#one time i had a request to draw a male character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 1 year ago

Note

You asked for Spencer Reid and Reader requests, particularly plus size, and I am so down bad for that man! Especially later seasons him.

Could I have one where he and the reader are intellectual peers but also enemies? Like she's on the team and just as wicked smart as him and into old literature and languages but they constantly butt heads? And the team knows they really just have feelings for each other, but they'll never admit it. Maybe the reader admits it to Penelope or someone one night drinking that he's hot but she never thought he'd actually sleep with her bc she's fat, but she'll take his attention any way she can get it. Maybe Spencer overhears and proceeds to show her just how hot he finds her arguing with him? 👀 Thank you in advance, girlie!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 || 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

— pairing: spencer reid x plus size!reader

— summary: you and spencer hate each other, that much is obvious... right?

— warnings: very surprisingly crude language in this, self-doubt, implied insecurities, misunderstandings, e2l, they're in love and everyone else knows besides them, i made them dorks i don't apologize, mentions of wet dreams, mentions of male masturbation, dirty thoughts, kissing, stripping, vaginal fingering, spencer's dirty mouth, lots of reassurance 'cause i'm a sap, spencer reid #1 consent king, missionary, unprotected sex, sex god spencer?!?! (he does his research), pleasure dom!spencer, switch r & spencer, heavy praise, and a fluffy ending to tie this all up in a nice little bow!

— wc: 3136

⋆ a/n: okay i do admit that this is RIDICULOUSLY long, but i knew exactly what i was getting into writing this and honestly i had so much fun! i don't think i've ever created such characters that have so much chemistry with each other, so cheers to that! (unedited unfortunately :[)

masterlist | AO3

As soon as you hear Spencer’s voice, you make a point to groan obnoxiously loud.

“And just to think I would be able to go home without a headache today.”

You could feel the glare from said man burning a hole in the back of your head, so you swivel your chair around in order to face the music – in a pleasurable masochist kind of way. His annoyingly handsome face was twisted up in irritation – much to your glee – his eyebrows turned down, and his perfect, plush lips pulled into a deep frown.

You could tell you had interrupted him saying something that he deemed important, most likely a fact that you and him would go back and forth on, and you couldn’t be more pleased with yourself.

“Funny you mention that seeing as though your voice is the cause of mine.” He bit back, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Aw, you think of my voice?” You tease. “Only in my nightmares.” You wink at him. “You still think about me.”.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Luke piped up from his own desk, drawing the attention from your other intrigued co-workers in the bullpen. “Oh here we go.” Tara said in amusement at Luke’s rambling.

“Back when I was a kid there was this girl that I went to school with, and I would always tug on her hair or try to trip her,” His voice was almost reminiscent. “Everyone thought I hated her, when in reality I was just trying to get her attention.”

“Ah,” Matt said with a smile, “The classic ‘boy bullying the girl he likes,’ or in this case, it’s the girl this time.” Your cheeks began to heat and your eyes went wide, Spencer’s own face and the tips of his ears turning an admirable pink hue.

“Absolutely not -”

“What? No -”

Both Spencer and you stumbled over each other to try and defend yourself, but you didn’t have a chance because Emily’s voice cut through whatever was about to be said next, the woman making haste from her office and into the room with the round table.

“Alright you guys, enough. We’ve got a case.”

“To a job well done!” Penelope cheered as she held up her citrusy alcoholic beverage in the air, signaling she wanted to toast.

You smiled indulgently at the woman sitting next to you, clinking your glass with hers noisily and flickering your eyes over to where a disheveled Spencer Reid sat. You didn’t say anything to him though, because you’re a big ol’ softie and like to let the boy wonder rest before you have him back on his toes.

His eyes met yours the same time your glasses collided. You wish you could say that the vibrations from the clinking was the cause of the shiver that forced its way down your spine, but you knew better.

It was like the rest of the bar disappeared, the sound of the others joining in on your rejoicing fell on deaf ears. You could have sworn his dark brown puppy-dog eyes drank you in before he looked away and cleared his throat, taking a rather comically large gulp of his water.

Your eyelashes fluttered like a thousand butterflies wings as you rushed to drink your own beverage.

“Okay, what was that!?” You felt Penelope’s finger poke at your ribs before you actually heard her.

“Ow - fuck! What was what?” You yelped quietly, your hand reaching down to bat away her stabbing digits. “The - the -” She fought to portray her words before her face lit up when she found the correct ones, “The eyefucking!”

Your stomach erupted in butterflies, “Eyefucking? What eyefucking?” You asked with a scoff, hiding your blush behind the rim of your mug.

“Oh, please, don’t give me that.” It was Penelope’s turn to scoff at you. “Everybody knows that you and Spencer like each other.” She said it almost like it was a fact, leaning forward to take a smug sip of her drink through the miniature black straw.

Spencer knew listening in on Penelope and your conversation was inappropriate; but in his defense, you guys weren’t really quiet about what you were talking about.

“I -” He heard you begin, “It’s one-sided.” Was all you said before draining your beer. “So you admit it!” Penelope exclaimed with a gasp.

Spencer felt his eyes go wide at her words, but there was this desperate feeling that spread throughout his body; one that caused his fingers to twitch and the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“When you put it like that it sounds childish!” You complained slightly, biting at the meat of your lip. “I… I’m just not his type you know? Like - you know better than anyone that guys don’t pay attention to girls like us, so you have to learn to improvise.” You were cringing at your own words, but the liquid in your cup was enough to loosen your tongue and lower your inhibitions.

“Was me choosing to constantly argue with him the smartest way to try and peak his interest? No, but I knew he liked a challenge and well… it definitely wasn’t the proudest conclusion I ever came to, but what was I supposed to do? It isn’t like Spencer would date me let alone actually want to sleep with me.”

Spencer wanted to argue with you about how wrong you were, to tell you about every thought he’d ever had about you.

He wanted to tell you about how much you frustrate him, how at first, he thought he hated you and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize he hated how badly he wanted you; hated how many dirty dreams he had included you and that plush body of yours. He’d wondered how soft you were, how you smelled and tasted.

Did your moans and whines sound as enchanting as your laugh? Did your eyes twinkle the same way when you were about to cum?

Those thoughts kept him up at night and his hands in his pants, stroking himself to his unlimited imagination all revolved around you. Those were the days that he was more prone to pick fights with you, mostly because he was embarrassed, ashamed, and quite frankly plain ol’ horny.

Spencer thought you were just so sexy, especially when he had managed to light that fire under your ass that really got you going. He wasn’t a sadist or a masochist by any means, but he loved when you yelled at him. So, for you to think so lowly of yourself it almost drove him mad because you didn’t know.

But you were going to.

You were going to kill whoever was bothering you on your day off.

The knocking was unexpected, but so was who was responsible for the noise.

“Spencer?” You asked in surprise.

Usually you were prepared for your exchanges with the man, but if your pajamas were anything to go by, you were anything but. Spencer felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your tits sitting braless in a thin undershirt, your soft tummy slightly straining against the cotton material and a pair of shorts that look like they were practically strangling your thighs.

The only thing he could really say was… “Do you know how infuriating you are?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest, and little did you know the action pressed the tops of your breasts over the hemline. “Excuse me?” You almost scoffed, “Please don’t tell me you came all the way here just to argue with me.”

“No I - fuck just let me finish.” This was not how he wanted this to go. You looked like you wanted to say something but your curiosity made you choose to stay silent.

“Do you know why you’re so infuriating?” He asked, taking a tentative but careful step towards you. “Because you haunt my every living thought. I see you when I’m awake, I see you when I’m asleep. I can’t… I can’t escape you! I can’t escape how I feel about you.”

Your eyes were wide and your brows were furrowed; it looked like you almost couldn’t breathe.

“But you want to know the worst part?” His hand lands on your cheek and his thumb gently caresses the skin there. “You have the audacity to think that I wouldn’t want you.”

“You want me?” You asked in disbelief. “But I… but I thought you hated me? I mean - I haven’t been all that nice to you.” You attempt to joke weakly, but your body is on fire; your stomach is tangled up in knots. You were trembling in excitement at his words but in disbelief too.

“Do you have any idea how much I love arguing with you?”

You laughed at his words, your lips slipping into a small smirk as you threw your arms around his neck in an act of boldness. “Oh yeah?” You hummed seductively. “You wanna show me how much?”

“Yeah,” He replied breathlessly. “I do.”

And just like that his mouth was on yours and a long leg shot out behind him to shut your front door. The slam made you yelp, but it quickly melted into a giggle against his lips when he reconnected them.

Spencer tugged you closer to him, and God the feeling of your body was so much better than anything his subconscious could have conjured up. You felt so soft and the front part of your torso pressed against his chest in a way that if he didn’t have you naked under him soon he was going to go crazy.

“Where’s your bedroom?” He didn’t want to pull away from you, but he wanted to do this right.

“I didn’t know you were a gentleman, Reid.” You teased with a dazed smile on your face. “There’s a lot of things that you don’t know about me.” You quirked a brow. “Oh really? How about you tell me?”

“Later,” He said with a lazy shake of his head, “Later.”

His hand reached down to cup your ass, your crotch rubbing on the large boner restrained by his pants. You moaned quietly at the feeling, and found yourself saying, “Down the hall and to the left.”

When you arrived, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; they grabbed at your back, ass, waist, hips. There was so much of you that he had no idea where to start. All he knew is that he wanted all of you right now.

“Can I take your shirt off, please?” His words almost came out as a whine and it welcomed a fresh wave of arousal in your panties. “Take off whatever you want, I’m yours.” A reassuring confession that Spencer had no idea he needed to hear.

His lithe, veiny hands tugged at your top first, dragging it over your head and throwing it somewhere random. Your pants and panties were next to go and you couldn’t help but shiver at Spencer's intense stare.

“I’m uh- feeling a little vulnerable here, could you lose a layer or two?”

The man blinked rapidly, his fingers shooting to undo the buttons on his cardigan. “Yes, yeah of course, sorry I -'' You grabbed the shaky digits. “Calm down, take it slow. I’m not going anywhere.” It was a light jab meant to ease his nerves. For a moment he looked unsure but you gave an encouraging smile.

After his clothes disappeared he held you by your waist, walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed. You quickly hurried to scale the mattress until your head hit the pillows.

“God,” Spencer gulped. “This is so much better than what I imagined.” You giggled slightly. “As much as I appreciate your flattery, I want you to fuck me. Now.” You said it with such simplicity that his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at your crudeness.

He swallowed his shock. “Whatever the lady wants.”

He hurried to crawl over your leaning body; you cup his cheek in an act of haste, dragging him down to lay on top of you. His own hands didn’t stop their determined trail, tracing the soft planes of your plush body until he reached your wet cunt.

You whine loudly at the feeling of Spencer’s fingers stroking your damp slit.

“So responsive.” He murmured with delighted smirk. You go to say something snarky but you’re quickly cut off when he begins to rub tight circles on your clit. “‘M sensitive.” You gasp against his lips, your back arching and pressing further into him.

His body falls to the side, laying next to your naked one with a cheek balanced on his fist. “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” Spencer whispers into your ear. His ring finger entered your warmth slowly and he felt himself choke on his words. You mewled, a hand shooting up to tangle in his long, curly hair, the other grabbed at his wrist.

“Then, I’m gonna make you cum on my cock.” After a few experimental twists of his wrist, his middle finger joins the first. Your breathing speeds up with every movement of his digits.

“Afterwards, ‘m gonna clean you up and take you out to eat.” Your brain could barely process what he was saying, but every word that left his mouth added to the swarming butterflies in your gut – which felt so juvenile seeing as though he was already knuckle deep inside you.

“And when we get home, I’m gonna eat this sweet pussy for dessert.”

Your eyelashes were fluttering rapidly, your hips moving frantically on his fingers in an attempt to try and get him deeper. Spencer must have sensed what you needed, because with a few firm swipes on your sensitive clit sent you spiraling over the edge.

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer… I - I -” Your gummy walls squeezed his digits, and the only thing keeping you grounded was the heat coming from his body.

“Wow.” You laughed breathlessly. “Wow indeed.” He mimics with the same amount of amusement.

“Are you okay to keep going?” He asks.

“Are you kidding?” The look on his face was almost laughable, and you gave his naked chest an encouraging pat. “Hell yeah I’m good, how about you?”

“If I told you I could cum just from watching you, would you believe me?” You roll your eyes and snort. “We’ll find out later, loverboy. Get up here.”

He scrambles to get on top of you, but then stops. “Wait, wait,” He reaches behind your head and grabs a pillow. “Lift your hips up for me.” Your eyes go wide, because who in the fuck taught him that? Though you move a bit slowly through your surprise, he manages to get the soft thing under you, your lower back now elevated.

But all excitement dies out when he realizes there might be no protection, he looks like he could almost cry.

“It’s cool, Spence. I’m on the pill and I… I haven’t had sex with anyone in an embarrassingly long time.” You admit shyly, your eyes casting to the side nervously. “I’m clean too. I don’t really remember the last time I’ve had sex either.”

You guys make eye contact and erupt into a fit of giggles, “To relearning the art of sexual intercourse then.” Spencer scrunches his nose up at your wording, but you don’t give him any time to retort because you’ve already placed two hands on his face, tugging his head down to kiss your smile-split lips.

He takes the time to kiss you for a moment before reaching down to line his dick up to your entrance. You both shiver at the sensation. You guys disconnect your lips to watch him enter you, your foreheads pressed together and breaths mingled in anticipation.

You moaned in unison when he slowly but surely seethed himself in you fully, and your body tensed at the long awaited intrusion. “Gimme a sec.” You gulped. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He panted.

You allowed yourself a moment to relax, brushing your fingers through his curls as a way to comfort Spencer as well. After taking a few more seconds to enjoy the raw, intimate moment between the two of you, you said, “Okay. Okay, I’m good.”

Spencer licked his lips and rolled his hips tentatively, and your breath hitched. A string of whimpers were soon to follow with every drag of his cock against your sensitive inner walls, the leftovers of your previous orgasm leaving your body feeling electric.

Your mouth drops open into an ‘o’ shape when his tip brushes your g-spot.

“Right - right there Spence…good boy - fuck - good fucking boy.”

The term of endearment was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it had frayed some nerve in his body, because the groan that left him was guttural and hungry.

“Say -” He huffs. “Say it again, please.” The pace of his thrusts speed up as he begs, and your nails drag down his back. “You’re my good boy, Spencie.” His eyes flutter shut at the praise and he doesn’t bother to be gentle anymore.

“Mphm! More - I need more.”

“Okay, okay.” He rushed to balance on his elbow so that his other arm could slip between the two of your bodies to rub at your clit. Your back arched, and Spencer all but throbbed inside of you, his balls tightening and threatening to cum right then and there; but ever the gentleman, he waited, his stomach sucked in tightly and his body jolting quivering.

“I - I’m gonna cum.”

It didn’t take much to pull you into a kiss. It was sloppy, and messy, and lewd and all of those other wonderful synonyms. Spit dribbled down your chins and with one last hard thrust that almost sent you up the bed, you gripped onto the older man for dear life.

Everything went white as you came; your hearing, your vision, every single cognitive thought you had pretty much flew out the window.

It was Spencer gently wiping the sweat off of your brow that brought you back down to reality, your lungs finally opening up and expanding for that much needed air.

“Hey,” He cooed. “There you are.”

“Hi,” You sighed with a ditzy smile on your face.

There was a moment of silence before you said, “How about we save the oral for breakfast?” Spencer laughed, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “That sounds perfect.”

“So, what’s for dessert then?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hm…” You pondered for a moment.

“How about ice cream?”

“I like ice cream.” But then he added, “But I like you more.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.” You groaned, covering your eyes, but your grin gave you away. “I like you too, I guess.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

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24hlevi · 5 months ago

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not sure which characters u write about for arcane!! but if you do male characters, could be anyone of your choice where they don’t get the hint you like them or want to take their relationship further (depends if u wanna do sfw or nsfw!!) :) tyyy!

for male characters i write for jayce, viktor, ekko, and silco! thank you for requesting 🫶

— TAKE A HINT

viktor (arcane) x gn!reader

warnings/tags: oblivious!viktor, confessions, fluff, sfw

you thought you were going mildly insane, having a crush on your friend as his second partner to jayce

to be fair, you kinda were, judging how no matter what you did in attempt to give hints just led nowhere

you tried talking to jayce on a few occasions, trying to get some advice on what to do, but he wasn't much help with relationship stuff as he claimed

you tried over and over again to get viktor to notice you more than just a friend, and every time, he couldn't tell

"hey," you say softly, slowly approaching viktor from behind with a hot cup of tea in your hands.

viktor turns his head as soon as he hears your voice draw him out of his work, and a small smile grows on his face. "good evening, yn," he replies.

"i brought you some tea," you set the cup down carefully next to his papers that were scattered along the table. "have you ate anything yet?"

"thank you," viktor responds, his eyes following your hand as you set the cup down. "i have not," he then shakes his head. "jayce tried asking earlier, but i wasn't quite hungry."

"would you like me to try and make you something?" you ask, looking down at him as you fiddle with your hands anxiously.

"mm," he hums, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "i would prefer your presence here with me. if you don't mind, that is."

"i don't mind," you shake your head, trying to fight the smile forming on your face. "just tell me what you'd like me to do."

"nothing," viktor answers, having you look at him with confusion. "you don't have to do anything, precisely. just your presence is enough."

"oh...okay,"

you still couldn't figure out how to get viktor to realize you had feelings for him, you couldn't believe how oblivious he was

after years of liking the male, he didn't ever seem to appear like he reciprocated those feelings, making you slowly give up as time went by

it wasn't until one early morning, that it all finally fell into place

viktor slowly made his way to the lab. it was early morning, the sun hardly peeking out from over the horizon as he hobbled through the hallway. this morning, he was already thrown a bit off his rocker. for he hadn't seen you yet since he woke up. normally, you would be awake and moving before him and jayce, so it was odd to not see you around as he walked down the hall.

entering the lab, viktor turns on the lights, and then stops in his spot. there you were. your body slouched against the table with papers messily filled with calculations that viktor was doing the day prior, seemingly asleep. slowly, he approaches you and stands behind you, silently looking at you. the sun is shining against your face, and viktor comes to the realization that he never paid attention to how much he liked looking at you. you looked so peaceful like this, and he felt an odd sensation in his chest as he peered down at you.

suddenly, you start stirring around, slowly opening your eyes to see viktor standing above you. "mm? viktor?" you groggily mumble.

seeing you wake up, viktor, as fast as he can, takes a few steps back, his face turning red at possibly being caught. "s-sorry," he stutters.

your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. did he just stutter? you rub your eyes with your hands before blinking a few times to look at him clearer. was he...staring at you while you were asleep? while this would be extremely creepy if it were anyone else, you couldn't help but feel somewhat flattered by his reaction. you take a look around and realize you're in the lab. "oh gosh, i can't believe i fell asleep in here," you drag your hands across your face. "i'm sorry, viktor. i was trying to finish what you were doing yesterday."

"it is alright," viktor says after taking a moment to calm his heartbeat from jumping out of his chest. he then realizes what you said, and his face contorts into confusion, looking at the papers on the table. "you didn't have to. i would have figured it out by this week i'm sure."

"i just wanted to help more," you admit with a short sigh. "ever since you and jayce started this new development for hextech...i feel like i've fallen behind." you look down at all the papers in front of you in shame that you still couldn't figure it out.

viktor's expression changes again, no longer confused but a soft look as he notices the tone in your voice change. you sound almost defeated, clearly upset about this. hesitantly, he places a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up at him. "it is okay, yn," he starts, his tone soft like his expression on his face. "you being here is enough for me. you do not need to prove yourself, for i already know how smart you are. do not worry of hextech if you fear you are falling behind. i appreciate your presence more than anything else."

looking up at him, you slowly nod your head and stand from your seat. you don't know what to say, but thankfully for you, viktor continues speaking.

"i have noticed some...changes in my thoughts recently," he says slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "while they are primarily filled with ideas of hextech and how we could evolve the future...they are also about you. i want to create something that will help our future, that will help your future. these past couple of weeks...i have thought of you more. i thought it was normal at first...but the more i thought about what i was thinking about i..came to a realization." he sees the way you look at him with subtle confusion on your face, and he hesitates before continuing. "i believe i may have some kind of feelings for you, yn."

your eyes widen in shock, looking at viktor as he explains his thoughts, and you're not sure what to do. "what?" you quietly let out.

"yes, it appears to be that way," viktor nods. "just now, i have confirmed it. i may not have noticed it fast enough, and i sincerely apologize if i am too late now, but i had to get this off my chest before it would ruin me."

"o-oh," you stutter, a fiery blush growing on your face. "you-you're not too late," you say finally. "i've uhm, had feelings for you for a while now," you admit.

hearing this, a smile makes its way onto viktor's face. "really?" he asks.

"yeah," you nod. "i thought you were never going to notice or were purposely ignoring my attempts."

"ah," he lets out. "i would never purposely ignore you, yn," he says, pushing some of your hair out of your face. "let's just say i am a bit slow when it comes to these things. i apologize if i ever gave you the wrong idea."

"it's okay," you reply.

"well then, shall we establish this whilst we finish these calculations?" he has a smile on his face as he speaks, dragging another chair to sit down beside you.

"yeah," you nod, smiling back at him.

"great."

#arcane x reader #arcane imagines #arcane scenarios #viktor x reader #viktor imagine #viktor scenarios #request

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valentine-cafe · 6 months ago

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I have a request for egg tarts jìngyí 1311! (Egg tarts💛)

He's intimidating and cold, so I can't help but imagine a male reader who crossdresses and likes to wear skirts, trying to give him hints or draw his eyes; sitting in a place within jingyí's field of vision as reader oh so casually lifts the side of his (already short) skirt a bit for him . . . . .... .

˖⁺. “ attention-whore ! ” :

﹙ top mechanic naga boyfriend x bttm male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 1311 jìngyí x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙ mechanist ˖ naga ˖ villain character ﹚

you keep trying to snatch the attention of a certain mechanist. while he's hard at work one day - you step into workshop with a short skirt and devious intentions. needless to say, he's tired of keepin his hands off of you

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ cross dressing reader ˖ fingering ˖ handjob | wc : 1.5k

﹙ receipts ﹚: finally some requests for jingyi 1311 thank you SO much for this and i hope that you enjoy it !

꒰ other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore ꒱

A grunt fills the workshop. Suddenly the cool counter that you are seated on pales in comparison to the pair of white eyes that find yours.

“欠扁.” ( infuriating )

Your brows perch. Head cocking to the side as a small, sweet smile slither to your lips. “Hmm? Everything ‘lright Jìngyí?” You lean your weight back onto your arms that support you from behind. Body cruxed in the perfect angle as your hand pretends as though it is merely fixing your short black skirt.

Tanned hands grip along the undercarriage of the vehicle he worked tirelessly on. The muscles on his arm flexing as he fully pushes himself from beneath the slew of mechanics he had tirelessly been picking apart at for the better part of an hour.

It is a job he could have finished in less. If it weren’t for your pretty self that trotted into the workshop. Batting your lashes at him and asking with that oh so sweet voice if you could - keep him some company since you are sooo bored.

Those white eyes pair with narrowed brows that carry a few drops of sweat. He swipes it off with the back of his knuckles after snatching his cloth and cleaning off his hands. A task he completes with some water once he pushes himself to his feet and rounds over to his sink.

“You are a fucking distraction.”

The mechanist appears before you in a matter of seconds. Those large hands that had worked skillfully with tools and gears now firmly planted on your thighs. His towering height making use of your leaning figure by dipping down to loom his shadow over you.

Reapers should be cold. A reaper snake hybrid should be frozen. And yet his hands are warm from work. Callous. As they slowly trail along the soft skin of your thighs. Slither under your skirt and graze his fingers along flesh that makes you gasp.

Your gaze finds his in haste. Startled by his immediate response and how good his rough palms feel under your skirt. “J-Jìngyí -”

“Hmm?”

Slitted pupils swarm your vision as his head swoops closer. His face with a thin sheen of sweat invading your personal space as he makes himself comfortable between your legs. A rough grip yanking your thighs to hook over his hips. Flush into his black overalls and bend you further. Hike your skirt up more.

What does it matter anyway? Didn’t you -

“Didn’t you want to show off?”

His pelvis weighs down onto yours. You take your teeth between your lips and suck in a breath. Of course this is the reaction you were looking for. It’s the one you’ve spun in you dreams time and time again. To be grabbed, manhandled - pushed and pulled as though you are a pesky invention unable to work well for him.

Cold lips ghost your ear. His large hands splay around your thighs and the curves of your hips. Squeezing. Groping. Feeling the skin that has been distracting him since you pranced on into his workshop and sat upon his countertop. Fucking distracting him from his work.

“Always showing me what is under this skirt. Always playing coy.” Pressure cups around your crotch. The heel of his palm grinds along the underside of your clothed dick and rips a gasp from your lungs. To think that such a cold, dry man could be so. . . forward. “Wanted my attention. Did you not?”

His sneer presses close to your face. Jaw tight. A practical hiss through fangs as his messy hair casts a shadow over his sharp gaze. One that makes your tummy twist. As though the feel of his hand roughly palming along your crotch is not enough.

“Well you got it now.”

A small, cold laugh leaves his lips. One of his hands bury into the back of your hair after promptly shoving you lower. So that the small of your back kisses the counter. So that his free hand shoves your underwear down to your knees - not before spanking the waistband on your thigh for good measure. All so that he can wrap his grip around your pulsing cock and jerk you off beneath that pretty skirt that you love so much.

All the while you are forced to look at him. Even when your eyes flutter. Your chest rises and falls with quickened breaths. Heat spreading over your face as your hips give small, needy bucks into his hand. The rough skin of his palm grazes just right over your sensitive flesh. To add onto the overwhelming feeling - his lips are on your neck in a matter of seconds. Flaring your insides despite the cold, open-mouthed touches.

“J-Jìng - hh. . . yí hah -”

Your whimper meets a rough tug your hair. He scoops your precum up with his thumb and swirls it around your tip. Slowly stroking and massaging along the slit before quickly, mercilessly circling his digit around the head. All while you try to tilt your head back despite his grip. Try to buck your hips faster. Squirm in his strong hold as you quickly take all of his focus rather than that damned car.

The twists in your tummy are your only warnings. Your fingers shoot out to curl into his dark vest. Squeeze at his arms as your lips part in pleasure. Your body convulses. Tenses. And you squirt all over his hand that squeezes so skillfully along your base. Thumb nursing an under-vein that eases a sob from your lips and another spurt of cum.

“Well would you look at that?” Jìngyí’s deep chuckle caresses your hair. Followed by a slew of rough kisses along your jaw, to the underside of it. “Needy little thing. I’ve barely touched you and here you are. Squirting all over the place.”

He tuts and shakes his head slowly. Flips your skirt off to watch the slick trickling down your poor, pulsing dick. Collect your cum along two of his fingers and aim a wad of spit for good measure. So that they might press between your legs further and circle along your rim instead.

“Jì. . . ìngyí wait -” you hiccup. Head flicked back when his digits start easing in. Your hips roll up in tandem. Chasing after his knuckles that continuously withdraw. Skillfully. Teasingly. In a fluid motion that drives you wild with the way he strokes the pads of his fingers along your gummy walls. “W-Want y. . . w-want yr’cock - p-please. please I-I want your cock instead -”

Your pants hiccup into moans the more his fingers move. Inching the long lengths deeper - just as you craved. Your thighs tremble and clamp - if only to receive a harsh spank from his free hand. Before he grabs at your left thigh and shoves it down to the table. Holding you in place as his fingers begin fucking your poor hole sore.

“Awww what? What’s that baby?” His fingers massage up against your sweetspot. A cruel grin meets your arching and soft crying. “Want my cock? Oh poor thing.”

The deepness of his voice only adds a vibration to the croon right above you. His fingers pump faster. Putting your own and any toy you’ve tried to shame ten times and over. He steers you back into them. Fucking you knuckled-deep and spilling drool from your lips with his mere digits.

“Cute to think you deserve it. Precious even. Just be happy with my fingers, fucking whore.”

Cold lips find yours in a messy kiss. His elongated tongue making itself comfortable past your lips. Down your throat as his hand aided your head in forcing it back. Taking his rough, messy kisses as his fingers rapidly pistoned below. A third adding to the mix soon enough.

“Come around here - hah -” another kiss. Heated pants. “Wearing all those pretty skirts. Showing off. Begging for it.” He grips your jaw. Squeezes.

“Better luck next time, pretty boy.”

You aren’t sure how long his fingers worked your hole. He’d keep alternating between your tight rim and your weeping dick. Making you squirm on the table. Kissing away you desperate pleas and cries for him to just fuck you.

Instead all you get is orgasm after orgasm. Until you were laid bare and whining on whatever motion of his hand had you squirming. Whining.

And when his fingers finally withdraw from your tight heat - what does he do?

Wipe the strings of click off on your inner thigh. Fix your skirt, grip at your jaw and press a rough kiss to the corner of your lips —

“Now run along. I have work.”

He leaves you there. A mess. Drooling on his counter. Throbbing for his cock.

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year ago

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Hey :) Hope you're doing well, I read some of your Aemond fanfics, and they were great. I was hoping you could write a Jacaerys x Alicent daughter fanfic. Something about an arranged marriage, you can take it anyway you wish, but could there be some angst in there. with the prompts 1. ‘’My blood is not noble enough for a prince.’’ and 14. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

Thank you :)

Request: Alicent’s second daughter to marry Jacaerys to unite the houses

Thank you for the compliment on my Aemond fics <3 More will be coming soon. Also, I was not able to use the first prompt as it doesn’t work with the characters. Alicent’s daughter’s blood is more noble than Jacaerys since her father is king and his mother is princess. I hope you still enjoy what I wrote for you <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Twenty years ago, when Viserys made Rhaenyra his heir, the knights and houses who swore allegiance to him had no choice but to accept her as their future queen. She was the king’s only child. But now that the king had a male heir — and a spare —, there were possibilities that people would oppose her claim to the throne and demand Aegon to wear the crown.

To prevent the situation from happening, the king and queen, along with Rhaenyra, made an accord that Rhaenyra would ascend the throne following the king’s death, but to unite the houses, the princess’s firstborn son — and heir — would marry Alicent’s second daughter and, one day, inherit the throne together.

Like any political marriage, you nor Jacaerys had a choice or say. At least he wasn’t an older lord you had met once or twice. You knew Jacaerys — a little. He was kind, loyal and protective. He was a good man.

Prior to that arrangement, your grandsire, Otto, had been talking to you about having a tourney to meet suitors, but your mother had been quick to oppose to the idea. She didn't want you to be the victim of his scheming like she had been at your age.

You were drawing under the weirwood tree when Jacaerys stepped into the yard, having just arrived in King’s Landing. Its red leaves matched the color of your dress, making him smile. He liked you in red.

‘’I was told by the servants that my wife was out here.’’

Immersed in your drawing, you didn’t hear the prince approaching. You only glanced up when you heard your new title, the sound of his voice almost making you drop your charcoal onto your dress. Your mother would have been furious.

A soft laugh left your lips. Moons have passed since the wedding, yet being called a wife still felt strange. ‘’I’m not used to this. Being a wife.’’

‘’Me either,’’ Jacaerys admitted. ‘’What are you drawing, Princess?’’

You reflected his smile as he approached. ‘’Just some birds.’’

Jacaerys walked up to the tree and sat beside you. He had a bit of dirt on his jacket from sparring with Ser Criston in the training yard.

‘’How was your training session with Ser Criston?’’ you asked, raising a hand to run through the front of his hair, fixing an unruly curl that was on the wrong side.

The older he got, the more he looked like Ser Harwin Strong. He had the same dark brown curls. But you would never dare saying that out loud. Although you meant it as a compliment, the mere insinuation of his illegitimacy was a vile insult to the crown — to the princess.

‘’I disarmed him twice…and I ate some dirt.’’ The brunet grimaced, the earthy taste still lingering on his tongue. ‘’It was a blessing that no one was watching.’’

‘’Mayhaps you need an opponent that is closest to your age?’’ you suggested, not finding it fair that he was sparring against a grown man who had years of practice as a knight. ‘’You could ask Aemond to train with you? He is training for the upcoming tourney, but I’m sure he would a accept to help you.’’

Jacaerys hummed, then leaned back against the weirwood tree, taking a moment of rest. He watched with quiet admiration as you continued your drawing, fascinated by the way you could, with a few strokes of charcoal, illustrate pretty much anything. Birds, flowers, dragons, or portraits of your family.

Much like your twin brother, you favored solitude over socializing. When the betrothal was announced to you, you assumed that this tranquility would be disrupted, but it turned out that Jacaerys enjoyed it too. Partially. While he often thrived on the excitement and duty that came with his heir title, he found it relieving that he could find peace and comfort in your silent company.

‘’I’m going back to Dragonstone in the morrow,’’ the prince announced, breaking the serenity of the quiet.

‘’How long for?’’

Jacaerys shifted, fearing the conversation that was to come. ‘’No. I’m going back to Dragonstone…permanently.’’

You stopped drawing, a sudden knot forming in your stomach. ‘’And what of me?’’

‘’You can join. Or not. That is up to you.’’

‘’And what of us? What of our marriage, Jace?’’ you asked, turning your head toward him.

When you got wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, you pledged to one another that you were one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Jacaerys returning to Dragonstone would break your duties to your House.

‘’Dragonstone is easy to travel from and back on dragonback.’’ You began picking at your fingers, and Jacaerys noticed, taking your hand in his to stop you. ‘’I tried, but King’s Landing is not my home. I don’t belong here.’’

‘’I can’t leave my family.’’

‘’I left mine for you.’’

You pulled your hand from his hold and narrowed your eyes at him. Jacaerys moving to King’s Landing after the wedding ceremony was your father’s idea, not yours. How dared he blame you for a decision you didn't make?

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard @domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios @lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen@naty-1001@katiepie67@moshpot24x@hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler@saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag@wondxrgurl@aerangi@strmborns@astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection

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#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd #jacaerys hotd

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hellsslibrary · 3 months ago

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PLEASPELALEPLARE SAY THAT YOU PLAY IN DOL??? I NEED HEADCANONS FOR THAT BITCHES ASAP WITH MALE TOP READER BECAUSE I FIXKUNG HATE FEM READERS ONE AAAAAAHADHHRHSS (SORRY I'M NOT ENGLISH BUT PLEASE)

Damn, imagine if we were mermaids and you had a dick with spikes, and I had a vagina like the Mariana Trench and ... (quotes from my husband day I adore him)

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : see how desperate the person is? Gotta satisfy them, or their uterus/dick will explode and it will be my fault. Never thought I'd get a DoL request, but fuck yeah. Please give me more DoL requests.

Characters: School Love Interests (you're here), Other Love Interests (coming soon)

!!Warnings: switch!top!gn!reader (male leaned, although options with vaginas and penises are mentioned and reader is they/them and he like two times), bottom!characters (there are both cis and trans versions here, since I headcanon some of them as such, tho pronounces are he/him), honestly there are too many of them, considering the game itself is built. So the are below all the characters. Whitney's part has a bottom!reader clause, but it's marked so you don't have to read it (my husband extraterrestrialized this and I said hell yeah), reader is the player.

Kylar the Loner.

!!Warnings: pregnancy, size difference, mention of kidnapping, bondage, role playing, dirty talk, smells, underwear stealing, humping, mention of full body pillow, erotic drawing, he is delulu yandere.

My sweet cupcake, what can I say about you, honestly... It seems to me that he definitely should have a kink for the difference in size. Like, even with the smallest player's physique, he's still only a little taller??? And considering that with the biggest player, he looks like Thumbelina, you can't say that he doesn't. This guy was definitely fantasizing about how a player would pin him to something with this huge body (or a small body too, you'll be stronger than this guy anyway, it seems to me... If he's not hysterical, of course, hehe).

His hygiene definitely improved after he met the player. Like, just to impress them and not look like a mess (he's still a mess). So he definitely has a fucking jungle in his pants. And he's quite comfortable with it, although if you ask him to remove them, then of course he will. But yes. The tough, black jungle is right there. He's VERY hairy.

Uh, if we're going to talk about penis size, then it seems to me that he has an amazingly large penis for his height. Would I say about 7.3 inches? It's also curved to the left, because that's how I feel. If we're talking about pussy, I think it's surprisingly pale compared to the rest of his body, and he has a surprisingly large clitoris on his own. And if you're a genius like me and you're choosing tirs for a male character, then fuck, he's got a C-cup (there's a lot that could be hiding under his hoodie, lol).

Definitely the most talkative during sex. He's also whiny, especially the first time he loses his virginity (and especially if the player is also a virgin). Fuck, the king of dirty talk!!! It may be very strange, nasty and focused on how you impregnate him (or vise versa), but no one could talk to you like that, he could write you a fanfiction while riding on your dick and at the same time manage to hack into the Pentagon and brew spicy noodles and would not see any problems in it.

I think he has sensitive ears. Do you know this dialogue where he says that the player's ears are not as sensitive as in his dream??? Usually dreams reflect reality (I don't believe in this heresy, but I need a reason), therefore someone must have sensitive ears and it's definitely him, if not the player. I can just imagine how he would twitch and blush if you could bite his ear and whisper something there.

An unequivocal fetish for smells. Are you saying he's stealing the player's underwear for nothing??? Absolutely not. I doubt very much that he uses it on his genitals, as he thinks that the smell will be erased sooner, so he practically suffocates himself in the fabric, inhaling this smell. Even if the player smells like grandma, or absolutely disgusting like garbage, or like something sickly sweet right up to the point of getting sick in the head, it's still the best smell in the world (as long as it's not the smell of someone else's sperm).

Role-playing games??? This guy literally played some kind of wedding with us after the kidnapping. He was also literally acting in a skit (even if not in the role he wanted). He would definitely be a fan of this thing. And would especially love something old-fashioned or fantasy!! Type vampire × human, aristocrat × servant, vampire × werewolf. And something else where the player's attention will be completely on him, as well as in the dominant plan (he likes it when the player takes control, come on), such as policeman × criminal, concubine × king, husband × husband/wife (these two were invented by my hubby, lol still true).

He definitely has something to do with bondage (you can't say no, this guy literally tied up a player in his basement and rode on their dick/fucked them and whatever else). And he would definitely like to be tied up by a player, especially if the player is already many times stronger and could break him like a match. Although it's fucking nice for him to keep himself in power, too.

He would definitely like the same things that his partner would like. It doesn't matter how dangerous or vile it may be (without examples, everyone has their own degree of understanding of this). But fuck, seriously. You could say, like, "listen, I want to have sex in a swamp that's probably home to fifteen thousand different deadly bacteria, but you'd look too fucking sexy in mud," and he wouldn't hear anything except the part after the "but."

He would have loved humping. It doesn't matter what it is. Are you telling me that this person has a full-height player's pillow and he has never rubbed against it??? And didn't attach a dildo/flashlight to it??? Fuck, absolutely not. He'd love to rub his genitals against something, especially if it's not a player's thing, just so he can imagine how their skin would feel under them and all that.

He would cum in seconds (in my game, he cums in just two or three actions from the player????). Seriously, he would cum even without stimulation in the initial stages, just from the voice or from the overly sexy look of the player in front of him. His poor virgin brain would just explode.

He loves to draw a player in erotic poses or situations (canonically) and show them this. And then play it back, especially if the player himself reduces it by saying, like, "Oh, it looks sexy. Do you want to repeat it?" He will literally melt into a puddle.

Would never admit it, but he loves it when a player kisses/licks/strokes his scars, bruises and scratches. He doesn't find these parts of himself attractive, so what if his partner did it?.. Ka-sploosh!

And finally, the strange headcanon! I think he has a birthmark somewhere that slightly resembles the silhouette of a player... To make him believe even more in fate, love at first sight, and all that.

Sydney (nevermind which).

!!Warnings: body writing, mention of body fluids, reading as erotic event, size difference, hair pulling, pregnancy, cum on the face, semi public sex, sex in clothes, mention of mythical creatures, sadomaso kinda, wax.

So. Let's talk about Sydney as a whole, since his "personalities" differ only in their overall "emancipation"!

An unequivocal one hundred percent fetish for writing on the body, canonical, yes. But why doesn't anyone talk about it? No one wants such a handsome man to write all sorts of things on them??? Absolutely anything, because he would have written anything if the player had asked politely. And I would let him write anything on me if I were you, I'll be honest, especially those stupid emoticons. >:(

Not exactly sexy, but intimate! If a player had a lot of tattoos, they would definitely like to paint them over, like coloring books for children. I thought it was cute, so let it be here.

Canonically loves the taller player, so... The library, his desk, the evening, the two of you, he's sitting on the counter, you're pressing him against it, pawing him, kissing him, it doesn't matter what you do there, as long as he clings to you, while staring at you with those beautiful amber eyes.

Incredibly caring after sex, when he gets used to it all. He will definitely make sure that the player is satisfied and has finished as much as he wanted, he will definitely hug and praise the player if they need to, feed or drink the player if necessary and wash too. He will absolutely fall in love three times more if they do it in return.

During sex? Even better. The guy would definitely bring you to orgasm with his mouth/fingers/toys/friction, that is, without penetration, at least once. Unambiguous additional stimulation if you need it and when he learns your erogenous points. One hundred percent praise to any side of your body if you find it unattractive.

He loves it when they cum on his face. Anyone with glasses likes it when they cum on their face, I said so (I know it's hard to rub it off afterwards, but anyway). Especially at the beginning, after he loses his virginity and he gives head to the player and when they finally cum, he blushes so incredibly hard from it. He probably cries a little too when he realizes that he's going to make the player cum.

He's not a fan of dirty talk in my opinion, especially early Sydney, but he would love it if a player whispered something to him about the future. That is, giving him a hint about something long-term, even if you whispered to him that he was going to get pregnant, even though he was a cis man, it would still be sweet.

I came up with the idea of a fetish, the name of which I don't remember, but fuck... Imagine reading books during sex??? Especially in terms of roles??? Especially if you both get in each other's way while reading your piece??? It's hot. He definitely likes it, especially since he has a pleasant voice, it should be good.

So, let's talk about genitals! The penis is definitely not too outstanding, since the guy has spent in a chastity belt practically all life so about 5 inches. If we're talking about pussy, then definitely tiny labia and the same tiny clitoris. If we talk about tits... A-cup? Maybe a B-cup? They're small but not tiny.

He definitely doesn't bother with his hair much, because before his relationship with the player, he literally wore iron underpants, lol. But he adheres to hygiene absolutely, and his hair is also completely shaved off after the start of the relationship.

I think he likes being pulled by his hair. Not much. They just tilt his head back during penetration, hold his hair during kissing/oral sex, and just stroke his head.

A canonical masochist, albeit a hidden one. Plus, he's a sadist. So.... Listen to me. Wax. I fucking want to drip something on this guy's body or have him do it, it doesn't matter. He would tremble so much, trying not to show how much he liked it, even though he was absolutely flowing during the process from a pleasant mixture of pain and pleasure.

Theoretically speaking, he would agree to a lot as long as it's not too traumatic, too public and as long as it doesn't contain any bodily fluids other than saliva and semen (he canonically despises blood... And everything else, yes).

And of course, his canonical pregnancy kink (why does everyone in this game want a baby, I'm crying, except Avery of course). Definitely, his pupils will turn into hearts if one of you can get pregnant (if not, then I think it will be easy to convince him that this is possible, because he is a very stupidly smart person).

Sex in clothes??? For some reason, it seems to me that he would like to look at the outlines of the player's body or at his own if they were in front of a mirror, for example. Just imagine what's underneath those layers of fabric, even if he's seen it all many times.

Semi-public sex. And no, not just the canonical library and the mall (I'm still disappointed that he can't be fucked somewhere on the beach or in a temple, not under certain conditions). He would worry that someone would see you, try to be incredibly quiet, cling to you as if you were the only thing holding him in life.

By the way, he's probably the quietest of the four. Most of time he just breathe heavily, maybe he whisper prayers or something about how well he feel. It's quite difficult to get full-fledged moans out of him.

Well, it's a strange hedcanon for my favorites... Would you definitely think of the player as some kind of mythical creature? It doesn't matter if it's sexy or not, just the fact that his brain slides to the player's body in the form of some vampire, ending with some nonsense with tentacles, and then realizing arousal and hoping that the player will enter the library today sounds funny.

Robin the Orphan.

!!Warnings: forest sex, bathroom sex, mutual masturbation, cockwarming, nipple play, voyeurism, mention of bruises.

It will probably be the most difficult, because he is very... A controversial character. I love him, but he fucking annoys me sometimes. Does a guy literally get offended if he loses a game or if a player pushes him away when trying to have sex with high confidence??? He's sweet, but what the fuck is that. I'm still taking his debt on myself though, considering he's probably the most adequate of them all.

Well, it doesn't matter. Let's start with the food kink? The guy is poor in his own way. So imagine if he ever sees a player's body strewn with even the cheapest snacks or sweets. The guy will literally explode on the spot. Even if it's just plain whipped cream.

Mmm, also role-playing games. These silly dialogues where we talk about the characters of some video game that they both play gave me this idea, especially considering that they mean each other there. So of course the captain player will fuck this elf or whoever it is.

He's definitely a voyeur. It doesn't matter if he's watching or if he's being watched (only by the player, of course). It just relaxes to some extent, and the trust, and just taking the shackles off those cheap clothes on him.

He has a habit of biting the player's genitals when he gives them oral sex. He doesn't quite bite, but he chews, touches it lightly with his teeth. I'm not sure how it feels on a vagina, but on a dick? For me personally, it feels good, especially if that little bitch giggles at it.

The quietest during sex. He canonically doesn't even speak during it, lol (hopefully he'll learn one day). He probably just buries his face in the player's shoulder, hugging them, or buries his face in a pillow and just enjoys the sensations, breathing heavily.

I feel like he would really hate to sit still during this. That is, he would not be able to stay in the same position for a long time, or would not be able to tolerate for a long time if, for example, you rubbed against each other for several minutes without doing anything else. He would constantly try to turn you over or do something else.

A huge fan of jerking off. Mutual jerking off especially! He loves to put his feet on the player's hips while they rub their cocks against each other. He would have finished as quickly as possible from this. (This also works if you don't have a dick or he doesn't have a dick; he or you could get your dick lost on another's vagina, or scrissoring, of course)

A fan of outdoor sex!! I love the picnic event in the game, so... He will feed you deliciously (sandwiches with tea), and then he will throw you on the blanket and do whatever you want together. He just loves all this scenic beauty of forests, lakes and just vegetation everywhere.

Cockwarming... During the game... It would calm him down! He feels your cock inside him (or vice versa), feels this warmth, fullness, you are next to him and for some reason the game becomes easier and for some strange reason he becomes focused.

So, the genitals... The penis is definitely bent down, the head is very thick, the penis itself is thin, about 5.7 inches in size. If we're talking about a pussy, it's quite ordinary, but he would have large labia and a mole on them. Little tits... B-cup. Unambiguous. And he would also have very attractive puffy nipples.

And speaking of nipples. I think they're pretty damn sensitive. He loves when a player's fingers or tongue are on his boobs, squeezing the muscles there, and then squeezing those rosebuds, causing him a familiar knot in his stomach.

His pubic hair is fine. They are not particularly neat, but they are trimmed, he more than observes hygiene, everything is fine there. And his hair is surprisingly soft there, so everything is fine!!

The idea came up right now about strangulation. In my opinion, he would have liked it if the player had held his neck while they were doing this (maybe squeezed if Robin was completely relaxed). Although this kink will immediately disappear if he survives the abduction that occurs if you do not take on Robin's debt.

Sex in the bathroom!! I really like this scene. And Robin, too. He sees you completely naked, just for him, surrounded by water and foam, while you wash each other, fuck, and then wash each other again. Well, what could be better?

Loves body-to-body sex. Well, for example, where you or he are lying on top of each other or where you are hugging and your bodies are almost one hundred percent touching. It brings him the necessary and incredible comfort.

One more small clarification about voyeurism. The idea came up now that he would like it if a player watched him finger himself/jerk off. He would have come from this at the speed of light or faster (with high confidence, though, he would have put on a show at the same time).

He loves it when a player leaves light bruises of their hands. No hickeys or bites. It's the handprints. He finds them very attractive and a sign that the player fucking wanted him so much that they couldn't control their grip (your back would say the same thing about him lol).

And the strange headcanon, of course! He probably read some silly facts in history textbooks and asked the player to repeat them. And the player read the facts from biology... And of course they repeated them too! Not meiosis and mitosis, of course, and certainly not budding, but it's also an exciting activity with a cardio load!!

Whitney the Bully.

!!Warnings: size difference, praise kink, humiliation kink, riding, face sitting, mention of tattoos and piercings, fetish on virginity (?), maths (trust me, it's sexy), oral sex, mention of sex toys, BDSM, home porn, nudes.

My favorite cruel blonde is here, and we'll start big, of course. He would probably agree to any adventure that the player would suggest (it's kind of like even canon). Do you want to make him up and crossdress him? Please do it. Do you want to hug him or literally squeeze him like a plush toy in public? Oh, go on. But he will definitely fuck the life out of you afterwards.

He probably doesn't have an absolutely strict "no". If you want something, you'll get it, with his permission, of course. Starting with a threesome, ending with the strangest, most horrible, disgusting scene you can imagine.

There is a hidden kink for praise. He will necessarily blush too much if a player sincerely praises him during sex (especially if it is something external, given that he is not sure about his appearance). It will only make his actions faster, but damn it, he'll like it and it's obvious.

A hidden romantic somewhere in the depths of his soul. He would sincerely enjoy the most ordinary vanilla sex from time to time (VERY rarely), where both of you just relax and fuck lying on the bed while he hugs one of his plush toys.

He is literally "the best sucker" in the game. He literally has an oral fixation. And probably a tongue piercing, because it's hot and suits him very well. Would give you such a wildly pleasant blowjob / cunnilingus/ rimming that your legs would then shake for a few more minutes.

Although he loves it when you do it. Even if you're a total virgin and absolutely don't know how to suck dick/eat pussy, he'll just love your enthusiasm for it. If you're lucky, he'll even cum from it or try on the role of a teacher and teach you where to put your tongue, fingers, where it's better to press, how and so on.

Face sitting!!! I want him to strangle me with his hips, my God.... Absolutely enjoys the sight of your face sinking between his thighs and would absolutely not mind drowning between yours, even if you are many times heavier/bigger (he is the epitome of the meme "he sat on my face and broke my neck").

Loves to hold grab the player by the waist. In non-intimate moments, his hand is most likely there (or on the player's ass lol). In intimate moments, he mostly grabs the sides / stomach of the player, because he likes him. It doesn't matter if you're overweight, if you're chiseled like an Adonis, or if it's just a waistline, he loves it.

He definitely has a thing for people with piercings or tattoos. Especially if they are intimate. That is, the piercings of the navel, penis / pussy / ass, nipples, tongue. Or tattoos on the lower back, ass, chest, genitals (and there are such things, yes).

He is the most unashamed LI, because he would do it anywhere, anytime, he absolutely does not care who is there and who is not there, he must do it. The player looks too sweet to resist.

The genitals!! The cock is very thick, VERY THICK. Although by itself it is slightly above average, maybe about 6.2 inches. The pussy is very beautiful (yes, I think he has an attractive pussy, but what?), probably a small clitoris. Tits... Either A-cup or D-cup, there is no between.

Hair... I don't think he has a lot of hair there in general, and he doesn't take much care of it, although he shaves it off when it becomes uncomfortable. But his hygiene is impeccable (do you have any idea how many people he fucks?).

Of course, everyone understands perfectly well that he has a kink for humiliating the player. But imagine what would happen if he praised them. It's just that one day it would slip out that the player is a "good boy" at a certain point in their sex and the player would come out of surprise (sorry, funny). He would use it later, very rarely, but so accurately.

Virgins turn him on. Or just people who don't know anything about sex. Well, more precisely, a player, he would hardly fuck with someone for one night who doesn't know what they're doing at all. So he's really turned on by all this, these pathetic attempts, these first successes, these first reactions and results, well, fucking sweet.

(Bottom!reader) My husband came up with a trick. You know, if he has a vagina (no matter what gender he is), he always wears a strap-on, or almost always. He has a huge collection of them, which he stole canonically from a sex shop and damn it, sooner or later he uses them.

Absolutely loves to ride a dick. Especially if the penis is huge or tiny. It just gives him a sense of some kind of pleasant satisfaction that he can hold onto something so huge or something so small, while still getting pleasure and delivering it in return.

A teaser to the core. He will play with your nipples, genitals, erogenous zones, will constantly kiss you, leave marks, rub against you, but will not give you what you needed until you take it yourself or start begging him.

I think he's a BDSM fan. Especially the dom/sub aspects, because he just loves to bend the player to his will, and of course he loves it even more if the player does it himself. If he's in love, he can switch roles if you want, he's not picky, but he'll still be bossy one way or another.

Uh, he'd be a fan of home videos. He would never show them to anyone, because they are only for his eyes, he just likes to watch them from time to time. Or your photos too, when you cum, fuck him or something like that.

He would love it if the player had a huge ass. He absolutely loves kneading it between his fingers, watching as it takes the shape of his palms. Would constantly slap it at any convenient or inconvenient moment.

A hidden kink for the size difference? He loves his partners bigger and taller. He likes to bend them to his feet, keeping the player on a leash (literally or not), even if they are high-rise compared to him.

And of course our favorite category. He loves to ask the player questions from time to time during sex, especially if they are barely thinking and the questions jump from "2+2?" to "find the minimum of the function y=x²-563x-89=0". Of course, he punishes the player in some way if they answer incorrectly, even if they understand that they will answer incorrectly. But if by some miracle they guess, then he will fulfill some of their requests.

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coltcassidyy · 16 days ago

Text

Sweet as strawberries, warm as whiskey

Arthur Morgan x Male reader

Tw: Huge size kink, voice kink, dirty talk (?), praise, grinding (through clothes, VERY slight), thigh job, AFAB male reader. Tiny bit ooc, Arthur is comfortable.

Felt like writing for Arthur. This one’ll be a short Drabble. My request are open, if anyone wants any other characters, or headcanons, or anything else.

NSFW under the cut.

It’s so late at night. Around 1:30 in the morning, approximately. But Arthur was too anxious— he had to wait until he was sure everybody was deep asleep. You told him many a times it was fine, that nobody would be bargin’ in y’all’s tent for nothing past 11:00. But he had to make sure. He wanted to spend as much time as possible doing what he wanted.

You lay tummy-down over the bedroll in your tent, arms crossed under your forehead as you relax into his touch. His hands travel over the expanse of your back, warm and gentle— thumbs occasionally digging into the tense knots in your shoulders and around your spine.

“Y’can lift up my shirt, Morgan,” you murmur lazily, half asleep— more of a request than an invitation. Arthur replies with a breathy laugh, his hands settling on your waist for a moment, thumbs rubbing circles into your lower back as his fingers splay across your soft belly— fingertips almost touching.

“Not yet, cowboy,” he drawls, his voice low and smooth. “Let me have my fun, will ya?”

It’s your turn to laugh now, quiet and small, the sound nearly swallowed up by the noise of Arthur’s heavy breathing— but you let him get back to his ‘task’, not wanting to interrupt him any longer— partially for your own self-gain.

“Lookit you, my hand wraps around the whole side of your hip.” His words drip off his tongue like honey, completely fascinated with your size and frame. your hips twitch in response, and a small, unnoticed whimper escapes from the highs of your throat as his fingers dig into the sensitive splay of skin in your lower abdomen, right above your most sensitive area. “Small like a runt. A beautiful one, that is.”

his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt (finally), weathered, scarred skin meeting the soft surface of your lower back, before he’s sliding his palms fully under and bunching your shirt up in your armpits. He slides his hand down and his journey pauses so his fingers can play with the soft, short hairs decorating your lower back for a moment— before he dips into the arch of your mid-back, pressing down with slight force to watch the way your spine arches under pressure— ass subconsciously pushing up into his hips as he straddles your thighs.

“Such a small, pretty thang,” He groans, and you can hear the way your body is effecting him in his voice. “Jus’ wanna rough you up. A little bit, only a little bit.” You close your eyes and relax into his touch. “Lemme make a mess o’ you, sugar. You won’t regret it, I swear t’ya.”

His left hand trails up to find the back of your neck, holding your nape in a gentle, but firm grip as he waits for your nod of approval. And nod, you do. By god, he’s excited.

He wastes no time lifting your hips so he can take off your belt, rough fingertips brushing against the bare skin of your tummy and running a shiver up your spine, hands fumbling with the hem of your pants. He watches with bated breath as he slowly pulls your pants and boxers down, the plump mounds of your ass drawing him in like a siren song.

“Fuck,” he murmurs low in his chest as his hands find the soft tissue of your rear, thumbs digging into your cheeks and parting them with ease, eyes glued to the sensitive skin hidden between — yet the hidden sight does not ease his curiosity. His hands delve lower, thumbs run down your taint, reaching the even softer skin of your cunt— nudging your thighs apart with his palms before spreading the lips of your pussy with his thumbs.

“By god,” his eyes are fixated to the soft, velvety pink skin of your cunt, absolutely entranced by the way your clit twitches at the attention, the way your hole clenches around air— soft and warm and moist in all the right places. He dips his thumb in the soft space, lightly pressing into your sweet cunt— and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of how just how empty you are.

You squirm and whimper in attempt to get him to stop staring, craving action and sweet friction that he just isn’t giving you. “Be still, sugar, be patient,” he shushes you, knowing he has to do something soon before you turn over and demand he does.

You relax once you hear the familiar clinking noise of him unbuckling his belt. The familiar curse that leaves his lips when his hands meet the hot skin of his shaft, the praise that flows from his lips when he notches his tip between your folds, when he finally slips inside—

But he’s not doing that. He’s sliding his cock between the junction of your thighs, shaft grinding against your clit, your own sweet slick making the slide easier. And it has you whining.

“Shh, shh, shhhh,” He coos, his hand finding your lower back to try and hold you still, keep you from thrashing and squirming your way right out of his grip. “It’s new, sugar, I know,”

But he can’t possibly know. You’ve been waiting all night for this. All damn night. You’re so frustrated and pent up, if it weren’t for Arthur’s stupidly strong hands, his stupidly handsome face, his down-right stupidly warm, thick cock slotted right in your cunt, right between your thighs, you would get up and leave right then and there.

You open your mouth to complain, so frustrated and so confused— but he shuts you up with a thrust of his hips.

The friction is delicious. His tip nudges your clit with each outward pull and each languid thrust, shaft grinding in slow pulls and pushes against the sensitive nub. And you can tell it feels good for him too. He leans over your back, caging you in with one arm while his other holds your hip in the perfect position, his mouth right next to your sensitive ear as he groans and moans in ways that have your cunt dripping around him.

“See, honey? It was all worth the wait, wasn’t it?” He drawls and all you can do is moan in response. He doesn’t push for more answers, letting you bask in the sweet pleasure he knew you were craving since … maybe five hours ago.

He presses his weight down on top of you and you can’t help but sigh. This is what you wanted— and you’re finally getting it— and you couldn’t ask for more.

(( sorry it kinda cuts off abruptly like that i wanna play overwatch ))

#rdr2 x male reader #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x male reader #trans ftm #FTM reader #Arthur Morgan

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ☺️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world.

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read.

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape.

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write.

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you.

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair.

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose.

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book.

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist.

Ten minutes until eight o’clock.

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him.

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything.

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of.

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel?

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer.

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you.

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes.

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are.

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it.

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number.

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly.

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face.

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are.

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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aventurineswife · 15 days ago

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Hello!! I saw that your requests were open and wanted to give it a shot! I love your works and I’ve been binging them lately. Please feel free to discard this for any reason.

Would it be okay to write about a male or gn reader who is in a very science related field (STEM, scientist, medical, engineering etc.) and loves their work immensely, but is revealed YEARS later on to actually have given up on an artistic dream? Like a reader who loved drawing/music/painting/etc. and was beyond headstrong about it for the longest time as a kid, all the way until they were in their senior year of high school and were hit with the reality of how difficult it’d be to gain the financial stability they needed in an arts career, versus the stem career…

And here they are, fast forward to the present.

I think characters like Kaveh and Aventurine have the best backstory to pair with this, but I’m more than alright with anything you’d like to try! If nothing else, thank you so much for putting your amazing writing here on tumblr for free!!! It’s creators like you that we all turn to at the end of the day to save us emotionally :D

Second Chances and Forgotten Dreams

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Self-Discovery, Creative Struggles, Supportive Characters, Reconnecting with Passions, Emotional Growth, Healing, Gentle Encouragement, Character Development.

Warnings: Mentions of Regret (Over giving up an artistic dream), Minor Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Implied Pressure from Career Choices, Healing Process, Possible Mild Self-Doubt.

A/N: Hey, thank you so much for your kind words! That honestly means a lot to me. I'm really glad that my work has been able to connect with you and make a difference—it's always the goal! It’s anons like you who keep me motivated too. Thanks again for the love! 🤭💖🫶

Kaveh had always admired your sharp mind. The way your eyes lit up when discussing equations, medical advancements, or structural integrity fascinated him. Yet, despite the success in your field, he always sensed something was missing.

He discovered the truth by accident.

A forgotten sketchbook, tucked away on the highest shelf in your office, filled with beautiful, intricate drawings. Architectural designs, character studies, and unfinished landscapes—each page held the echoes of a dream abandoned.

Kaveh ran his fingers over the pages, tracing the lines with a reverence usually reserved for the most breathtaking buildings. When you walked in and saw him holding the sketchbook, your breath hitched.

"These… these are yours, aren’t they?" Kaveh's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

You swallowed hard, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I loved art once," you admitted, exhaling as if saying the words out loud made the weight of your decision all those years ago more tangible. "I wanted to make a career out of it, but… I knew it wouldn't pay the bills. STEM was the safer choice."

Kaveh’s eyes, always filled with emotion, darkened with something between sadness and frustration.

"But safety doesn’t mean happiness," he said, flipping through the pages. "These drawings—they’re incredible. You could've—" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "You should still be creating."

You let out a bitter chuckle. "I don’t even know where to start again. I wouldn’t even know what to make."

Kaveh reached for his own notebook, the one filled with designs for structures he hadn't yet built, dreams he hadn't yet realized.

"Then let’s start together," he said.

That night, for the first time in years, you picked up a pencil—not to draft blueprints or calculate measurements, but to simply create. And beside you, Kaveh sketched alongside you, proving that art, once lost, could always be found again.

Aventurine had always seen life as a game of calculated risks, and you? You were one of the safest bets he’d ever made. Intelligent, hardworking, disciplined—exactly the kind of person who thrived in your field.

But when he saw you idly tracing shapes on a napkin one night, your fingers moving with absentminded precision, something about it made him pause.

"Didn’t know you were the doodling type," he mused, swirling his drink in his hand.

You stiffened before pulling the napkin away, stuffing it into your pocket as if it were something shameful.

That reaction? That was new.

So, being Aventurine, he started digging.

It wasn’t until weeks later that he found the old digital portfolio buried in your archives. Paintings, sketches, compositions—you had once been an artist. A real one.

When he confronted you, you laughed, but it lacked humor. "It was a childish dream," you said, waving it off. "STEM pays the bills. I made the right choice."

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, studying you the way he studied opponents at a high-stakes table. "Funny, I’ve seen people convince themselves of a lot of things, but that? That was the worst bluff I’ve ever heard."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off.

"You don’t regret choosing STEM," he said, "but you do regret giving up art entirely."

He leaned in, resting his chin on his knuckles, his sharp eyes unreadable. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll make you a deal."

You raised an eyebrow. "A deal?"

Aventurine smirked. "Start creating again—just once a week. No pressure, no deadlines. If you don’t love it anymore, I’ll never bring it up again." He extended a hand. "But if you do? Well, then you owe me a private exhibition of your best work."

You hesitated before finally shaking his hand.

"Hope you’re ready for me to prove you wrong," you muttered.

Aventurine chuckled. "Oh, darling," he said, a knowing gleam in his eye. "I’m counting on it."

Ratio never dealt in half-truths. Logic dictated all things, and as far as he was concerned, you were a master of your field because you wanted to be. That was the only reasonable explanation.

So when he found the old violin case gathering dust in your storage room, he was… perplexed.

"You play?" he asked, examining the instrument with clinical curiosity.

"Not anymore," you replied without looking up from your work.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your pen. "Because," you said finally, "passion doesn't pay the bills."

For the first time in a long time, Ratio was at a loss for words. You were one of the most driven, intelligent people he knew. He couldn’t fathom you abandoning something you once loved so much.

"You still think about it," he noted, voice quieter than usual. "Don't you?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sometimes."

Ratio wasn’t sentimental. He wasn’t the type to push people toward emotional revelations. But facts were facts.

"You are not simply a scientist, nor are you simply an artist," he stated. "Denying one part of yourself does not make the other stronger."

You frowned. "And what do you suggest? That I drop my career and start composing again?"

Ratio shook his head. "No. But I suggest you stop pretending that your love for art was irrelevant."

He pushed the violin case toward you.

"Indulge in both," he said. "Because denying something you love for the sake of practicality is, in itself, the most illogical decision one could make."

You stared at him for a long moment before reaching out, fingers ghosting over the violin’s worn surface.

For the first time in years, you opened the case.

And for the first time in years, you played.

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the-moon-files · 1 year ago

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Hi! I'm kinda new here but I was hoping to leave a request or at least something to chew on. So there's this genshin sagau where the reader has a bit of a language barrier with the other characters and I was wondering if that translated over to the Linked Universe as well? Like imagine the boys finding this random person with different clothes, accessories, and they talk in a language never before heard of? What are they, some kind of eldritch being? Meanwhile reader recognizes them obviously but frustratingly can't express any feelings asides from base concepts! Man.

Some funnies include; reader voicing more thoughts out loud now that no one can really understand them and reader eventually learning the language and getting a really sick accent out of it.

That's all my tired brain can think of atm so I bid you adieu. Have a good rest of your day :)

First Official Request!! :D oh and its amazinggg, ooOOO a language barrier AU, genshin? hm wonder who wrote that

Reader wasn’t specified and ive adopted masc!reader as the normal over here, so masc reader it is 👍

Sun: Masc/Male Reader (”you”/he/him)

Orbit: EXTRA LONG Headcanons-ish/scenarios SORRY 😭, Language Barrier AU my beloved

Stars: The Classic Chain of Links <3

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing, typical mild loz violence, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

so for the sake of even funnier confusion, lets say the boys kinda missed u falling thru a portal, and instead just see the portal, and it disappears w/nothing coming out

(bc u obv are a competent person and clearly recognize the giant horse head stable from Breath of the Wild and went inside, like to orient urself, u will NOT be a Y/N damsel in distress 💀)

the boys had already been heading to that stable to sleep for the night, and needless to say, u nearly have a fit LMAO

first, the Hero of Time walks in, then the Link from Hyrule Warriors, then from Link’s Awakening? Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Link?? Wind Waker Link, Four Sword Link??? The original Legend of Zelda Link-!!!!

well at least u arent the only weirdly dressed person there

(well, u arent weird looking for the hylians in the stable, theyre used to this weird shit, but the Chain of heroes on the other hand…)

they get to observing their bunkmates for the night, subtly squinting at you, then turning to talk to each other, and slowly every link gets made aware of ur prescense, u didnt think u stood out that bad..

(”くいんねしらんらなすいそらきみについちみんらはかくちかまいていりすんはすらもんらなすいすち・”) *

it also quickly becomes obvious to every traveler in the stable that you either cant speak, or wont speak, as when ur exchanging money for rupees at the front desk, the owner is accommodating with you by pointing and grunting and ur just nodding and pointing back

well, its not like when u first greeted the guy u understood even a single thing the guy said, it sounded like some sub-dialect of Japanese or something

u had realized earlier with horror that the game was staying true to its creators, and that most likely everyone spoke a special version of Japanese and ur English ass was abt to be so lonely and confused 😭

Wars/Time/Sky/Four in particular clearly noticed u exchanging all ur currency, as u can see them whispering or glancing at you occasionally as u pocket ur now little green gems the size of coins, rather than strip of paper

(”しにしくいまなとかるるるみらかくちひいすなせいいと・てくらしらいとみゃかくちひいすなせいいと・かくちかくちとみゃかすいちりりんそくちみきいしらひいすかくいいすちとねくちとにかてにりし・”)

and the boys move on in the morning, and its acc torture for u bc u had no idea how to even begin to quell their suspicions enough to let you travel along with them

u think u could say u came out a portal, but.. how would tell them that? drawing pictures in the dirt?? 💀

and this just keeps happening.

even when u just try to admire from a distance or even outright just leave them to it and go off to explore Hyrule (as safe as u could after acquiring a weapon and some more clothes)

but its like fate (or maybe Hylia tbh) wants u to run into these legendary heroes (both kinda in ur world and definitely here) constantly

after the stable u manage to run into them in Kakariko Village, which wasnt crazy bc u needed more supplies, and it was the nearest town to the stable

ur sure they noticed, but u outright avoided them out of paranoia or making them paranoid u were following them, and u definitely saw who you thought was the hero of the Four Sword whisper about u as u walked by, not that u caught much

(”るるるかくちかゃとかくいとちもいとかすちみきいほりららのにみききなんはすらもかくいとかちこりいるていとくらなりしのいいせちみいんいらみくにもる”)

but you’d started to recognize some Japanese words! …and tbh anime is the only reason for that, something definitely like “watch, him” 💀

which rlly didnt make u feel any better, and u avoided them even harder, u bought a map, so u made sure to head in the opposite direction of them out of, lets be honest, kinda lowkey fear of what theyd do if they thought u were stalking them

but despite u trying to actively go away from them, either you, or them, would show up everywhere the other went,

you passed by Wind playing in the water in Zora’s Domain,

Twilight riding Epona around the plains in Central Hyrule, Sky hanging laundry outside Wild’s house in Hateno

Honest-to-fucking-god seeing Wars, Wild, and Legend all crossdress to sneak into Gerudo village- u cant fucking escape them-

and the worst part is, you cant understand anyone, other than some basic words atp 😭

its as the Chain come from a path that merges onto yours on the way to Rito Village when Legend snaps first

You’re not even surprised, tbh it was more surprising it took them so long 💀

(”にかゃとんらな!! ちきちにみ!!! てくんちすぃんらなはらりりらてにみきなと・くらてちすぃんらなはらりりらてにみきなと・・くらてちすぃてぃはらりりらてにみきんらな・・!!”)

the look on ur face must have drawn some pity from Twilight bc he’s trying to talk Legend out of his yelling and pointing his sword at you,

(”ひいかそちりもしらてみ! りにのいんらなとちにしねにかくにみのていゃひいちりとらとらもいくらてこいいみはらりりらてにみきかくいもからら!”)

Wars joins in, giving you a confused look, before talking to the group at large, most of which have their hands near their weapons, but dont look that inclined to use them, thank the fucking gods or whoever rules over Hyrule-

(”かくいすちみそくいすくちとちせらにみかねかくにとすいいのとらはもちきにそちみしにゃもとなすいにかゃとくんりにちゃとしらにみきるていとくらなりしまなとかかすんからかちりのからかくいもねといいにはかくいんゃすいいさせいすにいみそにみきちみんかくにみきとかすちみきいる”)

oh no. they want to talk you, you barely picked out in their argument

Time nods in agreement, before stepping forward to talk first, you cant even imagine how anxious u look rn lol

(”かくいらかくいすとちすいすにきくかねかくにとにとりらみきらひいすしないるもんみちもいにとかにもいねちみしかくいといちすいもんかすちひいりにみきそらもせちみにらみとねちとにゃもとなすいんらなゃひいきちかくいすいしはすらもなとすなみみにみきにみからいちそくらかくいすとらもなそくるてくちかゃとんらなすみちもい・”)

why has Hylia forsaken you. what did you do to not receive some sort of fancy natural translator power in ur brain or something after getting portaled here, its the least she could do for fucks sake- talking to someone in a diff. language is SO much harder than just listening to them to understand what theyre saying-

you desperately try to recall the words people have said at stables and whatnot when introducing themselves, before they realized you couldnt speak the same language

(”Uh… もんみちもいにと… and I’m not following you…とらすすん”)

you just try to say ur name and then say sorry LMAO 😭

Nearly every Link is staring at you bug-eyed in shock, confusion, and understanding all at once

the Chain’s attitude changes pretty quick after that, and they quickly connect the dots after, yes, u do a drawing of a portal in the dirt 💀

u gather from the few words u can get that it was indeed magic (probably Hylia) that kept shortcutting you and the group of heroes together over and over again

…

she can move your position in space time and yet she cant get u an auto-translator after being forced to be here.

(in the middle of u drawing to communicate Hyrule manages to understand the gist of what you meant by that and laughs)

the Chain are quick to be very accomdating, Wars/Sky/Wild all offering to try and better teach u their language, but in return they want to learn yours?

actually, that was smth u noticed pretty early on in the ensuing weeks of travel, was the fascination they had w/English and ur voice??

Wind constantly rambled at you and poked and smiled at you to try and get you to ramble back, and after getting more comfortable around them,

u start to talk like they cant understand a word ur saying, which is entirely accurate, and you notice some like to lean in when you talk, or respond with humming/saying smth like u can understand, or even just gesture for u to keep going

Four/Time/Legend?? surprisingly/Hyrule/Twilight like when u get rlly talkative like ur having a one-sided convo w/them all the time, and they constantly are looking at you poinetedly to hear u narrate whatever ur doing or give a response whenever they same something at you (Rulie/Four/Twi/ and sometimes Time, (and he turns away but Legend too) give a little smile whenever you ramble)

Wild is Very Interested in your langauage, bc the Zora, Rito, Gerudo, and Gorons all had their native tongue that he ended up learning, and so he constantly makes notes to try and decipher some of what ur saying in English

he lights up anytime ur able to successfully tell him another something abt it, like the alphabet, or grammar or structure etc

they seem to pay attention esp in the mornings or late at night? ur not sure why until Wind both draw pictures and tries to get the general idea to you to explain

(”かくいんゃすいちりりきちんるんらなすちそそいみかにとくらかちみしんらなすひらにそいにとしいいせるかくいんゃすいていちのる”)

smth abt ur voice being nice? deep? but theirs do that too? u dont get it, but thank him anyway

they also help u out at markets, keep out of trouble w/locals, and other misc tasks that need some language help

everythings going great, the Chain trusts you, ur getting better at their language every day, and bc English is one of the hardest languages to learn in the world, theyre slowly getting some of urs!

it isnt until ur camping out in the Temple of Time when things get weird again

Not only is there English carved into the walls, which u read as the Chain give u “explain now” looks and u communicate that the rlly ancient looking script they may or may not be able to read is, in fact, the written version of ur language-

but then another portal opens, and there’s sentences wrapped around the edges, which are fully in English too.

☆

* = hint: JIS

So i love ciphers for language barrier AUs, so have a cypher! have fun decoding it if u like, but don’t worry abt translating it, as its purposefully not important for u to enjoy this :)

JFC IM SO SORRY AB THE LENGTH I WROTE THIS FROM MIDNIGHT TO LIKE 1:30 AM- UGH sometimes this happens when i get on a scenario kick, SORRY 😭😭

also so sorry abt late reply! at least i already established im slow w/u guys so ig its not a huge surprise 😭

tysm for the request it was such a fun idea to write abt :D

i also like genshin, just a little bit u could say, so it was cool to see this carryover across fandoms lol

language barrier is so versatile, could be angst, crack, etc. so that makes sense

have a great weekend!!

Peace out,

🌙

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glasvera · 14 days ago

Note

I’m obsessed with your marvel rivals Frank X reader x Bucky fic! Whenever you open your requests for Marvel rivals again I hope you can write some more about them because I will not lie… it hasn’t left my mind since i read it 🤭 I don’t have a specific storyline in mind but anything you write will be fantastic! ❤️❤️

Ahhh thank you so much! Even if they're not my personal favorite characters, I think that might still be one of my favorites that I've written so far. Naturally, I'm more than happy to continue off of it!

Entertainment

Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader x The Punisher

Description: Fancy parties can be fun, but they're really not your style. Or Frank's... Or Bucky's... but at least the three of you are MORE than capable of making your own fun ;)

Warnings/Disclaimers: SMUT (18+ only, Minors DNI!!!!), cursing, smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), brief and inappropriate use of Bucky's arm tentacles (sorry not sorry), vaginal sex, anal sex, rough sex, double penetration, squirting, PWP

A/N: You can treat this as a sequel to Stoicism and Gratuity, but it functions perfectly fine as a standalone! One day I'll write a Bucky fic without including the arm tentacles... one day... maybe...

Word Count: 4.1k

The Hellfire Gala was in full swing, but truth be told? Fancy balls were never really your style. The dresses are still constricting and stuffy no matter how stylish you make them. Conversations are laced with hidden agendas.

No. You preferred much more honest company.

Your dress, though still uncomfortable, somehow feels much more tolerable in the privacy of your hotel suite. Perhaps it’s the way it draws the eyes of the two men who had joined you in your escape from the dance floor. It could also be the exquisite wine that warms your body.

“Finally, a decent drink,” Frank grumbles while leaning against the bar counter.

Bucky snorts. “Much better than the shit you keep in your fridge, at least.” He steps closer until he’s on the other side of you and rests an elbow on what has to be an expensive slab of volcanic glass.

Sitting on one of the bar stools, a lilting giggle pulls from your lips as you swing one leg over the other. The slit of your dress exposes your thigh and the way your tights squeeze into the plush skin. Emma Frost had called your look “uninspired,” but you felt plenty inspired with the way Frank finds his eyes glued to that sliver of flesh.

“Uh-huh,” he responds, hardly paying any mind to Bucky’s quip. His tongue pokes absentmindedly into his cheek before he recollects himself and takes a long swig of wine.

The first time you had been alone with these two, things had been so uncertain. Nervous. But after that night in Frank’s apartment, you felt powerful in their presence. Like you were the only woman that mattered in the entire world. A sexual tension permanently accompanies the three of you every time you’re together.

Can anyone blame you for using it to your advantage?

You lean forward in your seat, arching your back and accentuating the curve of your ass in your tight-fitting dress. The feathered collar tickles your cheek when you turn to flash the Winter Soldier a coy little smile and bat your eyelashes. If it weren’t for the air conditioning keeping the temperature of the room perfectly cool, you might almost believe that the sweat beading on Bucky’s forehead was thanks to the perfectly tailored suit he wears. He clears his throat.

He’s still shy. How cute.

Frank harbors no such reservations with you anymore, especially after a few glasses of wine. He slides closer and places a broad hand at the small of your back. “Know what you’re doin’, sweetheart,” he mutters into your ear. His breath is hot, tinged with the bold and earthy smell of merlot. It paints goosebumps across your skin.

You smirk, angling your neck when his lips ghost along the column of your throat. “Whatever do you mean?” you airily feign innocence. It’s soon accompanied by a sigh as he grabs your waist and presses hot, open mouthed kisses to your shivering skin. Your playfulness earns you a few nips of his teeth.

“Dolled yourself up, lured the two of us up to your room…” His hand dips lower and squeezes your ass possessively. You bite your lip.

“I think I recall you two following me of your own accord,” you purr and lean into his touch.

Bucky finally slides closer. You can feel the heat of him even before he completes the sandwich of bodies. Tentative fingers trace ticklishly between your shoulder blades, threading through the feathered collar, before smoothing up the nape of your neck and tangling in your meticulously crafted up-do. A gentle tug urges your head back and you gasp. You glance over to him, painted eyelids hooded with desire.

“Don’t play coy, sweetheart,” he accuses, the corner of his lips turned up in the slightest amused smirk. His eyes don’t linger on your face for long. They follow the curve of your neck, trail the neckline of your dress until he hungrily eyes the cleavage that disappears beneath the glimmering fabric. “The way you were swaying your hips on the way up told an entirely different story.”

“So you’re saying my hips don’t lie…?” you quip with a barely contained grin.

He closes his eyes and sighs as his smile fades. “You and your fuckin’ jokes,” he laments in half jest. His grip in your hair tightens and draws a squeak from you. He brings his face closer to yours until his lips are but a whisper away. “Why don’t we put that mouth of yours to better use?”

A shuddery breath exhales from you. No complaints there. A delicious groan sounds in your throat that Bucky swallows eagerly when his lips meet yours. The clean smell of aftershave blends strangely yet enticingly with the alcohol that lingers on his breath. His lips slide easily, sensually, hungrily, tasting the sweetness of your lipgloss with the same tongue that parts your lips. You inhale sharply before your tongue meets and dances with his. It’s hazy and intoxicating. His bionic arm takes you by the waist and wrinkles the fabric of your dress in his feverish grip.

Frank’s free hand finds that damnable slit and slips beneath the skirt. Callused fingertips slide reverently over where your stockings meet your bare skin. His touch trails deeper, higher, finding your inner thigh and squeezing it roughly. The softness of you beneath his palm draws a growl from him that he muffles in the crook of your neck. Unfortunately, his nose crinkles in annoyance when the feathery adornments of your garment begin to draw the beginnings of a sneeze from him. He expresses his irritation by biting down hard at your clavicle.

“Ah, fuck!” you exclaim, breaking your kiss with Bucky to glare at the other man. “Frank, what the--”

“Take this damn thing off,” he commands gruffly. He tugs impatiently at the zipper at the back of your dress.

Bucky can’t help but chortle at Frank. His metallic fingers pull playfully at your dress. “Could just rip it off… save some time…”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you snap. Your words lose some bite with just how breathy they are, but your finger pokes into the silky tie at his chest. Bucky smirks before leaning in and taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He sucks on it gently and starts kissing you again. The indignant fire in you wanes with a mewl and your fingers wrap around the tie to pull him closer.

Despite how tempting Bucky’s idea sounds, even The Punisher can respect that you probably spent an exorbitant amount of money on this. That doesn’t assuage his impatience. It just means the purr of the zipper stops above your ass and he yanks your dress down your shoulders and breasts. The fabric pools around your waist and you gasp into Bucky’s lips as the cool air pebbles your sensitive nipples. Large hands cup your breasts from behind and roughly mold the flesh. It leaves you squirming in your seat, uttering soft whimpers when those practiced fingers pinch and tug at the hardening peaks. Unimpeded, his lips and teeth find the skin of your neck again. You feel hypersensitive, the contrast of his body heat through the starchy, slightly scratchy suit against the softness of your bare back forming an exquisite torture.

“Can’t get enough of these tits,” he grumbles appreciatively. You can feel the way he smiles into your shoulder. “Can’t get enough of the sounds I get from you when I play with ‘em, either.”

You keen when he gives a particularly hard twist of your nipples. The growing bulge in his pants presses insistently against your ass, and you swear you feel it twitch impatiently in its confines when you moan.

Bucky breaks away, panting, admiring your kiss-bruised lips and the spittle that coats them. “Gotta taste more of you.” His eyes flicker over to Frank as he laps and sucks at your neck. “Get her up on the counter.”

Before you even get a say, you feel yourself being manhandled off of the stool. You let out a yelp as Frank loops his arms under yours and lifts you up with ease. Bucky leans down and wraps his arms around your hips, taking advantage of this position to kiss and nip at the valley of your breasts even as he swings you up and onto the obsidian counter slab. They’re as gentle as they can manage, but the shock of the cool stone on your back still draws a hiss through your teeth.

“Fuck this is cold,” you groan.

Bucky vaults over the counter, miraculously avoiding any of the glasses or bottles. He slots himself between your legs and hikes the skirt of your dress up and over your hips. “Let us warm you up then, sweetheart.” Blue eyes darken as he lifts up your leg and presses heated kisses to your inner thigh. A syrupy warmth melts through you with every press of his lips. Your breath comes out in shaky gasps.

A shadow darkens your field of view as Frank stoops over you. He claims your lips in a searing kiss. His hands are quick to busy themselves, fingers curling around your neck while the other palms and gropes at your breast. The cold is long forgotten as his tongue plunders your mouth, swiping over the back of your teeth, the roof of your mouth, and he draws your own tongue forth before sucking it between his lips. The stubble on his chin drags roughly yet pleasantly across your cheek. It leaves your head spinning.

Your hips jerk when Bucky’s teeth nip playfully into your skin. Whispered mewlings hum in your throat. His mouth travels closer, closer, inching towards the prize that already taunts him as the earthy sweet smell of your desire fills his nostrils. Still he teases you, sucking dark hickies into the plush of your thigh before easing the sting with long swipes of his tongue. Your legs tremble. In stark contrast to his hot tongue, the cold metal of his bionic arm squeezes your thigh before he’s spreading your legs wide open. Bucky groans when he sees the lacy panties you wear. They leave nothing to the imagination. Hell, they have an opening right at the crotch.

“Cheeky fucking minx,” Bucky chuckles. His breath fans across your dampened core and you lift your hips desperately towards him. He flattens his tongue and drags it languidly over your clothed pussy, drawing out a guttural groan that echoes in your throat. Somehow the lace barrier only adds to the sensation, the friction on your folds leaving you shivering with pleasure.

Frank’s hand leaves your breast and begins fumbling with his belt. The buckle clangs and clinks softly with his clumsy efforts. You reach a hand out to palm at his hardness, teasing him through his pants as he hisses sharply. A groan spills into his mouth as you anticipate feeling his hard, heavy cock.

It’s a wish that does not go ungranted for long. Finally he frees himself and you hastily take him in hand. He’s hot, thick, and throbbing, the pre-cum oozing from the tip spilling into your palm as you spread it over his length. Your touch is eager and nearly trembling with excitement.

“That’s it,” he purrs, voice gravelly with desire. “Keep on stroking it just like that. Can’t wait to fuck that pretty mouth.”

You feel your mouth water in anticipation. Your gaze darts down to the angry swollen head of his cock and you lick your lips. Fire pools in your belly. You want, no, need to take him into your mouth, to suck, to taste.

“Surprised you don’t wanna fuck her ass again, Castle,” Bucky taunts between swipes of his tongue. The vibration of his voice momentarily brings your attention back to him and sends trembling quakes of pleasure to your core.

“Who says I won’t?” he snorts, gritting his teeth as your grip slides the velvety skin of his shaft up and down. “I ain’t planning on going back downstairs tonight.”

“Mm,” Bucky moans, opening the slit in your panties to lap up the desire that coats your folds. The tip of his tongue flicks at your clit and you squirm. “I’ll take my time, then.” His thumbs spread you wider for him as his tongue delves deeper.

“Shit,” you curse, eyes rolling back. “Ah, Buck, yes…”

He smirks and pulls back slightly before swirling his tongue around the bud. Silvery fingers collect the essence that drools from your entrance. “You trust me, right?”

It almost feels silly for him to ask, but you indulge him. You roll your lips between your teeth and nod. “‘Course I do,” you reply breathlessly.

“Be a good girl and sit still for me then,” he commands you before his bionic arm begins to shift.

You wait with bated breath, but Frank doesn’t give you the pleasure of watching whatever it is that Bucky is about to try. The hand at your throat slides up and under your chin, tilting your head back. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he takes his cock in hand and strokes it just in front of your waiting mouth. He taps the mushroom head to your lips. Your brows worry together and you impatiently stick your tongue out, desperate to taste, to please. So eager. It brings him an almost sadistic satisfaction to see your confident and seductive persona turn into such a cock hungry, mewling mess. Teasing you further almost sounds more appealing than giving you exactly what you want. Almost.

Slowly, he slips the head past your spittle slickened lips, and your eyelids flutter closed as a satisfied groan rumbles from you. Your jaw slackens as he pushes further, deeper. Sweat and musk overwhelm your senses as you remember to breathe through your nostrils.

“That’s it… shit… take it all the way,” he huffs, smoothing his fingers up and down your neck and chest. He gives one of your tits a light slap just to watch it jiggle.

So preoccupied were you with Frank’s thick cock inching down your throat that you nearly missed what Bucky was continuing to do between your legs. Though, to be fair, it’s not exactly easy to miss the cold tentacle that prods at your entrance. Nor is it easy to miss the other tendrils that wrap around your thighs and spread them wide. You gasp around the cock in your mouth as you feel the strange metallic appendage thrusting in and out of your slit. It feels alien. It feels good. It writhes and wriggles, presses and prods. Even if it’s thinner than either of their cocks, it leaves no part of you unexplored. Better still when Bucky closes his lips around your clit and sucks hard.

“Mmfff--fugghhh--!” you blabber around the dick in your mouth. Spit bubbles at the corners of your lips. The intricate loops and knots of your hairdo are all but ruined as Frank’s fingers tangle into the complicated strands. Your nails dig into your palms as you fight back your gag reflex. Still he thrusts deeper, holding your head in place, groaning out broken moans as he sees and feels your throat bulging from the size of him. Smoky black lines streak down your face from the mascara that bleeds with your tears.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Bucky moans between loud slurps of his tongue.

“Woulda--” he pauses, finding words difficult as the vice grip of your throat breaks his voice. “--woulda done this a lot sooner if I knew you were so good at it.” His praise has you gushing around the tentacle that fucks your aching cunt.

They were so good to you, so rough yet so giving, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more, needed to be filled--

Frank pulls out of you suddenly, gripping the base of his spit slickened cock and gasping for breath. You whimper at the absence of it in your mouth and he chuckles airily.

“Get her on the bed. Wanna fuck her proper this time,” he addresses Bucky, pulling the Winter Soldier out of his pussy drunken stupor.

“Proper…?” you whine softly while pouting, much to their amusement. “You boys should know by now I’m not a proper girl.”

You gasp when the tentacle slithers and withdraws from you, and soon Bucky is scooping you off of the counter into his arms. “This has nothing to do with that kind of proper, sweetheart.”

The round bed draped in mauve sheets looks like something straight out of a love hotel. If anything you’ve heard about Emma Frost is to be believed, though, perhaps the design choice really shouldn’t be all that surprising.

At least you can appreciate just how soft it is when they unceremoniously toss you onto it.

Honestly, though? You were much more interested in appreciating the view before you as both men hurriedly divest themselves of their formal attire. Perfectly sculpted planes of muscle, chest hair that leads your gaze down, down, following happy trails until you’re met with their achingly hard cocks.

Strange to think of all the things the three of you have done without seeing each other fully naked.

You lick your lips before putting on a show yourself, easing your gown over your hips and shimmying it down your legs. You kick off your heels before the dress follows suit, crumpling into a puddle of glimmering fabric on the hotel floor. The two men stride towards you, closing in on you like predators vying for the same prey. When you hook your thumbs into one of your stockings, Bucky stays your hand.

“Keep those on. For me?” His blue eyes, despite his lust blown pupils, are pleading. How could you say no?

Instead you busy your hands by lacing them in the shaggy brown locks that frame his face, pulling him down with you for a kiss. His bionic arm catches him, keeps him from falling on top of you, while his organic one slides down your side and hooks one of your legs up around his waist. His fingers dig into the spot where your stockings meet your thigh, groaning into your mouth when he feels the way the elastic squishes into your skin.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters as he kisses the corner of your mouth. His lips travel lower, leaving love bites along your jaw before sucking at the spot just beneath your ear. It makes you shudder and you wrap your arms around his neck, arching your back up until you can feel his naked body against yours.

“Quit hoggin’ her all to yourself,” Frank chastises as he settles down on the bed next to the two of you. You let out a lilting giggle before reaching an arm out to him, drawing him in and cradling the back of his head to pull him into a kiss while Bucky is occupied with your neck. Not a single inch of the skin there is going to be unmarked by the end of the night, you realize.

Appreciative moans hum from your throat as you set your hands to exploring their broad, muscular frames. Fingertips squeeze into the biceps that flex as the two of them hover over you. Palms smooth over defined pectorals. These men were perfect. They were built to ruin you.

Frank rolls you on top of him, much to Bucky’s chagrin, but The Punisher doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way your drooling cunt feels as he starts to grind it down on the length of his cock. Your thighs feel heavenly draped over his hips. And gods, you knew he was big--this wasn’t the first menage a trois the three of you had dallied in--but something about straddling him like this with his huge hands wrapped around your waist made you realize just how big of a man he really was. It doesn’t take long before you’re rocking your hips against him of your own volition, moaning like a whore while his hands slide up to cup and squeeze your breasts that he was so fond of.

Bucky doesn’t remain idle. It was practically inevitable that the three of you would find yourselves in a situation like this at the gala, so of course you came prepared. And of course he’s not surprised at all to find the small bottle of lube that you have stashed in one of the nightstands.

So while you busy yourself grinding on Frank’s cock, occasionally teasing the tip of it past your folds, Bucky gets to work spreading that lube on his fingertips. The sink of the mattress gives him away before he’s behind you, pressing doting kisses to the back of your neck even as his fingers ease their way into your back entrance. You still your movements, and Frank takes full advantage of this to line his cock up with your pussy before he’s guiding your hips back down onto him. You let out a long winded groan as your head lolls back onto Bucky’s shoulder.

Gods, but you had forgotten just how full these men made you feel.

He starts out with shallow thrusts. Don’t want to hurt you while Bucky is preparing you from the other end. But soon it’s clear that you’re more than ready, and his barely-there patience is already wearing thin again.

“So tight around me, fuck--” Frank curses, scrunching his brow as he begins bouncing you up and down on his dick. Your mouth falls agape in the shape of an “o” as he takes complete control, gripping your hips and fucking up into you. “Your holes were made for this cock, taking me so fucking well…”

Bucky kneels behind you and between Frank’s legs, fisting his cock with lube and gasping out quiet moans as he watches you get utterly ravaged. Only moments pass before he joins in on the fun, and Frank at least has the decency to slow his thrusts a little to allow him to slide slowly into your ass. Or at least, it would have been slower if Frank’s movements didn’t hammer you down onto Bucky’s cock with every piston of his hips.

Fuck, there it is.

You’re full to bursting, so full you could cry, and these men know just how you like it. There’s no alternating this time, no gentleness. Now that they’re both situated, they rut into you like animals. Bucky’s breath is hot and heaves across the skin of your neck as his arms wrap around your waist while he fucks into you. Frank grits his teeth as he times his thrusts with Bucky, his hands on your tits almost bruising as he gropes them and uses them for leverage. Desperate for something to hold onto, you lean back and wrap your arms around Bucky’s neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!” you squeal between breathless cries. They hammer into you so perfectly, fuck you so exquisitely. You feel the orgasm building even before Bucky’s fingers sloppily circle at your clit from behind. And he can certainly feel the way you spasm and tighten around them both.

“Atta girl… fuck,” Bucky curses before biting your earlobe. His labored breaths puff against your ear and you can hear every moan and growl that pours from his throat. It’s the sweetest music, knowing it’s all just for you.

The swell of Frank’s impending release has his cockhead dragging deliciously along your walls, feeling every inch of his length and the cock in your ass. It’s all so much, too much, and your moans grow higher and higher in pitch. Each thrust leaves your head lolling limply, draws stars in your vision, breathes fire into your veins. Your thighs tremble and quiver around Frank’s legs.

And then Frank lifts his hips up, angles you ever so slightly, and every thrust now has you screaming. Their frenzied pace has your mind going blank and your every nerve sparking alive with a thousand volts of pleasure. You’re going to die on their cocks, and you can’t think of a better way to go.

It makes you impossibly tighter, and Bucky finds himself clamping his teeth down into the crook of your neck. The sudden pain coupled with the overwhelming pleasure snaps something within you and you can’t stop the tidal wave of pleasure that floods your very being, your very soul. You come with a staggered, broken, sobbing cry that has you squirting onto Frank’s abdomen. They watch you in awe, taking a moment to breathe, to feel and revere their goddess as she comes undone under their ministrations. It never gets old. And, if they have anything to say about it, that’s only the first of many orgasms that they’re going to draw from you tonight. Hellfire Gala be damned.

#marvel rivals #marvel rivals x reader #the punisher x reader #winter soldier x reader #frank castle x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel rivals winter soldier #marvel rivals the punisher #fanfic #marvel rivals fanfic #glasvera writes #writing request #smut #marvel rivals smut

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beddybites · 6 months ago

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hi friends! big rant incoming— i want to clarify this isnt targeted at anyone, im just noticing a pattern and im getting a little upset with some of the requests im being sent ):

something that really bothers me is the babyfication of giyuu tomioka. the fandom infantilizes the dude way too much. and its even worse when you throw shinobu into the mix and have her being a maternal figure to him when she herself is an eighteen year old who has worked as a hashira since she was a teenager. she does not need to be put into these situations where she’s taking care of her older peers all the time

i see this happen a lot and i feel its rooted in misogyny whether people recognize it or not. almost always the male characters are thrown into positions where the female character has to take care of them and its really frustrating

shinobu isnt a maternal character at all. to inosuke and the younger ones, it’s different, but if i keep seeing her being a mom to giyuu im actually going to lose my mind. giyuu isnt some uwu depressed baby who cant stand up for himself. he is just as mean as sanemi and obanai. he trained to survive and operate in horrible situations and fight for his life for years. hes a grown man and a hashira. he would not be babied by anyone, especially not someone who he has known since she was around fourteen years old

you may say “well ghostbite dont you do this with mitsuri and obanai”… sure. perhaps i am a hypocrite. but you must remember mitsuri is just sort of like that. she loves cute things and she loves fawning over everyone and everything. her scenes with nezuko. her introduction scene in the hashira meeting with her gushing over everyone. she hand feeds tanjiro pancakes in the recent season. she refers to people as “cutie.” etc etc etc

the difference with obanai and giyuu is obanai is often characterized as a yandere simp who is a huge bully to giyuu and tanjiro. he’s not. i like to put him in deaging situations a lot because unlike everyone else, he’s been through hell since birth. he’s never, not once, had a moment of peace. he had no siblings growing up to protect him— he had no loving parents, etc. he never felt love and he believes he is undeserving of it and should never reciprocate it. so here comes mitsuri, the epitome of love. he takes care of her. he watches after her. he is devoted to her. if something happens to him, especially if it’s a situation where he’s much smaller and weaker and in need of care, mitsuri would drop everything to help him. if it were mitsuri, obanai would do the same for her. it’s in both of their characters to do this. them being in these situations makes sense

i love shinobu. she would not. she does what a doctor does, looks for a cure, checks in here and there, and leaves it at that. she is not giyuu’s “mama.” she is an eighteen year old girl who has her own bucketload of issues. if you need her in a maternal role then use inosuke or literally any of the butterfly girls— the kids she actually takes in and takes care of. not her 21 year old coworker who is more than capable

if anything i think shinobu should be put in deaging situations. have giyuu take care of her instead. mix it up a little. but people are so attached to the idea of having every single caregiver role go to the woman that it’s unlikely we’ll see that

this is not a criticism on giyuu. i love giyuu. but i need people to stop treating him like a defenseless baby, and for people to quit seeing shinobu as responsible for him as a caregiver or a mother

tdlr: please stop asking me to draw or write deaged giyuu stuff. someone else can do that. i dont like deaged giyuu. tiny 21 trio is essentially on hold because of this ): i keep getting nonstop requests for deaged giyuu and im so tired, especially because people are framing it in a “you should replace obanai with giyuu” lens, or adding “mama shinobu doing x with baby giyuu”

it’s tiresome and frustrating. i love to make content for you guys, and i love when its something that appeals to you in a comforting way, but if you want specific content with giyuu— you’re very much in the wrong place. i hate the fandomification of him and shinobu— it makes me uncomfy and sad.

other people are deaging giyuu and putting him in situations— go ask them instead of me. i would rather highlight misunderstood and underrated characters like obanai and gyomei or my own personal faves (muichiro) then constantly loop the same exact character over and over again

all this to say im doubling down on the babybu and babynai and pintsized pillars aus. if you keep asking for baby giyuu and maternal figure shinobu my spite makes me stronger. hashtag let shinobu be taken care of for once. she’s already the doctor for an entire organization give my girl a break

#askbites #not artbites #bitetalks #rant #demon slayer #kny #giyuu tomioka #shinobu kocho #obanai iguro #mitsuri kanroji #again this isnt targeted #i just rlly need people to stop sending me these things #and im tired of seeing the mischaracterizations and constant misogny going on #shinobu get behind me #mischaracterization #fandom #fandomification

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jjungkooksthighs · 1 year ago

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Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf, fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked.

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head. So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions. Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering, you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t.

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left, the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega. An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do. You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic. Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished. “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does.

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him.

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines, remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture.

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature.

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh.

How he had fucking ruined you.

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down, “I…I-“

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you.

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.”

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck.

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough.

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You, the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

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