you tossing and turning in your sleep, you let out a soft little squeak as you reposition yourself to be hugging one of his pillows.

👑 “…”

👑 “Uhm…your highness..?”

👑 “Leave. I’m done with your stupidity..I’ll deal with them myself..”

👑 The soldiers waste no time running off to who knows where as Alistair looks at you with cold eyes.

👑 “Hm…”

👑 He takes a seat by the bed, watching you as he figures out what to do with you.

👑 He’s trying to figure out a strategy, but he keeps getting distracted by your form. You looked so small and delicate, maybe he could…no that’s stupid he could never..could he?

👑 His thoughts plague him a awhile longer until he notices you waking up.

👑 Your muscles are weak, your head feels like it’s spinning, and it takes a bit for you to get back to your senses and realize what happened.

👑 You jolt awake, remember of the attack and almost scream at the sight of Alistair, but he was quick to covers your mouth and try to ease your panic. It took a while, but he managed to get you to stop fussing so he could take off your binds.

👑 “Apologies for this little..incident, I was supposed to take your sister..but now that you know my plan for your little kingdom, I have no choice but to keep you here. Perhaps I don’t need a princess to marry after all, I could just use you as ransom..” he chuckles.

👑 He sees the tea in your cup rippling in your shakes hold and scoffs, bringing his hand to hold your wrist to still your trembling “Oh don’t be so scared now, I don’t bite..”

👑 It was just supposed to be a means to make you stop shaking, but your skin…your big pitiful eyes staring up at him..he didn’t want to let go.

👑 So he kept you, for ransom of course, not for anything else..

👑 With you at his disposal, he started preparing negotiations with your kingdom to see what they’ll do to get you back.

👑 But in the mean time, he had to deal with you somehow..

👑 He settled on just letting you wander around the castle (with supervision of course)

👑 But then he starts to wonder what you do everyday, what did you even like to do? If you were staying with him, he might as well talk with you for the time being.

👑 It started off sort of awkward, he spotted you by the garden feeding some birds with two soldiers watching you. He approached and waved at the soldiers to leave them alone together. You thought you were in trouble but to your surprise, he just asked you how you were doing..

👑 “I uhm..heard you like going out here everyday..I figured I’d join you…Don’t take it the wrong way, I just had some..free time..that’s all..”

👑 The whole interaction was unusual. It wasn’t like him to be so casual and calm with someone, especially a royal of another kingdom.

👑 He enjoys the reactions you give him whenever he talks about his role as the dark king of the Obsidian Kingdom. Your nervous but polite smile masks your mortification of him, but it’s adorable to him nonetheless

👑 “What? A scared of the big bad king? How cute.”

👑 Your little talks slowly became frequent, for the king, it even became something he couldn’t help but do. What can he say? He was so used to your presence it seemed wrong to not talk to you at least once..plus he had to check to see if you weren’t planning an escape so..

👑 “Where have you been my little rose? I haven’t seen you all day.”

👑 His interest in your interactions turned to fondness the more he picked up on your cute little quirks. He takes note of the things you find funny or interesting, he brings them up in order to see that adorable little smile of yours, and that giggle, oh god that giggle…

👑 He denies it so much at first, but slowly starts to accept the fact that he wants- no, needs you with him

👑 Soon he started to want your presence even more, offering to eat meals alongside you instead of eating whenever he’s schedule allowed it, he started eating scheduled meals for you <3 we love self care guys

👑 “Of course I’m eating with you tonight. After all we never got to finish our conversation.”

👑 He loves watching you, even when simply eating or any mundane thing, you will more often than not catch him staring at you. You’re just so cute and soft! Definitely not like the snobby and overly stiff men and women he’s seen.

👑 He couldn’t have you trying to escape so what better plan than to keep you by his side 24/7? Then you’ll never be out of his sight!

👑 “What’s so wrong with letting you tag along my dear? I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself with me.”

👑 And what if you try and sneak out from your chambers? Clearly you need to be moved to his chambers, that way he can make sure you’re behaving.

👑 Oh and of course in case you get lost, he made you a cute collar with the royal insignia on it! Isn’t it pretty? He used your favorite colors and everything!

👑 Of course he needs to fulfill his kingly duties. But how can he leave you alone for that long? No worries, you can sit right on his lap! That way you won’t have to stand for a long time and hurt your feet.

👑 And those clothes? So simple and out of style, perhaps you should wear something more fitting to his kingdom’s styles? Like a cute outfit with lace and ruffles! You look so delicate and graceful in it! He can’t help but buy you lots more outfits like that! Tis only fair for a person of your status.

👑 “How about this one? It compliments your form…what do you mean it looks too cutesy? I think it looks perfect for you.”

👑 he’s the type to not do much physical affection, but dear god does he crave both giving and receiving it. Give him a kiss or a caress of his cheek and he struggles to keep his composure and not melt to your touch

👑 Simply put, he might not seem like it (at least he thinks he does) but he can’t live without you. He couldn’t fathom the fact he was planning on trading you for a kingdom, you’re way more valuable than some puny kingdom!

👑 He even considers his original plan, you wouldn’t mind right? Besides, he bets you look absolutely exquisite in a little wedding dress~! Even if you don’t want a dress, an elegant suit would perfect on you~!

👑 “Where do you think you’re going my rose?”

It’s finally here guys ✨✨✨ I know it’s been a while but I’ve been busy with school and genshin. Anyway we got em in the end! Thank you for being so patient guys !! qwq

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141 and the best enemies to lovers line of all time...

"Who did this to you?"

Cue protective instincts and sexiness

hehe I am giggling!! Okay. Listen. I am fully aware that this is an enemies to lovers trope, but I don't think it applies to all of the 141 guys in that manner. Is there protectiveness? Yes. Is there a bit of spice? Yes, if you squint really hard. Is there also some sweetness thrown in? Absolutely there is. I had lots of fun with this one. I hope you enjoy it!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief blood and injury, hurt/comfort, brief suggestive themes, protectiveness, light angst

Word Count: 800

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Who did this?” Kyle bends forward at the waist, pressing a bag of frozen peas to your face. His concern is genuine. You can see that, but it’s strange. The two of you get on, but this is something else.

Kyle looks…angry like your injury personally offends him.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur. “Things happen during sparing. It’s fine.”

Kyle’s frown only deepens. He doesn’t believe you. And why should he? The person you were placed with took it too far. And it was all to impress him as if putting you in your place would somehow grant his favor.

It’s clearly done the opposite. He could care less about your sparring partner.

“It was your sparring partner, wasn’t it?”

You don’t answer. Just press the peas to your forehead a little harder.

This time, Kyle’s frown turns slightly upward. “Jokes on them, ya?”

You glance at him sideways. “How so?”

Kyle is grinning. It’s stunning. All pearly white teeth.

“Because I have my eye on someone else,” he says simply, as if that answers everything.

Though you cannot see yourself, you feel your face growing hot under Kyle’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t say thing like that,” you reply.

“Why? It’s true.”

John Price

“Who did this?”

“Why do you care so much, John?”

You attempt to pull your face out of his grasp but he holds firm.

“Of course I care,” he replies. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, chests heaving. John is close. Too close. So close he could easily brush his lips against yours.

“I don’t know why,” you murmur.

“You do,” he affirms, authority in his tone.

Do you? Maybe. Perhaps. Deep within yourself you truly know the reason but can’t decide to speak it to the air. That would make this real. Whatever this is between the two of you.

‘Tell me who did this?”

“And do that what?”

“What the fuck I want to them, love.”

“It’s nothing. You shouldn’t worry about it,” you reply, again trying to escape from him.

But John isn’t having it. His other hand hooks around your upper arm, and then you’re pressed closed to him. He is so warm. All strength.

“Let go,” you say, but there is no volume behind it. It is weak. Not even a protest.

“Tell me,” he repeats, head dipping slightly.

Yes. Close enough to kiss.

“Tell me,” he says again, this time softer.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s blood beats heavy. It is tinged with metal. A lace of fire that cannot abate.

His boots slap against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights are bright. Clinical. He is a shadow here. A dark specter.

No one stops him. No one glances his way.

And why should they?

He is a man made fury.

There were hands put upon you. A training exercise taken too far. Simon was not there. And he doesn’t know why. Not exactly. But he’s furious. Protective. The fact that he could not stop this only infuriates him further.

To him, this is a failure.

He doesn’t come to a stop. Doesn’t knock. He barges right on in.

The nurse yelps. Spins suddenly. Face red.

You glance up, eyes wide at first but soothing slightly as they land on Simon. You’re bruised. Stitched up.

Fucking hell.

“Out,” barks Simon.

The nurse leaves but stares him down the entire time. He approaches the table, and lightly brushes the backs of his fingers against the wound on your forehead.

“Who did this?” he asks.

“Simon—”

“Which fucker?” he growls, bending forward slightly to look into your eyes.

“Should see the other guy,” you joke, smiling.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t. You’re not his. Even if he wishes it were so.

Every swing of his fist sends the building frustration outward, shooting into the massive boxing bag before him. It’s a poor substitute for the face he truly wants to smash. Several faces that is. Two specifically.

Who did this?

The words slipped from him unbidden. An instant anger. You had only scowled. Told him you could handle yourself. And you can. Johnny knows this. But he’s still fucking pissed about it. Still seething.

All the fucker got was a quick slap on the wrist. A promise to not do it again.

That sits sour in Johnny’s belly.

But you didn’t cave, no matter how much Johnny insisted that he’d take care of it on your behalf. So he is here, punching the shit out of something that isn’t flesh.

He wishes he could take away your pain. Take away the memory. Give it to himself to carry. You don’t turn on your own. There’s no honor in what happened.

But as much as he wants it to be true, Johnny can do nothing.

You are not his.

Even if he wants to be.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

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[soulofapatrick]

Don’t Tempt Me - Xaden Riorson x female reader

Summary: Xaden finds you burnt out on the training field 

Warnings: none 

Words: 6k (somehow)

Notes: Not my fave and not proofread

Y/N's POV

The sun hangs low over Basgiath, bleeding gold and deep crimson across the sky, its light casting jagged shadows over the towering battlements. The war college looms around me, its stone walls unyielding, its presence as foreboding as ever. The air is thick with the lingering scent of sweat and scorched leather, remnants of a day spent in brutal training.

The air is thick with the scent of fresh earth and damp stone as I sprint across the training yard, my feet pounding the ground with a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat—a constant reminder of my inadequacies. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I refuse to wipe it away. I don’t have time to care about that. I only have time to run.

Over and over, I push myself to the brink, my body screaming in protest, muscles tight with fatigue. My breaths are ragged, desperate for air that feels like it's slowly being stolen from me. But the pain doesn’t matter. It’s nothing compared to the quiet voice inside my head, the one that whispers my doubts and my fears, the one that tells me I’m not enough.

You can’t keep doing this.

It’s Virethalon’s voice. Low, firm, and impossibly calm, like he always is when he sees me teetering on the edge. His presence pulses in my mind, filling the quiet spaces with a calm I can’t find within myself.

Stop, he says again, the warning clear. You’ll burn out before you ever get the chance to fly.

But I ignore him. I have to. I can’t stop, not when the weight of everyone’s expectations hangs so heavily on my shoulders. I can’t afford to be weak. I can’t afford to be what everyone expects—a failure.

My legs scream, my body trembling with every step, but I push harder. Faster. A flip, a backflip, then a roll, twisting midair in an effort to improve my reaction time, my agility. I force my limbs to obey, despite how they beg for rest, despite how my mind is breaking under the strain.

I am not enough. I’m not strong enough to make it here.

Each fall, each misstep echoes the same message in my mind: You don’t belong.

The words are a sting in my chest, sharp and bitter, poisoning the air in front of me. The instructors don’t believe in me, not truly. They’re waiting for me to break, to fail in front of everyone. The other cadets—they’re watching too, eager to see how long I’ll last.

Stop.

Virethalon’s voice is more insistent now, rising with frustration. I know he’s watching, can feel his eyes on me, even though he’s nowhere near. You don’t need to prove anything.

I don’t stop. I can’t. If I stop now, the quiet, haunting voice of failure will take over. If I stop, I’ll feel it—the shame of not being able to meet the impossible standard everyone else expects from me.

The ground shifts beneath me as I sprint forward, my foot catching on something, my body twisting unnaturally in the air. For a split second, time seems to stretch—slow, agonising. And then, I crash.

The world flips. My body slams into the earth, my hands and knees taking the brunt of it. The impact rattles my bones, sharp and unforgiving. My breath is knocked out of me, and for a moment, I just lay there, feeling the tremor of my body as it tries to recover from the shock.

I’m not moving. I can’t move.

Gentle hands find my shoulders before I can even process what’s happening. The pressure is firm yet careful, guiding me, coaxing me into a sitting position. My body trembles from exhaustion, every muscle protesting the movement, every joint aching with the weight of my own failure. I try to steady myself, but the effort makes the world spin, and I can’t seem to get my bearings.

The cold stone beneath me is a cruel reminder of how far I’ve pushed myself. My hands shake, fingers stiff from too much strain, and I finally drop my head, trying to hide the rush of heat that floods my face.

And then, I feel him.

His presence looms over me like a shadow, suffocating and unavoidable. My heart skips a beat, and I immediately wish I could melt into the ground, anything to escape the situation. But it’s too late.

I glance up—my breath catches as I come face to face with him. Xaden Riorson. He stands before me, looking like a damn god, his tall, muscular frame casting a shadow over me. The way his wide shoulders fill out his leather jacket should be illegal. He’s built like someone who’s spent years training and fighting, his chest massive, arms heavily muscled. His dark hair is windblown and tousled, the kind of messy that only makes him look more dangerous. His tawny-brown skin is kissed by the sun, and the dark stubble along his jawline only adds to the rough, untamed look. His eyes—gold-flecked onyx—are locked on mine with an intensity that makes me feel like I’m about to be set ablaze, and I would rather do anything else than face him like this.

I rub my face with both hands, hoping to hide the blush that’s rising to my cheeks. Of all the ways for this to end—of course, it’s Xaden Riorson who catches me. And of course, he looks like that.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls, his voice a deep rumble of anger that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “You’re an idiot.”

I blink, half-frozen, half in disbelief. The audacity. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Wing Leader,” I drawl, sarcasm practically dripping from my tongue. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Xaden’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t bite back—at least, not yet. Instead, his eyes flicker over me, and I know he’s assessing the damage. My exhaustion. The way I’m trembling, barely able to hold myself upright. It’s the worst feeling in the world. I’m embarrassed as hell that he’s seeing me like this—weak, on the edge of crumbling.

“I told you to stop before you reached this point,” he mutters, shaking his head. There’s an edge of frustration in his tone now, and I can’t decide if I want to hit something or laugh at how he sounds like he’s scolding a child.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” I say, wiping a bead of sweat off my brow, trying to make myself sound more in control than I feel. “Can’t resist proving everyone wrong.” I let out a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes. “But, hey, thanks for showing up and saving the day. Just what every soldier needs: an overbearing Wing Leader.”

A flash of something—maybe amusement, maybe exasperation—crosses his face, but it’s gone too quickly for me to read it properly. His dark brows furrow, and he steps closer, invading my space. “You’re burning yourself out. You can’t keep going like this.”

I force myself to sit up straighter, determined not to appear as weak as I feel, but I can’t hide the tremor in my limbs. The ache in my muscles is almost unbearable now, and Virethalon’s voice echoes through my mind—Stop, or you’ll destroy yourself. But I ignore it, as I have for hours.

I grit my teeth. “I don’t need your help, okay? I don’t need anyone’s help.”

I try to push myself to my feet, but my body betrays me, buckling underneath me like a broken chair. I stumble, gasping for breath, my hand reaching out for support but finding nothing.

Xaden’s eyes flash with anger again, but his movements are faster than I can process. He’s at my side in a heartbeat, and before I can even protest, he lifts me up, cradling me against him in one smooth, powerful motion. His arms are like iron around me, and my body, still trembling with exhaustion, goes stiff against him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I gasp, still trying to regain some semblance of control. I push against his chest—unsuccessfully—my arms too weak to do anything more than flop uselessly at my sides. “Put me down, you asshole!”

Xaden doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t have to. His grip tightens, holding me effortlessly against him as he carries me toward the barracks. “I told you to stop, but you never listen. So now you’re paying the price.” His tone is laced with annoyance, but there’s something else beneath it—something that makes my heart twist. Maybe it’s concern, maybe it’s guilt, but I can’t focus on that. I’m too busy trying to avoid the heat that floods my face.

“You’re such a prick,” I mutter, my voice half muffled by his chest. I’m so fucking embarrassed, and I hate that I feel this way. His warmth, his scent, is all-consuming, and my skin burns at the contact. But I refuse to admit it. “I don’t need you to carry me like some helpless baby.”

“Funny,” he says, his voice low, “because you sure look like one right now.”

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and I want to punch him. I should punch him. But I don’t have the energy, so I settle for biting my lip, muttering curses under my breath as he carries me.

The weight of his presence presses against me, and I can feel his muscles shifting beneath me, each movement of his body reminding me of just how powerful he is. And for all my protests, for all my sarcasm, I don’t want to admit that I’m secretly grateful. Grateful that he’s here. Grateful that he doesn’t let me fall apart.

Even if it means I have to endure his endless teasing.

Xaden’s warm eyes flicker down at me, and this time, there’s something softer there. Almost like...he understands. But I’m too stubborn to let myself believe it.

Xaden doesn’t say a word as he carries me through the barracks, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as I try to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks. I’m too tired to fight it. His presence is too overwhelming, and I can feel his heartbeat steady against me. Every step he takes is calculated, strong, as though it’s second nature for him to carry someone in his arms like this. It’s as if he’s done it a hundred times—though I have to wonder just how many times I’ve crossed his mind before today.

Xaden moves with a quiet grace, his large frame effortlessly navigating the corridors of the dorm building as though he’s done this a thousand times before. He steps softly, almost soundlessly, his footsteps absorbed by the shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin. My heart races, but it's not from exertion anymore—it's the way he's so effortlessly commanding in everything he does. The weight of his arms around me, the heat radiating from his body, and the way my mind seems to short-circuit whenever I’m near him make it hard to think straight.

We pass the first-year rooms—mine included—and I can’t help but cringe at the thought of being caught sneaking past curfew. But Xaden moves with such precision, such mastery of his surroundings, that the idea of us being caught seems laughable. No one can hear us, no one even notices us. It’s like we’re ghosts, gliding past the rooms, unseen by anyone else.

I briefly wonder how he does it—how he’s so adept at slipping through the shadows, unnoticed, silent. But then, he’s always been a mystery to me. The kind of mystery I’ve never quite been able to figure out. And maybe, in a way, I don't want to.

Finally, we reach the staircase that leads to the upper floors, and with a swift glance in either direction, Xaden steps into the shadows, carrying me effortlessly up the stairs. We move past the landing and down the hallway to the last door—the one I know leads to his room. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pause, and with a final quiet push of the door, we’re inside.

Xaden doesn’t put me down right away. His arms remain around me, his hold firm, as if he’s unwilling to let go. As if, for a brief moment, he’s afraid to lose the connection. The closeness between us feels suffocating, overwhelming, and yet I can’t bring myself to pull away. Every inch of my body is acutely aware of his presence, the heat of his skin seeping into mine, the muscle and strength in his arms keeping me held too close. I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against me, mirroring the frantic pulse racing through my veins.

His dark eyes meet mine, and I swear, for a second, everything else falls away. His gaze is fierce, like a storm trapped behind his irises, flickering with a raw intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through me. I’m suddenly aware of how painfully close we are—so close that if I moved even an inch, I’d be pressed against him completely. My breath catches, and I can’t look away, trapped in the gravity of his stare, like he’s pulling me toward him without even trying. And then, as if trying to fight whatever is building between us, his eyes flicker to my lips, and I feel it—the pull—stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

But just as quickly as the moment seems to rise, he jerks his gaze away, his jaw tightening with the effort to control himself. It’s like he’s trying to push back the part of him that’s aware—aware of the magnetic pull between us, aware of how much he’s been fighting this… whatever this is. He shakes his head slightly, as though dismissing the thought entirely, like he’s trying to shut down the desire that flares in him. But I see it in his eyes—the flicker of something primal. Something I can’t ignore.

Finally, he sets me down, but he doesn’t let go immediately. He’s still so close that I can feel his breath on my skin, a whisper of warmth against the cold, the tension stretching taut between us, like a string pulled too tight. My pulse races as I settle onto the bed, the soft covers pressing against me, but my chest feels like it’s about to burst. I try to catch my breath, but it’s like the air in the room has thickened, heavy with unsaid words and the suffocating weight of everything unsaid.

Xaden doesn’t back away. He hovers, towering over me, his presence suffusing the space around us. I can feel the heat radiating off him, his body just a breath away, and every inch of me is screaming to close the distance. But I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. His nearness makes every part of me ache, makes every nerve light up, thrumming with the raw electricity that crackles between us.

His voice cuts through the thick silence, deep and steady, but there’s something almost... softer now, something gentler that makes my heart stutter. “Stay here,” he commands, his words pressing down on me like a physical weight, making my chest tighten. The force of his tone is undeniable, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—something that makes my stomach flutter. Something dangerous and thrilling all at once. "Be a good girl. Don’t go anywhere.”

I feel those words in my bones, in the very marrow of my being. The way he says it—it’s like a promise, a command that makes my heart race faster than it should. And yet, there’s a tenderness beneath it, a strange gentleness that pulls at me, twists my insides into knots. He wants to keep me here, close. He wants to possess this moment with me, even though I can feel the struggle in him—his body yearning to cross the line, but his mind pulling him back, trying to control what’s growing between us.

His gaze holds mine, unwavering, and I swear I see something break in his eyes—something raw and unspoken. It’s as if he’s holding himself back from doing something he knows would be too much, too dangerous. But the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know: the battle is far from over, and this tension—this charge—it’s only just beginning.

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. Every muscle in my body is taut, every nerve alive with an electric hum. Xaden disappears into the adjoining ensuite, his heavy footsteps echoing softly across the stone floor. I can hear the gentle hiss of the water filling the tub, the steady flow of it working in rhythm with the hammering of my heart. The tension between us lingers, the silence more suffocating now than ever before, and I can’t shake the feeling of his gaze still lingering on me even as he disappears from the room.

I should feel grateful for the space—should breathe, slow my pulse—but all I can think of is him. The way he’s so effortlessly commanding, yet there’s this softness beneath it that I can't quite place. The way he had looked at me, his expression a battle between restraint and something far more intense.

My fingers twitch, almost compulsively, and I reach for my boots, needing to do something. My body is still shaking from the exertion, from the near-collapse, and now my brain feels fuzzy, the exhaustion creeping in faster than I expected. I should just wait, I know I should, but I feel... out of control. I need to regain some semblance of normalcy, something to anchor me.

I struggle to bend down, but my balance is still far off from the punishment I just put my body through. My vision swims a little, and before I can register what’s happening, my body tips forward, sending me sprawling from the edge of the bed with a yelp. The floor greets me hard, and a shock of pain shoots up my spine, but it's nothing compared to the embarrassment that floods through me in waves. My pulse spikes, and I scramble, feeling utterly ridiculous.

A sharp, almost instinctive growl of frustration rises in the air—Xaden. He’s already moving quickly, a blur of motion as he rushes back into the room, his broad form filling the doorway in an instant. His dark eyes sweep over me, a flicker of concern passing through them, but it’s quickly replaced with something harder—almost irritated.

"You really are a disaster, aren't you?" His voice is deep, but there's a teasing bite to it, even as he crosses the room toward me in strides that eat up the distance. I can’t even find it in me to be offended. I’m too busy feeling like a complete fool.

Before I can open my mouth to respond, he’s crouching in front of me, his hands reaching for my arms to steady me. The sheer strength in his touch almost knocks the wind out of me as he helps me back onto my feet, the warmth of his hands traveling through my skin and straight to my chest. He doesn��t say anything else, but the way his eyes linger on me for a moment, as though making sure I’m okay, sends something fluttering nervously in my stomach.

“Try not to break anything else, would you?” His voice is softer now, as though the weight of the moment has finally broken through that icy exterior of his. His lips curve into a smirk, but there’s no denying the genuine care beneath the sarcasm.

Xaden moves with quiet precision, his hands wrapping around my waist, gentle but firm, as he guides me toward the bed. The heat from his touch lingers on my skin, and despite everything, I can't help but shiver. His grip is unyielding, his presence surrounding me, and as I sit on the edge of the bed, he stands in front of me, towering over me. The dim light from the room casts shadows across his features, making him look even more intimidating than usual, but there’s something in his eyes that betrays the mask he’s trying so hard to maintain.

His hands rest on my knees for a moment, and his gaze flickers to mine. There’s a question there, unspoken, something almost vulnerable beneath that stoic expression. I can see the battle waging in his eyes. He doesn’t want to touch me—at least, that’s what his expression says. But his eyes… those eyes of molten gold flecked with onyx… they betray him, flashing with an intensity I can’t quite read.

And then, in a moment that feels both like an eternity and a breath, Xaden sinks to his knees in front of me. The movement is fluid, almost too graceful, and my heart skips a beat. It feels wrong to be this close, too intimate. His presence is overwhelming, and I can feel the tension in the room thickening with every inch of space he closes between us.

Xaden kneels before me, his hands gentle but firm as he removes my boots. His touch is careful, almost reverent, but the tension is unmistakable. Each movement is deliberate, like he's holding himself back from something. The weight of his gaze on me is intense—smouldering, even—and I can feel every inch of him watching, noticing, memorising.

As he pulls off the second boot, his fingers brush against my calf, sending a jolt through me. My breath catches, and I instinctively tense, but it's more from the electric charge between us than the discomfort of my body. I don’t know why it affects me like this—this man who’s never once been shy about hiding the way he feels or thinking that his touch doesn’t matter—but in this moment, it matters. It matters more than it should.

He looks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. The heat in his eyes is unmistakable, a dark storm brewing just beneath the surface. His brow furrows slightly, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s questioning something—me, himself, what we’re both doing here, like this. But then his eyes flick lower, and I can see the hesitation there, a silent question that hangs in the air between us.

His fingers hover at the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, brushing lightly against my hips. The touch is almost too soft, as if he’s trying to gauge my reaction before crossing a line that’s already dangerously blurred. He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t have to. The question is in his eyes, in the way his lips part ever so slightly, in the subtle tension in his jaw. It’s an unspoken request, one that I know all too well.

I can feel the pulse of uncertainty in my veins, but something about this—about him—makes me lower my defences, just a little. Without even thinking, I raise my hips slightly, just enough to give him the signal. My movement is small, almost imperceptible, but it's enough. His breath hitches, and I can see the way his eyes flicker, a momentary loss of control before he tightens his grip on his composure.

Xaden exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath all this time, and I can see it in his expression—the struggle between what he wants and what he’s trying so hard to resist. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of my tracksuit bottoms, and I feel the slightest tremor in his touch. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savouring the moment, but also like he’s afraid that if he moves too quickly, the entire thing might shatter.

The air between us crackles with an electric tension, and as he helps me out of the fabric, I’m left feeling exposed in a way that’s more than physical. My heartbeat is louder than anything else, pounding in my ears, and for a moment, I forget about the aches in my body, the bruises, the exhaustion. It’s as though the world has narrowed to just us. Just this. And I can’t seem to pull away from him, from the way he makes me feel, from the way his hands linger a little too long at the edge of my clothing, as if to remind me that he sees me—every part of me.

I know it’s not supposed to feel this way, not like this. But every glance, every touch, every quiet, unspoken word between us is enough to unravel the careful walls I’ve built. And yet, even as he pulls the tracksuit bottoms off, his hands gentle but insistent, there’s something else in his eyes—something that tells me he’s fighting every urge to touch me, to kiss me. But he doesn’t. He never does.

I can’t decide whether that makes it harder or easier.

And when he finishes, leaving me in nothing but my sports bra and panties, I feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been—completely at his mercy, exposed in more ways than one. The air is thick with unspoken words, and even as I sit there, trying to catch my breath, I know this isn’t over.

Xaden lets out a frustrated sound, a low, throaty growl that resonates deep in his chest. His breath stutters as his forehead falls gently to my thigh, the weight of it anchoring me in place. The intensity of the moment is suffocating, like the world around us has slowed to a stop, leaving only the two of us, tangled in something we can’t deny. His hands are gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles white, and I can feel the tension in his body, a tight coil of restraint and hunger.

And then, in one swift, desperate motion, he surges upward, his lips crashing against mine. There’s no warning, no hesitation. Just pure, raw need. His mouth takes mine with a fierce intensity that leaves me breathless, as though he’s been holding back for far too long and now there’s no more control. It’s like he’s been starved for this—starved for me—and he doesn’t want to let me go, not even for a second.

I kiss him back with everything I have, my hands finding the sides of his face, pulling him closer, as if I can’t get enough. Every part of me feels alive with the heat between us, my skin tingling where his fingers brush against it, my heart thudding erratically in my chest. He tastes like fire—burning hot, consuming—and I can’t help but fall into him, into the kiss, into the feeling of him. I can feel the weight of his body pressing against mine, the strength of him, but it’s not overbearing. It’s grounding, like he’s pulling me into his orbit.

His hands move quickly, urgently, as if he’s afraid the moment will slip away from him. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s lifting me effortlessly from the bed, and suddenly I’m straddling his thighs. His hands settle on my hips, holding me in place, the heat of his body radiating into mine. I can feel the way his pulse races beneath his skin, the way his chest rises and falls against mine. The kiss deepens, growing even more frantic, and I don’t know whether it’s the intensity of it or the way he’s holding me that makes everything else feel so insignificant.

He pulls me closer, his hands guiding me with a possessive, yet gentle touch, and I can feel the thrum of energy between us, something electric, something undeniable. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, and the sound of his breathing, his heavy exhales, fills the space between us. I can hear the way he’s fighting for control, the way his muscles tighten with the effort of keeping his composure.

But I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to hold back.

I don’t want him to fight it anymore.

I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my sports bra, his chest pressing against mine with each movement, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to lose ourselves completely in this. And yet, even as we continue kissing, tangled in each other’s embrace, there’s a part of me that’s still unsure, still trying to catch up with everything happening around me. But when his hands slide down to my thighs, gripping them with such possessiveness, that uncertainty melts away, replaced by a heady rush of desire.

The kiss breaks, but just for a moment, both of us gasping for air. His lips hover above mine, and I can see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and something else—something far more tender, even if it’s buried beneath the layers of urgency.

"Don't stop," he mutters, his voice rough and low. His hands tighten around me, pulling me against him, as if he’s trying to make sure I’m real. “Please don’t stop.”

And all I can do is nod, my chest still rising and falling with the rapid pace of my heart. I don't want to stop either.

The air between us feels thick with heat, charged with a tension that I don't want to break, even as the reality of what we’re doing begins to settle in. Xaden’s hands are still firm on my hips, his grip tightening with every shift of my body, and I can feel every muscle in his form, every bit of control he's holding onto, fighting to stay composed. He pulls me closer again, the fabric of my sports bra barely separating us, his chest brushing against mine as he presses his forehead to mine, both of us gasping for breath.

The heat from his skin, the closeness of his body, is too much to ignore. It's overwhelming in the best way. I can hear my own pulse hammering in my ears, feel the electricity between us that neither of us can escape. He looks at me, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine, his breath ragged as if he's barely holding on to the edge of whatever control he has left.

I can't stop myself from raising my hand to touch his face, my fingers trailing down the line of his jaw, tracing the hard curve of his chin, feeling the roughness of his stubble. The tenderness in my touch makes him shiver, his breath catching in his throat, and for a brief second, everything else fades. There’s no training, no curfew, no expectations—just the two of us, caught in something far more complex than either of us ever intended.

His lips brush against mine once more, a soft, tentative kiss, but it feels more intimate than the previous fiery moments. It's full of the unspoken things, the feelings we've been hiding, buried beneath layers of duty and unacknowledged desire. Xaden pulls back slowly, just enough to look at me, his eyes heavy with something unreadable.

"I—" he starts, his voice thick with emotion, but I stop him, my fingers pressing gently to his lips.

“I know," I whisper. "I know, Xaden. We don’t need to say it.”

The words hang in the air between us, unspoken yet understood. He looks at me, really looks at me, and for once, there’s no pretension, no walls between us. Just a moment of raw honesty.

But then, he pulls back just a fraction, his hands slowly loosening their grip on me, as if reluctant to let go but knowing he has to. His eyes soften, a flicker of something tender passing over his features before he runs a hand through his windblown hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“You should rest,” he murmurs, though there’s a trace of something unreadable in his voice. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard tonight.”

I nod, feeling the weight of his words as the adrenaline from our moment starts to ebb away, leaving me with a sense of vulnerability, of exhaustion I hadn’t realised had been creeping up on me. My body is still sore from the training, but now, there’s an ache of a different kind, a deep, resonating need I’m not sure how to deal with.

“You’re right,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “About that bath…”

Xaden’s hands gently guide me to my feet, his fingers lingering on my hips just a moment longer than necessary, as if making sure I’m steady before he lets go. His touch is firm but considerate, grounding me, reminding me that he’s here, present, in this moment. I almost wish he didn’t have to pull away so soon, but the space between us feels impossible to close for reasons I can’t quite name.

With a soft grunt, Xaden rises to his full height, towering over me for a moment before he reaches down and picks me up again, effortlessly moving me toward the bed. His strong arms encircle my waist, and I feel the heat radiating from his chest, the power in his body that he keeps so carefully controlled. He sets me down gently on the edge of the mattress, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the tension that still crackles in the air between us.

I sit there for a moment, watching him, as he turns toward the bathroom, his broad back stretching as he moves, his muscular frame rippling with every step. His windblown black hair falls just above his collar, and I can't help but stare at the way he walks—confident, purposeful, but there’s an undercurrent of something, a quiet storm inside him that’s barely contained.

The silence feels heavy, too heavy, until I finally speak up, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

“... Maybe you could join me?”

The moment they leave my mouth, time seems to slow. Xaden freezes in his tracks, his hand hovering over the doorframe, his back to me. For a breathless second, I wonder if he didn’t hear me, if the words just got lost in the space between us. But then, the tension in his body is palpable. His shoulders tighten, his jaw clenches, and I watch as a low, almost imperceptible sound slips from his throat—a frustrated, breathy exhale that he seems to be holding back with all his strength.

He doesn’t turn around right away, but when he does, his eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of something dangerous there. It’s not anger. It’s hunger—raw, palpable, and so intense that it sends a shiver down my spine. I can't look away, can't tear my gaze from his. The silence between us stretches, thickening, until I can almost feel the heat coming off of him.

"You really want that?" His voice is low, a little strained, like he's trying to rein himself in. There's a slight tremor in his hands, and his posture is tense, like a coil ready to snap. He’s trying to keep himself in check, and I know he’s holding back everything he wants to say, everything he wants to do. But there's something in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability, of yearning, that betrays the composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.

I nod slowly, heart pounding in my chest as I search his face, looking for any sign of hesitation, any clue that I’ve crossed a line. But there’s none. Instead, he takes a step toward me, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s waiting for me to stop him, to give him some sort of excuse to turn back. But I don’t.

I don’t know what happens next, only that the space between us feels like it’s been stretched so thin that it could snap at any moment. Xaden is so close now, his presence overwhelming, and I can’t breathe, not properly. All I can do is stare at him, feel the pull, the need between us, and wonder if he can feel it too.

“Don’t tempt me,” he mutters under his breath, before stepping into the bathroom, leaving me to wonder if he’ll give in, if he’ll actually let this tension between us break.

Part Two ⇒ Giving Into Temptation

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

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[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[emmyrosee]

So Urm just a thought u got any…. Deep non curse sukuna angst I think it’s a good day to cry.

-anon🥢

Sukuna is nothing if not self sabotaging.

Things with you have been good. Borderline perfect; you’re the missing piece to the life he’s cursed to live, where he’s always self aware of his weaknesses and takes them out on those around him. There is no blessing, not when all he does it hurt. It’s a miracle yuuji and choso deal with his shit enough, he knows they should’ve dropped him off the face of the earth with the pain he causes.

Now, it seems, it’s your turn.

Your turn to be on the receiving end of his fury, his rage and heartbreak, your only chance to escape being to leave him; maybe that’s all he wants: you to leave him.

He stopped calling you. Stopped answering texts. When his brothers and parents ask about you, he merely stays silent, opting against making you sound more divine than they know you are.

You’re perfect. You’re not for him.

Theres a pounding on the door that goes unanswered by everyone in the house, and he groans as he gets up to answer it, only to reveal your frame in the door.

You look distraught. You’re angry, he can see that in your eyes, there’s a betrayal buried deep in them. Your face holds a scowl and your breathing picks up at the sight of him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes and walks away from the open door, knowing you’ll follow him no matter what. “So?”

“So?” You ask, offended. “You and I are supposed to be in love, supposed to be partners in crime-“

“Im hearing a lot of ‘supposed to be,’ and not a lot of ‘have to be’” he snaps. He hears you take a breath to say something, but you don’t. He screws his eyes shut. “Get over it. I didn’t sign a contract with my blood saying I have to come to your every beck and call.”

“Sukuna. Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Being an asshole,” you say firmly. “Let me in. I’m here. What’s going on?”

“I’m sick of you.”

At his blunt words, you gasp, and sukuna feels the bile rise up his throat. He’ll do anything though. Anything to make you stop loving him. “What…?”

“I’m sick. Of you,” he echos. “You checking up on me, demanding we go out, flaunting me off to your friends like I’m some damn trophy-“

“Because I love you!” You hiss. “I want to show you off, make the world see how lucky I am to have you!”

“‘Show me off?’” He cackles, spinning on his heel to face you. “There’s nothing to show. I am nothing to you. You, are nothing to me.”

You reel back at his words, waterline swelling with tears as you are wounded by his words. “You think because I take you out on a few dates, we kissed a little and I held that little hand of yours, that you’re anything special to me?” He shakes his head with a cruel chuckle, “I’ve done that to every broad I’ve ever been with. You’re not special. Never were anything more than a body to me.”

You puff out your chest like an animal trying to protect itself, “then what about the nights we cuddled?” You demand. “What about our late night trips to McDonald’s or 7/11? What about the nights you cried in my chest about your miseries and hardships, and I carded your hair and cradled you close to my body?”

“What about them!” He yells, the cracks in his confidents breaking. Those moments mean the world to him, and for him to now force you to use them against him has his blood running cold. “Yeah, I let you see the softer bits of me. Who cares?”

“I do!” You wail. “Because it made me think, for one second, that we could be something special! Something we earned and worked for together!”

“I think you forget,” he snarls, “I lived a fine life without you in it. We can go right fucking back the minute you started thinking this bullshit.”

You flinch at the harshness of his words. It’s working. Sukuna feels it. The love you have for him dwindling, the connection being frayed and severed with every pass of his words-

“Then do it,” you whisper. “If your life was so great loveless, then go back. But just know, I’ll never stop loving you. Ever. You’ll never have the peace of the freedom of heartbreak when it comes to me.”

With that, you take a step back, followed by another, but your eyes never leave his. Your bottom lip wobbles and you grab your coat over the back of his chair. He watches as you cover your mouth with your hand before dashing out, slamming the door behind you and leaving a trail of tears. His eyes are fixed on the door that’s finally stopped shaking on its hinges from the slam, as if waiting for you to sweep back in and demand his love, demand him to care and want you back.

But it doesn’t come. You don’t come back.

He can’t fight the urge to swipe everything off the counter with his arms in a fury, plates and cups flying off and shattering under the force. He pants like a voracious beast, angry and predatory, but he’s grounded as he steps on a shard of crystal from his mom’s wine glass.

And now, rather than chase you down the street, begging for your forgiveness, he sits down, using his hands to pick up the bigger shards. There’s an unfamiliar trickling down his cheek of hot tears, one splatters to the floor, and that’s it. Sukuna, with the monster he worked so hard to keep at bay, ruins another paradise in his life.

He cries alone.

All alone.

[0omillo0]

Hyunjin x reader

comfort ♡ the reader is exhausted but keeps telling hyunjin that she is fine, until she faints.

warnings: nothing, hyunjin being a drama queen

for @hannamoon143

You were running on fumes. Lately, it felt like the world was spinning a little too fast, the weight of everything pressing down hard. But you kept it hidden, pasting on a smile and giving Hyunjin a reassuring nod whenever he asked if you were okay. He could be a little too intuitive sometimes, and you didn’t want him to worry about you. After all, he had his own busy schedule, his own pressures.

Tonight, though, you felt especially drained. It was as if the air around you was too thick to breathe, and no matter how hard you tried, the tightness in your chest wouldn’t let up.

Hyunjin appeared in the doorway, tilting his head as he watched you with that curious, concerned look he’d been wearing so often lately. “Are you… sure you’re okay, Y/N?” His voice was soft, but you could hear the edge of worry underneath.

“Of course,” you said quickly, flashing him a smile you hoped looked convincing. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day.”

He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “You’ve said that every day this week.”

“I know. I just… I’ll be fine,” you said, waving a hand as if to brush it all away. But the wave of dizziness that hit you just then made you grip the edge of the table for balance.

Hyunjin’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” He took a step closer. “Because I know when you’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

You let out a shaky breath, giving a small, helpless shrug. “I just… I don’t want you to worry.”

His gaze softened, but his tone was firm. “Too late for that, babe. I’m already worried.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the world around you started to blur, the edges of your vision going dark. Before you could stop it, everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself lying on the couch, with Hyunjin’s face hovering above you, wide-eyed with panic.

“Oh my God, you’re awake! Are you okay? Are you breathing? Do I need to call an ambulance?” he exclaimed, his voice high with worry as he waved his hands dramatically.

“Hyunjin…” you murmured, struggling to sit up, but he immediately held you down.

“No, stay down! You fainted! Like, actually fainted!” His voice was a mix of alarm and pure distress. “Do you know how terrifying that was? One second you were standing, and the next, you were just… gone!” He clutched his chest, taking in a deep breath as if he’d barely survived the ordeal.

You managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?” He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You think fainting right in front of me doesn’t scare me? You could’ve hit your head! Or… or… worse!” His eyes widened even further. “Do you want some water? Or a blanket? Or an entire medical team?!”

“Hyunjin,” you laughed softly, though you could feel your heart racing a bit from the embarrassment. “I just… I think I just pushed myself a little too hard.”

“A little?” he echoed, sounding incredulous. “Babe, this isn’t just ‘a little too hard.’” His voice softened, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he held it tightly. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you admitted, looking down. “You’re already so busy, and I thought I could handle it.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, lifting your chin so you’d meet his eyes. “Listen, I don’t care how busy I am. If you need me, I’m here. Always.”

You looked away, feeling the emotions rising up, but he cupped your face, pulling your gaze back to him. “Hey,” he said gently. “I mean it. You’re my person, okay? You don’t have to do this alone. I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

You bit your lip, finally letting the tears slip down your cheeks. “I just… I feel like I’m failing, Hyunjin. I’m exhausted all the time, and it feels like I’m always one step behind. No matter how much I do, it’s never enough.”

He listened, his expression softening as he leaned closer, brushing a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “Oh, Y/N… why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” His voice was a gentle whisper. “You’re not failing. You’re doing so much, and you’re amazing at everything you do. Don’t let yourself forget that.”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping despite your tears. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, I’m saying that because it’s true! I see you work so hard, and I see how much you care about everything you do. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I just feel like it’s not enough. Like… if I don’t keep pushing myself, I’ll fall behind,” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he rested his chin on your head. “Then lean on me. You don’t have to do everything on your own. Just… let me be here for you.”

You stayed like that for a while, Hyunjin holding you as the weight of your worries seemed to melt away. His hand stroked gently down your back, and he hummed a quiet tune, one you recognized from his playlist.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Alright, new plan: tonight, you’re doing absolutely nothing. I’ll take care of everything, and you’re going to relax.”

“But—”

“Nope. No ‘buts.’” He raised a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. “Doctor’s orders,” he said, puffing out his chest and winking.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics, even as he threw a dramatic hand to his forehead. “In fact, I’m not sure I can leave you alone. What if you faint again? I’d never recover!”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Fine. I’ll rest… if it’ll make you feel better.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “Good. But I’m not leaving you alone tonight. You’re stuck with me.” He gave you a playful nudge and then got up, grabbing his phone. “Let’s see… I’m thinking snacks, movies, and maybe an emergency blanket fort. You’ll thank me later.”

With a sigh, you gave in, feeling lighter already. As he bustled around, grabbing pillows and snacks, you watched him, your heart swelling with gratitude. He might be a bit of a drama queen, but he cared for you in ways that made every worry seem smaller.

Hyunjin returned, arms full of snacks, a mischievous smile on his face. “Now, the real question is: cheesy romance movie or hilarious rom-com?”

You laughed, feeling a genuine smile spread across your face. “You pick.”

He settled beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders. “Rom-com it is. And hey, if you start feeling overwhelmed again… you come to me, alright?”

You nodded, leaning into his side as the movie began. “Thank you, Hyunjin. For everything.”

He squeezed your hand, resting his head against yours. “Always, Y/N. I’ll always be here.”

In that moment, you felt lighter than you had in weeks, wrapped in the warmth of Hyunjin’s presence and knowing that, no matter what, he was by your side. And as the night wore on, filled with his laughter and comforting touch, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to face the world alone.

[dumbbbg]

F O R Y O U 3

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!reader (Later will turn into Unburnt Vader x rebel! reader)

Full series

Previous chapter - 2

Next Chapter - 4

Warnings (For the whole series): noncon, dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (basically filth)

Warnings (for this chapter): Noncon spanking. Anakin being scary. Anakin being possessive.

Anakin's eyes dragged over your body. You were wearing tiny pyjamas. Your nipples were poking through the white cloth. Anakin clenched his jaw to stop himself from bending you over instantly. No. He was going to take his sweet time. He was going to ease you into his depravity.

He walked closer. You were frozen in shock, but flinched away as he moved. You ran to the door, your terror not allowing you to stand still, but his one large arm wrapped around your waist and turned you, pressing your back to his front. You were facing the mirror, and you gasped in horror as you saw the giant man behind you, his arm wrapped like a statue's, and his eyes yellow.

Completely yellow.

A groan went through his body as you struggled, unconsciously rubbing his hard cock on your back. "You're so weak, little one. It fucking kills me."

"Wait, master- w-what are you doing-"

He chuckled and let you go, turning you around. "Calm down, padawan. I'm your master, not a Sith lord who is here to corrupt a pure little Jedi."

He sat on the edge of your bed, a smile still on his face. "I told you I was going to come get you for dinner, did I not?"

"Y-yes, but you didn't knock-"

"I am your Master," he interrupted. "Were you doing something a padawan shouldn't?"

"No, not at all-"

"Then you should not have a problem with this." He stood, looking down at you. "You knew I was coming, yet you're dressed like this." He sighed, as if disappointed. His large hand grabbed your shoulder, and before you knew it, he was sitting down on a chair with you bent over his lap.

You frozen, head spinning for a moment. Wait, what was happening?

"M-master-"

"If you're going to act like a brat who can't even dress herself, I am going to treat you like one." Calm voice. Dark voice. It had deepened, and he chuckled as your body jerked with panic, struggling in his hold. He was not even using his hands to keep you still, he was using the Force. And your Force could never counter with his, not matter how much you tried.

Before you knew it, his hand (thankfully the human one), raised and slapped against your half naked ass. You screamed, biting into your fingers, tears instantly spilling out. "S-stop-"

"Take your punishment," he ordered, voice booming in your room - your safe heaven distroyed by his presence.

Your small hands grabbed his thighs, trying to lift yourself up.

But every bit of strength left you and his hand came down again, redenning your flesh, making it burn with pain. Maker, you could feel the handprint. You sobbed, hands trembling, legs sluggishly kicking.

He chuckled. You felt something hard pocking your stomach. You gasped for breath, now desperate.

"P-please," you begged. "M-master-" You couldn't stop whimpering. "I-it hurts-"

"I know it does." He petted your head, so condescending. "You should be happy you have such an...involved master, padawan. I will give you just ten. You can cry all you want, but under my care, I will do whatever the fuck I want to you. You chose this, remember."

Your cries echoed in the room as his hand rained down again and again, sometimes stopping to shush you gently, other times just petting your head and ass as if you were a pet. When he was done, he let you lay there, crying, as he rubbed your back.

You felt lightheaded. You couldn't belive he did this. You'd tell someone. You had to. But who? Obi-Wan? Would he listen?

Would anyone listen to anything against the Chosen One? Would anyone listen to a little Padawan going against her master?

Anakin picked you up and sat you down on his lap, chuckling again as you cried out.

His mechanical hand cupped your face and wiped your tears. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and his yellow eyes looks into your teary, red ones.

"Are you sorry?"

You stay quiet, gasping for breath.

"Well, I suppose you have'nt had enough."

Tears spilled out instantly. "N-no, please, m-master. I am sorry! I-I am so sorry f-for being a bad p-padawan-"

Anakin smirked and his lips pressed against your cheek. "Good girl." He picked you up and set you on your bed. "Stay here. I will bring us something to eat. Dare leave the bed and I was make what happened just now a fuckinf fairytale, yes?"

All you could do was fearfully nod.

. . .

It was a nightmare. To go to the cafeteria, to sit down with the other padawans, to eat, all while your ass burned with the pain your master had given you. The master who was sitting with Obi-Wan and smirking like he had done nothing wrong. He hadn't looked at you even once, and that somehow intensified the humiliation.

You knew with certainty that this could not be normal. No masted did this, much less to a grown-up Padawan. Your utensils shook in your hand, and you avoided everyone's eyes, even when they tried to talk to you. Most of them probably figured you must have had a hard mission. So many of them were jealous of you, continuously asking what Anakin was teaching you.

After the breakfast, Master Kenobi approached you with his gentle smile. "Are you feeling alright, padawan? You looked a bit tired. I hope Anakin is not being cruel to you."

You hesitated. He is, you wanted to say. Please stop him. I am terrified. He has everyone fooled. He has you fooled!

But Anakin, for the first time that day, looked at you. His smile stayed in place, and only his head titled slightly as he stared from the corner of the cafeteria where he was talking to some of the other masters. That was enough for you to freeze and nod rapidly towards Master Kenobi.

"I-I am fine, master. Just didn't get much sleep."

He smiled again, putting a hand on your shoulder. You'd didn't see, but Anakin's eyes burned at the sight.

"Take care. You know where to find me if you need me, yes?"

You nodded and he walked away, squeezing your shoulder gently.

Your master approached you, taking his long, casual steps, his hands in the pockets of his robes. He tilted his head down, looking you in the eye. "We have a mission, little one. Let go."

"W-where?"

He just smirked. "No unnecessary questions, padawan."

. . .

[animasola86]

🐻 A HUG TO REMEMBER

m!shapeshifter x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 7.1k

After a night full of unusual adventures and ordeals, you find yourself in the arms of your most memorable encounter, and you can't complain.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Aftercare! Vaginal sex! Creampies! Cockwarming! Fluff? (READ ON AO3!)

This is part 6 of my CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE smut series! 1 🔸 2 🔸 3 🔸 4 🔸 5 🔸 6 🔸 7 It's the continuation of the continuation of OPTION 3 - can be read individually for the smut portion, but if you want to follow the plot, I'd advise reading the previous two parts or at least the first part, preferably all of them. This is the conclusion of the story after all!

CONTEXT: You were invited to a Halloween party in a mysterious house, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, and on your way to get some fresh air, you first run into a werewolf, who knots and breeds you, then into two vampires, who spitroast you, and after all that... here we are...

“Hey. Hey, can you hear me?”

A deep voice rings in your ears, a low thrum in the void around you, muffled as if through various layers of cloth or from behind a thick door. A rasping inhale lets you stir, and slowly your body feels like your own again. Your limbs are tingling, your throat hurts, and something deep within you as well, there's an overall soreness all around, but when your eyes flutter open, you're just glad to be alive.

The sight in front of you still scares you, and you let out a hoarse whimper. A large man leans over you, tall and bulky, bulging muscles under a plaid shirt, strong legs, black hair, slightly curled and thick, a full beard, dark eyes staring down at you from under heavy eyebrows. You shy away, flinching, breathing harder.

“Hey, shh, it's all good. You're safe now,” he tells you with that low voice that vibrates through your body, and you frown, blinking at him in confusion, unable to relax as you stare at him. “Aww, don't tell me you've already forgotten about me?”

He flashes you a soft smile, exposing white teeth, and none of them seem abnormally large or pointy. You sigh and close your eyes again, trying to focus on your breathing, too weak to worry about anything at this point. Suddenly you're being lifted, held by strong arms, pressed to a warm chest, and you can't help it, you lean into it, savoring the protective gesture. The man carries you away, no idea where to, doesn't matter anyway.

“They got you good, hm?” He keeps talking to you, even though you can't find the strength to reply. “Should have stayed with me, little one.”

Slowly, you blink your eyes open and stare at him, furrowing your brows, really looking at him. Why does he feel so familiar? Slowly you move your hand up and brush your fingertips against his beard, the rough texture bringing up fuzzy memories of... fur? He gives you another smile, his eyes boring into yours. Your lips part as you try to sound out a question, but the pain in your throat is too strong to get any words out.

“Yes, little Red, I am your big bad wolf,” he replies nevertheless, seemingly reading your mind. Your eyes widen. It is him. The werewolf who knotted you. This is his human form? “But don't worry too much about it now. Let's get you cleaned up first, yeah?”

A sudden rush of warmth fills your cheeks and you look away, noticing not only the ripped shirt you borrowed from him but the large amounts of dried cum and blood on your exposed skin. The state those vampires have left you in is horrible. Vampires... for fuck's sake. You wanted to tick all of what happened tonight off as a dream, a nightmare maybe even, but the evidence that it may have actually happened after all is disturbing and hard to ignore. Sighing soundlessly, you rest your head against his shoulder as it starts to spin painfully. This is all too much.

He shifts you on his arms, hugging you closer as he keeps walking. There's a faint glow around you, and you realize that the morning must be close. You survived the night, huh? You're still not too sure about it.

You end up back in his cabin, though luckily not in the primitive basement but in an actual bedroom. He puts you down gently, makes you sit on the edge of the bed as he carefully peels the remnants of his ruined shirt off your body. You just watch him when he leaves the room for a moment before returning with a bowl of water and a washcloth, and when he starts cleaning you up, you close your eyes and let him, his large hands surprisingly soft and gentle as they work.

Eventually he pushes you onto your back, and again, you let him, relaxing into the soft sheets, as he starts wiping between your legs. You shiver when he brushes against your still sensitive clit. He gives you a few rubs, but then moves on, presses the cloth to your thigh, which causes you to wince when a sharp pain jolts through you.

“Can't believe they both fed off you,” you hear him mumble, his low voice a deep rumble in the air. “Insatiable bastards.” His hand moves back to your mound, his thick fingers teasing along your slit. “And they even cleaned you out, hm? Damn, all that effort for naught...”

You slowly open your eyes, meeting his dark gaze. There's a strange tension in your stomach. He keeps rubbing your labia, slowly pressing between them. His eyes are almost black now and as intense as you remember them, even though they've looked at you out of a very different face.

“I guess I have to keep you here a little longer,” he whispers, slowly leaning over you, one hand still at your cunt, the other braced beside your shoulder as he hovers above you. Your hands move up, brushing against his hard stomach. “To make sure you're fine, of course,” he adds, smirking down at you.

You bite your lip, watching him, your fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. You have no idea why you feel the sudden urge to pull him closer, wrap your legs around his waist and let him ravage you all over again, human form or not. This whole night has been quite the (sex) adventure, and somehow you don't want it to end. You don't want to go back to your boring life where everything is as expected, planned and sterile.

You'd rather stay with this savage man, who, considering your other encounters, has been the most memorable, and you can't wait for the moon to rise again. For now, you are also quite content with the hairy man above you. His deep laugh full of surprise echoes through the room as you grip the collar of his shirt and pull him down, smacking your mouth against his. He's quick to kiss you back, deep and passionately, your tongues meeting in a wild dance, as he leans his wide body onto yours carefully.

“Damn, Red, you developed quite the hunger, didn't you?” he mouths between kisses, his warm breath fanning over your lips. You can only nod, your cheeks burning up in slight embarrassment, but you still buck your hips up against his groin invitingly. “I'm not complaining,” he adds, playfully nibbling on your bottom lip as he responds with a roll of his pelvis.

Continuing to kiss him with a need that's new to yourself too, you let your hands wander over his broad chest before you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You groan in slight impatience as your shaking hands can't quite finish the job. He leans back then, looking at you, then simply rips the shirt and shrugs it off nonchalantly, exposing a wide toned chest with just the right amount of dark chest hair.

Your fingers rub through it, it's not abnormally much, just enough to cover his big pecs before it thins out into a thick trail vanishing into his jeans. You follow it, palms sliding over hard muscles before your fingers curl into his belt, holding his dark gaze as you lick your swollen lips. His smirk is playful but has a dark edge to it. Instead of letting you continue on your quest to get him as naked as you are, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head, holding your wrists together with one large hand while his other hand closes around your jaw as he leans closer once more.

“You really want this, huh?” he growls quietly.

You nod frantically, not even hesitating anymore. There's a tiny bit of protest in your mind when it reminds you of the state of your sore body, but you really couldn't care less right now. You want to feel good again, and you remember, even though the details are hazy, that this man (albeit in his other form) has made you feel how you've never felt before.

He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring as he takes in your scent, before he crashes his lips to yours again, quickly slipping his tongue into your mouth. His beard rubs along your soft skin, adding to the growing desire nestling deep within you. You struggle in his hold, really needing to touch him, grab his shoulders, sink your fingers into his thick hair, feel the strength of his body, but for now all you have is his eager mouth.

Once your head is spinning and your lungs burning, he slowly moves his deep kisses down your face, along your jaw, his warm hand rubbing over your sore throat before he turns your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your heart thundering in anticipation. But there are no teeth on your skin, just wet lips and a warm tongue, as he starts sucking on your pulse, lapping at the bruises he works into you.

“Tonight,” he huffs against you, “I'm gonna mark you properly. I'll make you mine, little one, all mine. So no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

You gasp breathlessly, still unable to get any words through your hurting throat, but he seems to understand your non-verbal agreement as he presses his lips to your neck before leaning back, looking down at you, his dark eyes wandering over your flushed face. You look back out of hooded eyes with your lips parted and quivering. It's a strangely comforting thought to have this man, this werewolf, claim you. You feel protected, safe, and even if you can't properly think about the reality of it just yet, you can't find it in you to deny him.

“Y-yours,” you manage to croak out, and a wide smile breaks on his bearded face.

He lets go of your wrists and pulls you into the embrace of his strong arms, and you immediately snake your hands around his neck and into his hair, sighing contently as you feel the thick locks between your fingers and his mouth once again on yours.

For the longest time you're just lying together, cuddled up on his bed, hands holding and exploring, tongues wrestling, his heavy body pushing you into the mattress, and you wouldn't have it any other way. You're moaning against his lips as he starts growling low in his throat, his lower body rubbing against yours with increasing need. You can feel the heat of his hard cock through his jeans, and in an attempt to show him you're ready, you lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, pressing your equally hot center right against his bulge.

A snarl comes from his mouth as he leans back abruptly, braced on his arms, chest heaving, muscles dancing, before he jumps back fully, quickly fumbling with his belt and pants before he is finally completely naked, his erection bouncing against his lower stomach as he starts crawling back over you. You try to get a better look at it, but he's claiming your mouth for another kiss, though from what you've seen he may just be as big as his wolf counterpart, minus the bulbous knot, unfortunately.

But you're sure you'll experience that again very soon. The moon couldn't rise fast enough.

You expect him to immediately claim your hungrily clenching cunt, but instead of shoving his cock into you, you feel his thick fingers rubbing between your wet folds, coaxing quiet mewls out of your hurting throat. He keeps kissing you as he starts properly fingering you, pushing his long digits as deep as they would go. It's a lazy rhythm but it's enough to build up that sizzling heat inside you, and the tension builds and builds, until you cry out soundlessly against his mouth, stiffening beneath him, body arching, thighs twitching as you come hard around his fingers.

He inhales your breathless moans, plunging his tongue deeper while slowly massaging your fluttering walls, letting you down easy. You groan quietly in protest when he pulls his fingers out, the sudden emptiness almost painful. A chuckle escapes him as he presses his lips against your warm cheek and leans back, looking down. You follow his gaze and watch how he grabs his throbbing cock in his big hand, its tip as angry and red looking as you remember his wolfish dick. It's not as monstrous though, but still thick and veiny and long, and your head spins just from imagining it inside you.

You don't have to imagine it for long though when he then brings the precum leaking crown to your folds, swiping it through them to gather your slick, before he presses against your entrance, carefully, oh so careful you wish he'd be a bit rougher, and slowly your cunt opens up to him, and inch by inch, his cock disappears inside you. You arch your head back as you feel the stretch, your lips parted for a soundless moan.

He shifts on top of you, lowers himself between your wide spread legs, brings his forearms on either side of your shoulders, his hands cradling your head as he leans down again to shower your flushed face with soft kisses while he rolls his hips against you, so gentle you barely feel how he forces his cock past your resistance until he eventually bottoms out. Somehow it's a comfort to feel this full, filled and stretched, claimed.

Your hands dig into his hair, holding him tightly as you move your tongue around his, inhaling his low growls and groans as you grind your pelvis against him. His first thrust makes you see stars. It's a sudden jolt of pain, a deep little stab, and you flinch, gasping. He leans back and watches you, his eyes so dark and intense you can only stare back. He thrusts again, taking in your reaction, and when you flinch once more, he soothes his hands over your head.

“Does it hurt?” he asks gravelly, his voice vibrating through you, adding to the building heat inside you.

“No,” you croak out. There's discomfort, in your throat, in your ass, but your cunt feels right with his cock moving within it, a perfect fit, a thing meant to be. Your hands move to his face, rubbing over his bearded cheeks. “Keep going,” you manage to whisper past the ache. “Please...”

His lips curl up into a smirk before he leans down to kiss yours softly, then suddenly sits up fully, braced on his strong arms, resting on his haunches. He grabs your thighs and drapes them over his, and you automatically wrap your legs around his body and cross your feet, holding onto him as he starts snapping his hips against you, his large hands now on your waist, thumbs pressing onto your fluttering stomach.

He falls into a slow but steady rhythm, pushing deep and simultaneously pulling you into his thrusts, and all you can do is fall back into the softness of the bed and let it happen, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you moan and mewl, your eyes rolling back in growing pleasure. He's much more careful than he was in his wolf form, really looks out for you, but still uses all of his body to stimulate yours.

You feel hot and cold all over, goosebumps rippling over your skin, deep shivers crashing through you, that heat building up deep within, ready to explode into a ravaging wildfire. Wet squelching sounds mix with the loud slapping of skin against skin, add to that your breathless gasps and his low grunts and groans, and you feel your head spinning in the best kind of vertigo.

When he eventually picks up the pace, you are immediately propelled up into new spheres of bliss, your eyes flying open as he grips your waist harder, moves his hips faster, his cock pistoning in and out with force and fervor. Your walls clench around him, your whole body shuddering under the assault. Hoarse moans escape you, lips parted wide, lungs burning, that tension in your stomach bordering on painful.

You come with a shrill squeak, almost soundless, ripping through your sore throat, but all you feel is burning pleasure, all-consuming, taking over every nerve and muscle, and he keeps fucking you through it with hard and deep thrusts, forcing through your tightening walls as they clamp around him with a force that makes you dizzy. He grunts loudly, shifting on top of you until his entire body rests on yours, pushing you into the bed, a comforting weight that keeps you grounded as you float away on that tidal wave of pleasure.

His hips smack into yours, even faster, more urgent and frantic, his groans getting louder as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your fluttering pulse. You gasp beneath him, your trembling arms snaking around his body until you sink your fingernails into his back, holding on for dear life as he fucks you with reckless abandon.

It's all a blur now, a whirlwind of noises and sensations, little jolts of pain and overwhelming slaps of bliss, you can't breathe, you can't move, you can just take it, and you take it with growing need, absorbing every pummeling thrust, every deep plunge, every poke at your cervix, every drag along your walls, every rub against your clit. His breath is hot against your neck, his heavy body embracing you whole, eager to swallow you up, make you his. And you're here for it. For him.

Your noises grow louder, forcing out of your body, whines and wails, moans and mewls, your voice coming back slowly before you'll lose it all over again. He's hammering into you now, making you both bounce on the bed, a feral rutting that is all too familiar to you. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck, feeling the rough texture of his beard and the soft curls of his hair, and in your daze you see the wolf above you, his long snout, those sharp teeth, the long panting tongue, and you hear the low growls and snarls, the animalistic need to breed his mate, and it's that image that makes you come again, hard, uncontrollable twitches making your whole body convulse beneath him as you let out the loudest moan yet.

He slows then, labored breaths in your ear, hot against your skin, before you feel him shuddering as well, his big body trembling on top of yours, and his last thrust is particularly deep, a hard punch into your cervix that forces another explosion of pain and pleasure through you, and with a long groan he comes inside you, his cock throbbing, his balls drawn up tight between your folds, twitching with every spurt of hot cum he leaves deep inside of you.

You hold onto him, hands soothing over his broad back, as he fills you up, and because there's no knot to keep it in, his warm seed soon presses past your connection, seeping out of you in lazy globs that feel warm and soothing against your puckered hole. You slowly relax beneath him, coming down gently from all those highs, and his deep sigh vibrates through you as he does the same, putting his entire weight on you.

Your lips press against the top of his head, the scent of his hair, a mixture of pine and grass and earth, fills your nostrils. You close your eyes, a soft smile creeping onto your features as you feel his beard rubbing against your neck, a low hum escaping him in response. For a moment you just lie like this, both boneless and exhausted, his cock still giving the occasional twitch as another spurt of his seed pumps into you while your cunt clenches lazily around him, and you could fall asleep like that, overwhelmed by a strange kind of comfort you've never experienced before.

You could certainly get used to this...

Before you can drift off, he suddenly moves, his muscles working as he pulls his arms around you and rolls you both onto your sides. You already miss his weight on you, his enveloping warmth, but he quickly pulls you into him, pressed to his wide chest, and you nuzzle into his hoarse chest hair, inhaling deeply. He tilts his hips, and you feel his cock slipping free, followed by a surge of warm cum flowing out of your pulsing pussy.

He groans as he puts a hand between your legs and tries to hold it in, fingers eagerly pushing his seed back between your tight muscles, and before you know it, you are being rolled around until your back is to his groin, and he lifts your leg and replaces his fingers with his cock, still impressively hard as it slips back home, filling you out all over again. A soft moan escapes you as he drapes his large body around yours, holding you tightly against him, his beard rubbing against your cheek before you turn your head and meet his lips for a soft kiss.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice just a low thrum in the air.

“Yes,” you breathe against him, reaching out a hand to grab his face, pulling him even closer. “Never better...”

He smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss as he grinds his hips against your rear, though he doesn't move much, not intending to fuck you all over again, and he stops completely once his entire cock is fed deep into your cunt, just resting there, hot and heavy. His hand moves to your stomach, and yours joins soon after, fingers interlacing as you both feel the tightness of your belly and the slight bulge his cock and cum created. It's a pleasant fullness, a soft warmth both inside and out, a comfort you don't want to let go, ever.

Eventually you do slip away into unconsciousness, mid-kiss, with your lips brushing against his, before he wraps his arm tightly around you and nuzzles against your neck, your head lolling away as sleep grabs you tightly.

You wake up in almost the same position, with this large man wrapped around your smaller body, holding you tightly, his cock still very much buried inside you, but now he's sleeping, soft snores rumbling through him, deep inhales letting his toned chest rub against your back. You blink your eyes into focus and look around the room, bathed in bright sunlight that hurts your eyes, and you wonder how you got here, how a mysterious invitation to a (not at all) simple Halloween party brought you into the arms of a man who will turn into a monster as soon as the moon rises.

It still doesn't make sense, none of it, and maybe nothing of it happened after all? You did sleep with the man draped around you, that was real, but maybe that was it? The rest was just some alcohol-induced fever dream? Maybe. It would be easier to believe for sure, easier than whatever your mind tries to tell you may have happened. For now, you force the contradicting thoughts away and focus on the very real man snuggled up to you.

Lifting a hand, you rub it along his thick forearm, feeling those bulging veins under his tight skin and the hard muscles flexing slightly as you do so. A few seconds later, he stirs behind you, inhaling deeply.

“Awake already?” he rumbles into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your jaw.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you,” you whisper, lying as still as possible in his embrace.

“All good,” he replies with a groan as he grinds his hips into you.

Immediately you feel a burning pain crashing through you, your muscles tight around his cock, too tense to allow for much movement that doesn't hurt. He stops, his hand moving from your stomach down between your legs, fingertips brushing against your hooded clit, slowly waking up those resisting nerves.

You gasp softly, arching into him at the sensation. “Have I told you how wonderful you feel wrapped around my cock?” he breathes against you, sending shivers down your spine. “You do, such a perfect fit. Molded to me, haven't you?”

You hum in response, closing your eyes as you relax under his ministrations. Your muscles ease, allowing his cock to slide back and forth slightly, and before you know it, he's coaxing a gently building orgasm out of you that makes you keen in agonizing bliss as it crescendos into another one of those mind-blowing experiences that have you twitching uncontrollably. He quickens his thrusts, eager to follow you over the edge, and when he does, he grunts into your ear, holds you tightly against him, his hips jerking against your rear as he adds hot spurts of cum to your burning juices.

You sigh deeply when he stills, leaning into him, breathing hard from not doing much, and you realize you always want to wake up like this, in the arms of this man, fucked fully awake by his amazing cock. As soon as the post-orgasmic clarity settles in, you also realize that this will never become a reality. It can't. How should it? You barely know him, he's a werewolf, it was just a one-night-stand, he's a werewolf, you have to go back to the city soon.

Inhaling sharply, you stiffen in his hold, trying to ignore the soft kisses he plants on your neck and shoulder before he slowly moves back, detaches himself from you and your fluttering depths, and as soon as his cock slips free, a warm wave of cum seeps from between your thighs. You press them together, rolling up into the sheets when his warm body is gone. He stands from the bed, stretching, then walks wordlessly into the bathroom.

Maybe it's better this way. You shouldn't get too attached. He lives in a cabin in the woods, might be connected to the mysterious house you were invited to last night, and when you remember the drive here correctly, it did take you quite a while to get here. You can't do a long-distance relationship, it'll eat you up, you just know it. And he can't come visit you either, what if he turns into a monster and ravages half the city block?

Though he did seem to have his urges under control (more or less anyway) when you first encountered him, but still, the city is no place for a werewolf.

And what if this is just a fling for him anyway? What if you are the only one stressing about what happens next? But he did say he wanted to make you his, his mate, for nobody else to touch, wait, yes, he promised you he'd do that tonight, but... what if that was just some lust-induced dirty talk? It would mean you'd have to stay the whole day, wait for the moon to rise, and you can't do that.

You have a job to go back to, a boring life that waits to be continued. This party was already a big step out of your comfort zone, you can't just throw your life away for a hot guy, can you?

Groaning in frustration, you grab the pillow and bury your burning face in it, hoping to smother the thought carousel before it gets out of hand. Seriously. Since when are you such an overthinker?

A sudden noise makes you stiffen. He's back from the bathroom. But you can't look at him. You should leave. End it before it gets complicated.

“Do you want to shower next? It's still nice and toasty in there,” you hear his low voice, muffled through the pillow.

You grunt a reply, and without acknowledging his towering form in the room, you slip off the bed and into the bathroom. The shower, however steamy it is, clears your head, and when you reemerge, dried off with the provided towels, you wrap one around your body and slowly step back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for what may come next.

You find the man whose name you never learned sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in another plaid shirt and dirty jeans, and he's holding a stack of clothes, your blouse and skirt as you recognize, and the red cloak he was so fond of last night. You walk up to him and take the items, biting your lip as you nod at him. He watches you as you re-enter the bathroom to get dressed, which seems silly considering he's seen every inch of your body multiple times by now.

By the time you're dressed and ready to leave this all behind, your stomach is tense. “I...” you start as you meet him back in the bedroom, wringing your hands nervously.

He tilts his head, deep creases on his forehead. “Are you hungry?” he asks then, ripping you out of your dark thoughts.

You blink slowly, parting your lips only to press them together again. Then you just nod. He smiles at you, his whole face lighting up, the frown disappears while other creases appear in the corners of his eyes, dimples on his cheeks, almost hidden by his thick beard. He stands up and reaches for you, and you don't even hesitate when you put your small hand onto his large palm.

He leads you towards a small kitchen that opens into a cozy looking living room with a big couch and a fireplace. As you sit down on one of the bar stools lining the island, he rounds the counter and starts preparing breakfast. You focus on him, trying to ignore the ongoing debate in your head. In the end you and your overbearing mind come to the conclusion that you'll just enjoy the moments you still have with him, before you have to leave.

“Hey, um, you never told me your name,” you say a little shyly as you watch him crack some eggs into a sizzling pan.

“It's Bear,” he tells you, turning his head to meet your curious gaze. His dark eyes gleam in the sunlight flooding through the large window of the living room. They glow like amber.

“Bear?” you repeat, frowning with a smirk. “But... you're a werewolf. That's kinda ironic.”

He chuckles deeply. “Maybe, yeah. But you know, I wasn't born a werewolf, I was born a shapeshifter.”

Your eyebrows rise at that. “What?”

“I can shift into various animals. Usually a big black bear, sometimes a large wolf too. Or a fox if I feel playful.” His voice is so even, natural, he's either a great story teller and liar or... no, this can't be true.

“You're kidding me,” you whisper, leaning onto your elbow.

He winks at you. “Nope, I am a shapeshifter. It runs in my family.” He moves the pan over the burner for a moment before he pulls it off and turns fully to you. “You accepted that I am a werewolf, but this is baffling you?” he asks with a smirk. “These grounds have always been in the care of my ancestors, for a very long time. I'm just the latest groundskeeper.”

“So you belong to the house?” you ask quietly, trying to make sense of what he's told you.

“In a way. The house has a strange history, to be honest,” he says, inhaling deeply as he stops the meal prepping and crosses his strong arms in front of his chest. Leaning against the counter, he watches you, and you frown, urging him to continue. “Well, you see, it shouldn't be here,” he goes on ominously.

“What do you mean?”

“It was built on land that shouldn't be built on,” he clarifies. “I don't want to go into too much detail, but, well, people back in the day didn't care about traditions or customs, or warnings. They just did what they wanted, took what they desired. So the house was built, and my family was asked to leave the grounds. Of course that couldn't happen. Somehow we made the compromise that we could stay and care for the grounds and the forest, and they let us. But it wasn't a fair exchange, as were most things back then...”

You listen with growing interest, your eyes wandering over his tan skin and the deep sorrow in his eyes. He keeps talking, his voice low and almost melancholy.

“Some of us didn't like it, and... well, things got out of hand. There was a shaman who lived deep in the forest, and she didn't accept neither the new house nor our willingness to work for those people, so she threw around some curses...”

“Curses?” you echo, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Yes, ancient magic made worse by strong emotions. Some say the shaman was fueled by the injustice of the situation, others think she may have had an affair with the house owner, or... well, maybe something else happened, something darker, nobody really knows. But her magic was so strong it is still up today.”

You stare at him, both fascinated and deeply unsettled by his story.

“For one, she cursed us groundskeepers with Lycanthropy, which, us being shapeshifters, shouldn't have been such a bad deal, but you see, I can control turning into animals, I cannot control turning into a werewolf under the full moon. It took me a long time to control myself while transformed as well. The creature you met yesterday was just a shadow of the monster I used to be.”

Your eyes widen, before you blink and frown. He takes a step closer, towering over you as if to trigger your fight or flight instinct. But you're eerily calm when you watch him. “I'm not afraid of you,” you whisper, reaching out a hand towards him. He smiles softly, a sad twinkle in his eyes as he puts his long fingers around yours, squeezing them gently.

“You're special, Little Red,” he whispers, eyeing you closely. “And probably the first to even find your way onto my grounds.” He sighs loudly when your frown deepens. “You see, the shaman also cursed the house. I can't even really explain it, just... well, it slips in and out of existence. It's always there, but it cannot be perceived all the time.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. That explains why you couldn't remember ever seeing it before. You nod to his words, and he continues.

“Sometimes, on special occasions, it reaches out into the world, trying to lure in lost souls. You came here for a party, right?” You nod again. “You see, the inhabitants of the house, staff included, they cannot leave. So they invite random people hoping that some will stay and join them. Nobody usually does. Most come here to party, enjoy a special night they will forget as soon as they step foot over the threshold.”

He tilts his head, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand as he stares down.

“Can you remember what happened in the house?” he asks, slowly looking up.

Your mind buzzes. “Faintly. I mean, hmm,” you make, pulling your eyebrows together as you try to think back to the party. There was a party, right? A Halloween party, yeah, colorful lights through the windows, the low thrum of the bass of the music. You see the invitation in your mind's eye, you assume there have been a lot of people in costumes, food and drinks, but... the more you try to think about details the less feedback you get. It's all fuzzy.

Well, not all of it. It's blurry but you see a mask looming over you, a stranger's voice in your ear, a cold knife against your skin. And after that (or before? You can't be sure) there's the sound of rushing water, then... nothing, just a thrum in your head, deafening silence almost. And it wasn't nothing, there was something, very invasive, you can almost feel it, all over your skin, and more than that... deep inside you. A shiver crashes through your body as you force away the strange sensation.

You look up at the tall man in front of you. “You can't, hm?” he growls quietly, and you nod, deciding it would be best not to share those particular memories with him. “You weren't meant to stay then. Lucky me,” he adds, his serious face morphing into a smile. You blush deeply at how intense his dark eyes look at you. “Instead you ran right into my arms.”

You look away with a shy chuckle. “Well, I did run away from you as well,” you whisper.

“You didn't know better,” he says, letting go of your hand to walk around the island until he's standing behind you, his large hands heavy on your shoulders. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye. He leans closer, rubs his beard against your cheek. “But you learned your lesson, didn't you?”

Somehow his words sound both enticing and flirting, but also a little threatening and menacing. You shiver. “I...”

“You won't run away from me again, right?” he whispers, his low voice just a thrum in the air, a vibration through your head. “I told you you are mine now. I won't let you go.”

You swallow, stiffening slightly. “But...”

“You were called here,” he continues, ignoring your feeble attempts of protesting. “The house invited you, beckoned you, but it couldn't hold you, you left, stepped into the maze, found me...” He inhales deeply, leaning his chin on your shoulder. “You found what you were looking for.”

You blink in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Like I said, the house calls upon the lost souls, those who wander through life. Some answer, either to find what they are looking for or to never leave again. Think, little one, were you a lost soul, trapped in a boring life with no way out? I believe you were, but no longer, hm?”

Slowly you break your stupor and turn around on the stool, fully facing him. He leans back a little, watching you closely. His words confuse you, but they poke into the dark corners of your mind, at the things you've hidden away. Your desires that could never come true. Like this. With him, this can't come true, right?

How can you throw away your old life because of some ancient hocus-pocus beckoning you to a place where you will find... what? All the answers? True love? Your soulmate or something? Or just a guy who can give you some much-needed cuddles and mind-blowing sex? Is that it? You never believed in the supernatural or paranormal. All this talk about curses and lost souls and werewolves – Hang on. You blink slowly.

You'd be pretty ignorant to disregard all the things that have happened. You saw his werewolf form, you know it intimately. And you were abducted by vampires, ravaged and bitten. They exist. And this man in front of you exists. Sure, you never saw him transform, but you believe him. He feels real and genuine.

And the way he looks right into your soul, picks up on those urges you keep fighting. You already told yourself that you want this, wake up in his arms, be with him, experience that knot again. It is all strange and unnatural, but then again... Maybe you were looking for something like this. You'd have never thought you'd end up with an actual shapeshifter, a werewolf, but does it matter in the end?

He is still a man, a big strong man with the right hardware, and as you feel the warmth creeping into your cheeks, scolding yourself for thinking such primal thoughts, you bite your lip, your eyes wandering over his hairy face. Slowly, you raise your hands and brush your fingertips against his beard, tracing the edges. He watches you, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

“I don't have a choice, right? Fate decided for me,” you say quietly. A deep dimple forms beneath your hand as he smiles at you.

“Indeed it did, little one,” he replies gravelly. “And no one should challenge fate.”

“Hmm,” you hum, cupping his face as you pull yourself closer to him. Before you can, however, meet his lips like you intended, you pause, a thought crashing through your head. “Hey, uh, you said you'd make me your mate. Does that mean I'll become a werewolf too?”

He blinks slowly before he barks a deep laugh. “Your mind works in fascinating ways, Red,” he muses, but then sighs and leans back, slipping from your hold. “No, you won't become like me. It's part of the curse. I'm destined to stay alone.”

“Wait, but I thought... we...”

His arms wrap around your shoulders and lift you up easily as he presses you to his wide chest. “Alone with my cursed fate, but I feel this doesn't count. You came to me, we found each other in the maze. It was your destiny that we met. You may just be the first to fight the pull of the house, it's a sign. And I'd be stupid to let you go ever again...”

You snake your hands under the strong grip of his literal bear hug, gripping at the back of his shirt. “I won't leave,” you mumble into his chest. “I want to stay... with you...”

He leans you back and grips your upper arms, looking down at you with warm eyes. “Good, I'm glad. I was already worried where I'd put your cage.”

You frown before you see his wink and blush deeply, giggling softly as you slap your hand against his chest in mock indignation. “Leave the kinky stuff for when we know each other a bit better?” you tease with a smirk.

He laughs, a deep rumble in the air, and pulls you into another hug. You wrap your arms around his waist and inhale deeply, sinking into his strength and all-consuming warmth.

You came here for a night of partying, drinking, eating, meeting people. To let loose. Have a little adventure. In the end you found so much more.

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End notes: Thank you for joining me on this ride! I really appreciate the support! I'm happy you liked my little experiment!

It started as a means to get as many monster encounters as possible into one story, but it ended with actual plot, who would've thunk! And the best part, if you enjoyed it, there will be more!

I will expand on the story of Bear and Reader, giving them their own adventure, AND, because I initially intended to wrap this up differently, I will add some bonus chapters to tie up any loose ends of this story, hopefully.

The first bonus chapter THE HOUSE is out now!

A little research side note and disclaimer: I know this is just a silly little fantasy smut story, but I still tend to research quite a bit for my writing. I mentioned above that a shaman cursed Bear and the house, and I just want to make clear that, while I hint at certain dynamics and historical "facts" (really vaguely implying that Bear and his family are from an indigenous tribe and the house owners are some colonizers/settlers taking over their lands), I do not mean any offense by using this word or any other implications made. I looked for a better term, but couldn't find any in the time I had to edit this. In the end, I am just a smut writer and a European at that. I know I only grazed this topic and was mostly only inspired by it, but I am still sorry if I offended anyone with what I wrote or implied!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

KINKTOBER 2024 MASTERLIST

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: put your hand on my heart

pairing: micheal townsend x reader

synopsis: you know you’re panicking but you can’t stop it and nothing is helping. the last person you want to see you like this turns out to be your saviour

warnings: panic attack, overwhelming anxiety, dark thoughts

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks

Please, please, please. Not again. Not this again. I stumble into the bathroom making sure the door shuts behind me, hastily trying to reach a source of water. My finger shake as I turn on the bathroom tap, they can barely grasp the metal. I wait for the cold water to run before splashing my face three times. It’s meant to be a shock tactic, it’s meant to pull me together, it’s meant to help, but it isn’t doing what it’s meant to, it isn’t doing anything. It never does anything.

I try to swallow but it feels like I’ve forgotten how. It feels like my trachea is slowly constricting, the walls on either side slowly closing in creating a claustrophobe’s nightmare. My throat aches as my mouth fills with saliva that I’m desperate to get rid of. I touch my neck, my fingers scraping against the skin. I want to pry it open. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe, be able to swallow.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are rimmed with thick black smears, her lips are dry and cracked, there are red streaks of art winding down her neck and her face is a sickly pale colour. I’m but living in the shell of body that used to be mine. The things that made me myself are long gone, a ghost of a whisper living somewhere deep within my veins. I don’t know what parasite has infiltrated my body, all I know is I want it out. I want it gone.

But some things you can never kill, so long as they live in your mind, you’ll never truly be rid of them.

Panic wraps bony fingers around my ankles and yanks me into murky waters, Fear holds my head under and makes sure I can’t scream for help. Is this how you felt mum? Is this how you felt when they drowned you? My lungs burn, scream, beg but I already know I won’t ever get to grace them with oxygen again. My hands and feet are bound with thick rope that cuts deep into my flesh. They tied you up too mum. Why? Did you even fight it? I glance at my captors with pleading eyes, they only laugh. Amused by the emotions that fed them running riot through my soul. Did you look at them like me mum? We always had the same eyes, that’s what everyone said. Did they laugh at you too mum?

I feel my body grow weak, I watch as the world spins and I grow dizzy. I’m lost in a state between life and death, beneath this ocean of panic. My body is still trying to fight for survival even though I want to give up. You never wanted to give up, did you mum? But you had to, they forced you to. Panic gives me one last gift, placing something heavy on my chest. It crushes my rib cage but there’s nothing left in me to cry out. No one would hear anyway, I was underwater. No one heard you, mum. I didn’t hear you either. The weight pushes me down further and further from the surface and slowly, slowly it all grows black. Is this what you saw mum? When your body sunk to the bottom? Were you plunged into the darkness the same way I am?

I’m gasping and spluttering. My chest is in agony, red hot pain prickles over my torso. I want to rip my skin off, claw every inch away with my nails. I throw my sweatshirt over my head so the cotton of my shirt was the only thing touching my upper body. I look back to the stranger in the mirror and prod my face with unfamiliar fingers. The veins under my skin throb, almost like my pulse is so fast it might burst them altogether. Part of me hopes they might, at least I’d be rid of these feelings.

My heart thumps loudly through my ears, each boom more demeaning than the last. It feels like the organ pulsating out of my chest each time it beats. A torturous, monotonous thunderstorm that I can’t avoid.

“I don’t like the thunder,” I tremble in my mother’s arms, clinging to the soft fabric of her shirt as if my life depends on it.

“It can’t hurt you little one,” she whispers, stroking my hair with her tender touch, “but don’t fret, you’re safe, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.”

I don’t like thunderstorms. I never have. But my mother’s arms aren’t here to be my refuge, all I have are these four bathroom walls.

I try and will myself to cry but there are no tears. My face isn’t damp and my eyes don’t water. They refuse, my mind too stubborn to give me an outlet for my pain. I should be crying, I know I should, it’s unnatural not to, it’s not normal.

But I’m not normal.

I feel the dreaded panic attack me again. It’s like a million tiny bullets are being fired at my body all at once. I can’t avoid a single one, I’m stood in no man’s land. And yet despite being shot so many times, I don’t seem to be able to die. Only writhe in my own agony.

My breathing quickens still, which by now I’d thought might be medically impossible. I wish for Sloane to be here to give me a statistic about breathing or wallabies, I wish for Lia to tell me the lie that I would be okay a thousand times over, I wish for Cassie to hold me until I stop shaking looking at me with her kind eyes, I wish for Dean to help me understand why I’m like this and I wish for Micheal to never, ever see me like this.

My wishes don’t come true. Wishes usually don’t for girls like me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have control of my own body, of my own mind, thoughts and feelings. They’re constantly hijacked by a stronger power. A power that comes dressed in black hood and carries weapons of destruction. Though he doesn’t always use them, not straight away. He presents them first, the fear of the threat. Then at the moment of his choosing - the middle of the night, when I’m out shopping, the early morning, in the middle of a case - he would use them.

I have become a prisoner to the man in my mind.

He remembers everything. My mother. He knows all. She was kind and smart and funny and passionate and bold. The details I wanted to forget. Her cold dead body, hauled from the bottom of a lake. Blue skin, closed eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. The things I’d left in the past. She used to tell me I could do anything, be anything. That I was something. That I was special. Brighter than the stars. All that I’d blocked out. The killers that I couldn’t find, that I’d failed to find.

Another overbearing wave of panic crashes into me and my legs begin to feel unsure of themselves adopting an unnatural wobble. Sure I might fall, I sink to the floor in a helpless heap of heavy breathing and blurred thoughts. The cold tiles that press against the back of my thighs are the only thing to remind me that I can feel.

I need five things. What can I see? What can I touch? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I taste?

I pry my eyes back open. I can see the bathroom door, it’s white with a golden handle. Two towels hang on a hook from the back of it. They’ve been recently used and are still a little damp. The smile on my mum’s face.

I can touch the fabric of my shirt. I play with it between my fingers. It’s soft, it’s smooth, it can’t hurt me. Her fingers weaving a braid through my hair.

I can hear my heart. No, I have to hear past it. I strain my ears. Talking, I can hear my friends talking in the room next door. Sloane, Cassie, Lia, Dean and Michael. I can hear Sloane’s voice most immediately, then Lia’s. The words are blurred, a soup of sound, too overwhelmed by the pounding in my chest. The hum of her sweet song, the one she wrote just for my name.

I can smell bleach. It’s strong and sterile. The bathroom has been recently cleaned. Rose water and buttermilk. She always smelt of rose water and buttermilk. As long as I could remember.

I can taste nothing. My throat is dry, my lips are dry, my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. The honey sweet syrupy liquid she often gave me before I slept.

I lean back further into the wall and close my eyes again. Is it working? Is it helping? I’ve listed the five things, my task is done. Why do I still feel the same? I shouldn’t still feel the same. It’s not working, it never works, I don’t know why this time I thought it might. I’m an idiot. I always have been.

“y/n? Are you in there?”

I know that voice and I know I don’t want him anywhere near the door. I know I’ve forgotten to lock it and I can’t move from the position I’m in. I know I need to tell him I’m fine, that it’s okay. I know that I should then explain I need Lia to get me a tampon to scare him away.

But I can’t speak, I can’t answer him. When I try I end up gasping for air like a fish out of water. I grip the side of the sink, my knuckles going white, trying to hoist myself up. He can’t see me like this, out of everyone it can’t be him. The moment I get myself to stand, my legs give way and I fall back to the floor. They’re too weak to support me anymore.

I’m too weak.

I land with a crash, sending a shooting pain up my back. I wince and make some sort of strangled sound, a scream but with no breath to make it sound like a scream. Immediately he bursts in, uninvited in classic Micheal style. Though he might be the emotion reader of the two of us, I see the worry on his face, through his eyes. I try to glare at him but can’t even muster that. I know there’s no getting out of this now, the moment he lays eyes on me he knows exactly how I feel. Even if I were Lia I don’t believe there’d be any lie good enough to cover up my situation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he rushes, dropping to his knees immediately, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

My mother’s words echo through my mind. His hand settles on my thigh. I don’t need you here’ I wanted to scream. I need Sloane, Lia, Cassie, Dean, Judd, heck even Briggs just anyone but him. He shouldn’t know that this is the real me, that this is the kind of relationship he is really getting into.

He sees it. He sees my fear, my desperation, my panic, my worry, my pain, my anger. He sees it all in technicolour.

Micheal takes my face between to soft palms, “breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says very slowly, “I need you to breathe with me.”

I can’t even talk. I try to reply, but I physically can’t.

“Don’t try to talk,” he tells me gently, “it’s not going to help you. I need you to try and breathe with me.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart raging through my ears yet manage to shake my head vigorously. I need to explain to him that it won’t work, that it never works.

“Try,” he murmurs, understanding, “with me. In… and out…”

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Nothing overtly complicated. Yet it feels like the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“In…” he guides me, steadily, “…and out.”

One. I do it once.

My breathing is still rapid, I am panting like a dog but I did it. Once. He sits down beside me, interlocking his hand into mine. A constant, a rock, he’s telling me he isn’t leaving. His back is up against the cool tiled wall. Gently he puts his hands on my hips. I don’t shy away from his touch, I don’t flinch, I don’t slap him away. I want his hands on me. I want him to distract me.

He pulls me between his legs. I lean on him pressing my back up against his firm chest. I need to feel something, someone, anyone. I need to know that I’m not alone. I want his lips to transport me somewhere else, I want his hands to make me forget everything. I tilt my head so ours eyes meet. I plead silently. I know he can read what I want, what I need. I know he can see it all displayed on my face.

“You have to get your heart rate and breathing back to normal,” he says, “a distraction won’t help that.”

“Need,” I choke, through loud gulps of air.

He presses a kiss to my temple, “breathe, my love, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

I see my mum’s face. I roughly grab onto his legs, clawing at the material of his trousers, digging my fingernails in, like some sort of scared animal. I feel his hands on my waist as my chest heaves up and down, still uncontrollable. The untameable beast in my brain still a torrent of darkness.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he repeats, his voice so smooth, so soothing. I want to believe him, “focus on me…”

I do. I’m focusing on his breath I can feel tickling the back of my neck and his outstretched legs I can see in front of me. I’m focussing on the shade of blue the sweatshirt is and how he smells of that fancy cologne he insists on buying. I’m focussing on the tingling sensation his lips let behind on my temple and the warmth of his body against mine.

“My voice…”

It’s low and even. Steady and constant. The words he says are sweet and soothing and kind. He wants to help me. He cares enough. They’re said softly, gently, tenderly, calmly. He wants me to know I’m safe. He wants to fight the man in my head as much as I do.

“My touch…”

His fingers are delicately wrapped around my waist, but one hand is drawing slow, light circles on my stomach. I feel the shape spiralling in and then back out again. The muscles in his upper arms are against the muscles of my upper arms, they brush together. His heart is beating a little faster than usual against my back.

I think about Micheal. I focus on what he tells me to. Each time I take in oxygen it gets the slightest bit easier. I inhale and I exhale. He waits and he listens and he draws circles on my belly. Sometimes he talks and sometimes he stays silent. But we stay like this until my breathing is only a little worse than normal. The breaths are still short and jagged but they’re less of a gasp, less of a prayer for air.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m here.”

I twist my neck to meet his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain. I never meant to cause him pain.

“I’ve got you. Can you feel me?” he whispers, “I’ve got you in my arms. That means you’re safe.”

Safe. Would I ever really be safe when my biggest enemy lived in my own mind?

“I… need… touch…” I tell him, through little breaths.

I haven’t heard the man in my head since Micheal got here. I know this will help. I know I need it. He can make things go away, he can help me, he can keep me safe. He’s got me in his arms. That means I’m safe.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His hand slowly moves from the tight grip on my waist to the bottom of my shirt. It slips under the material, slowly trailing up the bare skin of my stomach. His fingertips skim over my bra and find their way to just below my collarbone on the left side on my chest. He flattens his hand against my heart, pressing down firmly. It’s warm in contrast to the coolness of my skin.

“Breathe again love,” Micheal says in my ear, his voice in the back of his throat, “breathe for me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. It’s getting easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. It’s getting easier. It’s getting easier.

I can feel him, only him. Micheal Alexander Thomas Townsend. My heart thumps against his palm. I close my eyes and rest my head back onto him. I feel it, as he presses the lightest of kisses onto my face, first my forehead, my nose, then my lips. Him, it’s all him. He can take this away, this darkness, this sickness, this disease in my mind. He can make it leave.

After what feels like a while, I’m somewhat what I was before. I can’t say things are back to normal because I am not normal. But I can breathe again, my chest doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t the only thing I can hear and the man in my head has left. For now.

I realise for the first time how Micheal has seen me. This isn’t the me he’s used to. I take his hand from my shirt and move away from his touch. I stand up shakily and he’s quick to follow, ready to catch me should I fall. I lean against the sink, breathing deeply in and out. I can’t rely on him,I can’t afford to. The last person I relied on was my mother and look where that got me.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” I say, my back still towards him. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, not even for a second.

“It’s not a crime to panic,” he tells me slowly, there’s something tentative in his tone.

I turn around to face him, “yes. It is.”

I’m no emotion reader but something in his face looks scared. I had been taught long ago that I had to stay in control. That if anyone saw me out of control, unnatural, disobedient to the requirements set, that I would be less of a person. A nothing in this world. I’m not going to let this make me nothing. Not after I’d been something for so long.

Something to my mother. Something at school. Something to Briggs and his colleagues. Something to the Naturals program. Something to the friends I’d made here. Something… something to Micheal.

“I’m strong Micheal,” I say trying to steady my shaky voice, “I’m strong, I don’t break,” I falter as tears fill my eyes, I haven’t cried in so long, “I’m not like this, it’s not me.”

I meet his eyes again. He can see all of it, the emotions I show him and even the ones I’m holding back. I’m like a naked body in a room full of mirrors.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to take me in his arms once more.

And as much as I want to, crave to, yearn to, I don’t. I jerk away from his quickly, hitting my hip on the corner of the sink. The porcelain sends a sharp jolt of pain through my body. There will be a bruise tomorrow. He immediately backs away, a concern I’m not used to seeing rippling through his features. He could hide it if he wanted but he’s choosing to show me. He’s showing me he cares.

“Don’t pity me Micheal,” I try to snap but instead my voice strains and instead sounds like I’m in pain, “please.”

‘I’m not pitying you’ the unspoken words hang in the air but never reach his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, fumbling over my words, “I don’t know.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms again. This time not reaching out for me, this time letting me choose to come towards him.

And I do.

I fall into his arms and melt into his touch. When I feel him around me, everything falls silent, the noise, the stress, the expectation. It’s only him and me. Him and me.

“You are still strong, even after breaking,” he says into my ear, such power in his words but gentleness in his voice, “because you haven’t broken completely, you’re still here,” he murmurs, “and that’s the strongest thing someone can ever do.”

There isn’t any words to reply and he knows that. I let him hold me for a long while before finally, finally I let myself cry.

ahhhh this is my first naturals fic so I’m lowkey nervous… i try and avoid y/n at all costs but I felt like it was sort of needed here. anyways i hoped you liked it and let me know if you want to be on the taglist :))

the natural’s masterlist

[ladyfocalors]

To Drown or to Breathe

(Inspired by The Little Mermaid and this prompt)

summary: You are a merperson who yearn for the human world and to trade your tail for legs, but you aren't a strong mage, so you seek the help of one of your acquaintance, Azul Ashengrotto. The octamer strikes a deal with you, but the price is steep: you have to lose your voice when you are a human, turn back to a merperson once the sun sets and to stay as a human forever you have to make a human fall in love with you in a month. While you are trying your best to woo a fisherman, you and Azul grow closer.

pairing: azul ashengrotto x gn! reader

warnings: not canon compliant, slightly detailed about body transformation, reader's mer counterpart is not mentioned except they have a tail.

word count: 4.7k

okayyy so this one is bit of a doozy imo. it could have been better, could've been worse. lot of angst opportunity that i gave up on, i am trying to embody the disney spirit of happy endings here. i want this out of my drafts so i am throwing this at you and running away.

The sea remembers everything. It tucks stories into the folds of its waves, hides secrets in the shadows of its reefs. It cradles forgotten wishes like pearls inside oysters, waiting for the right hands to pry them open.

You have always been a creature of longing. The tide carries your dreams like driftwood, washing them ashore where they do not belong. You press your hands against the rocks and watch the world above. You have a dream.

You want to trade the sea for the shore.

It is a foolish dream. A dangerous dream. A dream fit for a child spinning fantasies in the coral reefs, not a merperson who has outgrown such naive longing. But still, the desire festers like a wound that will not heal. You watch ships cut across the horizon and wonder what it would feel like to stand upon one, to feel the wooden planks beneath your feet instead of the gentle tug of the tide. To listen to sailors laughing on the docks and wonder what it would be like to speak their tongue, to laugh with them, to be one of them.

But wishes alone do not reshape flesh.

And you are not a strong mage. If you were, perhaps this would have been simpler. Your magic is weak, and you know you cannot do this alone.

And so, you seek him.

Azul Ashengrotto.

He isn't difficult to find. His parents own a restaurant, a fine establishment that draws in customers of every kind. The place is always bustling with merfolk seeking fine food and some finer deals. You are, of course, here for the latter.

Somewhere in the back, laughter erupts—loud, unrestrained, the kind that makes your fins bristle. You know who it is.

Floyd. And if Floyd is here, then Jade is likely nearby, and where Floyd and Jade is, Azul is likely to be nearby.

And you are correct.

When you arrive, Azul smiles at you. "Ah, what a rare guest. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You hesitate before you speak.

"I need a deal."

Jade tilts his head, curiosity gleaming in his mismatched eyes. "How intriguing," he muses. "You must want something terribly if you’re coming to us."

Floyd swims towards you, grin lazy and sharp. "Ooooh, what’s it gonna be? Love? A curse? Maybe you wanna get rid of someone?" He laughs, teeth flashing. "I hope it’s that one. Those are the most fun."

You shake your head. "I want legs. I want to be a human."

There is a beat of silence. Then, Azul chuckles. "Inspired by the Princess, aren't you?" He says. "But you should know that transformations are no simple matter. The body is stubborn. It does not like to change."

"I know," you say.

Azul exhales. "And what are you willing to offer in return?"

Floyd’s grin widens. "Ne, Azul, let’s make them do something fun."

Azul ignores him. He regards you carefully.

"My voice." you say.

His eyes gleam.

"How poetic, just like the Princess," he muses. "A merperson like you without their song. But I suppose that is fitting, isn't it? If you wish to walk among humans, you must learn to live without the things that make you what you are."

He moves back, contemplative. "There will be conditions, of course. You will shed your tail at sunrise, but when the sun sets, you will return to the sea. And if you want to remain human forever, well," His smile sharpens. "Love is a powerful kind of magic, don’t you think? Within a month, you must make a human fall in love with you. Only then will you be free."

The words settle into you, but you don't back away. The price is steep, but you expected no less from him. This was Azul, after all.

"And if I fail?" you ask.

"Then you return to the sea," he says simply. "As you are. As you were meant to be."

The words echo in your head. You think of the shore, of the laughter you have only ever heard from a distance, and the thought of steady land beneath your feet.

"I accept." you say.

The three merfolk grin at your words, and soon your name is on one of Azul's contracts.

Becoming human is not gentle. The transformation is agony.

It is drowning in reverse, a pressure that crushes and pulls, bones shifting, flesh reshaping. You fall, or maybe you rise; water and air blur together, indistinguishable in your pain. The sea roars in your ears, but it is not the familiar call of home; it is something distant now, something you cannot hold onto.

And then, you are gasping for air.

The first breath of air is like swallowing the sun. It burns. It sears down your throat, filling your lungs in a way the sea never did. It takes you a moment to adjust.

When you finally open your eyes, the first thing you see is the sky.

You are lying on the shore, the tide lapping at your ankles, and when you move, the weight of your body feels strange. Your legs tremble with each movement. It takes you longer than you’d like to stand.

You stumble when you take a step. And when you try to cry out, nothing escapes your lips.

But you do not have time to grieve what you have lost. You knew what you were doing when you signed the contract.

You take a step forward, hopefully towards your forever. You have one month to make it true.

You are not alone for long. A fisherman finds you on the beach.

His eyes are kind, he is gentle as he helps you stand. He has hands rough from years of working with nets, a voice like the low rumble of a tide, and eyes the colour of driftwood. He asks questions you cannot answer, speaks words you cannot repeat. You point to your throat, shaking your head, and he understands.

He assumes you are lost.

You cannot tell him the truth, so you let him believe what he wants—that you are a human from another place, shipwrecked and silent from the shock of it all.

He offers you a place to stay. He does not ask for anything in return.

He lives in a small house by the shore, a modest thing with salt-stained windows and nets hanging from the walls. The scent of fish and seaweed clings to the wooden planks. He gives you blankets, food, a warm place to rest. He does not pry.

You try to smile in gratitude, but it feels strange on your lips. You are used to baring your teeth in the water, not softening your expression on land.

Still, he smiles back.

At dusk, he yawns and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck. "Long day," he murmurs. "I should rest. You should too."

Then he retreats to his room, leaving you alone in the dim candlelight.

You wait.

You wait for the sun to slip beneath the horizon. And when the last light dies, you go back to the shore.

It is just as painful the second time.

Bones crunch, reshape; your legs collapse beneath you as the transformation takes hold. Your skin shimmers, scales blooming like stars across your flesh. The moment your tail fully forms, you drag yourself into the sea, where the water welcomes you like a mother greeting a long-lost child. The pain lingers, but the relief of the familiar dulls it.

You do not linger. You do not weep into the waves for the loss of voice. The first night, you are determined.

For the first seven days, you spend your seven nights alone.

You swim through the reefs, tracing old paths, but the world slowly seems different. The tides do not carry the same comfort. The water talks to you, but you do not respond back.

It is on the eighth night that you seek Azul out.

You hesitate at the entrance, but only for a moment. Then, you push forward.

Jade sees you first. His gaze flickers towards you with sharp, knowing amusement.

"My, my," he muses. "How unexpected."

Floyd is lounging at a table nearby, upside down in his seat, one arm dangling lazily in the water. At the sound of his brother’s voice, he twists his head toward you, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"Ne, did you mess up already? Need another deal?"

You shake your head.

The truth is, you don’t know why you’re here. Or maybe you do. Maybe the loneliness is getting to you. Maybe you are tired of waiting for something to bloom between you and the fisherman while knowing you cannot even ask his name.

Maybe you are here because you miss your own kind.

Azul emerges from a side room, flipping through pages of a ledger. "What is all this noise about–?" His sentence cuts short when he sees you.

There is a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, perhaps, or curiosity. Then it smooths into his usual smile.

"Well," he says, snapping his book shut. "I did not expect to see you again so soon."

You lift your hands, trying to explain. You gesture to the sea, to the shore, to yourself.

Jade hums. "Ah. You’re lonely."

Floyd laughs. "That’s kinda sad! You gave up everything to be a human, and now you wanna hang out with us instead?"

Azul tsks. "Don’t tease," he chides, though his own amusement is evident. He studies you, tapping his fingers against his arm. "I had a feeling you would come back. What brings you here? Surely not second thoughts?"

You shake your head. You are not here to break your deal. Absolutely not.

Jade studies you for a moment, and then with polite curiosity, asks, "And how is your fisherman?"

You blink at him, startled.

The twins laugh at your reaction, Floyd’s voice bright and unrestrained, Jade’s more measured but no less amused. Azul only sighs.

"Really now, did you think we wouldn’t check in on you?" Azul says, a smile on his face. "I am a businessman. I like to ensure my clients are following through with their agreements."

You frown, crossing your arms. But your shoulders relax, though your lips press into a thin line. Of course, they know. Azul never makes deals without keeping an eye on his clients.

Floyd swims closer, and grins at you. "Sooo? Is he in love with you yet?"

You glare at him.

Azul, sighs and comes closer to you. "It has been a week, hasn’t it? Progress takes time, of course, but I do hope you haven’t wasted too much of it."

You glance away. Seven days, and the fisherman has been nothing but nice to you. But it is not love. You do not know how to bridge that distance.

You shake your head.

Azul exhales. "Then I suppose you have your work cut out for you."

You nod, but you do not leave.

And perhaps Azul notices, because after a moment, he gestures toward an empty seat. "Stay, then," he says, like an afterthought. "If you wish."

You take his words, and you are back again the very next night. The Leech twins aren't around when you arrive.

"You look troubled," Azul points out.

You sigh, tipping your head back. How could you explain that this was harder than you expected? That love was not something you could pluck from the air like a starfish from the reef? That you, who had traded your voice for the chance to belong, felt more out of place than ever?

Azul, sharp as ever, seems to understand your expression. "Making a human fall in love with you is not as simple as fluttering your lashes and looking forlorn, you know." He says. "Especially when you cannot speak to them."

You shoot him a glare. Does he take you for a little child who doesn't even know that?

He ignores your offended look. "Well," he says, thoughtful. "If nothing else, I suppose I can offer some… assistance."

You blink at him, tilting your head.

Azul exhales, as if exasperated with himself. "I merely mean that if you’re struggling, it may be wise to refine your approach. You cannot speak, true, but communication is more than words." He taps his fingers against the table. "There is body language, expression, action. All of these can be just as effective, if not more so."

You sigh. This is silly, you think.

You are a merperson trying to woo a fisherman, a man whose hands are calloused from pulling creatures like you from the water. You are breaking yourself to fit into his world, folding the edges of your existence just to slip into the spaces where he might notice you.

And here you are near Azul, seeking comfort from him of all people.

A breath of laughter escapes you in form of bubbles which is enough for Azul to look up. His brow furrows slightly. "What?"

You shake your head, pressing your lips together.

You can not tell him. You only gesture that you don't require his assistance. Besides, who knows what sort of debts you will be in if you agree to take the help of the octamer that is responsible for putting you in your current predicament.

When the sun rises, it paints everything in soft gold, filtering through the open window. You try your best to sneak back in to your bed to not raise any suspicion.

You lay under the blankets until you hear a kettle whistling over the fire, the scent of steeped herbs curling through the air. The fisherman's voice is gentle when he speaks.

"Sleep well?" He asks. You nod, and he doesn’t press for more when he notices your damp hair.

Breakfast is quiet. He hums as he eats, an old tune that fills in the silence. You listen, hands curled around a clay cup of warm broth, the heat seeping into your fingers. He slides a spare coat over your shoulders when the wind picks up and points out toward the docks.

"Thought you might like to see the sea from above."

You follow, the rough wooden planks of the pier sturdy beneath your feet, the water below impossibly blue and glistening. Everything looks beautiful. You only hope that you can succeed to remain as a human at that moment.

At night, Azul hands you a notebook.

You blink at him. He sighs. "You cannot speak," he says, as if this is news to either of you. "But you can write."

You glance down at the book. Back at him and then at the twins.

He lifts a brow. "You can write, can’t you?"

You exhale sharply, bubbles rising in the water. You throw him the most offended look ever.

Azul huffs, unimpressed. "I’ll take that as a yes."

You scrawl out large words across the page while looms over your shoulder.

I am not an idiot!

Azul smiles in amusement. "I never said you were."

You narrow your eyes. Then, slowly, you flip the page and write, What else can you offer me?

Floyd grins, and without missing a beat, he says, "A kiss, probably."

Azul nearly chokes on his own breath. "Absolutely not!"

Your face warms as Floyd snickers, the water around him rippling with his amusement. Jade decides that he too will loom over your shoulder like his brother.

You tap your fingers against the page, pretending to consider it. Then, carefully you write, A kiss would be easier.

Azul looks bewildered. "Why do I even bother with you?"

You only grin, feeling proud of yourself for making him flustered.

The fisherman does not ask where you go at night.

He is not unobservant—you have seen the way his eyes flicker toward the door when he notices damp footprints on the wooden floorboards in the morning, the way his brow furrows when your hair still smells faintly of salt despite the dryness of the air. But he says nothing, only placing a towel nearby with quiet understanding.

When you hear the man talking to himself, you decide you will communicate, so you reach for a pen and page. The fisherman eyes you curiously when you write, Do you always speak this much?

The fisherman raises an eyebrow, reading over your shoulder. Then he grins. "Someone’s feeling bold today."

You tap the page expectantly.

He hums, sitting back on his heels. "Maybe I do," he admits. "You’re so quiet, I feel like I have to fill the space."

You pause, fingers hovering over the page.

He chuckles. "I don’t mind, though. Sometimes, it’s nice to just have someone around."

You give a pleased look at his words, then you write, What do you do when you aren’t fishing?

The fisherman blinks, then grins, clearly pleased. "Finally curious about me, huh?" He wipes his hands on his shirt, thinking. "Well, when I’m not fishing, I mend nets, fix boats, cook. Sometimes I go into town, sell what I’ve caught." He tilts his head. "Why? You interested in fishing?"

You wrinkle your nose.

He laughs. "Yeah, figured."

But you are interested, just not in the fish. You are interested in what other human activities he does.

To satiate your curiosity, he teaches you how to mend a net later in the day. The fibres are rough beneath your fingertips, the pattern feels intricate but methodical. He works beside you, hands moving with the kind of practiced ease that only comes with time.

"There’s a rhythm to it," he says. "Once you get used to it, it’s like breathing."

You listen, your hands move carefully, mimicking his motions. You think he is proud when you finally get it right.

You were excited to share about your new experience with Azul.

You did not notice that things have changed between you and Azul.

You lingered longer than necessary, looming over his shoulder to look at his work or mindlessly float around his space and brushing your tail against him to enjoy the look of irritation on him while he worked.

You hardly noticed that you naturally moved closer to him. But the twins did.

"How cute," Jade muttered, watching you. "Like a little fish who have found a reef to settle in."

The teasing started when the twins found you, more than once, dozing near Azul’s side.

The first time, you had curled up in a corner, exhaustion dragging you under. When you woke, Azul was a short distance away, busy pretending not to notice the way you stretched languidly.

The second time, you had drifted too close, your head nearly resting against his body. You were half-asleep when you heard Floyd’s delighted cackle.

"Aww, look at this! They really trust you, Azul!"

You startled awake, eyes blinking blearily at Azul’s flustered expression. His tentacles dragged his body away from you.

Azul shot a withering glare. "Don’t be ridiculous," he snapped, his voice sharp but lacking true bite. "They’re just tired. It’s hardly noteworthy."

"Maybe they’re looking to court ya, Azul~" Floyd singsonged, spinning lazily through the water before stopping right in front of you. "Hey, you wanna be our boss’s little guppy? He’s all soft on ya already!"

You ignored everything else and decided you will focus on the fact that he ruined your nap time. You huffed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes while Azul turned a different shade, his tentacles coiling as if physically repelling the thought.

"Don’t say such absurd things," he snapped, but his voice held no weight. The twins, of course, latched onto his reaction immediately.

But before anyone could say more, you flicked your tail to send a ripple of water towards Floyd. Then, Floyd decided to tackle you, and that's where the topic ended.

The days slip by.

The fisherman sometimes leaves before dawn, returns after sunset. You wave at him from the dock, watch as he vanishes into the more dense human population.

Soon you find yourself at the docks, gazing out into the distance as you contemplate why you aren't satisfied. Are you an ungrateful merperson?

You sit in your human form, dreaming of your life back under the sea, thinking of what the octamer must be doing now. You did not think human life would be so dull. You no longer know what the Princess saw in trading her tail for legs back in the day.

Now, you really feel like an ungrateful merperson.

On the twenty-ninth night, you do not seek Azul.

You sit alone by the rockier shore instead, watching the moonlight high over the sky. The waves sigh against the rocks, rhythmic and ceaseless, yet your thoughts crash far more violently.

You should be with the fisherman—he is kind, steady, human. He is the future you wanted. But your heart is fickle and uncooperative, betrays you. A glance held too long, a touch you wished had lingered. The warmth of Azul’s voice, the way you wish he only kept looking at you.

You feel foolish. Azul is cunning, he stole your voice. Yet, when you think of him, you think of comfort.

You like Azul. And you do not know what to do.

You do not want to be a human, either.

"You look miserable." A familiar voice cuts through the silence.

Jade perches on one of the rocks, his smile all sharp edges and quiet amusement. Floyd, circles around, bored.

"You should’ve let me teach you how to woo someone," Floyd drawls. "This fisherman of yours sounds boring."

You glare at them both.

Floyd pouts. "Aw, don’t be like that~" He leans in, swimming closer to you. "You know, you could always ask us for help. I bet we could be real useful."

You now glare into the distance, arms wrapped around yourself as the twins circle around the rock you're on like predators circling their prey.

Jade hums, propping his chin against his palm. "Or perhaps," he says, "you already know what you want, and that is why you look so distraught."

You stiffen.

Floyd's grin widens, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. "Ohh, is that it?" He asks. "Then why don’tcha just take it?"

You bite the side of your cheek and say nothing. You will do nothing for now and just think.

You have one day left. Tonight you will just think of what to do.

The sun is golden and warm. The fisherman is outside while you sit on the floor and write down everything you think is necessary onto a piece of paper.

He has been good to you. Gentle and patient. You owe him this much.

You write the truth. That you are not what he thought you were—not a lost soul, not a shipwrecked wanderer, not someone meant to stay. That you are something else entirely. That when night falls, you will return to the sea, as you always have.

"I was simply curious," you explain in careful script. "I wanted to know what it was like, to be human. And you showed me kindness when I had no voice to ask for it. Thank you."

You hesitate to add the last part, but you still write it. You speak of an offering of sorts—an hour after sunset, if he wishes, you will return once more. You will bring him something from the sea, a token of gratitude.

A shadow moves near the doorway. You snap the parchment close, pressing it to your chest as the fisherman steps forward. His eyes glance toward the letter.

He doesn’t ask. But the curiosity is there. You offer him a wavering smile and shake your head. Not yet.

He exhales softly, ruffling your hair like one might a younger sibling. "Alright, alright," he murmurs, letting it go, though his eyes linger a little longer than usual.

That night, after he has retired, you slip the letter near his hands and leave without looking back.

The waves then welcome you with open arms. The water rushes up to greet you, swirling around your tail as the last remnants of human skin fade into scales. The spell is broken.

"Hello?" you test out your voice, to check if what you had lost have returned. But you don't celebrate just yet, you have something else to do.

Azul.

It took you thirty days to learn that you cannot force someone to fall in love with you, nor can you force yourself to love them. But, now, you do love someone, and you won't let this slip past you.

You drift deeper, thoughts spinning. You could find him and say it outright, but it won't feel right. So you will give him an offer, not unlike the one he gave you.

The thought of it sends a thrill through your veins, a boldness that you did not have when you first signed your contract. You are quick to go home.

Throughout the years you have collected many things that caught your eye—pearls, shells, sea glass and shiny objects from shipwrecks. Last night was spent rummaging through your treasures and finding what was best.

All these were objects provided by the sea. The last was a parchment with something only you could offer.

A proposition.

It reads:

Azul,

You are a businessman, are you not? Then allow me to propose a deal.

If you wish to see me, meet me at the shipwreck near your parent's restaurant. If you do not, then leave my gifts where they lie, and I will not trouble you again.

But should you come, then perhaps we can discuss something important.

You do not sign your name. If he does not know who it is by now, then he does not deserve the answer.

You have Azul's routine memorised, so it's easy for you to sneak in and arrange your treasures carefully when he is away.

You then retreat and go to the shipwreck to wait.

And you wait. The minutes stretch, water shifting in quiet currents. You don't know how long you wait before you feel a movement. You immediately move and see Azul with your proposition in his hands.

"An intriguing proposition," he says, a smile on his face. "And what, pray tell, do you intend to offer me?"

You smile. The first time you had come to him, you had given up your voice. This time, you offer something else entirely.

Your honesty.

"I love you."

The words are free, without any hesitation. No conditions. No negotiations.

You take delight in the way he becomes flustered by your words. His mouth opens, then closes, as if his usual silver tongue has failed him. He looks a shade darker.

"That is quite the bold declaration. Rather unlike you, I must say." he says after a long moment of silence.

"You barely hear me talk. But, do you disapprove?"

Azul huffs, attempting to regain his composure. "I never said that. But, what do you expect in return?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. There is no price. Just a choice."

Love is not a transaction. Love is the fisherman’s quiet patience for his craft, the Leech twins’ unruly devotion, the way the sea cradles you even after you left it behind.

And love, you realize, is also this: waiting in the dim glow of a shipwreck while Azul processes the words you have laid bare before him.

"You have made quite the gamble," he murmurs.

You tilt your head. "And?"

"You’re a fool," he tells you, his voice fond.

But before you can respond, he closes the space between you. His hand, careful and slow, takes yours.

"You’ve made your offer," he says. "Allow me to make mine."

Your pulse stirs and your heart beats louder. "And what might that be?"

"Well," he echoes, with a fond smile on his face, "if you are offering your honesty, I suppose it is only fair that I offer you my devotion."

Your breath catches and Azul leans forward, leaving just enough space for you to close the distance if you so choose.

You do.

The ocean hums around you as your lips meet his. The shipwreck, the sea, the night itself fade into the background, leaving only the coolness of his touch, the curl of his fingers against your jaw, the soft exhale of breath between you.

And when you separate, you know you are content.

© ladyfocalors

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

August draws you onto the dance floor. He tugs your arm so you swing into him, hitting his chest with an oomph as the first song begins. Your first song. Every girl dreams of this, don’t they? Their wedding day. Their first dance. But what about the father-daughter dance? 

You try not to think of anything but that moment. Not that bloody night, not the vows strangled from your throat, or the incessant pulsing of your heart. Just move your feet, sway, let the melody wrap you up and hold you close. 

Your husband has one hand on your lower back, his other cradles your gloves fingers and guides them onto his shoulder. You tilt your head up to see him. The spark in his blue eyes dispels your breath like fog. 

His hand falls to your hip as he turns you with him, moving smoothly around the floor, before all those watching eyes. Beneath the music is a drawn hush. His audience, his people, watch their new king take his crown jewel. 

His hand slips down and brushes the curve of your ass. He pulls you flush to him and growls. You squeak in surprise. It is another show of his dominance. Another proclamation of his power. If your father was alive, he would have his hands cut off but your father is dead and his hand remains as it is. 

“You are not his daughter anymore, you are my wife,” August intones under his breath. 

“Yes,” agree in a hollow gulp. 

“So smile,” he taunts. “Aren’t you happy to have a husband?” 

“Yes,” you repeat again. 

“You don’t seem it,” he challenges. 

You twitch. You make yourself lean into him. You drag one hand from his shoulder and to his chest. You feel the muscle beneath and your chest thrums. You feel his power nested beneath his suit. His cheek dimples, he’s pleased at the play of fear on your face. 

You make yourself smile and run your hand up to his collar and tickle along his neck. His throat bobs and you flutter over the short stubble already poking through his skin. He leans his head down and you nearly trip over yourself as you strain to kiss him. 

He hums, still moving you in his thrall, and his tongue flits over your lip. You let him in. He twirls you and bends you backward as he stills your feet. He deepens the kiss as he keeps you off kilter. The crowd jeers and eggs him on, shattering the brittle tension. 

He parts and puts you back on your feet. He spins you away and pulls you back in. You are weak to his whim. You are his wife, his possession.  

As he turns you, you see your mother. She watches in sombre stillness. She sits as others stands to watch, others joining the fun with their partners. 

Your hand drifts down and you keep it high on August’s shoulder as your other nestles into his side beneath his jacket. He purrs, content at your submission. He kneads your ass and breathes over your hair and veil. He toys with it as it brushes his knuckles. 

“Keep this on tonight,” he growls. 

Tonight. 

You quiver at the thought. This is only the beginning. That small hole in the back of your mind splits into a gaping tear and your fear floods in. 

“Your father always was greedy but I daresay his worst offense was keeping you locked up,” he snarls and kisses your forehead, the trim of his mustache bristling along your hairline. 

You shiver and curl your fingers against him. You cling to him as your legs threaten to give out. Your family mantle is suddenly a chain around your neck. The iron ball at the end will only drag you down. 

He nuzzles your hair, “will you shake when I have you under me?” 

You whimper, “please.” 

“Denial cannot protect you. It didn’t protect him,” he growls. “I could drag you out right now and fuck you over a toilet. Hell, I could throw you down on this floor and throw your skirts up and they would cheer me on. Every last one of them.” 

Terror surges through you and you pull back to look him in the face. To this point, he’s been patient. Stony and strict but not unkind. You can see clearly then what makes him so dangerous. His boldness. His shamelessness. His iron determination. 

“Yes, I know. I know you could. You can,” you eke out. “But I am being good. Sir, August, why would you be cruel?” 

He smirks, “I’m not, am I? I’m reminding you that I can, if you choose to stoke it.” 

“I understand,” you quaver and rub his chest appeasingly. Instinctively as you try to calm this sudden rise in him. “I can be good.” 

“For me or to me?” He wonders. 

“For-- to—Both. Whatever you will have of me,” you plead as you rub beneath his jacket. “Tell me what you want?” 

He stares down at you. His eyes sparkle and the corners of his lips tweak. He brings his knuckles up to pet your cheek. He considers you then stops, his hand on your hip. 

“It is time,” he booms out and signals to someone unseen. 

You turn to search for whoever it is. From your other side, a man approaches with a chair. You spin back and your mother stands. Her hands are fists. Her face is steel. She watches as her shame threatens to boil over. 

August puts you in the chair by your shoulders. You look around as the dancers still and circle around. Those still at their table angle around to see.  

You squirm as your husband gets to his knees. He puts his hands behind his back as Margot comes forward to lift your skirts. You stifle a yelp as she throws them over his head and he bows to drag his lips along your ankle. 

You twitch as he creeps up your stocking. You know what this is. You’ve been to many weddings. You always found the display terribly humiliating.  

His breath plumes over your leg as he reaches your thigh and he pinches you with his teeth. You cry out and your hands are grabbed before you can swat at your dress. Theo pulls your wrists behind you and you writhe as August continues his mission beneath the layers of tulle. 

His nose brushes along your leg and he kisses the tender flesh as you quiver. He nips and licks in a faux search for your garter, only biting down on it as you whine in discomfort. He tugs it down slowly as his growl rumbles against you. 

He brings it down the length of your leg and the skirts fall away from his head as he sits back on his heels. He has the lace in his teeth as his hair is askew from his plunge beneath the fabric. He grabs the garter and waves it at the ground as he stands and chortles in victory. You’re released and fix your skirts frantically. 

“Ahhh,” he scrunches it to his nose and inhales, “I can smell it. My wife is ready.” He shakes the garter in his fist and the crowd laughs, “aren’t you?” 

He turns to you and scoops you up. You cry out as he brings you against his chest. He sighs and looks around at the crowd; at his empire. 

“To the boss!” Theo calls out as he raises a glass and the entire room mirrors him in anointing their new king.