#the misery was stored in the hair

[lonelyslutavatar]

season 4 vs season 5 jon (he got a boyfriend!)

[confinesofmy]

i'm planning next week's picnic like if one thing goes wrong i'll be publicly beheaded. i'm locked in to such an absurd degree.

[hairmetal666]

It's 3am. It's pouring down rain. Steve's soaked to the skin, been wandering the city for most of the night, hasn't slept in almost 24 hours, thinks maybe he's on the brink of delirium, and then a truck hits a pool of ponded water, sending a muddy wave cascading over him.

He just wants to go home but Dustin lost his dog and he can't leave a puppy out in this weather.

Steve steps off the curb, and what looks like a shallow puddle turns out to be a water-filled hole. He crashes towards the pavement, nothing he can do to stop it. As fast he's falling, he's miraculously not, arms wrapped around his waist. It takes a second for his brain to catch up, to understand that he's being held upright in an old-fashioned, romantic dip.

"Careful, sweetheart," a deep and smoke raspy voice says from above him.

it sends chills down his spine, the good kind, and warmth slips through him. His rescuer is a solid 10 knockout. Long, curly hair; eyeliner; decked out in leather and studs and chains. He smells like booze and cigarettes and weed, and it's intoxicating. Steve has to fight the instinct to nuzzle the guy's leather jacket. He's beautiful, holds Steve with the swagger only a guy with rings on every finger could pull off.

And Steve is a mud soaked mess in sweatpants and a threadbare Hawkins High tee. But the guy holding him isn't letting go. He stares down at Steve, brown eyes wide.

"Steve!" A voice calls over the patter of the rain.

"Dustin?" He says at the same time that the man holding him says, "Henderson?"

"Eddie?" Dustin asks.

"Wait, dnd Eddie?" Steve gets his feet under him, but Eddie's arms don't drop.

"You're the famous babysitter Steve I've been hearing all about?"

They gape at each other until Dustin reaches them.

"What are you still doing out here?" Dustin shouts. "We found Dart hours ago."

"Dustin!" He thinks he might cry. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't answering your walkie!"

"Fuck." Steve drops his face to his hand. The walkie. Which is on the table by the front door where he and Robin leave their keys.

Steve swallows his frustration, the misery of waterlogged shoes, having to be up to open the store in a few hours, meeting the hottest guy he's ever seen when he looks like a drowned rat.

"I promised I'd find Dart, didn't I? Now what the hell are you doing out so late?"

"Mom and I were looking for you!"

"Let's get you back to the car, man, okay?" Steve says to Dustin. He wants to end this weird, terrible, embarrassing night before it gets even more humiliating.

"I can give you a ride home," Eddie says. He's got this weird, intense look on his face, staring at Steve.

"I'm only a few blocks away. I'll be fine. C'mon, Henderson."

"Oh, I can walk him. You head home."

He nods, starts towards his apartment, but turns back just in time to see Eddie and Dustin share a look he can't parse.

---

A few days later, Dustin's following him around at work, chattering about dnd as Steve shelves books, and without taking a breath during a soliloquy about owl bears, says, "Eddie's running a one-shot for us next week. You should come! It's a great way to get into the game."

"I'm not playing dnd," Steve answers. He slides a book onto the shelf. "I've told you this."

"Yeah, but you liked Eddie, right? He'd help you out!"

Steve squints at the kid. "I didn't really meet Eddie to know. Anyway, I'm sure he doesn't want a newbie crashing."

Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn't like him, based on their short introduction, so he's not interested in forcing himself into the guy's dnd club. The night they met was humiliating enough, Steve in all his dorky glory.

"No, he totally wouldn't care. C'mon, Steve!"

"No can do." He ruffles Dustin's hair as he walks away.

He thinks that'll be the end of it, but every few days, for weeks Dustin and all the rest of the kids stop at the store to beg him to join their dnd club.

---

Steve is working the register and he hears the shuffling clank of a customer, looks up and finds Eddie. He's staring at Steve with that same look from the night they met, intense and piercing, cutting straight through the heart of him. He feels himself start to blush.

The first thing out of Eddie's mouth is, "Wait, this is your store?"

"Yeah?" Steve asks. "Is that--is that weird?"

"No! Not at all. It's a good store. Cute." His nose wrinkles when he says it and Steve's blush grows hotter. He knew Eddie thought he was a dork.

"Cute. Yeah. Right. Can I help you with something?"

Eddie rocks back on his heels, hands going to the pockets of his leather jacket, sending his chains jingling. "Oh, so, actually I wanted to see if you were busy?"

"Yeah, man. I'm busy." He laughs, doesn't intend to be mean about it, but he and Robin only opened the store six months ago and both take night classes at the local community college. Plus, everything he does with the kids.

Eddie's face flushes bright. "Oh, sure, of course. Yeah, I--I'll see you around."

The door thunks to a close behind him, and a voice immediately pops up to ask, "What the hell was that?"

He turns to find Max Mayfield hands on hips, glaring up at him, Robin close behind.

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

Max rolls her eyes and strides up to the counter. "Why were you an asshole to Eddie?"

"He started it!"

"I highly doubt that."

"Okay, Ms. Know-it-all, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I know for a fact that Eddie came in today to ask you out. So, tell me, Steve Harrington, why he rushed out of here looking like a kicked puppy?"

"What?" He yelps. "Eddie doesn't even like me!"

She glares. "Doesn't like you? He's been pathetic about you since you met."

He gapes at Robin. "Don't look at me," she shrugs. "But that guy was definitely here to ask you out."

"Fix it." Max commands as she stomps out the door. "He bar tends at that metal place on 68th."

---

It's just after 9pm and he's at the metal bar on 68th, decidedly out of place in the yellow t-shirt and jeans he wore to his business accounting class.

It's fairly busy for a weeknight, but Eddie's not hard to find. He's obviously in his element, bobbing his head to a song Steve's never heard as he mixes a drink.

With a hard swallow and a healthy dose of humility, he walks up to the bar.

"Be right--" Eddie starts, balking when he notices Steve.

"Can we talk?" he shouts over the music.

Eddie's eyes widen a little, but he nods, slips out from behind the bar to guide him to an employee exit.

"What's up, Steve?" Eddie asks. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders bowed in.

"I wanted to apologize."

"What for?"

"Earlier, I--when you said the store was cute I thought you were making fun of me."

"But--why?"

"I thought you didn't like me." Steve cringes at the admission.

"What?" He laughs.

"I don't know. We met in the middle of the night and I was covered in mud looking for a dog that wasn't lost anymore."

"Steve. Holy shit." Eddie shakes his head. "You looked gorgeous that night. The way your clothes were sticking--you know what? Never mind. Did you think I wanted you to come to dnd because I hated you?"

"You wanted me to come?"

"Dustin didn't..."

"No! And he's been asking me to play dnd weekly for the past five years."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie slumps agains the brick wall at his back. "No wonder you turned me down today."

"To be fair," Steve slumps next to him. "If I had realized you were asking me out, I wouldn't have turned you down."

"No?" Eddie asks. His brown eyes gleam.

"Definitely not. I've had a crush on you since that night. Sort of devastating since I thought you didn't like me." Steve runs his hand through his hair, watches Eddie track the movement.

"The store is cute, Steve. I--uh--I've been a few times. Back before I knew you were the owner! I just kept seeing a hot employee with great hair and a perfect ass, and the vaguely mean lesbian barista gives me free drinks."

"That's Robin," Steve says. He's smiling so hard.

"I know that now," Eddie smiles back. "Sorry for being an idiot."

"Me too." Steve nods. "Do you--could I still come to dnd? Or take you out sometime?"

"Why not both?" Dimples pop on Eddie's cheeks, and Steve's heart flips.

"I like both." They're still against the wall, but drifting into each other's space.

"So Dustin said."

It surprises a laugh out of Steve. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Too bad. He's a nice kid."

"Eh, we've got six more to choose from."

"I have a few more hours here, but there's a diner down the street that does some of the most mediocre pancakes I've ever tasted. Meet me there? Around 2?"

"A thousand lost puppies wouldn't make me miss it."

The next time Steve is out at 3am he's pressed against a building, Eddie kissing him so thoroughly he knows he's never recovering from this one.

[kissforyouu]

...THAT is your boyfriend?

pairing : jungkook x sanrio girl!oc

genre : fluff

warning : mention of drugs , little bit of angst

request : tiktok

a/n : sorry this is rlly short but LONGER drabbles of this story r comingggg js need to get them out of the drafts LOL

unedited.

this is like after about 3 months into their relationship btw!

"padamdam damdamdampadamdam, tupadadadadadamdam..." you speak nonsense, hand around your boyfriend's arm as you scrolled through your phone.

jungkook huffs, giving you the side eye. "what are you even saying?"

"shush, don't say anything." you comment, giving him a small glare and going back to doing whatever you were doing on the phone.

"yes, ma'am."

you both were at the mall shopping, going from aisle to aisle looking for cute clothes. mostly for you. jungkook didn't really care about what he wore. just some dark coloured clothes and a few rings will do for him.

"i was...hmmm...ah! this is what i was looking for earlier." you show your boyfriend your phone which displayed a picture of a plastic figure of cinnamonroll.

"the fuck is that?" he couldn't help but laugh a little, taking the phone from your grasp and zooming into the figure.

"it's cinnamonroll." you give him a sour look. how could he not know!

"i swear, it was pink before." he kisses his teeth, tilting his head to the side, curious about the mysterious bunny (not) figure.

"baby, that was poron. his sister." you correct him. "it's a HE?" jungkook's jaw falls a little, turning to look at you with a shocked expression. yeah. i felt the same when i found out too.

"it's okay. me too. can't believe i was supporting a MAN. but he's really cute, i love him!" you smile. jungkook glances at your face then back at the phone with a small smile forming in the corner of his lips.

"okay, where do we find this guy?" he asks.

"YAY!"

that was before you grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him out of the store.

"mm, jungkook, nooo, it has to be here!" you sigh, going through each of the figures displayed on front. he just hums, not really paying any mind to your misery.

a few minutes pass by and you were still searching for the little guy. at this point, jungkook was getting a little tired. he looks over to you who was crouched down, going through a pile of figures in a basket. he decides to take matters into his own hands and find this little guy for his girlfriend.

so jungkook walks away from you across the store to the cashier, asking for help. he shows a picture of the figure to the cashier, and while he goes through their computer trying to find if he's still in stock, jungkook wonders why you didn't do this first. dumb little girl, he thinks.

"sorry sir, seems like it's out of stock." the cashier speaks. jungkook thanks him, walking back to you. but plot twist! you were gone!

but something catches jungkook's attention. some guy holding your bag outside the store. what?

the corner of his lip twitched upwards, to not to form a smile but rather to form a scowl. what was some rando doing with your bag? he was leaning against the wall with a grin, examining your bag like he owned it.

jungkook walks upto the guy, giving him a tap on the shoulder. the guy turns around to look at him, raising his head up. shortass, jungkook thought.

"why do you have her bag with you?" he points at the bag.

"what? why are you asking?" the guy furrows his eyebrows, his lips twitching up to a sour expression.

"because it's my girlfriend's bag, dumbfuck. where's she?"

girlfriend? the guy scans jungkook from top to bottom. long hair, tatted arms, piercings. y/n can't be possibly be into...that? she can do so much better. the guy looks like he's on drugs. he probably is! he thinks.

"no way y/n's dating a druggy like you." the guy laughs mockingly, clutching onto the purse.

"alright, little man. fuckin tell me where my girl is or i'll pluck your toenails out one by one." he looked as if he was about to beat up the guy then and there, and he probably was too.

"fucking hell, man. god, there she is!" the guy rubs the back of his head, clearly annoyed as he moved away from jungkook. meanwhile, jungkook immediately turns around to see you walking towards both of them with a confused look.

"where were you?" you ask.

"no, where were YOU? and who's this fucker holding your shit?" he points at the guy who's walking towards you. confidently too. as if he knows you better than anyone else. jungkook's jealous, it doesn't take a genius to understand that. angry too. really fucking pissed that this shortass little man is interrupting their date.

before you could answer, the guy cut you off.

"y/n, here's your stuff. and i don't know who this is, but he's—

"i'm her boyfriend, dumbfuck!" jungkook shouts, frustrated.

"is he?" he turns to look at you for confirmation.

"yeah...?" you nod.

"you never told me?" the guy scoffs.

"i don't have to tell you about everything going on in my life?" you frown.

"y/n, he looks like he cheats on you with a different girl every week." the guy comments.

okay no, what the fuck. you're not going to tolerate some meanass comment about your boyfriend. but you also don't want to cause a scene. okay, nevermind—

"the fuck did you just say?" jungkook's clearly offended. but before he could do more, you grab onto his arm and pull him back.

"let's go." you say. he didn't really reply to you, but just gave you a scoff. okay. he's not disagreeing either.

"matheo, i'll talk to you later." you don't even bother giving the guy a smile, but just drag jungkook away.

"what was that all about?" you squeeze his biceps. jungkook pulls his arm away from you, rolling his eyes.

"nothin." he mumbles.

not wanting to continue this topic further, you just nod.

but it's odd. it's been about 30 minutes and jungkook hasn't said anything to you except replying to whatever you tell him. he's also been keeping a small distance from you. what's wrong again. ugh.

"baby, what's wrong?" you look at your boyfriend who was sitting across you mindlessly scrolling on his phone. he raises his head up to take one glance at you but looks back down immediately. instead, he just shakes his head.

"no, i know something's wrong." you protest.

jungkook sighs, placing his phone on the table before finally looking at you.

"you really want me to tell you?" he asks, his expression rather serious. uh oh. you messed up. but fine, you'll take it. you hesitantly nod your head, nervously scratching your skirt with your nails.

"i'm tired of keeping this private. i know you wanted time till you felt like telling people, but it's been 3 months already and we still haven't told a single soul."

oh!

"i don't want to run into guys like that ever again. fucking shortass. you know i care about you and respect your feelings, right? but i just...you know, want to tell people. it's fine if you still wanna wait. but this is just how i feel." he sighs, turning his head to look away.

you couldn't help but pout a little at his confession. you know he's right. it's been 3 months.

"okay. let's tell people. i'm sorry for making you wait that long. and thank you for telling me, gguk." you smile at your boyfriend who's eyes lit up at the mention of you finally publicly posting about your relationship.

"you're sure about this?" he re-checks.

you nod in approval!

"fucking finally. i can beat up every guy who approaches you now."

"okay, no no no no." you laugh, disagreeing COMPLETELY. you knew he wasn't joking either.

ᥫ᭡

taglist: @fungie233 @wintertxt @wheexine @hyunjinswifeee @ohsweetmimosa @canyon-txt

[running-with-kn1ves]

A/N: Here's a little comfort thang for all my revenge bedtime procrastination buds going through their tumblr rn. I am so exhausted ya'll.

CW: Yandere themes, potential murder, drabble.

You're awake. It's past midnight, maybe 1AM. Maybe even close to 2. Your friends are gone, and not just for the night; it was, of your desperate hope, the last time you'd see them. The warm body behind you made sure of that. It pressed deeper against you, the ridges of a familiar stomach and chest leaning deep against your back, fingers smooth like water gliding up your hip, dipping to your waist, pulling your hair back from your neck. The night proved all you needed to know-- that this would be your last reunion.

No words needed to be exchanged, no spits of insults or creepy attempts to calm you with affection and smothering, tongued kisses. You saw it on your... "partner's" face. The jealousy, the rage-- the passive-aggressive jabs earlier in the night that just turned straight into aggressiveness. The snurks and vicious smiles that shot from across the room anytime you smiled, laughed, or acknowledged an inkling of a word someone other than your soulmate had produced. You were being hunted, being tested, with your friends only mildly put off-- not aware of the dangerous game they were playing whenever they tried to catch your attention, to act like a friend. Tonight was what you needed to see to know that your loved ones weren't safe as long as the body behind you was still warm.

If you didn't have the power of persuasion, and months of practice in calming down a creature that could turn at the drop of a hat, your friends might've been dead before they left your home. But your sacrifice, your lying awake on this night, misery swimming in your head as your body instinctively relaxed to the gentle touch, had proved that you kept them safe. That your life would always hang in limbo, the rest of it likely to be a very lonely existence as long as you remained fitted against a beast that liked to play with its food-- its lover.

"mm'n... I love it when it's just the two of us. So quiet, just your heart beating against my ear."

How could you sleep, praying you'd never see another acquaintance or old schoolmate in the grocery store while your lover was in earshot? You held more than just your own life in your hands, and it was terrifying. The trickles of fingernails gliding down your back with patterned ease usually lulled you to sleep, the tickle so soft it left you feeling airless. But you had laid here for two hours already, sending feverish prayers and sweating against the sheets as your paranoia got the best of you. The beast was happy now, but what would be next to set it off, to make it lash out at you, to draw you into a corner and decide you weren't behaving well enough to keep around anymore? You loved projects, to take home abandoned things and give them the safety they've never found before. it's just too bad it doesn't work that way with people.

A hand reached around to turn off the lamp beside you, deciding it was tired of teasing its victim. You enjoyed the momentarily release. Not long however, you received a suffocating bear hug from behind that tugged and pulled you snug against the heat radiating upon your neck. Soft, hot breaths, in line with your own helped fill the soundless night. You focused on those breaths, of in and out. Each of your own was tight and a little too late on the release, trying desperately to doze into unconsciousness.

[angry-geese]

The Weight - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: smut//not osha compliant. arranged marriage au. blood/cannibalism mention. biting/size kink. unprotected sex, creampies. afab reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage au where the reader chooses sukuna instead of one of the men from her village

word count: 10.3k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since probably last february and I finally got around to finishing it lol

jjk masterlist

As mid-afternoon turns to dusk, you realize you have nothing to show for your hours in these woods. You know, reasonably, you should cut your losses for the day, and return home. In a little over an hour, it’ll be dark, and navigating these woods will become a challenge. But winter has come and gone with a vengeance, leaving food stores low. The thought of fresh meat is too much for you to quit now.

Fresh tracks mark the once-smooth creek bed. Deer. At least three. They’ve bedded down here, as evident by the smell, and flattened patches of grass. For several meters, the tracks nearly overlap themselves, before heading off in separate directions. It's been years since you’ve traveled this deep into the woods, and those few times were accompanied by your father, or uncle. Your solitude has you jumping at every rustle of a leaf, and snapped twig. It's when the woods fall silent that you need to worry. That means a predator is near. As long as you can hear bugs, or birds, you'll be okay.

Further ahead—maybe twenty yards—is a buck that stopped to drink from the creek. 

You knock an arrow, lining the broadhead up with your target. Something feels wrong. The string feels too taut. It slips from your fingers prematurely. The arrow hits just behind the front shoulder, and—in theory—should puncture the heart. A shot like that—in theory—should drop an animal like this where it stands. Today it doesn't. The buck takes off running.

Between the footprints, and little droplets of blood, a clear trail is left behind. When you do finally come upon your prey, the crickets have fallen silent. The buck lays on its side in the grass, chest heaving. You ready your knife to put the poor thing out of its misery when something—someone—emerges from the treeline on the opposite side of the clearing. 

Your body is moving before you can fully process the situation. You flatten yourself out on the ground, hiding under the cover of some bushes. If the man does see you, then he makes no note of it. He draws closer, stopping to kneel beside the buck. It’s too dark to make out his face. Something about him has the hair on the back of your neck on end. He hauls the carcass up onto his shoulder, turning to return in the direction in which he came. 

The absurdness of it all has you frozen. You blink several times as if to make sure this isn't your mind playing tricks on you. Once reality sets in, you’re back on your feet, chasing after him.

“That's mine!” You say, hoping the volume of your voice is enough to scare off the thief. It isn't.

What you first assume to be another trick of the lighting becomes a horrifying reality as you notice the true size of the man. The man—being, or whatever he is—towers over you, completely dwarfing you in size. Mild annoyance is all that is visible on his face as he turns to you. From the deer, he rips out your arrow, tossing it at your feet. The broadhead has snapped off, as well as the shaft is bent. If you so desire, you suppose you could repair it. Not that you have any wish to. Sometimes it is simply better to cut your losses.

But you have more pressing things to deal with right now.

“And just what do you plan to accomplish, little lamb?” He asks. “A deer like this can weigh as much as a grown man. Do you plan to carry this back all by yourself?”

It’ll be tiring, but not impossible. Gutting and dressing it here would remove a lot of unnecessary weight, but would render plenty of valuable meat and organs useless. All that extra meat and skin could be used better elsewhere…

You are overcome with the urge to run, yet his gaze has your feet firmly planted on the ground. Your eyes fall to a small red splotch on his kimono—a blood stain. It can't be from the deer, it's far too old. It’s not until your knees knock together that you realize you’re trembling.

The action of him moving closer causes a cry of panic to leave you, unintentionally calling out for your father. 

“What—who are you?!” You ask as you scramble backwards. 

“I am Ryoumen Sukuna, the King of Curses, my dear,” he says. “Now, shall we get this back to your home?”

Fear threatens to overcome you. Even if you could draw an arrow in time, you doubt it would truly hurt him. Yet, in spite of your fear, you know he has no plans to harm you. Once you’re in sight of the village, he sets the deer down, and gestures for you to take the lead.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask. You’re certain the look on your face suggests you still expect him to eat you. 

“Why do you ask?” He says. “Maybe I wanted the location of your home. It seems there are plenty of sacrifices here for me.”

“Wait a minute!” You say, eyes widening with fear. A mix of panic and guilt consumes you. “You can't-”

A look resembling amusement crosses his face. “I mean no harm to your village,” Sukuna says, “but in five years, I will return to claim what is mine.”

The strange man would vanish upon reaching the outskirts of your village, and in the nearly five years that follow, you would not once traverse so deep into the woods. On several occasions, you would try to retrace your steps, but would never once come across that clearing. When you would bring it up to your father, or any of the other village elders, your concerns would be brushed off, or outright ignored. Years would pass and slowly, achingly slowly, you would forget about the man in the woods entirely.

The coming spring brings your twenty-eighth birthday, and the looming threat of being an “older” unmarried woman.

If you had any say in the matter, you wouldn't get married at all. Plenty of older women exist, happily unmarried, yet your mother insists that you must find a husband. Any attempts to convince her that you’re fine with the way things are, fail. Once it became clear you weren't going to seek a husband on your own, your mother took upon the task of finding a suitor for you. Over the course of several months, meetings were arranged with various men, and with each rejected one, your mother grew more desperate to find the perfect match. 

Your mother insists you're cursed. Your father thinks you’re simply unlucky. When you asked how marriage was supposed to fix that curse, she had no answer for you.

In the months prior to your birthday, your mother proposed a deal to you: meet with another man—the son of a wealthy merchant. That if this meeting went well, even if you didn't marry him, she would stop pestering you about getting married. Tired of her pestering, you relented, and agreed to meet him. And as the days draw closer, you only feel dread towards him. 

The outcome of tonight has already been decided by you: failure. Whether your mother knows this or not is hard to tell. Judging her tense nature, you suspect she knows your plans.

“I was already married at your age,” she says, tightening your obi, “I used to have a dress just like this.”

“The difference is, you knew him already,” you say, “and I am meeting a stranger.”

“I am simply doing what I think is best for you,” she says. “This is your chance to get out of this village—to live a better life! Don't you want that?”

Her eyes meet yours in one last pleading glance. It makes you wonder; did she have such a conversation with her mother? Did your grandmother go through such trouble to match her to your father? Or did this come easier to her, than it did to you?

You suppose he’s handsome. The silks he wears are clearly expensive, with threads like woven gold. His features are sharp—what one could describe as noble, but you find him truly dull. But he is scrawny—squishy, with hands that show he has never worked a day in his life. The little conversation he makes is dreadfully boring. His father is an older man, with a graying beard, and sagging eyes. His mother is considerably younger, dressed in blue, with a small scar on her chin. Her silky black hair falls down her back. The little conversation you do have is short, but polite. The typical small talk you would have with a stranger.

Your mother does her best to talk you up. She’s gotten pretty good at that over the past few years. Your father interjects here and there, but it's your mother that does the majority of the talking. 

“She’s strong. A talented hunter. Good with a knife.” Your father says. This time, you’re paying attention when he speaks.

Your potential father-in-law seems unimpressed with your father’s attempts to talk you up. Perhaps if you were a son, this conversation would go differently. If you were a son, your mother wouldn't be so stressed about you being married before 30. Your growing irritation mounts when you set down your cutlery, turning to look the old man in his eyes.

“And what about him?” You ask, motioning to his son. “Look at him—how is he supposed to give me a strong child?”

The energy in the room seems to shift entirely. Your father nearly chokes on his wine, but his eyes are firmly trained on your mother. She glares daggers at you, gripping her spoon so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“What?” You ask. “I am the one getting married. Don't I get a say in this?”

Are you trying to screw this up? Your mother’s face seems to ask.

“A good father controls his daughter,” the man says, “especially one with such a sharp tongue.”

“I can serve this village, or I can control my daughter, but I cannot do both,” your father says, “she’s not a child anymore, she can make her own choices.”

That earns a small smirk from you. Leave it to him to stand up for you.

“That is exactly why this is so grievous,” the man says, “my son will not marry an old maid with an attitude problem!”

“And I will not have in-laws as insufferable as you!” You bring your knife down on the table, narrowly missing his fingers. This little outburst of yours at dinner will certainly have consequences. Your mother’s wrath is only the beginning.

They don't leave in nearly as big of a hurry as you’d expect from a man who was just threatened with a knife, but they do hurry out, making certain not to look back.

“Maybe we should have offered to let them stay,” says your father, “it’s not safe to be out on the road after dark.”

“We’re lucky to not have them send guards after us for that,” your mother says, and for once, you agree with her. “Threatening a man like that is a new low, even for you.”

After such a disastrous dinner, you’re not particularly eager to go find your parents. You linger towards the outskirts of your village for as long as daylight allows you to. Once it grows too dark to stay out, you begin the trek back to your home, praying your parents—or at least your mother—have simply gone to bed. Maybe your father will forgive such a night, but your mother certainly won't. Over the past year you’ve done enough to earn her ire, this will not help your case.

Sitting outside is your mother, her eyes trained on a dying fire. Although she doesn't acknowledge you, you know she’s noticed you. Part of you wonders if you should speak first. Would that even improve your situation, or simply make it worse?

“You win.” She says. 

“What?” You ask.

“You win. I told you I’d stop after this, remember?” She asks. “Besides, I stopped liking him after that comment he made about your father.”

You still don't believe it's over. No tone of accusation clings to her voice, yet you can't help being suspicious.

“I don't get it.” You say.

“I just want what's best for you.” She says. “I want you to live a long and happy life. Are you really content to spend the rest of your life in this village? Stuck taking care of your brother and father?”

“That sounds like the preferable outcome,” you say, “compared to having in-laws I can't stand.”

“Where does he get off calling you an old maid anyway?” She says.

A small smile crosses your lips. This is about the best she'll get, and she knows this, a grin crossing her own face. A moment that should be one of triumph—at least for you—seems to be more sorrowful. The older you grow, the further apart you drift from her, and with that comes a strange, aching loneliness. You long for a time in your youth; the days when she would play dolls with you in-between house chores. You miss the tiny clothes she’d sew for them. The furniture made of timber scraps she’d hand paint. Oh how long has it been since she last braided your hair? Or brushed it? Or helped you wash it? 

Did she have these same feelings about her own mother? Or was it easy for her? Does she too mourn those moments you used to share?

You don't remember her always looking this old. That’s not to say she isn't beautiful still—age does not nullify beauty. But she looks tired now. The dark circles under her eyes are more prominent than ever. The skin around her eyes crinkles when she laughs, or smiles. Her hair is littered with grays—like little silver threads. She looks like you.

From within the nearly pitch-black woods comes a scream; not that of an animal, but of man. When the scream rings out again, it’s much easier to understand. It’s a cry for help.

Emerging out of the treeline, and following the main road is a man, half hunched over and clutching his stomach. He makes it several yards into the village before collapsing. Enough blood pours from the wound on his side that you can smell it. A metallic taste lingers in the air, stuck to the back of your throat. Blood. 

You’re the first to run over, followed shortly behind by your mother. The injured, shambling figure collapses upon the road. It’s only as you draw closer that you recognize him, albeit barely: the man from dinner. His clothes at one point in time were yellow in color, but are now stained a deep brown in color from a mix of dirt and blood.

“We need a doctor over here!” Mother cries out, her voice echoing against the wall of trees.

Someone must hear, because eventually a group of men burst out of a nearby house. They make quick work of rolling him onto his back, granting you a better look at his wounds. Three long slashes across his stomach. From your mother comes a gasp, followed by her clamping her hand over her mouth. The young man succumbs to his wounds before anyone is able to help him. He’s lost too much blood. People don't come back from that.

“Was he stabbed?” One man asks.

“Looks like knife marks,” comments another.

“Not a knife,” the oldest of the three says, “claws.”

“Do you think a mountain lion got to him?” You ask.

The oldest of the men shakes his head. “Cats like that don't get this close to towns. They avoid people if they can. A bear, maybe; if he got in between a mother and cub. But even that seems unlikely…”

This is why you don't go into the woods after dark. This is why you lock your doors and close your shutters tight when the sun sets. Bad things lurk out there, but they are not bears, nor are they mountain lions.

Something about the height of a person bursts from the treeline. Atop the legs of a chicken is a head only humanesque in the way corpses are. Sunken eyes sit atop a shriveled nose, and cracked lips. Its skin seems to be hanging off bone. Still, it takes you a moment to register that it’s fear you feel. Your palms prickle with sweat, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The urge to flee is nearly unbearable.

More of these creatures emerge from the direction of the nearly-set sun. They appear to come in all sorts of horrid shapes, and sizes, the smallest being no larger than a bird, and the largest about the size of a cow. Fear threatens to overcome you entirely. At least twenty of the creatures leave the treeline, although you suspect more remain hidden within it. The temperature must drop by ten degrees. It’s as if all the moisture has been sucked from the air. Those who dared leave their homes to look at the source of the commotion have now retreated, locking their doors behind them. 

The collar of your dress jerks backwards as your mother struggles to drag you back towards the house. “Get your father!” She says. “Hurry!” 

“What about you?!” You ask.

“Just get your father,” she says.

And you do so, running as fast as your feet will take you. The chilly night air renders your fingertips numb, and your face burning. He’s asleep in his chair, and wakes with a gasp as you shake him, motioning frantically to the door. The words that leave you are incoherent, but he must understand your panic. He retrieves his sword, telling you to lock the door behind him. You don't listen. You never listen, you can hear your mother say now. A sudden burst of light draws your attention—a nearby house has caught fire. Those strange, horrid creatures swarm around it like flies. Several neighbors have exited their houses, and begun throwing buckets of water upon the blaze, but the fire is too strong.

And from the treeline emerges that man from the woods all those years ago. 

In five years time, he has not aged a day. His cruelly sharp features appear the same within the flicker of the firelight. They fall before him on their hands and knees, heads bowed in fear. You only realize you’re shaking when you move closer to the window, peeking out through the crack in the shutters. 

The King of Curses, he called himself, all those years ago.

His mouth moves as if he's speaking, but you can only make out about half of what he says. The ringing in your ears is too loud to make sense of much.

“My offerings lessen, my shrine lies defiled,” he says, “and you humans sit here complacent. I gave you five years to make amends and this is what you do with it?”

You know, logically, that your father is going to die. He is no match for the creatures, let alone that strange man. You must do something. Even if it is beyond logic, or reason, you would not forgive yourself if you did not act.

“Then what is it you require of us?” Asks father, his hands trembling slightly. You can tell it’s more than just the dancing light of the fire. He is truly frightened.

“An offering,” says the King of Curses. “A sacrifice.”

“We have nothing to offer,” says father, “the river has run dry of fish—our crops have withered! We have nothing to offer, we’re starving regardless!”

The King of Curses eyes drift to your hiding place, before landing back on your father. “You said it yourself.” He says. “You’ll starve regardless. What difference does it make that you should give up one of your own? Won't there only be less mouths to feed?”

Your arrows rattle loudly as you pull one from your quiver, knocking it. From this angle, and sitting half crouched on the ground, you can't bring it to a full draw. Not only does that mess with your aim, but alter the power of the shot too. That can be accounted for. You adjust your angle to be a little higher—right above his head. When you release the string, the arrow gives way with a thunk! The shot is dead on; your arrow whistling towards the demon king’s head. He brings his spear up, knocking it aside. Several heads whip back towards you, their faces contorted in a mix of anger, and fear. 

You’re not quite sure who grabs you first—it must be more than one person. Several sets of hands are upon you, dragging you from the house. Any attempts to fight it fail on your part, there are simply too many people to kick off. They drop you in the dirt beside your father. You don't dare look at him. You know his eyes are filled with fear. 

“We’ll—we’ll put it to a vote,” says one of the elders. “All those in favor of sending this woman as an offering…”

Two other elders raise their hands. Then several of the men. Then, reluctantly, the mother of a neighboring family. Even more hands pop up after that. Although maybe a minute passes, it feels like hours. At least a dozen sets of eyes are on you.

“Out of all of you,” the demon king says, eyes following across the crowd that’s now gathered, “she was the only one of you to fight back, yet you punish such an action?”

Silence is the only response the crowd can conjure up. A groan so loud that the ground rumbles beneath it rings out as the house gives way, collapsing in on itself in a rain of ash and embers.

“Wait!” Your father cries out, “let me go in her place!”

Several more incomprehensible sentence fragments leave him. He pleads and pleads to no avail. The last view you get of your village is of the spirits retreating back into the woods.

It must be hours before your state of shock wears off. Dawn breaks bleak and gray over the horizon. The temple he brings you lies in ruin. You must be one of the first people to set foot in here in years. A cracked foundation gives way to walls overtaken by vines. Dust and ash layers the ground, and every surface imaginable.

Sukuna must not expect you to try to run. Nothing is done to prevent you from escaping. There are no doors to lock. No ropes or cages. The only real barrier of escape is the trek home through miles of woods. Should you wait until sunrise, the trip won't be impossible. It is the fear of what remains for you that prevents you from returning.

Would there even be anything to go back to? Is it even worth it after what they did? They did not hesitate as they offered you as a sacrifice. Whatever happens to them… they have it coming.

Such thoughts do little to comfort you. If anything, they make you feel worse. What little strength you have left goes into stopping the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You manage. Barely.

Unable to find it within you to do anything else, you sit. Only a thin, woven mat separates you and the hard floor. Footsteps draw closer down the hall, the noise only amplified by the high ceilings of the temple.

Uraume. That’s what Sukuna called them. A strange being that looks human, but appears to be more than such. They enter the room, a shock a white hair visible before the rest of them is. They wear the kimono of an unmarried woman, in vibrant shades of orange, blues, and pinks woven in the pattern of flowers. Hooked around one arm is a pail of water. Under the other arm is a roll of cloth. Contained within the cloth is a mix of hygiene supplies; a sponge, comb, various vials of oils and creams. 

Uraume treats you like one would treat a frightened animal. They kneel on the ground before you, leaving about the distance of a foot. When you don't flinch, or shy away, they move closer.

“You’re covered in ash,” they say, “let me help.”

With the sponge, they dab away the bits of dirt and ash that have caked to your skin. Human contact like this should, in theory, be intimate, but in this situation it feels like anything but that. Uraume’s touch feels cold, and clinical. With them comes a strange, uncanny feeling, like you are not looking into the eyes of a human, but of a corpse. The reason behind their kindness is a mystery to you. It feels wrong to question them, but you can't help but think there is something sinister behind their actions. Their casualness suggests this isn't the first time they’ve done this. That thought does nothing to comfort you, so you quickly push it aside.

Next, they move on to your neck, then down to the exposed bits of your chest, and shoulders. 

“Such a beautiful dress,” they comment. You reply weakly, saying it belonged to your mother. Their response to that is little more than a hum.

They take your hands, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails with a small brush. After that, a comb is worked through your hair, taking great care to not pull on any knots that have formed. Once they can work their hands through your hair with no resistance, they stop.

Uraume leans back to examine their work, deeming you presentable. Gathering what they brought with them, they make their way towards the door, turning back once to say: “I’ll bring something to eat.”

The events of the night have left you without an appetite. You probably should eat something. It’ll be important to keep your energy up. The little adrenaline left within you has you jumping at any small noise, or shadow. Sleep feels like an impossibility right now.

About ten minutes pass before Uraume returns carrying a platter. Tea, pickled vegetables, a hunk of bread, a bowl of some kind of stew. It smells quite good, but you merely pick at it. Like your hesitation to sleep, you can hardly eat. Uraume sits with you, picking at their own food, but never finishing it. A million questions race through your mind, although you can barely bring yourself to ask them.

Would they even answer you? Or does this have a more sinister plan behind it?

Finally, you find enough of your voice to ask: “Where is…?”

“I’ve prepared a bath for master Sukuna,” they say, “he’ll be joining us shortly.”

Your attention turns back to the bowl in your hands, which soon slips through your fingers, breaking upon the floor. What little appetite you had is soured entirely. This is it. You’re nearly certain you’re going to die here.

Your attempt to clean up the mess is stopped by Uraume. They insist upon cleaning it themselves, taking great care not to cut their hands on the shards.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, shocked at how small your voice sounds.

“Master Sukuna likes to play with his food before he eats it,” they say.

Uraume leaves shortly after, taking the leftover dishes with them. You remain seated, eyes moving between the two exits of the room. One takes you to the entrance of the temple; you’re not certain where the other leads. The first is almost guaranteed to be guarded, though. Trying to run now is a bad idea. But when will you get another chance?

You will not sit idly by as death draws closer. Like the previous night, you feel as if you must do something. It was your own foolish actions that got you into this mess, says a small voice in the back of your head.

Trapped under your heel is a small pottery shard, left over from the shattered bowl. It’s small enough to conceal in your palm. Sharp. Better for stabbing than it is slashing, but it will be good enough at either. Once Sukuna returns, you’ll get your chance.

The rush of adrenaline has started to wear off now, rendering your arms weak, and your legs shaky. If you were to sit down now, you’re certain it would be a while before you get back up. It is the body fighting itself; fight or flight mode mixing with exhaustion. If you do not stop and rest, your body will give out on you eventually.

So you stand there and pace, clutching your shard of pottery close. Maybe thirty minutes pass in the time it takes Sukuna to enter, but it feels like hours. Adrenaline turns into fatigue.

Tears burn at your eyes again, but you’re able to blink them back. A mix of shock and betrayal has left you nothing short of exhausted. Sukuna’s towering stature only helps to make you feel like a lamb about to be devoured by a wolf.

“I trust Uraume has been of assistance,” Sukuna says. 

Unsure of how to respond, you simply nod.

“What now?” You ask. “Is this the part where you’re supposed to eat me?”

That earns a laugh from him, although it’s strange sounding, as if the very action is foreign to him.

“Many decades ago, the people of your village—among others—would hold a festival during harvest season,” he says, “it was meant as a sign of peace. An offering in return to not raze their homes,

“The people of your village have grown laze, and complacent. They have forgotten their place as humans, and needed to be reminded of it. You are simply another offering. Something to tide me over.”

Sukuna draws close enough for you to feel his breath across the back of your neck. You shudder. Adrenaline courses through you once again.

This is it, you think, you are going to die. 

In one last attempt to preserve your dignity, you aim for his jugular, and swing the shard of pottery towards it. A hand wraps around your wrist before it can make contact. A second set of arms are trapping you against his body before you can even register it. His breath is warm against your cheek, teeth inhumanly sharp in the dim light.

“You are entertainment.” He says. 

That same set of sharp teeth drag up your neck. Some sick sense of pleasure runs up your spine at the feeling: being a little lamb in the jaws of a predator. It would take so little effort from him to render you lifeless that it’s almost comical. Adrenaline turns to delirium in your mind. 

What happens if he finally grows bored of you? It’s not a matter of “if” in this case, it’s a matter of “when”. You have an idea of what will happen once he does.

You don't hear him leave, so much as you notice his lack of presence.

Sukuna is gone for most of the following day. In that time, you explore much of the temple in an attempt to gain your bearings. It’s sparsely furnished, and dilapidated for the most part, but there are some signs of life. On a lower level of the temple is a bedroom, where the bed alone is as big as a room in your home. Must be Sukuna’s. Another, smaller room appears to be Uraume’s quarters. A small kitchen branches off the hallway not far from this. 

The later half of the day is spent trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. Thick woods surround the structure, spreading out for what must be miles. To the North is a creek. If you followed it, you might possibly meet up with the river by your village. Whether you could do so before nightfall is another question entirely. Finding yourself stuck in unfamiliar woods past dark may prove to be a death sentence.

Even if you could go back, would you want to? Their lack of hesitation towards sacrificing you still rings clear in your mind.

Sleep seems to be the best way to pass the time. There isn't much else to do around here. In the hours before dusk, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, and into the woods that surround the temple. You justify it by saying that fresh air will do you good, not that anyone asks you. The only person around to do so would be Uraume, though you don't see much of them.

Heavy fog settles upon the trees, causing the day to take on a quiet, sleepy nature. Little cream-colored mushrooms pop up through the layer of moss and dead leaves that blanket the forest floor. Carved out over years of use is a dirt path, barely wide enough for a person to walk through. Following it for about ten minutes brings you to a pond. At one end, the start of a small creek leads downhill. Little fish are visible just under the surface. Leaving your socks and shoes at the shore, you wade out into the water. It’s cool, but not chilly. The mud feels soft underneath your feet. Being outside helps settle your nerves a bit. Outright terror is replaced with uneasiness now. While not entirely better, it’s an improvement to your previous mood.

From the treeline opposite of the path you took, a figure enters the clearing. Sukuna. Adrenaline spikes through your body at the sight of him. Your pulse quickens, and fear prickles in your palms. Every cell of your being is telling you to run.

Sukuna motions with his hand for you to follow him. It is not an offer, so much as it’s a command. Following a short walk on a stoney path, you find yourself overlooking a rock cliff-face, and a small wood hut. Scattered about are several steaming pools, which bubble up from the ground, layering upon the cliff-face like stairs.

Sukuna undressed at the wood hut, leaving his clothes hanging upon the rafters. Your gaze remains firmly on the ground. You should not be seeing him like this. This feels far too intimate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long, but can't help it. The sight of his back alone is hard to tear your eyes away from; the muscles, the tattoos, the curve of his spine. There is a strange, supernatural beauty to him. You eye him with caution, yet curiosity. 

Why has he brought you here? What does he want? Is this simply a ritual before he eats you?

Certainly, if you were to scream, no one would be nearby to hear you. 

It strikes you just how easily his teeth could tear through your jugular. How his sharp nails could shred your flesh to ribbons. Sukuna is far faster and stronger than you, outrunning him is not an option.

Following his lead, you undress, and leave your clothes folded neatly upon a rock. Next comes the task of taking down your hair, and combing through it with your fingers, finding it still knot-free from the events of the previous night. Only then do you approach the largest of the three pools, and wade into it. At its deepest, it's a little above your waist. You could walk all the way across and never once have your feet leave the ground.

You settle upon a rock towards the edge, half submerged in the pool. The hot water feels nice upon your sore muscles. Your eyes trail ribbons of steam as they curl off the water. A wave of self consciousness rolls over you. You sink further into the water, crossing your arms in front of your chest. It’s up to your chin now. Sometime during this, it starts raining. The droplets leave little ripples across the surface of the water. Fall brings the smell of damp earth, and decaying leaves with it. Something that should be comforting only makes your stomach turn.

“You look frightened, little lamb,” Sukuna says.

Is it so obvious? 

“I still don't believe this isn't some attempt to eat me.” You ask, though you’re not certain you want the answer.

“Had I wanted to eat you, I would have had Uraume make preparations.” He says.

You still don't believe him. How many people met their fate at his hands before you? There is no reason why you would be lucky—why you would escape your fate.

“Then what is it you want from me?” You ask.

His expression softens, shoulders lowering with a sigh. The space between his eyebrows is not so harshly creased anymore. 

“I am not like the typical curses you have met,” Sukuna says, “I require your permission.” 

“Permission for what?” You shrink back as he draws closer, stopping mere inches from you. He’d tower over the tallest man, let alone someone like you.

A kiss. Hungry, and overbearing, but a kiss nonetheless. Sukuna has to lean down, and you have to crane your neck up to complete the action. His movements feel stiff, clinical, as if he hasn't done this many times before. The action causes warmth to bloom in your chest, and spread out to your limbs. The hands that cup your face are nearly large enough to encompass it entirely. He tastes like wine, and something vaguely metallic. The thought that it might be blood crosses your mind for only a moment. You’d much rather think about other things. 

“Will you devote yourself to me, completely and entirely?” He asks.

Funny, you think, had a human man asked you the same thing, you would have laughed in his face. Yet you find yourself bewitched by the King of Curses. Curious, and cautious all the same. This is not a feeling of love. It is something else entirely. You are a sacrifice, you remind yourself, this is the fate of a sacrifice.

“I devote myself to no man,” you say, “I don't see how you'd be any different.”

He hums in amusement, circling around you in the water. He stops behind you, slightly to your right. Sharp teeth graze across your shoulder. Large hands trace their way up your hips, then your body, coming to rest just below your breasts. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the strange pressure that has built up. Your heart rate picks up in pace. Sukuna must be able to sense this. A low laugh leaves him as he pulls away.

“Well then,” he says, “do I have your permission to continue?”

Continue what? You wish to ask. As if against your mind’s wishes, your head moves in a nod. “Yes,” you say.

You can only imagine the look on his face as you have your back to him. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiate off his body. Is he pleased? Amused? Smug that all it took was a kiss to make you let your guard down? 

Hands that should be calloused and rough are quite gentle with their touch. One comes to rest upon your hip, before trailing down to the space between your thighs. Seconds in and your knees seem to give out, your body supported only by him. One finger presses into you, then a second. You sigh at the intrusion. There’s little resistance as he presses into you. You’re too wet. Sukuna’s fingers are much larger than your own, though the stretch you feel is pleasant, not painful. Your thighs squeeze around his hand, drawing a low laugh from him. You can feel it rumble within his chest, which your back is pressed flush to.

Being so close to another being feels odd. The only intimacy you know is a platonic one. A familial one. This is different. Stronger. More intense. He finds the spot that makes you squirm and abuses it, toying with you like prey. It must be a game to him, you think, like cat and mouse. With one of your hands over your mouth, you try to muffle the lewd noises that spill from you. It’s a losing battle. All sorts of pleased sounding noises—from both you and him—echo through the clearing. Secretly, you’re glad this place is so remote. Should someone hear the lewd noises you’re making, you wouldn't recover from the embarrassment. He brings you just to the edge, but refuses to let you cross over. Frustration turns to desperation as you grind against him, chasing your own release. Sukuna doesn't appear opposed to your actions. He lets you work yourself up to—and through—your own release, the noises you make growing gradually more obscene until they come to a head in the form of an orgasm.

You remain in the water for a while afterwards. The layer of fog overhead makes the day take on a lazy, sleepy nature. His hands comb through your hair as you lay against his chest. Such a moment feels uncharacteristically tender for him. While you expect them to be sharp, his nails feel nice against your skin. The mouth on his stomach resembles a smirk, although the expression on his face is flat. Unreadable. A slight pang of disappointment shoots through you. You know it’s unreasonable of you to expect humanity from someone inherently inhuman. He does not—he can not—process things the way you do. Humans must appear so small and fragile to him.

You’re uncertain of how much time passes as you lay there, your limbs tangled with his. It doesn't feel like long enough. No time would feel long enough. You crave the touch of another being whether you want to admit that or not.

“It’s getting late,” he comments. Without another word, you watch as Sukuna dresses himself, and leaves.

You follow him as quickly as you can. You’re not quite fast enough, arriving back at the temple long after him. Dusk follows soon after. 

You find no sign of the King of Curses upon your return. Finding yourself with not much of an appetite, you head straight to bed. Uraume stops by once to offer tea, but you decline, insisting you’re tired, and just wish to sleep. Whether or not they believe you, you can't tell. That’s about the extent of every conversation you have; polite, but short.

Sukuna must not need to sleep. Not in the same way you do. You dress down into your underclothes, leaving the rest folded neatly upon a chair. They’re not dirty, just slightly wrinkled from the events of today. You crawl into the bed much larger than you, and attempt to sleep. When he crawls into the bed beside you, you do nothing to protest.

As time passes, you grow used to his presence. Falling into a routine takes mere days. In that time, you don't see much of Sukuna, or Uraume. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re not certain what you’d say to either of them. You figure it best not to question what Sukuna gets up to in his free time. If the events at your village are anything similar, you figure it best to pay them no mind.

The longer you spend here, the more curious you find yourself. At least twice you find your way back to the hot springs. Familiarizing yourself with the surrounding woods has you growing more confident when navigating it. Animal tracks and trails reveal themselves, bringing more life to the woods. 

Fall turns to winter. Rain gives way to snow, bringing in a bitter stormfront. It’s hard to tell how many days pass as the storm hits, rendering the three of you confined to the temple. Sukuna doesn't appear bothered at all by the cold, but you spend many bleak nights huddled by a fire. Sukuna approaches you on one of these nights; perhaps the bleakest and darkest one before the storm finally breaks. Your inability to leave the temple has you ready to claw out of your own skin. Never were you one to stay in one place very long. 

Days have passed and you haven't spoken much to one another. Not since the day at the hot springs. You find yourself especially longing for them on a day like this, where the cold makes your joints ache, and your lips cracked. Winter is among your least favorite of the seasons. A hot and sticky summer day was always preferred over a day like this. Sukuna must sense it. He finds you curled by the fire, wrapped in an assortment of quilts and fabrics. You can't tell if it’s morning, or evening. Snow has rendered midday as dark as dusk. 

You know you should get up, and toss more wood onto the fire. Should you let it die any further, it’s unlikely you’ll get it started again. Sukuna joins you in the room, sitting on the mat to your left. Finding yourself searching for warmth, you move closer to him. It’s an unconscious action at first. Once you recognize it, you can't find the willpower within you to stop.

You offer the edge of the blanket to him, basking in his warmth as the quilt is wrapped around both of you. One of his hands comes to rest upon your knee. Your gaze is trained on his face, while his remains on the dying fire. 

“I don't suppose you do this to every sacrifice you get,” you say, not expecting an answer.

The corners of his lips twitch into something that resembles a smile. Much life his laugh, his smile is stiff, and rather foreign feeling. Like he hasn't done such a thing in centuries.

“You are different from the sacrifices I have received in the past.” He says. 

You get the impression he is still figuring out what to do with you. Such a thought doesn't inspire confidence on your part, though you assume your situation could be worse. 

You're nearly in his lap now. The hand on your knee soon moves upwards onto your thigh. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he palms himself through his clothes. Some sick part of you wishes to taunt him. To tease him in the same way he has done to you. You part your legs just enough to encourage him. There must be something wrong with you, you think, no normal woman would enjoy the company of the King of Curses.

This is not your typical virgin sacrifice. It is little more than that. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure. To fuck without the intent to procreate.

“I always assumed you wouldn’t have these… urges.” You say.

“Many things lost their potency,” he says. “Food was never enough to satiate, drink was never enough to quench thirst. Sex has remained the same. Primal pleasure never loses its potency.”

So he was human. At least at one point in time…

“Like I said,” he hums, “I am not like the typical curses you have met. I require your permission.”

“You have it,” you say. 

Oh how dearly you wish to recreate the event at the hot springs. To feel the same build-up of emotions, and the following release. Such mindless pleasure has remained in your head, unable to be stifled by your own hands.

Off comes your kimono, guided down your shoulders by his hand. Your nipples stiffen when exposed to the open air. It is not the cold that has you shivering, but the expectation of what’s to come. His size, and calloused hands suggest his touch would be harsh, but you find to be the opposite. Sharp nails graze down your sides as he moves to kneel before you. You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

His own clothes are left among the growing pile on the floor. He pumps his stiffening cock in his hand, the head of which weeps across his palm. A different kind of heat blooms in your stomach.

 Sharp teeth graze across your jaw, down your neck, before eventually nipping at your shoulder. A sting both painful and pleasurable radiates from the bite. Blood beads from the two points where he managed to break the skin, quickly lapped away by him. Part of your brain is telling you to push him away. The other part is telling you to expose your neck further. You’re not certain which to listen to as you lay under him, caged within his arms. Your breaths grow ragged, turning into quiet moans as his knee nudges your legs apart. This is different from the day at the hot springs. Sukuna is seeking something more—he is seeking his own pleasure this time.

A hand finds its way into your hair, gently tugging at it. Guided by his hand, you expose your neck further to him. He laps at the droplets of blood that form, sucking dark marks into the skin of your neck. Pain and pleasure overlap in your mind. Your thighs are a mess of your own slick, and the precum that leaks from the heads of his two cocks. It’s almost comical how you work yourself up in knots at only the slightest provocation by him.

You taste yourself on him as he kisses you. The bleeding from your neck has mostly stopped now. What remains will barely leave a scar. His lips trail down your neck, through the valley between your breasts, and down your stomach, before eventually stopping just shy of your cunt. The look of him alone has you growing as wet as a virgin; his hair disheveled from your hands running through it, the muscles in his shoulders appear more prominent now. His arms hook around your thighs, although he doesn't need to bother holding your legs open. You’d do it without prompt by him. Eager for your own release, and worked up into a soaked mess, you’d do anything to please him.

You shouldn't be enjoying it as much as you are. You know you should be afraid. It would take no effort from him at all to tear through your femoral artery, and let you bleed out. You would be helpless in the matter anyway; you’re nothing more than a little lamb trapped under a big bad wolf.

The feeling of his tongue is strange. With him on his knees, bowed in what resembles worship, has your stomach in knots. The lewdness of it all has you more worked up than anything else. A strange, pleasurable tension builds within you. He is not toying with you this time, but working you over. When you do finally cum, you cum hard, riding out your high on his face. The noises he’s making suggest he’s enjoying this almost more than you do.

He must be painfully hard now. The head of his cock is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum. Using his hand to guide him, the head of his cock presses into you. You’re too wet from his previous actions to notice much of a stretch. What little pain there is crosses over with pleasure in your mind. He groans as he sheathes himself within you fully. His expression softens just enough for you to take in the features of his face. He’s quite handsome now that you’re close enough to appreciate his looks. It makes you wonder what his life as a human was like. Was he royalty, or a commoner? What was his job? Did he ever have family?

You won't get an answer out of him no matter how hard you try. This is the most human the king of curses will ever appear. 

His thrusts are slow at first. Lazy. More like grinding, not proper fucking. With as sensitive as you still are, this doesn't make much of a difference. You’re still a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. Judging by the noises he’s making, he’s not far from cumming himself. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and that seems to only encourage him. The muscles in his arms and shoulders gradually grow more tense before he shudders, then visibly relaxes. A warm sensation in your cunt follows soon after; he’s cum inside of you.

You lay like that for a while: limbs entwined, bodies curled around each other. He lets himself soften inside of you until the desire to pull out hits. You can tell your hips will be sore in the morning—whenever it decides to come. What little of his seed spills out of you is forced back in by his fingers. You assume it ties into his possessive nature. It must be a way of marking you as his. The fire has long since died out, though you find the warmth from his body adequate enough. 

“I don't think I can walk,” you lie, “carry me?”

Sukuna feigns annoyance, but relents, carrying you to the bed too large for any human. You quickly find your way under the covers. He finds himself in the space beside you. Fatigue hits you soon after, yet you find yourself unable to sleep.

“You were human once?” You ask.

The mood in the room seems to shift entirely. Sukuna is not one for conversation. You expected no different from a man like him. He looks at you with mild annoyance, as if deciding on his answer.

“I was. Once.” He says.

Your fingers trace across the tattoos on his wrist. “Do you miss it?” You ask. “Being human, I mean.”

“I am far stronger now than I was when I was a human.” He says. “I no longer need to eat, nor drink. I have the gift of eternal life so long as I am smart with my actions. I do not miss the fragility that comes with humanity.”

His words almost irritate you. So much more exists to humanity than what he says, from little things like sharing a summer even with a friend, tearing into ripe persimmons. Spending an evening hunched over a stew pot helping your mother. Kisses shared between a lover in the woods, or out in the fields. Stories exchanged by firelight. Intricately woven fabrics and paintings that might as well be indistinguishable from real life. So many beautiful things exist within humanity. Maybe he’s been away from it so long he’s forgotten the extent of it.

Would the King of Curses even admit he’s lonely? Or would he be too prideful to admit such a thing?

“You're sad. Why?” He questions.

“Was just thinking about my mother. That's all.” You say. “She wanted me to get married before I…”

You’re mad at her. More mad than you’ve been at anyone in your life. Yet you wish for nothing more than her comfort in this moment. A wound exists that time won't heal. Anger is not productive in fixing it. Anger only makes it worse.

This time, you are the one to initiate the kiss. You wish for it to distract you, but it only amplifies the ache in your chest.

“If you were to lose what little fight you had left in you, then this would no longer be fun,” he says.

You grow used to the ever-present shadow that is Sukuna, talking to the space beside you as if he is there because hell, sometimes he is. He is more than a mere man. He exists on a level different from you or anyone else. Your existence at this temple feels less like confinement and more like living. 

“Will you join me?” He asks one day by the river. 

The two of you sit upon the riverbank, watching as the water swirls below you. Spring snowmelt, combined with a recent storm, has stirred up the river bottom, turning the water murky. What was meant to be a fishing trip has proved unsuccessful.

“I would be lying if I said I haven't grown used to your presence.” He says.

“Don't be getting soft on me,” you say, half joking.

The most emotion you get out of him is an amused sounding huff. 

“I want you to join me,” he says, “not in life as human, but in eternity as a curse.”

“I will,” you say. 

No thought is needed for your answer, nor is there any hesitation on your part. Sukuna simply nods. That is what love is to him. Devotion. Worship. Throwing away your humanity means nothing if humanity is so quick to reject you. 

Gifts begin appearing around the temple after that. Priceless jewelry, and expensive dresses. Hair pins and cosmetics. Seasons pass in what feels like no time at all. Before you know it, your third fall here is quickly approaching. Winter comes and goes—uncharacteristically bitter this year. Spring brings a sense of rebirth. The ground thaws slowly, and plant life is in full bloom. Animal life returns to the surrounding woods, showing signs in every trail around the temple.

A hunting trip brings you further out into the woods than you’ve traveled before. You don't realize you’re nearing a human settlement until you’ve stumbled upon it.

The village has changed drastically in the time you were gone, so much so that you almost don't recognize it. A full blown mill has sprouted up along the river. At least twice as many houses stand now. Years ago this street was little more than a dirt path. Sometime over the years it has been paved over with river stones. Children play in the streets. Men walk home with pails of fish slung over their shoulders. These strangers notice you and pause, returning to their homes quickly. 

Your house remains mostly the same. Age has not been kind to it. One corner of the roof sags, and the wood trim has grown bleached with time. The path up to the front steps is overgrown. Sitting outside, hunched over a wash bin, is your mother.

Her hair is mostly gray now. Wrinkles mark her skin, and her joints are knobby, but you would still consider her beautiful. The face of the woman she once was is still there. The clothes she wears are of rich fabrics, suggesting your family has not hurt for money. Her sturdy figure suggests they never lacked food either.

When she sees you, her eyes grow wet with tears. And it’s as if the weight of the world has lifted off your shoulders. You want to be angry at her. You want to unload years of anger upon her. You want her to feel just a fraction of the fear you've felt. But you can't bring yourself to do it. The look in her eyes tells you she’s felt all the emotions you have.

Her movements are laced with hesitation, as if she’s deciding whether or not you're real. One of her wrinkled hands takes yours. 

“I love you,” she says, “and I am so sorry.”

“I know,” you say.

She invites you in for tea, setting the table up with the nice dishware—the kind she only uses for guests. The interior of the house hasn't changed much. Your room is eerily the same, as if it hasn't been touched since the day you left. Your father’s boots, and hunting coat remain by the door, although they look as if they haven't been moved in years. Makes sense, you think, hunting is a task that grows difficult as you get older. There comes a time in every hunter’s life where they grow old, and it becomes their turn to stay home and tend the fire.

“Where's…?” You never get the chance to finish your question, the solemn look on your mother’s face is enough of an answer.

“He passed,” she says, pausing to think, “two springs ago now? Maybe three.”

Believing you would never see them again, you grieved your parents long ago.This particular grief is like an old wound to you.

“The village looks prosperous,” you comment. A bitter tone clings to your voice.

“Yes,” she says, “the past years have been kind to us. I suppose we have you to thank for that?”

She sits across from you, her eyes still wet with tears. It feels like you are holding a conversation with a stranger. Your mother regards you with a certain weariness she only reserves for strangers. Maybe it would hurt more if you had more room within you for grief.

“He never stopped looking for you, you know,” she says, setting a cup of tea in front of you. “Even after the village held a funeral for you. He never wanted to believe it. Until the day he died, he was out in the woods thinking he could bring you home.”

“I was under the impression I wasn't wanted here.” You say.

“You know that’s not true,” she says. “What happened that night was a result of fear. The elders did what they thought would preserve the safety of everyone.”

“Except for me.” You say.

Fear. Right. To them, you were simply a sacrifice. You drain the last of your tea, standing from the table. Your mother stands as if to stop you, but freezes before she can.

“Does he treat you well?” She asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Better than any human man?”

“Yes,” you answer, although you can tell she doesn't believe it. 

“Do you love him?” She asks. “Does he love you?”

“I suppose so.” You say. “As much as he is capable of loving something.”

“But do you love him?” She asks again.

“As much as I am capable of doing so, yes.” You answer.

It is not the answer she wants, but the one that is the truth. With her hands folded in her lap, she nods solemnly.

That following night you leave your village not as a human, but as a curse. 

Enough time would pass that the story of a young sacrifice would be forgotten by its people; what would remain, is a tale of a love so infamous that it survived centuries.

[mustainegf]

Hi! So I was having thoughts and was thinking about Older James with a younger girlfriend. So pretty much, it’s that time of the month for her and she wasn’t used to her boyfriends caring much or taking care of her so she never really mentioned it to James and kept quite about it. James always knew about it and was sweet with her but never pushed to much with it when he saw that she seemed to handle it ok for herself until one month it’s a lot worse than normal and no matter how hard she tries to hide it and just starts taking care of her completely no matter how much she argued it. Running her a bath, rubbing her tummy, holding her, just fluff in general.

Having feels right now and need some fluff with older James🥹

I love this sweet old man so much

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 ²⁰²³

The first time it clicked that James knew about my cycle, it was a second where you catch someone out of the corner of your eye and they're just looking at you with that half grin, like they're in on some big secret. I'd been digging through my purse, trying to find a tampon discreetly while we were out at dinner. James didn't say anything, just continued talking to me about the tour they'd just finished up with in that aged, endearing voice.

I remembered how my breath glued to my throat the instant his hand slid across the table to cover mine. "Baby, it's okay," he'd smiled, almost too casually. I'd blinked at him, my hand stuck mid search. He gave my fingers a gentle squeeze while his thumb brushed against the back of my hand with a nod.

I nodded back, mostly because I didn't know what else to do. My exes never discussed this stuff. They didn't even notice, or if they did, they pretended they didn't. I was used to dealing with this stuff on my own. I'd learned to be discreet about it, to cope with the cramps, mood swings all without making a fuss.

James was different, though.

He never pushed it, never made a big deal out of it, but somehow, he was always there. A heating pad would appear in bed, or he'd send me a text asking if I needed anything from the store, throwing in a stupid little winking emoji that always made me giggle at how much of a sweet old man he was. And it worked for us. I mean, I didn't want him to see me as weak or needy.

My period hit like a punch, a blow that felt unrecoverable. From the instant I woke up, I knew it was going to be a bad day. These cramps were sharper, aching, tugging and eating at my lower back. My head was pounding, and even the thought of food made my stomach churn.

I decided to try and soldier through it like I always did, not wanting to burden James with my misery, but every movement seemed to make it worse. By mid morning, maybe 10AM, I was curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow to my abdomen wondering if maybe the devil would let me sell my soul to get rid of these horrid periods.

I didn't even hear James come in. One minute, I was alone in the living room, the next his shadow draped over me. I opened my eyes enough to see him there, his aged face was sunken with worry for me, his white eyebrows quirked in curiosity.

"You look sick, baby," he cooed softly, kneeling beside the couch. His hand came up to brush the hair out of my face and then warmly kiss my forehead.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice the weakest it's ever sounded. "Just tired."

"Yeah? And how long have you been lying here?"

I shrugged, not exactly wanting to answer. "Awhile.. It's just…you know, that time."

His face switched from worry to empathy, and he nodded like he understood, which of course he did. I should have known better than to think I could hide this from him of all people. But instead of leaving it at that like he usually did, he pressed his lips together in that way that meant he was deep in thought, "Why don't you let me take care of you today, sweet thing?"

I wanted to debate him, to tell him I didn't need taking care of, to tell him I could handle it myself. But before the words could leave my lips, he was already easing the pillow out of my grasp and sliding his hands under me, and lifting me up into his arms. He didn't even sigh at the weight, it was that simple for him to just lift me.

"James—" I began, but he just shook his head.

"Shh... I got cha," he whispered, tucking me against his chest. James took me down the hall, my face cuddling into the tattoos on his flexing arms. I was too tired, too sore, to fight him on it. and deep down, I wanted this.

As we entered the bathroom, I could already hear him running the bath, steam rising from the tub and beckoning me in. He set me down on the edge of the tub and his hands stuck on my shoulders for a second whilst he crouched down in front of me. "Just relax, okay sweetheart? Let me take care of my girl."

Protests died on my lips as I looked into his soft blue eyes. There wasn't a shred of pity there, no frustration. Only love.

So I nodded, biting my lip to keep from tearing up. It wasn't that I was sad, not really. It was just… overwhelming in the best way, to have someone care this much. In a way nobody else had before.

James helped me undress, his touch so gentle. I felt incredibly embarrassed to take off my underwear and pad, but James was completely unfazed. I think he could see my discomfort as i stepped out of the undergarment, doing my best to keep my les clamped together. "it's okay, I'll deal with it. Don't be embarrassed." he whispered with a kiss to my forehead.

When I was finally in the tub, the hot water sucked out some of my uncomfort. James sat down on the floor beside the tub, one hand whisking lazily through the water. He would gently pull his hand from the water, thick fingertips dripping with warm water, before the back of his fingers found my shoulders, which weren't fully submerged. He trailed warm water over my skin, forcing a sigh from my lips

"Feel better?" he whispered.

I nodded, closing my eyes and leaning back against the cool porcelain. "Yeah... Thank you, Jamie..."

With James, it was different. Maybe because he was older, but he understood how to take care of me better than any man ever had.

After a short while, he stood up and reached onto the rack for a towel, and then slung it over his arm like some kind of butler, which brought me a small smile. "C'mon, let's get you dried off, love."

I let him help me out of the tub, my body heavier than it should have been. He wrapped the towel around me, carefully drying me, even between my legs, telling me not to think about the towel, ad that he'd wash it.

I looked to the counter and saw that he'd gotten my favorite pajama pants, and a shirt of his for me to wear, as well as a fresh pair of underwear with a new pad. Holy shit, he was a sweetheart. Any woman would swoon for this.

James carefully helped me into the clothes and brushed my wet hair before gently leading me to bed. Silently, James pulled back the covers on the bed and nudged me onto the mattress. He tucked the blankets around me and then climbed in alongside me, reeling me close to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat thump beneath my cheek.

I had no idea how much I'd really needed him until now.

"Why are you so good to me?" I mumbled into his chest, taking in a deep breath of his sweet and masculine smell.

He chuckled quietly, caressing his fingers on my cheek. "Because I love you, sweet thing."

I smiled, his words wrapping around my weak body like a super soft warm blanket. "I love you too."

He kissed the top of my head. "Get some rest, beautiful. I'm right here."

[gotranting]

The Winter Feast - Part Two

Cregan Stark x Female Northern reader Summary: The last celebration before Winter comes. A time when blessings and protection are sought from the Old Gods. A time of feasting and song before the biting blizzards arrive. A time to indulge in all pleasures before survival becomes the only thing that matters.

A/N: You can technically read this without part one as that was an introduction to the characters. English is not my native language, and any constructive criticism is welcome! ...I think the grammar is in order. Would hope so. *Hides behind the Wall*. Is it too sappy? Warnings: smut at the end, slight breeding kink, fluff, minimal description of reader (red hair, brown eyes). I tried to use Y/N as little as possible. Hope you enjoy!

The Feast was a magical affair. Fire embers lit up the night sky as the sound of drums echoed through the forest.

Sat on a wooden bench, an elderly woman created all sorts of creatures with her hands, as the children around listened to the tales of monstrous beings beyond the Wall. Huddled next to each other, some shivered, others covered their eyes with their little hands, yet they could not stop listening to all the frightening details of each tale.

No matter where you turned, one could hear the chatter about all sorts of subjects. From shared worries about the oncoming winter, to idle gossip about the neighbour next door.

The sweetness of mead was felt heavily in the air as men and women joined together in their merrymaking – singing the Northern songs, their voices complimented the jolly tunes of drums and lutes.

...That is, singing was done by those who had not been defeated by one bottle too many. True, even those who decided to empty their tenth cup, before the Feast even began sang along. Although, many who heard those screeches hoped that the drunken sleep would take over as soon as possible and rid them of their misery.  

A lively affair indeed.

But the largest attraction stood proudly in the middle of the gathering. A massive bonfire, made specifically for the celebration. Its flames danced along with the common and highborn folk alike, all lost in their own music. Children ran around the fire, some folk danced on their own, elders were moving as much as their old bones allowed them to.

The young lovers, who wanted a blessing from the Old Gods, jumped over the blazing flames, hand in hand, as others cheered and wished them a long and healthy union.

And there, far away from the light of the flame, shielded by the deep green branches of the trees, were lovers who wished to dance to their own tune. Either they already jumped over the flames, or they did not care for such trivialities. Some tried to hide from disapproving members of their kin in order to have their own moment of peace, as bittersweet as it was for them.

One last moment of peace before Winter arrived. Last time for the folk to release all of their troubles, before survival became the only important matter in their life. This was a time of songs, dance and spending time with family or friends. For one knew that not all would survive the harshness of the arriving blizzards.

Sacrifices were brought to the Old Gods, in hope that they would protect them all. Food and drink covered the tables, while the rest of it was stored safely for the harsher times.

If there were any mischievous children trying to sneak into the pantry, Aida would welcome them. From then on, their plan was doomed to failure.

Same went for the young lads who tried to snatch away one more barrel of ale to their company. Woe to the man who was caught by the watchful eye of Aida.

„That wench is like a guard dog standing beside those barrels“, grumbled Arnolf as he tried to devise a strategy to get closer to them. At least one.

„You could always try and sweet-talk her dear friend“, laughed Osric taking a swig of his own mead.

„Tried it, and it did not work!“, Arnolf cried out, still in disbelief that his charm did not sway the old crone.

„Well, if you hadn't asked her if she wanted to join you in the forest and taste something far sweeter than mead, perhaps she would at least refrain from hitting you right after the words left your mouth“, Osric added.

„Oh, then you do it. Come on now, show us how it is done Lord Mormont. Let us see the mighty bear come alive!“

„Maybe I will dear friend if only so you would stop whining for a moment." Taking another swig, Osric glanced to his right.

"Or, we could send our Warden to use his wolfish charms on her. Instead of snapping his head to the crowd every time a redhead passes by.“

Cregan averted his gaze from the dancers, at the mention of his title. Aye, he sought the young sorceress, however he should do so with some resemblance of control.

Besides, he wasn't sure if she would even join the festivities in the end. Even though, the feast was the type of gathering she rarely missed out, her plans often changed. It was quite possible that she ended up celebrating on her own.

Or, whispered a voice in his head, she might already have company. Stormy eyes glanced at the darkness beyond the fire, his thoughts creating an image of her sprawled on the forest floor as some inexperienced boy tried to pleasure her in vain.

His grip tightened around his cup as another image appeared of her, only this time with a man – one who knew well how to make a woman cry out their name.

„Dear brother, whatever did that cup do to you?“

Too engrossed in his thoughts, Cregan did not even notice a new member joining their group. He scolded himself once more.

A Warden on whom thousands of people depend on, cannot allow himself to be taken by surprise like that.

Releasing the cup, he turned to his sister, as she beamed innocently at her older sibling.

„Sara“, he nodded, gruffly as she kept on grinning.

„You are looking the wrong way“, she muttered taking a swig from her cup.

„Am I now? And what exactly would I be looking at sister?“

Sara could only snort as her brother tried to seem disinterested.

Nodding off to the left, she watched Cregan's face softening as he noticed the young woman standing by the fire.

„My job here is done“, she turned to their friends, finding their banter far more amusing than her lord brother's incompetence in approaching a woman.

Cregan was in awe. What a sight she was.

Standing at the edge of the dancers, her curls resembled the very flames that surrounded her. She smiled fondly as another couple jumped over the fire, laughing as her friend dragged her into the crowd.

The drums were becoming louder. 

He watched as she twirled around with a black haired woman, both of them picking up the pace at the merry tune. Cregan's heart stuttered, as she threw her head to the night sky, releasing a wild cry along with the rest of the townsfolk.

Perhaps the Southerners were right in calling them savages. No matter. None in the crowd cared for any of the nicknames as they lost themselves in the roaring of the drums.

„You could join them you know? They would be glad to see their lord among them“, whispered Sara as she turned to him once more.

„I am among them, in order to protect them Sara, should something happen. A lord cannot just abandon all of his sense for a fleeting moment of pleasure.“

He could see the annoyance at his answer. His sister never failed to voice out her displeasure, and this time was no different.  

„Cregan, you are not one of those lordlings that cannot lift a finger without being instructed on how to perform each fucking movement. Aye, you are our Warden, but do you honestly think we expect you to be proper all of the time?“

Her tone softened at her next words, as she tried to catch her brother's gaze.

„The elderly here remember the small boy who ran through the town with his leathers all covered in mud. A boy that loved the company of the common folk, who loved to observe as the blacksmiths brought in new material for their weapons.“ A cheeky grin flashed over her face.

„A Northerner. If we wanted a proper Southern princeling, we would have made it known.“ 

As she recalled their childhood, Sara was well aware how fast it all changed after their father's death. Suddenly, most of their freedom was gone. Cregan had to adapt to his new title, as new problems appeared every day. He handled them well. But there was no time left for carefree rides through the northern tundra. No more time for competing in archery with his sister. No time to visit Y/N, as much as he wanted to.

The betrayal of their own uncle hardened the young lord unlike any battle he fought.

Starks valued family and honor above all else. Many Northerners did, no matter their last name.

It was an unbearable pain, witnessing to what lengths his own kin was capable of going to, in order to obtain power.

His uncle now rots in chains. It is still no easy task, to sentence one's own family to such a fate.

Now all grown up, Cregan was as gruff as any Northerner. Sharp with the greatsword, and ruthless to those who tried to use sweet words in order to hide the truth.

He was not as happy as he once was, Sara knew that. His attention was on the Wall, on helping his people to survive, and on ruling his country. Boyish dreams were forgotten.

Alas, she knew her brother was still capable of quick remarks, especially in the company of Arnolf and Osric. Or when he was with her.

Or, with the young woman whom he waited for the whole evening.

A wave of sadness washed over her as she witnessed how her brother kept seeking out her friend. Nudging his shoulder, she nodded towards the crowd.

„Go to them. ...Go to her. Allow yourself one night Cregan. Whatever it may bring.“ 

Cregan thought about his sister's words. His eyes found the redhead once more, right in the moment she leaped over the fire.

The drums thundered as the dance began to transform into something far more primal. He watched her eyes falling shut, as she followed her own rhythm. Curls ruffled by the wind would not stand still, as she spun around.

Sara only smiled as her brother left their table.

.

Y/N was startled to see Cregan walking towards her as she reopened her eyes.

Cloak left behind, it was easy to admire him dressed in leathers, the Stark sigil lying proudly over his chest. He always looked handsome, she thought with disdain. With the firelight as their only source of lightning, it all became a rather intimate scene as the pair met in the middle of swaying bodies.

„I thought you would already be lost in your own celebration somewhere“, Cregan greeted her, as he surveyed the people around them.

An unfamiliar woman had her legs wrapped around her partner, as they ground against one another. Another man's hands roamed over his partner's body as they moved towards the forest.

The children had left the bonfire, as the drums changed their pace. Mostly young men and women remained, as others either succumbed to their mead, or discussed other matters, not paying much mind to the dancers.   

„Later perhaps. I still owe a few drinks if I remember well.“ Although, seeing Arnolf and Osric barely sitting upright, perhaps drinks should be saved for some other time, she mused.

„I did not think you would partake in this part of the Feast lord Stark.“ She never expected him to, knowing that he preferred to keep to the sides.

„I did not plan to. Sara thinks it will do me some good“, he looked around him once more. „I'm not sure I remember the steps of this dance anymore.“

„It is certainly not the kind of dance they teach you in the great halls,“ the girl chuckled under her breath.

„Look around you Cregan, and follow the movements of others. There are no rules to this, one dances how they wish to, that is the beauty of it.“

Truly, each pair moved to their own tune. Cregan sought out someone who danced on their own, and found that only a few twirled without a partner by their side.

„It is not a dance for one person alone it would seem?“ he huffed out a breath as he stood unmoving. The sweat clad bodies around barely left any space between as they glided against one another.

...It was difficult to tell who collided with the young pair, but both were brought back from their observations as his hands grabbed her waist, luckily preventing them from falling.

She could feel each beat of the drum coursing through her as she gazed up at him, only to find grey eyes already boring into her.

He cared little for anyone around, his voice only heard by the two of them.

„Will you teach me?“

She found herself nodding before she had time to think anything through, her hands covering his own. Trying to hide her own nervousness, the little witch smirked at Cregan.

„Think you can keep up Lord Stark?“

The proper titles once more. He could not help but want to hear her teasing each morning.

Another image appeared in Cregan's mind. Both of them laying in his chambers. Him nipping at her neck each time the words lord left her mouth. Not that he would stop once she gave up and used his name. It was only imagination, yet he could hear so clearly each laugh that would escape her as he trailed over her more sensitive parts.

Her hands left his own, lightly trailing over his chest. Breath catching in his throat, he was brought to the reality.

The wind picked up, as the fire blazed behind.

„Dance how you wish to Cregan...“ the girl whispered, as she circled around him, her hands gliding over his back.

As if the vixen was unaware that if he were to move as he wanted to at that moment, he would have taken her without giving a damn who watched.

He had to let her set the pace. Cregan could not trust himself with her hands all over him.

Alas the self control did not last for long.

Hooded eyes met her as she stood in front of him once more. Cregan watched as she threw her head back, her eyes fluttering shut. Mouth falling open, as another laugh escaped her, he watched utterly spellbound as this girl in front of him allowed herself to be free. He wanted to be so as well. With her if she would let him.

Damn propriety.

In one swift motion, Cregan pulled her towards him, his hands wrapping underneath her thighs, lifting her into the night sky. Her smile turned into a gasp, as he watched what little of the brown hue in her eyes disappeared. Smiles fading, both tried to control their breathing in vain. Whatever control was left, it was bound to snap at any moment.

It snapped when the girl made the first move. When he felt her hips slightly rolling against him, as she tried to adjust in his arms. When he heard her gasp as she felt him hardening below her.

Cregan could excuse her the first time.

He could only groan the second time he felt her move against him, his head burrowing in the crook of her neck. His hips responded to her own, the scent of her making him lose what little sanity he had.

„Perhaps you do know the dance after all“, she gasped. Cregan only hummed against her, his lips busy with tracing an invisible line up her neck. She could barely feel his lips on her, as he seemed to enjoy torturing her.

She needed air. More so, she needed to stop him before he did something he would regret.

„Cregan, we can't...“ her sentence was lost in another quiet moan as he left an open mouthed kiss over her pulse point. She would've let him take her in that moment. Gods, she would let him do whatever he wanted right there. But one of them had to think rationally.

Feeling the graze of his teeth, she wasn't sure if she could achieve such a task. Still, she had to try. Cupping the back of his head, the girl pulled at his hair as grey eyes met brown once more. Or whatever little was left of the two colours.

He was beautiful like this. She wanted to see him without breath every day, as long as she was the cause of it.

No. She needed air.

Releasing the stone hard grip on him, the girl lowered herself back to the ground, but Cregan would not let her go, as he tried to memorize each part of her in this moment.

„You'll be the death of me“, he murmured, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Pointless, as the wild mane just fell back where it was.

„A slayer of the Wolf in the North. Now, that is a title indeed“, she whispered back.

The way he looked at her. As if she was Nature herself in all her wildest glory. The word witch never fitted her better, than at this very moment. She could see the adoration in his eyes.

Dare she say, even love.

Her chest tightened in pain. Air. She needed air.

And yet...

„I propose a hunt Lord Stark.“

Cregan narrowed his eyes.

„If you catch me, you win. If not, I take the victory.“

„And when I find you? What then?“ He tried to catch her mouth, but the vixen moved on time, her lips leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek.

„Do not get ahead of yourself my lord.“

With a devilish glint in her eye, she blended into the crowd, red curls the only trace Cregan could follow.

He only stood there for a moment, before heading after her.

.

Moving between gasping bodies, she didn't dare turn in case he was nearby. It was a thrill she had to admit, knowing that he was trying to find her. Wondering what he would do if he did.

Being skillful when it came to hiding in the shadows, she thought herself hidden well enough. After all, she was not the only one with auburn hair among the folk.

Coming to the other side of the bonfire, surely she could stop for a moment to admire yet another couple leaping over the flames.

It was always endearing when they jumped, she thought. The leap itself was a simple enough task, yet it symbolized the trust that lovers held for one another.

By tradition, they crossed the flames together, in order to have their union blessed by the Old Ones. It was a way to make their intentions known, before they took their vows underneath the Weirwood Tree.

A binding ritual of sorts, it was never taken in a light manner by those who chose to go through it.

As she watched another happy pair, she wondered for a moment if such a fate was in store for her. Would she want it?

When she jumped before, it was only with the intention to ask for the blessing of the Old Gods. That she can continue to help her people, and everything around her. But to jump in order to bind herself to another man? Could she do it? Did she want to do it?

Her musings were cut short as two strong arms wrapped around her waist. The chase was over.

„Found you“, he murmured, as he nosed at the sensitive spot behind her ear, tickling her as he did so. She always smelled of fir, and various sorts of herbs kept on her all of the time. Cregan tried to focus on that, hoping that it would help him ground himself.

Her hands came to rest upon his once more, as she leaned back into the warmth of him. Cregan's head rested on her shoulder as they both looked upon the fire.

„Jump over the fire with me Y/N“, he left a soft kiss on her shoulder.

Her breath hitched in her throat at that. Turning her head slightly, she was met with the same warm look from before.

Another painful tug at her chest.

„That is a heavy request Cregan“, her eyes softened, no doubt reflecting the same feeling back at him.

„Mead and the heat of fire can damage a man's mind just as any poison...“

He cut her off before she could finish that thought.

„Tonight, tomorrow, in five years, or ten I would ask you the same question Y/N. The mead plays no role in this, my mind is clear.“ He almost sounded offended that she could even suggest that.

„I was yours when we first went horse riding as children.

I was yours when you taught me which herbs are used in treating the strongest of fevers.

I was certainly yours when we fought side by side a few moons ago.“ Cregan's voice could barely be heard as he nudged his nose against hers.

„I'm yours every time you bicker with me when you worry for my safety. Just as I do for yours.

I'm yours. My mind is clear on that matter.“

And she was his. Surely he had to know that. Cregan could feel her hands trembling as she returned the nudging back to him.

But they could not. If he was to bind himself to anyone, it would be to strengthen an alliance, at least that is what the other houses expected of him. A southern lady, or one from the Riverlands to bring the two houses together.

And she couldn't either. There was no possibility of her abandoning her home or the woods, in order to become a Lady of Winterfell. She was bound to the land. Managing a castle, and bringing up heirs was not her future.

Her smile faltered. „We both have a duty Cregan... you know we cannot.“

„Damn the duty. Tomorrow is not promised to us Y/N. Other lords would come to understand. They know you. And they respect you. They would have a fierce lady protecting them, just as you do now.“

„A Stark forsaking their vows? The world must truly be on the brink.“

He did not smile at her attempt at a jest. Sighing the girl tried once more. „The Northern lords would understand. Others would not. You need alliances Cregan, especially now when there is talk of another war brewing.“

A sad fate. To have them be in love without being able to act on it fully. Another pair jumped, as they got lost in their own thoughts, holding onto one another. As the lovers rushed somewhere into the woods, Cregan nosed behind her ear once more.

„Then let us have this night together. In the morning we will go back to what is expected of us.“

The witch turned in his arms. Another nuzzle.

„Spend the night with me Y/N.“ 

...There were no words for an answer. Only rushing into the shadows as the young lovers laughed breathlessly. If anyone noticed, they were happy for their Warden. Alas, not many did, too occupied as they were in their celebrations.

.

Abandoning the light of the fire, only the Moon lit their path as they ran deeper into the forest. It was truly a joyous sight to witness them so carefree, even amongst all the trouble in the world. Cregan lifted her again, twirling her in the air, as she let out a shriek of laughter.

As soon as the first tree shielded them from the view, her back was met with rough bark as Cregan's mouth crashed against hers.

There was no patience, years of holding back catching up with them at last. Hands fumbled around, as both of them tried to reach any part of exposed skin they could find, letting out frustrated noises as the layers of clothing only slowed them in their goal.

For Cregan it proved even more difficult, as the little vixen tugged at his lower lip, her tongue quickly lapping over the sensitive skin.

Groaning, he pulled back briefly to catch his breath, his forehead resting against hers.

"You're making me lose my mind woman," he rasped, as his thumb traced over her lips. Unable to restrain himself for too long, he pulled her back into a deeper kiss.

"I'm glad of it" she moaned, as he began to leave open mouthed kisses down her neck. "Gods Cregan..."

Cregan hummed at her words, his mouth trailing down to the hollow of her throat. He nipped at her skin, revelling in the taste of her.

It was frightening how she ruined him with only a few fleeting touches. Luckily, it seemed that he had just about the same effect on her.

"You're a sorceress," he mumbled against her skin, "I should lock you up for trying to seduce your lord." He was met with only a deep chuckle in response. She seemed to take it as a compliment.

Without warning, Cregan lifted her up, her legs wrapping around him, as he pinned her against the tree.

No prying eyes to worry about this time. They were free to do as they wished.

She could not help but laugh as he kept stealing small kisses from her, and each time she tried to deepen at least one, he withdrew far enough from her reach.

„You're not playing fair“, her eyes crinkled as he kissed the tip of her nose.

„If I'm to have you for this night alone, then I'll make love to you properly“, Cregan murmured, as he ground against her. She truly hoped no one was nearby, as a loud gasp echoed through the forest.

„I want to know what it would feel like to care for you each morning when you wake up“, another feather-like kiss to her cheek.

„I want to know each sound of pleasure you can make while I'm fucking you“, she tangled her fingers tightly in his hair, as grey eyes met brown ones.

„I want you. Even if it is only for tonight.“

Her hips met his thrusts as she watched him shut his eyes in pleasure. Releasing soft grunts each time her hips rolled against him.

Urging her on to keep doing so, just to hear him rasp her name again.

Putting more force into her next movement, Cregan lost his footing, pulling them both into the soft snow beneath them. He let out a breath as she fell on top of him, both laughing along before they continued to explore one another. She reached for the laces of his breeches, impatient now.

"Slowly little witch", he chuckled as he helped her with unlacing. Or perhaps he was of no help at all - distracting as he started peppering kisses along her neck, deciding right there that he loved how she stuttered when his mouth grazed over a specific spot.

Her turn, she thought. If he is to distract her, she would return the favour. Finally, moving the offending fabric aside, she wrapped her hand around him.

"Fuck, Y/N!"

Slowly stroking his length, Cregan let out a choked off moan, buckling involuntarily under her touch.

"Slowly, little wolf" she teased back. "We have all night". As if to emphasise her point, she slowed down her movements even more, gliding her finger back and forth only over the tip.

She was going to be death of him.

"If you keep that up", he barely ground out, "we won't last through the night."

"Good." she smirked, as her finger lightly traced under the head. Foreheads touching, both watched her hand sliding down his cock.

„Perhaps I want to see you come undone in my hands", she murmured. Each time his breathing became too laboured, she would put a stop to it all, loving to see him chasing after her. Loving to witness how his eyes scrunched shut in frustration, as he tried to control his breathing.

What she did not anticipate was for her skirts to be lifted, as Cregan roughly tugged her into his lap, thrusting hard along her slit. His mouth met her own, silencing both of their moans, as she tried to line him up to her entrance.

Steadying her with his hands, he would not allow her the full satisfaction. Even if it was torture for Cregan to feel her wetness, yet unable to fill her up as both of them wanted to.

They always matched each other, no matter what they did. If she was to tease him, he would show her exactly how that feels.

"Ride me."

A command uttered loud and clear, as stormy eyes observed the beauty above him.

There would be times for soft touches. Times when they would be able to fully explore each curve of one another.

He would come to her, or they would meet in secret once more.

It was foolish to think, they could keep apart after this night, no matter how much they kept lying to themselves.

She obeyed without question. Taking him into her hand, she lowered herself down, gasping as he filled her up completely. Breaths mingling, they clinged to each other, trying to adapt to the overwhelming pleasure.

After what seemed an eternity, two fingers at last tapped her hip, allowing her to set her own pace.

Cregan looked to the stars above them, as she started to slide up. Tightening her cunt every time she did so, his jaw clenched at the feeling, hands grasping her hips, sure to leave a mark on the morrow. Pleasure overtaking him, Cregan pulled her along, as his head met the soft ground.

He was beautiful underneath her. She watched his eyes shut in pleasure, his frown a reminder how hard he tried not to thrust into her.

She wanted him to take control. Wanted him as he was at the Feast. Without holding back.

Grazing her teeth over his ear, the girl mustered enough control to whisper. "Why do you hold back my love?"

With a sharp movement, she slid down until he was fully sheathed in her, leaving him completely out of breath from the sudden movement. „Fuck me Cregan...please. I want you to.“

He wasn't sure what made him buck sharply into her as deep as he could.

Perhaps it was hearing the profanities coming out of her mouth.

Perhaps, it was the fact she called him hers.

Cregan's hands guided her as she moved against him, as he tried to mark every part of her skin exposed to him.

"I want to taste you next time." An open mouthed kiss left on her neck.

"I want to feel you come undone from my mouth alone Y/N." His lips lowered.

When she cried out from the pain of his teeth marking her, he was quick to soothe her, his tongue lapping over the bruising mark.

A sharp tug on his hair, the girl pulled him back to her. Wanting to see him as he made those promises.

"And if I wanted to use my mouth on you lord Stark?"

A sharper thrust into her at the idea of it. As if she had to ask him.

"If I wanted to be the only one to pleasure you like this Cregan? Would you let me do so?"

"I'd let you do whatever you wished my lady." A breathless chuckle, as she limply smacked him in the arm at the nickname.

"I'm yours, and yours alone."

A heavy promise.

"As I am yours Cregan."

She begged him not to stop, crying out each time he hit the right spot, as only noises of skin against skin echoed through the air.

"I'm close" he choked out as she threaded her fingers through his hair, wrapping herself around him, fearing to let go. "Me too", she kissed the side of his cheek, her lips lingering there.

Pressing their foreheads together, stormy eyes met brown ones once more.

„Where do you want me to...“ "Inside...please. Inside, Cregan.“

It was difficult not to imagine what that could bring. At the thought of his seed taking hold in her, Cregan thrusted deeper.

Her arms wrapped possessively around him, not allowing him to spill anywhere but inside of her.

"Are you sure?" "Please."

Hips stuttering, he choked out her name, the sound muffled in her neck as she felt him spilling in her.

The lovers held onto each other, as they shook from their high. Barely any coherent words leaving their mouths, apart from sighs of each other's names.

...She must've whimpered as she clenched around him, for he was whispering sweet nothings to her, fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back, bringing her back to him.

Taking a moment to return to reality, Cregan nosed at the side of her head, urging her to look at him. Capturing her lips, the gesture was gentler than the previous they shared.

As the lust left them, he could not stop himself from leaving soft kisses over her face. From one on the cheek, to one on her nose, not finding it fair to abandon the other side.

Trying to catch her breath, the girl could still feel him inside of her as she moved. Feeling the mixture of them leaking down her thigh, a sudden shyness of what they had done started to grow, urging her to hide in the crook of his neck.

"What's this now?" Cregan murmured, his fingers gently caressing her back. "No need to be bashful, my heart."

He pulled her out of her hiding place, his hand under her chin, trying to catch her gaze. He looked at her for a moment, taking in the sight of her.

The curls were scattered in all directions. Red cheeks from the cold, and puffed lips, she looked completely wrecked. Cregan wished he could see her like that every day.

"Do not hide from me", his thumb traced the line of her jaw. "I want to see you. All of you."

Her eyes were filled with warmth as they met his own. Seeing the softness and love in them as he gazed upon her, she had to let him know. There was no point in holding back anymore.

„I'm yours...whatever may come, know that I'm yours Cregan.“

The words were not hasty mutterings, spoken in the moment of pleasure. He could see she had meant them.

„And I'm yours. From this day until the end of my days.“

Interlacing their hands he laid them between their hearts. The branches shielded the young lovers as they traded kisses, for however long the cold allowed them to.

True, they didn't jump over the fire tonight.

It mattered not.

They were bound to one another after that night, with the Moon as their witness.

It was amusing that both of them thought one night would be enough. They would always come back to one another, whatever may come.

[thetriumphantpanda]

rainy days | frankie morales

Summary | It has never been your favourite day, but he always knows how to make it better.

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count |

Warnings | Mentions of depression and sadness, negative feelings around birthdays, Frankie makes it all better, two idiots truly in love, allusions to smut but nothing explicit.

Authors Note | To my darling Jo, @undercoverpena - whilst this is my entry to your birthday celebration (I got the colour old rose, apologies for the tenuous link to brief you're about to read), it is also my love letter to you. To the woman you are. To the friend you have become. A love letter to the fact that you can be soft and emotional and have flaws and still be worthy of all the love in the world. Because you are. I have said it many times in recent days, but it is the truth, that I love you unconditionally and I am forever grateful for your friendship and love. I am here for you. I see you. I understand you. And I love you. Happy Birthday darling woman.

He knows it isn’t your favourite day of the year. One that is usually meant to bring joy and happiness and love is instead one that fills you with dread. Worried people would forget, having to force a smile at gifts that show that they really don’t know you at all.

He knows not to push it either. He’s good at that. Knowing the battles to pick and those to leave. You suppose that’s why you love him so much. The way he’s comfortable to sit in your hurt with you, not immediately jumping into fixing it, because it’s been years and you don’t think he could truly unravel everything behind the feelings. But he’s there, with a strong arm around you and a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t need words, just his presence to say I’m here, I see you and I love you regardless.

It rains, because of course it does, weather to match mood, drowning out any hopes of the walk he’d promised. You distract yourself, cleaning mainly, even though the kitchen counters are spotless and the vacuum has been used more times in the past week than it has in the previous two years since you bought it. Distraction mainly, but now, with nothing to do, you sit. Listen to the fat raindrops and odd rumble of thunder. You reread the same four pages of your book, hopelessly trying to stop checking your phone for missed calls or messages of glad tidings.

The doorbell rings, startling you. Clad in a big jumper, leggings and socks, hair scraped back, you open the door, roar of rain rushing in, to find him standing there. Your man. Your Frankie. He’s soaked to the bone, t-shirt wet and cap dripping, but he’s smiling, both hands behind his back.

“You’ll catch your death, Morales,” you chastise lightly, moving aside for him to step into the warmth of your house, but he makes no effort to move, “Are you coming in?”

It almost makes you laugh when he starts talking, like a scene from the old romcoms you used to watch, but you let him do it anyway. His right hand moves first, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a dusty rose colour, which he hands to you. They remind you of the paint swatches, the way he’d patiently waited at the store for you to pick it. And then painted eleven swatches on the living room wall until you settled on one. Old rose.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, “Feliz cumpleaños.”

He bends, warm lips to your cheek, finally stepping across the threshold into your home, the place he spends more time in than his own home, his other secret revealed in the shape of a basket, woven, with a telltale red and white gingham poking out.

“Damn the rain,” he says, “and damn this misery, I know we can’t have this outside, but I know you hate eating outside anyway.”

He holds the basket up to you, lets you open the top. It’s full to the brim with food, all of your favourite things from your favourite places you’ve been with him in the past year. Pastries from the coffee shop where you had your first date, fruit from the farmer’s market you visit each Sunday, sandwiches from the shop you always stop at when you visit him at work to make sure he’s eating - it’s all there, in black and white, the moments you’ve shared, tiny, edible pieces of his love and care for you, that’s he’s the first person to ever truly see you, to ever truly know you. It makes your eyes water and your nose sniffle.

You press up on tiptoes and gently slant your lips over his, trying to tell him without words how much this means, how much you truly do love him.

You spread a blanket on the floor, unpack the food and sit for hours, eating and talking and kissing, until it goes dark outside. It still rains as he clears up, lightening now illuminating the sky, it rains as he leads you upstairs and undressed you, and thunder cracks along with your gasps and moans when he buries himself inside you.

It eases late, after he’s woken you in the dead of night with his mouth fused to your cunt. Draped across his chest, silence, save for the two of your breathing, you realise that this is all you need. One man who will do the most for you. One man who will continue, day in and day out, that he truly loves you. Maybe it won’t fix the disdain for your birthday, maybe it won’t fix anything else, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he found you and he loves you.

“Muchas gracias,” you whisper softly against his skin, “Te amo, mi amor.”

“Te amo, querida.”

[lookingformoondrop]

OMG FINALLY SOMEONE WHO WRITES ABT THE COFFIN OF ANDY AND LEYLEY AAA

Honestly I'd take any writing about Andy LMFAO whatever you want to write, I'd just love to read something, be it headcanons or some short story <3

Absolutely! I was shocked when I tried finding content for TCOAAL, and there was none💀. For the sake of fluff Andy, the reader is the closest thing Andy has to a sister!

*Leyley doesn't exist*

P.S. Hopefully, this isn't OOC. This is also not proofread, so

I hope these meet your expectations <3

Andrew Graves x female best friend! Reader

TW: Everyone has a filthy mouth (swearing)... N/M = Nickname ♡

♡925 WORDS♡

Ever since Andrew was a kid, he was treated more as his parent's friend than their kid.

This often meant that Andrew was forced to miss out on childish routines like throwing a tantrum, making a mess, having fun the loud way, and making mistakes, simply because "he was so easy."

If he were to add to his parents' load of problems, he wouldn't be able to live with himself, let alone sleep.

But that was all before he met you.

Every Friday, Mrs. Graves would give Andrew money to go on a snack run for the weekend.

But no matter what he did, no matter when or how he entered the grocery store, this little girl (no less than five) would terrorize Andrew.

"She's so annoying, mom! She always snatches the snacks I go for and then bolts for the next aisle. Then she just giggles and runs away with MY TOMATO SOUP."

Mrs. Graves sighed and turned around to face her son, "Andrew, just because a little five year old girl is taking some of the same snacks as you DOES NOT MEAN I am letting you shop at a different store! 'Shop Shop Shop and Shop, with more Shop' is the best for low-deals and prices. Please don't be difficult."

With no other choices, Andrew was forced to continue shopping.

Every week, she did the same thing. She'd sneak up behind him when he wasn't paying attention. She'd snatch the poor snack out of Andrew's hand and would bolt out of the aisle.

And everytime she did this, Andrew would grow angrier and angrier.

Finally, when the little girl stole the hundredth can of soup from his hand, Andrew turned around and grabbed the little girl's hair.

"AHH! Get off of me asshole!"

"You little shit! Give me that can back!"

They'd fight over the can of soup in the middle of the aisle for the next 10 minutes before the store owner kicked them out for "public disturbances."

Now, without his can of soup, sitting at the curb outside the store, with new bite marks along his arm, Andrew was more pissed than ever.

"What the hell is your problem? Do you just find malicious torment funny, you borderline psycho?"

Andrew turned towards the girl. She turned her smile towards Andrew, "Nah, just you."

Annoyed and exhausted, he put his face in his hands.

She thought for a moment , "No one plays with me, so I figured I should play with someone who looked as miserable as me."

Andrew looked at her through his fingers, "What about me screamed misery?"

She put a finger on her bottom lip, deep in thought, "You just have this face,"

Andrew scoffed at the girl, burying his face in his knees. She giggled.

"You just naturally look like an asshole"

"Watch your language, you fucking shit!"

Andrew went to grab the girls hair, "You dont even know my name, and yet you're calling me an asshole!? No wonder you dont have any friends."

She slapped Andrew's hand before it could reach her, "Well, what's your name?"

Andrew hesitated, "It's...Andrew Graves. What's yours?"

The little girl smiled, "Y/N L/N, your new best friend, Aaaaandy."

Andrew sat lazily with Y/N, laying on his lap. He cringed when he thought about their first meeting.

Of all the things they could've fought about, it was a can of soup... God, they're fucking stupid.

Since that day, Y/N would beg Andrew for attention and fun. She'd stalk him when he was out and about and would drag him away from any errands he was requested to run on.

"Leave me alone, N/M"

"Make me~"

"Please?"

"Lame. Now I have to come with you! With that bitch ass attitude you'll get beat up."

"Great."

And when Andrew accidentally reveal his address? Andrew was permanently stuck with Y/N.

Every Friday, she'd follow Andrew home, and even when Mr. and Mrs. Graves questioned the foul-mouth girl Andrew would never offer an explanation better than, "Some stray I picked up that won't let go. I have to keep her."

"Aaaaandyyy, can you change the channel? I don't want to lift my eyelids."

Andrew sighed, "The remote is right by your leg, dumbass"

"So?" She scoffed, "reach it for me."

"It's closer to you than it is to me!"

"Andy change the goddamn channel!"

"i'm not getting up just because your ass wants to be lazy!"

"ANDREW"

"Y/N"

Even if that meant pissing each other off with meanless schemes.

Despite their bickering that has made local pedestrians' ears bleed, they still were there for each other in everything.

"Whatever, you dumb bastard," Y/N mumbled to herself.

Andrew played with Y/N's hair as he stared at the mindless TV.

"Veronica Steveson asked me out to the date."

"Aw, poor hussy"

"Ouch, you think so lowly of me?"

"No, I just assumed you said no," Y/N continued to watch the TV.

"Why would I...?" Before Andrew could finish his sentence, Y/N sat up and stared at him with intense eyes.

"Do you like her?"

"W- Well no, but it's not like any other girls are crawling to date me"

Y/N scoffed at Andrew, flicking his forehead, "That's because you're stupid to notice."

She laid back down on his lap, and Andrew secretly smiled to himself. "So...who aren't I noticing?"

"Your mom."

"Y/N GROSS!"

And even if no one admitted it out loud, and even if you blushed one too many times around each other, you belonged with each other.

"But seriously, Andy, pass me the remote"

"Eat shit, N/M"

Thank you for the ask <3

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 2

Hello! My elbow was doing better this morning and then I took a nap and hurt it again somehow...(head desk) so I'm still putting out my backlog without being able to build up more because of it, hopefully it gets better before I run out of backlog because that would be embarrassing.

Here we get some backstory as Eddie strolls back into Steve's life.

Pt 1

****

When Robin came into open the store she found Steve wearing the clothes he had been wearing the night before. None of the bread dough was rising, none of the cookies were baking having not even been made, the cakes were out on the cooling racks instead in the freezer to chill enough to have frosting put on them.

He was curled up next to their large stand mixer dubbed the Beast, cradling his sides like he was trying to hold in his innards.

“Steve...” she called out gently.

Steve looked up at her and her heart broke. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks tear-stained and blotchy. Snot ran down his nose and pooled on his upper lip.

She sighed and then turned around. She hunted around for a marker and a piece of paper. She wrote that they were closed for the day and hung it up outside the front door. She locked it behind her and went to go sit down next her best friend.

Steve laid his head on her shoulder and sighed.

“Eddie’s getting married.”

Robin had to force herself from jerking her head around to look at him because he needed her support more than he needed her ire in that moment.

“Who do I have to kill?” she muttered darkly, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair soothingly.

Steve barked out a bitter laugh. “She’s this hot shot legal assistant from Barbados. Like I didn’t even know that was a country until I looked it up. It’s in the Caribbean. Did you know that?”

“I did.”

Robin blinked for a minute. “Wait...she?”

Steve just shrugged. “People change, Robs. Don’t make it a thing.”

She bit her lip and worried it between her teeth. Because fucking hell she wanted to make a big deal out of it. Someone should make a big deal out of it.

“Nancy’s back in town visiting her family,” she said instead. “Holly’s graduating next week.”

Steve threw his arms in the air. “Great! I’m being invaded by my ex. Just put me out of my misery now, Robs. I don’t think I can take it.”

Robin smacked his arms. “No. There will be no killing of the Steve. If anyone wants to make it your problem, then they’re going to have a problem with me, got it?”

“Thanks, Robbie,” he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. “Like the way he went about it was such complete shit. Like how dare he think that a simple annulment is going to get him off abandoning me for fame and fortune and then not coming back when it fell through?”

Robin’s head did whip around that time. “He fucking did what?”

Steve sighed and waved at the papers in the trash. She got up and picked them up. She read through them with increasing ire. Her hands started to shake and her face burned with indignation.

“Screw killing her,” she hissed. “I’m going to kill him. Just as soon as I find his scrawny ass. How dare he?”

He huffed out a bitter laugh. “I hunted down his number and called him out on it. I told him if he was so desperate to be free of me he had to tell me to my face.”

“So what you’re telling me...” Robin said slowly, “is that your not just being invaded by one ex, but most likely two exes. And like your two biggest heartbreaks ever?”

Steve got to his feet and lopped over to her. “That about sums it up, yeah. I know you closed the store, but I still have to make Mrs. Laurence’s cake. She’s supposed to pick it up at 3pm.”

She patted him on the shoulder and tossed away the papers. “Let’s make this cake. We can’t disappoint Mrs. Laurence.”

Steve and Robin went through and tossed everything that couldn’t be salvaged. Steve pulled the two chocolate sheet cakes out of the freezer and set them on the decorating table. He went into the walk-in freezer and got out the two large tubs of frosting; one chocolate buttercream and the other vanilla buttercream.

Robin pulled out the food dyes and began mixing the colors they would need for the cake. Steve went and grabbed one final thing from the fridge before closing the door. A raspberry filling.

He got to work starting with a crumb coating and then took the purple colored frosting from Robin and began covering the whole cake. Once it was completely covered he started adding design elements and darker purple flowers.

Then he passed it over to Robin who wrote “Happy 50th Anniversary” on the top.

All in all it had taken about an hour. Then he called up Mrs. Laurence and told her that Robin would be delivering the cake today because the shop was closed. He didn’t explain why and she didn’t ask. Mostly she was just grateful that it was going to be delivered.

Then Steve got to work preparing for tomorrow. Things like cookies and pastries that could stay in the fridge over night were made first. Then he started on the thing he was most famous for: his brownies.

He had four kinds, a triple chocolate that was dark chocolate brownie with milk chocolate frosting and chunks. The second one was a peanut butter marble with fudge drizzled over it and topped with chopped peanuts. The third was a cheesecake and caramel that was super popular with the high school kids. But the most famous, the one every raved about was the mint brownie. It had mint in the brownie itself, mint frosting, and fudge and crumbled brownie bits covering the top.

The Monster as it was fondly called by Steve’s customers could turn even the most fervent of mint haters over to the dark side, it was that good.

Finally everything was ready for tomorrow.

When Robin came back from delivering the cake, she sat down at the decorating table and leaned on her elbows, clasping her hands together.

“When are you going to get some people into help you?” she asked gently. “You know I won’t be here forever and you can’t keep doing it on your own.”

Steve who had just finished cleaning everything up looked up at her with his big puppy dog eyes. “You’re going to leave me?” he asked with a pout.

She slapped at his arm. “You know that I’m heading to college in the fall, just as soon as I pick which one I’m going to. You’ll have all summer to train a couple of people to take my place.”

He sighed. “I know. I’ll think about it after I deal with my exes this week.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I also get to interview these new peeps and make sure they’re good enough.”

“Deal!” he said and they shook hands.

****

Because they were closed the day before Steve had a line of customers lining up on the sidewalk when he turned the closed sign to read “OPEN”.

Robin and he got to work helping all the customers.

It was fine up until Mrs. O’Donnell came in absolutely bitching about how she always gets her bread on Wednesdays and he knows that he should have been open for her. Especially since Mrs. Laurence got her cake, so Steve should have been able to open for her to get her bread.

She had completely bottlenecked the whole line. Robin was working as hard as she could to keep up with demand on her side of the counter, but Steve could see she was starting to falter.

“Enough!” Steve barked and the whole shop went silent. “I had a personal matter come up that couldn’t have been avoided and Mrs. Laurence had paid for her cake well in advance which is why she still got it. And unless you don’t want to get your precious bread ever again, because I have banned you, then you better stop harassing me, get your damn bread, and get the fuck out of my store.”

Mrs. O’Donnell let out a small “eep!” before paying for her bread and leaving quickly. There was a small amount of clapping and Steve grinned.

“Next, please,” he said and the next customer came up.

Things went smoother after that.

Two hours later, the rush had ended and Robin and Steve worked on restocking the shelves.

“You always were a bitch, Steve,” a voice said from the corner on the shop were there were a couple of tables people could use to eat their tasty delights. “But watching you take down that bitch O’Donnell was like poetry in motion.”

Steve stiffened, hands clenching on the tray of brownies he was carrying. He slowly turned around and sure enough in all his black clothes, leather jacket, and many chained glory was Eddie Munson.

He gritted his teeth and slid the tray home in the display case. He pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped off his hands. “Nice to see you finally got tired of running.”

Eddie got to his feet and moved to step toward the counter when a little bell went off announcing a customer.

In walked this soft round woman with a bright smile. She didn’t even notice Eddie standing there, she just walked right up to Steve.

“Mrs. Laurence!” Steve greeted warmly. “How was the cake yesterday?”

Mrs. Laurence smiled. “It was lovely as always, dear. Nothing but rave reviews from all.”

He smiled at her fondly. “I’m glad. So what can I get you today?”

She tapped her finger on her lips as scanned over the case. “I’ll take a half dozen raspberry truffles and a monster please.”

Steve’s smile turned into a grin. “You’re just in time, I just finished a fresh batch of monsters just before you came in.”

“Lucky me indeed,” she said with a giggle. “They are so much better fresh. Not like your peanut butter ones. They taste better after a day or two to really set the peanut butter.”

Steve laughed as he packed her order. “I always feel like the opposite, give the brownie bites on top time to get chewy and they’re...” he did the chef’s kiss. “But I like how gooey the fresh peanut butter ones are fresh out of the oven.”

Mrs. Laurence laughed too. “Agree to disagree, dear.” She paid and turned around.

“Oh my goodness!” she huffed. “I didn’t even see you there, you must think me rude just jumping the line like that.”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t think you’ve got a rude bone in your body. Jeffy takes after you that way.”

She tilted her head. “Eddie?”

Eddie nodded mutely, lips pressed into a grim line. She swept him up in a hug.

“My Jeff didn’t say anything about you coming to town,” she admonished her youngest child.

Eddie just shook his head. “It was a last minute decision. Just something I have to take care of.”

She looked back at Steve who had his head tucked to his chin and then back to him. She nodded sagely. “I see. Do take care of yourself, Eddie.”

She wave back at Steve. “Bye, dear. Thank you so much again for the cake yesterday.”

“Of course, Mrs. Laurence, you have a good day,” Steve said softly.

Eddie finally made it to the counter.

“I forget she’s Jeff’s mom,” Steve muttered as he wiped down an already clean counter.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Yeah. Like I forgot he was in town for his parent’s wedding anniversary. I guess time does that to you.”

Steve nodded. “So you’re actually here.”

“So I’m actually here,” he agreed. “But first I want to know what the fuck a monster is?”

Steve’s eyes misted as he pulled out a brownie from the case and set it on a piece of parchment paper.

“It’s called that because it’s big, green, and ugly, but soft and sweet,” he explained like he was reading from a script, refusing to look up at Eddie, “just like the Frankenstein monster from that super old horror movie.”

Eddie looked down at the so-called monstrosity with a wave of affection for the man in front of him. That wasn’t why it was named the monster. The reason it was called that was because that’s what the towns people were calling him before he left for fortune and fame, because he played D&D, like metal music, and was an out and proud gay man. That and the fact that they thought he had killed a bunch of kids with a batch of bad blow.

Which had been bullshit. Considering he had never sold meth or cocaine and didn’t have any on him. So when they tested his hair, his clothes, his uncle’s trailer and couldn’t even find so much a speck of the stuff, let alone the stuff that killed the kids, they let him go.

As far as Eddie was aware they still don’t know who sold them the drugs.

So yeah, Steve made him the brownie when he was at his lowest to tell him how soft and sweet he was despite being called a monster.

Eddie opened his wallet and got out the cash for the brownie and handed it to Steve.

Steve went through the motions of getting him his change. Which Eddie immediately put in their little tip jar.

Steve boxed up the brownie and handed Eddie the box.

Eddie pulled out an envelope out of his messenger bag and handed it to Steve.

Steve sighed and pulled them out. He began to look over them over and had a pen in hand, when he looked up to see Eddie moaning around the brownie.

He clicked the pen and shoved it back in his apron. “I better have my lawyer look over this, after all I’m just dumb, right Eddie?”

Eddie’s eyes widen and he choked down the bite of the brownie. Flashing back to their last major fight.

“God!” he screamed. “How can you be this stupid? Those kids are in high school now, they have their own parents, for fuck’s sake. Where is your ambition? This is just bullshit. You aren’t chained here for fuck’s sake.”

Steve’s face shuttered and the mask he only pulled out when his parents were around dropped over his features. Bland, clueless, and absolutely frightening in its uncanny valley.

That’s when Eddie knew he’d fucked up bad. He had said the three things he swore in his wedding vows he’d never say to Steve. That he had no ambition, that he was stupid, and that he was bullshit.

He turned on his heel and never looked back.

Steve smirked as if he knew what was flashing through his mind and walked away, leaving Eddie standing there with hand near his mouth, the expression of shock still on his frozen features.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @blackpanzy

9- @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras @swimmingbirdrunningrock

10- @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Wants, Part Three (Finale)

Summary: Dean’s experience with the wrong hormone suppressants makes him feral. The only person who can get him out of it and save his life is Y/N, the omega he had been mating with for years until she left six months ago. Without a claim and with no prospects of Dean ever giving her one, Y/N finally had enough and broke the bond they’d forged in their years together and left him, but with Sam now begging her to go to Dean and save his life, will she go, or will she leave the green-eyed alpha to his biological fate?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Alpha Gone Feral for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: dub con claiming, omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, language, ruts, feral alpha, agitation, aggression, smut, rough sex, biting, oral sex (f rec), fingering, p in v sex, hair pulling, heavy angst, aftercare, fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Here we go… the super angsty finale of this alpha!Dean mini-series! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

You can catch up here!

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Y/N’S POV

The knocking on your motel room door startles you, and you grab your gun from the waistband of your jeans and cautiously step towards the door. Flicking the safety off, you place the barrel onto the wood and cautiously open it just enough to see who’s on the other side.

“Sam? Cas?” you gasp, throwing the door open wider.

“You should be more careful, Y/N. We could be demons or shapeshifters or any other kind of monster,” Cas speaks first, and you blink at him, amused, as always, by his directness.

“Nice to see you, too, Cas,” you smirk, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam says as he leans down to hug you. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Sam,” you smile as you close the door behind them. You know whatever this unplanned visit is, it’s about Dean.

“You seem healthy,” Cas states, tilting his head to the side and frowning as if searching for something. “And yet—”

“So!” Sam interrupts quickly. “How have you been?”

“Fine…” You narrow your eyes at the alpha’s strange behaviour. “This isn’t a social visit, is it?” You finally ask.

“No,” Cas confirms, and you don’t know if you’re glad he’ll get straight to the point or if you’d prefer Sam to dance around it all a little more.

“Dean.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. You knew from the way your stomach dropped the second you saw them that this wasn’t a good news visit.

“I asked Cas to find you,” Sam said softly.

You and the younger Winchester have stayed in touch since you left the bunker, but you agreed you wouldn’t tell him where you were, and he wouldn’t ask. It was one thing for Dean to find out they were talking, but it’d be another entirely if he knew Sam knew where she was.

“What happened?” Your mind goes to the worst possible scenario, and you try to fight the rising nausea. 

“Dean has been taking store bought suppressants,” Sam says, and you feel your blood boil.

“What? Why? Why would he be so goddamn stupid? Did he know what they’d do to an alpha in his situation?” you fume at the men as you pace the threadbare carpet.

“No. He knew they weren’t suitable long-term, but the side effects he experienced weren’t typical,” Cas answered.

“I thought it was a mix of the drugs and rejection sickness and that it’d ease over time,” Sam says calmly and quietly. “But I think he suffered some kind of chemical reaction to them, and by the time I found out what he was taking, it was too late.”

“Too late? Sam, what are you saying?” You’re terrified of what he’s so anxious to tell you.

“He’s feral, Y/N,” Cas finally puts you out of your misery, and while it’s bad news, it’s not the worst thing they could’ve told you. “But I don’t understand why you are not.”

It’s not an accusation. The angel is just curious about alphas who mate with but don’t claim omegas. To his literal knowledge, an alpha finds an omega, they mate, there’s a claim, an unbreakable bond, and pups. Your situation with Dean had always intrigued the celestial being.

“Because I’ve been taking the suppressants I should. Prescribed by a doctor. Why didn’t he do the same thing?” Contrary to the angel’s question, yours is accusatory as you look between Sam and Cas.

“You know what he’s like, Y/N. He doesn’t talk about these things, and I didn’t know until a few days ago. He’s been overcome with guilt for how he treated you, and I think…” Sam trails off, noticing from the look on your face that you know what he was alluding to.

“You think this is some kind of self-sacrifice?” you ask in disbelief. Dean is well known for his self-depreciation, and it’s something you’ve seen and heard from him many times, but this? “No… No, I don’t believe that. Why would he put himself through that just to go feral anyway? Why not just lie down and let it happen on its own?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Sam asks, and you frown.

“Sam, you can’t be serious! Dean is not doing this to punish himself for hurting me. There’s no way,” you argue, but you know the green-eyed alpha better than he knows himself. It does sound like something he’d do to himself—some kind of fucked up repentance for his behaviour.

Sam only shrugs, and you sigh, knowing you’ve both come to the same conclusion.

“So, what? You want me to go to him? Get him out of this mess?”

“You’re his mate. Only you can get him back from this,” Cas says, and you laugh bitterly, taking the angel by surprise.

“I bet Dean loves that!” you scoff. “Anytime I told him that like it or not, we’re mates, he shot me down in flames!”

“I know he hurt you, and I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, and Dean knows it too. He told me not to look for you. That he doesn’t deserve your help, but I’m asking you to think about it. Please?”

“I don’t know, Sam. If I go to him, you know what it means, right?” you check, not convinced either of them fully understand what they’re asking of you.

“I do,” Sam responds.

“And you know it’s pretty much a done deal that he’ll claim me in his feral haze? And then when he comes to, he’ll regret it and reject me? You’re asking me to sacrifice myself for him? Because I won’t survive his rejection, you both know that, right?”

“He’d never reject you, Y/N,” Cas confirms what you know in your heart, but it brings no comfort.

“Oh, because a forced claim and being stuck with someone who doesn’t want me is a better fate than dying from rejection!”

“He does want you. He loves you. He just can’t—” Sam starts, but you interrupt with a scoff.

“Give me what I want. I know, Sam. He’s told me that so many times it’s imprinted in my memory!” You huff, quickening your pacing.

You want to say no. You want to protect yourself and your fragile heart that’s still trying to heal, but you know if you were the feral one, Dean would already be here, doing everything he could to get you through it—even claiming you just so you’d survive.

He doesn’t deserve to die, and yet, you don’t deserve to be someone’s mistake, but you can’t see any other option. If you don’t go to him, he’ll die. If you go to him, and he doesn’t reject you, you’ll be miserable, but you’ll both be alive.

“Fuck!” you yell in frustration. Once again, you feel that self-loathing that only Dean seems able to bring out of you. You hate yourself because you still love him even after everything, and you’d sacrifice everything to save him.

“Where is he?”

Walking up to the secluded cabin, you shiver at the deathly silence surrounding you. As if being this deep in the woods isn’t ominous enough, there isn’t even a bird chirping or an insect buzzing in the heavy air.

You’re so deep in the woods that the midday sun can’t even breach the trees. You drove as close as you could, but you’d had to abandon your car about a mile back. This is probably the safest house Bobby had ever found, and you have to admire Dean for choosing this one to hide out in.

Sam had given you the key. At first, you’d been shocked he’d lock Dean in with no way to escape, but you knew feral alphas aren’t to be taken lightly. There had been cases of ferals going on murder sprees, and the green-eyed hunter would never risk putting people in any kind of danger.

“Dean?” you call out as you knock on the door. “It’s Y/N. Sam found me. He said you need my help.” With no response, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for being too late, and put the key in the lock.

Pushing the door open slowly, the sour smell of Dean’s feral rut slams into you, and immediately your body begins to respond to the distressed alpha. Your skin tingles, heat floods your veins, and slick pools at your entrance. You’ve never been more grateful for a heat to come on as you are now. If it didn’t, Dean could seriously hurt or even kill you trying to get himself out of this.

“Omega,” Dean growls from the doorway of the bedroom and with one look at his bloodshot eyes, you know there’s little to no humanity in him right now.

“Alpha,” you whimper and bow your head in submission.

“Mine,” he groans in front of you, and you jump, having not heard him move across the room.

Dean buries his head in your neck and inhales your scent, gasping as if he’d been suffocating, and your scent is his oxygen.

“My ‘mega,” Dean snarls and slams you against the wooden door. You whimper at the pain and remind yourself not to fight. If you fight, things could get ugly.

Pawing at your jeans, he tries to undo them, but in his desperation to get at you, he can’t grasp the little brass button and punches the wall next to your head in frustration.

“Hey,” you purr, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling as he leans into your touch, “It’s okay, Alpha. Let me.”

Loosening the button and pulling the zipper down, you kick off your shoes, slide the denim from your legs and step out of them. Moving to your shirt, you begin pulling at the material when Dean slaps your hands away.

“No!” he growls. “Mine.”

Dean isn’t gentle when he claws at your shirt, grabbing the neckline with both hands and ripping the cotton from your body. The groan that rumbles from his belly when your lace-covered breasts are exposed to his gaze has slick soaking through your underwear.

He wastes no time placing his lips on the tops of your breasts, biting and sucking the sensitive skin, marking you in a way he never has before. Dean pulls the cups of your bra down and quickly finds a hard nipple, and you groan from his overzealous assault.

You whine as the alpha pulls away from you, but before you can complain further, Dean lifts you on his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom.

“Strip,” he orders as he places you back on your feet, and you don’t dare disobey or take your time removing your bra and panties. 

“Good girl,” he praises as he takes his clothes off, and you wonder if just being here is making him a little less feral. “Get on the bed, Omega.”

Again, you don’t dare take your time and quickly crawl onto the bed and wait for his next instruction. Dean kneels at the bottom of the bed, pulls you down by your ankles, and pushes your knees down to the mattress.

“Mine,” he growls as the scent of your slick reaches him, and he lowers his head between your legs. He’s not gentle, anything but, and his longer stubble scratches and jabs at your soft, sensitive skin. It’s sore, yet you quickly fall apart on his mouth.

Before you fully come down from your high, Dean’s fingers are inside you, and he’s sucking and biting his way up your body. When this is over, your skin will be an interesting spectrum of colour; you can already see patches of red on your breasts from earlier, and Dean’s not done with them yet as he goes back to sucking and biting your nipples.

As your forced heat takes over, the pain from Dean’s bites and rough hands ease, and all you can feel and hear now is desire and pleasure and growls and snarls, and Dean, mumbling mine over and over again while his teeth nip at your neck.

“Present, Omega,” Dean growls as he pulls back from your body just enough to let you turn around. You crawl further up the bed and lean forward onto your elbows. You unintentionally wiggle your ass as you get comfortable in your new position, making Dean growl deeply and spank your round cheeks.

You feel his hands slide up your thighs and over your ass. His touch soothes and cools your heated skin. When he finally slams into your slick, aching pussy, it’s hard, rough, and deliciously painful.

Dean is fully feral, and there’ll be no stopping him until he comes out of the rut in five or six days. You know it won’t be pretty, and you won’t come out of this unscathed. At least your heat is making you feel like a wanton whore.

As your humanity is overtaken by omega, much like Dean’s is with alpha, your last thought is being grateful for being in a cabin in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

It’s been six days, and Dean still pounds into you like there’s no tomorrow. Your heat is starting to wane, but hasn’t subsided so much that you won’t still be pliable under his hands. Still, at least the heat fog is beginning to lift, and you hope it’s a sign that Dean’s rut is finally ending.

It took four knots to get him out of his feral state, but his rut is intense, and he’s insatiable. You suppose the combination of suppressants and being feral will do that to an alpha. 

“‘Mega,” Dean grunts as his hand slides up your spine and grips your neck. “So good for me, baby girl.”

His praise makes you purr, and you feel his hand slide from your neck into your hair and wrap his fist around it, making your body turn to jelly. Dean tugs your hair, and you’re forced to raise to your knees, your back pressed against his chest, and he pulls your head to the side by your hair, exposing your neck to him.

It’s already black and blue from the gnawing he’s been doing there this past week, but this is different. He’s scenting you and licking your mating gland and whining. Dean loves licking and kissing your neck, but not like this. It feels different. There’s a change in the atmosphere, and his thrusts are brutal and stuttered.

You try to move, try and get him away from you, but he snarls and yanks your hair painfully, keeping a hold of it so you can’t move.

“Dean,” you whimper, and he snarls again at the use of his name, and you know he’s not as far out of this rut as you’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you beg, but it’s useless. He’s too far gone again. His mouth is sucking on your mating gland, and he’s growling and grunting as his knot swells and catches at your entrance.

“Please don’t do it, Alpha. It’s just the rut. You don’t want this… you don’t want me, please!” you cry. But as his knot slips inside, locking you together, your head falls back on his shoulder, and when his teeth break your skin, you scream your release and lose the little self-control you had earlier.

Coming down from your high, you notice that Dean is still latched onto you, and you can feel blood dripping down your neck. The sudden rush of hormones and pheromones from the claim makes you reach another orgasm, and this time, you take the alpha with you. Grunting and growling, Dean’s release coats your walls, and you let the blackness take over.

When you come to, you’re on your side, and Dean is cleaning and soothing the wound on your neck with gentle licks and soft kisses. You’re still locked together, and every twitch of his cock catches your G-spot and fills your womb with even more of his seed.

A brief thought that he could’ve gotten you pregnant crosses your mind, and you hope the fates aren’t so cruel as to have this be when you get your wish of pups; not like this.

The last week finally catches up with you, and the lullaby of Dean’s whines and whimpers, combined with his soft kisses, lull you into a deep sleep.

The sun’s warmth on your face begins to wake you from sleep. Your muscles feel heavy, and Dean’s lips caress your back and shoulders.

“Morning, Omega,” he rasps behind you, sliding a warm hand over your hip, and a pang of dread settles in your stomach. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is screaming at you, and your pussy is in agony from a week of rough pounding and knots courtesy of the alpha pulling you closer to his body. If he’s still not out of this rut, you don’t think you’ll survive another round.

“Don’t worry,” Dean chuckles. “I’m not feral anymore, and the rut has gone.”

You’re confused, wondering how he knew what you were thinking. You don’t think you groaned. In fact, you’re pretty sure you didn’t even move. Your body is too sore to even tense up.

Then you remember Dean claimed you and that he did it while in a feral rut. 

As your whole world comes crashing down around you, you do the one thing you’d rather die than do in front of Dean.

Cry.

DEAN’S POV

Devastation. That’s all he can feel radiating from the omega next to him. When he woke an hour ago, he’d been happier than ever. The second he claimed Y/N, there was a shift, and all felt right in the world.

He thought—naively, he now realises—Y/N would be happy. It’s what she wanted. What she needed, but the sheer anguish from her tells a different story. The worst part of all this is the shame he feels for claiming her without her consent and the knowledge that now, she’s stuck with him whether she wants to be or not.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay,” Dean tries to soothe her and presses his lips to her shoulder. “Y/N, look at me, please?” She remains on her side, facing away from him and crying, and the alpha in him takes over. His omega is in distress, and he needs to fix it. “Omega, look at me!” he growls lowly, and watches as Y/N obeys his order and timidly rolls onto her back.

Dean’s jaw drops, and he’s disgusted with himself as he takes in her abused torso. There are a couple of bites and bruises on her back and shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to what covers her neck, breasts and stomach. There’s so much bruising that barely any skin has been left unblemished. As he scans further down her body, he can see the same damage over the tops of her thighs and between her legs.

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I—” Dean can’t finish; he has no words for what he did to her. He immediately gets out of bed and fills the tub with hot water. There’s only so much he can do for her out here in the cabin, but the safe house is stocked with first aid supplies, medication and dry and tinned food. 

When the tub is full, he shuts off the water and walks back into the bedroom, seeing Y/N still lying on her back and seemingly void of all emotion. Whether it’s on purpose to shut him out or she’s in shock, Dean’s not sure.

Walking over, Dean lifts her from the bed and carries her into the bathroom. He lowers her into the hot water and bathes her gently, mumbling words of comfort, hoping she can hear him and that she can find it in her to forgive him.

Y/N’S POV

After tenderly bathing you, Dean left you to soak in the warm water a little longer, telling you there were clothes in the wardrobe and that he’d make something to eat.

“Please eat with me, omega. You need to get your strength up, and we need to talk,” Dean had begged before he left, closing the door but not fully so he could still keep an eye on you.

He was right; you do need to talk. And eat. You feel weak and lightheaded and desperately in need of something to take away the pain that’s pulsing through every inch of your body.

When the water has lost its warmth, you climb out and wrap yourself in a towel, avoiding the mirror in the corner. Dean’s reaction earlier is enough for you to know you’ll burst into tears if you see it for yourself. And you can’t bear to see his claim on your neck when it was given under duress.

Pulling clothes from the wardrobe, you choose the softest and biggest things you can find. You know from the smell that the sweats and t-shirt are Dean’s, but you’ve always gotten comfort from his scent, and you suspect you’ll get even more from it now.

Coming out of the bedroom, you follow the noise towards the main part of the cabin and find Dean spooning pasta into bowls in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, stopping what he’s doing to give you his full attention.

“Sore,” you chuckle, pulling out a stool. You hiss and wince, the throbbing—and not the good kind—between your legs getting worse for a few seconds as you sit.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean… I hate that I was so rough. That I’ve hurt you,” Dean says as he pushes a bowl and fork towards you.

“You were feral, Dean. It’s not your fault,” you reply, and you mean it. It’s really not his fault.

“It is, though, sweetheart. If I had taken the right suppressants, I wouldn’t have gone feral, and I wouldn’t have claimed you without your consent.”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. I’m just sorry you’re stuck with me,” you smile sadly. “And if you want to leave, I get it. I know I’m not what you want—”

“Would you stop saying that?” Dean interrupts. “I do want you. I have always wanted you. I’m scared that tying you to me will put you in danger.” The desperation rolls from him in waves, and you know he’s telling you the truth. You can feel it. “I want you, Omega. I want this. I don’t regret claiming you. I regret doing it against your will, and if you want to leave me… reject me… It’s what I deserve, and I’ll let you walk out of here right now, but please stop saying that I don’t want you, Y/N. You’re all I want.”

The chemical bond you now share with Dean is overwhelming. He feels more deeply than he ever lets on, and regret over the non-consensual claim is putting it mildly. He’s distraught over it, and his feelings are so strong that you can almost hear the thoughts in his head telling him he’s stupid and he’s fucked things up before it’s really started between you. You can’t take it. You can’t let him think you don’t want this too.

“You’re all I want too, Alpha. The reason I got so upset when I realised you could feel how I felt is because it was a rut claim, and we’d be stuck together and miserable and resentful, and I didn’t want that for either of us, but I could never reject you, Dean. I love you too much.”

The relief that washes over him makes you smile, and because of your new bond, you know he knows every word is true.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t admit it before, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you wanted sooner.” Dean slides off his stool and comes to your side with a tube of cream in his hand. “Now, let me see that claim. It needs something on it, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head to the side and pull the neck of the shirt down, exposing the angry, swollen bite mark. Dean gently covers the wound with the medicated cream, and you hiss at the sting.

“Sorry, baby girl.” Dean winces, feeling your discomfort as clearly as you can. “Now, eat and then bed, Omega.”

“Just to sleep, right?” you ask, scrunching up your face and wriggling in your seat at the thought of him going anywhere near your pussy for at least a week. “No sex?”

“No sex,” Dean laughs. “You need to rest, sweetheart, so just lots of cuddles and closeness and bonding and sleep.”

THE END

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567

[snivyartjpeg]

Yuma Month Day 26 - Role Swap

god i was excited for this one. it first started off as a joke, but the more i thought about it, the more interesting this swap became. so here's my massive lore dump of changes that'd happen in the story beneath the cut (spoiler warning):

i think, fundamentally, yuma and yakou are very similar characters. they're both very protective and kindhearted, with a strong sense of justice and a penchant for attracting terrible luck. because of this, some things would remain the same, such as the NDA's dynamics with their doormat chief as well amnesia!yakou's massive unpaid intern energy. i think yakou would be pretty similar to how he behaved in the light novel- a bit more optimistic and naive, like yuma. but there are two key differences between them that'd make this a different story, especially in ch 4: yuma has a forte, and yakou is very selfish. so here's some changes:

yakou's wife is his shinigami now, as you can see, while shinigami is yuma's dead wife. i think mrs furio would act cooler than shinigami. she'd still be playful, but she takes her job more seriously. also she hands yakou the solution keys normally without throwing up. they still have to do the dance and mouth sword thing tho. and the other stuff. that's just death god protocol

shinigami (or in this case the unnamed Mrs. Kokohead but i will still be calling her shinigami for convenience sake) was a scientist at amaterasu who studied forensics and thanatology instead of regenerative medicine. this also means that the pill she gives zombie yuma is not going to bring him back, but instead grant the zombie homunculi a peaceful, painless, but permanent death

speaking of zombie yuma, he's the homunculus now! yakou is 100% human and also doesnt have a forte. he's still number one, but instead of having a forte he's just that good at solving mysteries

yes this means makoto looks like yakou now. sorry makotoheads. i think he'd have really long, shaggy hair dyed to be like. idk. black or something. also he's more clean shaven bc stubble with a mask on is a sensory nightmare

yuma still cant cook. he subsists entirely on takeout, meat buns, black coffee, and beer. he's still in a lot of debt and under a lot of stress and his personality is essentially "what if canon number one just gave up"

he doesn't smoke though. he tried once and got into the worst coughing fit

imma say it right now. kurumi is not a love interest. yakou likely disguises himself as a faculty member instead (also i think one of the teachers gets a crush on fem yakou bc i just know she'd be hot)

ANYWAY what about chapter 4? im SO glad you asked! because here's where things get spicy!

so, lets start with the dead wife. shinigami catches onto huesca's inhumane research and she's just as adamant about bringing the truth to light as she always is. she blows the whistle, so he blows her up. yuma investigates, but they dont let him look any further, yada yada, yuma stews in his misery for five years

yomi sends in the evidence to motivate yuma to kill huesca, and makoto lets it happen because a dead huesca would be convenient. he even introduces the hitman, fully expecting yuma to make use of him

yuma doesnt. in fact, he wants to kill huesca with his own hands. and now that these detectives are here, he can do it and even return alive. the thing is, he doesn't want to put them in danger, so he chooses to do almost everything alone (sound familiar?)

his plan is simple:

ask desuhiko for a peacekeeper uniform. desuhiko trusts him enough to take "i want to investigate kanai ward's ultimate secret by infiltrating their ranks" as an answer. he does, however, let yakou know about this as an offhand comment before the mystery ever begins

hold fubuki's hand. it doesnt really matter how. she'll gladly allow it because she's fubuki. he stores her time powers and heads out the sub. yakou also learns this as an offhand comment played off as a joke (maybe fubuki affectionately comments about how she never expected the chief's hands to be so soft... idk. there has to be some way for yakou to have this as a future clue)

use his peacekeeper status to sneak into amaterasu HQ and demand a functioning ama-pal from that one creepy researcher

use ama-pal + fubuki's borrowed powers to bypass huesca's security. sneak the bot past the hard-of-hearing doctor and press the button to shut off security

this would probably alert huesca, but since the doctor never received a warning, yuma has enough time to rush in and stab him before he realizes what's going on

leave HQ while still in uniform, dispose of the disguise once he's safe, and return to the NDA like nothing happened. success!

soooo.... yakou, on that same day, decides to investigate amaterasu HQ with makoto

all the while, vivia has his suspicions about yuma's actions and keeps an eye on him in spectral mode. he... basically witnessed the whole thing, so he gets up off his ass and decides to follow yakou to the lab because he has a Very Bad Feeling about this

just like canon, he senses the death god and deduces that our protag has been killing off murderers, and so he wants to protect his chief as well as his peace and quiet (his dynamic with yuma would be the same as his dynamic with yakou, since it's entirely believable for yuma to treat vivia with the same kindness yakou did)

yakou tries to speak to huesca, but surprise! security is disabled and he's dead in the lab! no one else at amaterasu liked huesca enough to check on him, so yakou and makoto are the first ones at the scene of the crime. yakou, of course, decides to start investigating this murder

vivia somehow sneaks into the lab (dont ask me how) and confronts yakou, threatening him with his boxcutter and adamantly imploring him to stop pursuing this particular mystery in the same way he did yuma in canon. unfortunately, this attracts attention, and now they're in trouble (maybe even yomi's there to fetch his files). at this point, yakou has enough solution keys, so he panics and goes right into the labyrinth (and maybe others can enter for another reason that isnt coalescence idk)

so... they go in the labyrinth... vivia tries to stop him every step of the way, until the answer is right in front of them

yakou kills yuma with his own hands. there's no stab wounds or toxic gas to leave any doubt. yakou begins to question what good his justice really does. it doesnt even save them from their predicament, just like the other deaths. instead, makoto ex machina comes in to save them, and hands yakou a small black box

when they return to the agency, everyone is heartbroken over their chief, who seemingly died out of nowhere. fubuki tried rewinding time, but to no avail. halara tried everything to wake him up, knowing it's futile. desuhiko stood aside, feeling completely helpless. and yakou and vivia return looking like they just came back from hell

they barely get the chance for a funeral before the knockout gas trap activates... you know the rest

AAAAND SCENE! so that's my extremely long winded lore dump about this au. i thought about it Way Too Much but god it's so interesting to me. i love these characters and swapping them was immensely fun

[hart269]

Slithering Hearts

Chapter 6

Pairing : Regulus Black x Fem! Reader

Synopsis : You begin an unlikely friendship with the little Black. And soon your whole life seems to have become a tumultuous pathway. The catch, James Potter is your brother.

A/N : As you set on your jouney to become an animal, some realisations are realised

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

"Will you not talk to me at all" Regulus asked looming over you while you sat underneath a tree.

You quickly scribbled in your parchment, "But I am"

Regulus groaned, "No, speak, why are you not speaking, is your throat sore"

"No" You shoved the paper in his face

"Tell me then"

"whyy"

"What do you mean why, you're not speaking, to anyone?" Regulus huffed.

You shrugged, you quill scratching the paper as you scrawled "What if you tell someone?"

"Tell someone what, that your speech language has turned that of a basilisk" Regulus sassed leaning back on the tree which you sat against. You scoffed, "Fine"

You opened your mouth, he stilled, "Is that a mandrake leaf"

You nodded, he seemed to be in thought "Are you trying to be an animagus?". You nodded again.

"So, that's why you were not speaking and here I thought you were intelligent" he retorted smirking.

You tilted your head offensively, he pulled out his wand and mumbled a charm. The mandrake leaf stuck to the roof of your mouth, leaving you to speak as you wish.

"I was gonna think of that soon" you huffed.

He slid down to sit next to you. "So why are you trying to perform such a dangerous and illegal activity..that too without me?"

You groaned resting your face between your knees, "Because James is doing so", you said, beleiving that to be enough of an explanation.

Really you had to pester James for much longer to tell you, at one point you were running after him as he was running away from you,

"James stop" you yelled your breath running short.

James had turned to look back at your horrified gaze, as he slipped on the marble and plummeted to the ground, he gazed up, "Oh, hey gorgeous, did I tell you that you are beautiful from this angle too".

Lily let out an annoyed sound, "Seems like you need to change your glasses Potter". She walked away and this time you ran, James following suit, yelling behind you "Because of you I swallowed it"

Then here you were, following in his prime example. Regulus nodded getting up, brushing his pants, puberty really had hit him this summer. His hair fell slightly down his ears, he had grown taller, voice more mature. He had started to attract quite a bit of attention, which would have been more if he didn't have a resting bitch face in public.

You stared incredously, "Where are you going?"

"To get a leaf for myself" he shrugged as if it was obvious. You shook your head, "It is really dangerous and illegal", you repeated his own words to him.

He snorted, "Says the girl who's doing so herself". You hummed then grinned, glad to have a partner, "Then let's go, shall we"

Surely enough you both had a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month, you had even managed to avoid getting caught by Amelia who had asked the reason you were eating a leaf.

You had sheepishly smiled, pretending to be embarassed, "I am on this specific leaf diet"

She had nodded and even told you about the different kinds you could incorporate into your diet. You had smiled and thanked her, adapting into your leaf diet, you had felt more like a bowtrukle less a zouwu. However you decided it was best to not tell James, not to mention he will yell at you for doing something so reckless. You instead pestered professor mcgonagoll to tell you hypothetically about it, not suspicious at all.

However your misery was coming to an end when the full moon approached, you both were at the astronomy tower, storing way the phial which contained mixture, now all you had to wait for was an electrical storm, which took longer than the actual process of making the concotion.

"Regulus" you shook the boy, long asleep on the library chair beside you. He opened his eyes groggily, "What?"

You pointed at the window, even though it was middle of the afternoon, the sky had darkened, little grumblings of the clouds could be heard as they clashed onto each other, "An electrical storm" you whispered.   

You had decided to go to a secluded place near the magical creature reserve. You had your phial which contained a blood red potion, you looked up once again as the cloud cackled. You knew the consequences of it going wrong but you had taken all precautions to eliminate any chances of happeing so. You looked at Regulus and nodded, placing the wand over your hearts, you both chanted, "Amato Animo Animato Animagus"

You drank the potion and  instantly wanted to throw up, your throat felt itchy, you gripped your throat taking deep breaths, you saw Regulus on his knees through your blurry vision, your ears ringed, you stumbled to the ground, feeling your bones shift, it was  certainly painful. Your eyes blanked, and you make out a figure of an ainimal with red fur .

You opened your eyes to be met with green eyes of a black feline who mewed loudly. You glanced down at your red paws, moving and getting used to walking on all fours, you were a red fox.

You pushed the cat with your snout and it let out a loud hiss, so you decided for fun to pick it up carefully while it began to hiss and claw. You were quite enjoying this.

You thought of your human form, feeling your bones contract painfully but this time less so. The cat Reggie tilted his head, "Aww, you're cute", the cat hissed as if taking offence, his face contorted as he tried to shift back, his nose scrunched, he turned back into Regulus letting out a small, tiny wheeze.

You bursted into laughter which Regulus crossed his arms, his face turned into a pout. "I thought I was gonna be a big scary animal"

"You are" you replied, gazing at his eyes, they really were so green that the trees paled in comparison to its shine. Regulus scoffed, "Well, you are a sly fox"

"A sly fox" you questioned. He nodded, "Yes, you are"

You grinned, "Then you're fuzzy ball". Then he made a face that would have been hissing in his animagus form. "Stop calling me those, I'm scary". The pout resting on his face was adorable too.

Your smiled just grew wider as a drop of rain fell into your cheek, "Very scary reggie, very, I'm sure the 1st years will run seeing you"

   

It took you both a while to get used to your animagus form but once you did, it felt as easy as breathing. Now that you noticed it, you both did have some of the characteristics of your animal counterparts.

You groaned as a book was thwacked into your head, you glaced at the culprit, Amelia who stood fuming, "Where the hell were you, we were supposed to meet for lunch?". She sat down beside you at the grand table. 

"Sorry, I was studying with Reggie in the library and I lost track of time." Amelia hummed, you knew she wanted to ask something.

"What is it, tell me?" you inquired. Amelia nodded, "Nothing much, just wondering"

You really were confused, "Wondering what?". Amelia seemed to be conflicted, "Alright, but don't take it too seriously, it's just an observation." You nodded.

"Look, I'm not implying it but like are you two together". You tilted your head confused, "Together as in"

Amelia groaned, "Are you two dating?".

"What, no, jeez, No, there's nothing like that, why did you think so?" Your heart raced, you couldn't think how can someone assume so, I mean you two just hanged out like normal people do. 

Amelia shrugged, "I mean you two are mostly together-". You cut her off, "Yeah as friends are"

She continued- "Then there's the thing where you look at each other, it's like no one else exists, not to forget, you two always disappear or run off together"

You were flabbergasted, bamboozled even, "No, I mean, no, he doesn't like me like that"

Amelia raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows, "Do you?"

You shook your head, glancing at Regulus who sat a bit away from you, his lips turned upwards as his gaze met yours. You definitely didn't like him like that. He was your bestfriend if you may, thought he was smart, and nice and preety like the stars. But merlin, you didn't like him like that, right?.

 Taglist - @shycreationdreamland @mp-littlebit @girlbooklover555 @godofstory @misacc08 @starchaser-lily @moonywastakenn @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @skepvids

[niki-phoria]

hello, i hope you're well and taking care of yourself 💗 if it's not too much to ask for i want to request enha reacting to their 8th member bf being shipped/paired with another member? not exactly angst but them being jealous and petty, i read your rules before requesting and i don't think it's against them, but i understand if you decline for whatever reason! hope you have a good week <3

⋆｡°✩ enha reaction - their bf being shipped with another member

includes: established relationship, 8th member reader, these are less petty and more the boys needing reassurance lol, mentions of insecure enha

a/n: thank you for requesting !! this isn't against my rules at all, but thank you for checking. i hope you like it :))

feedback is always appreciated <33

male 8th member reader (he/him pronouns)

⋆｡°✩ heeseung

(word count 221)

heeseung furrows his eyebrows as jake shifts slightly closer to you. your shoulders brush against each other as you raise a hand up to complete a hand-heart with the other boy, causing a new wave of cheers to erupt from the audience below.

the stage lights are nearly blinding as they shine down on you. heeseung can feel stares from the audience below. he’s hyper aware of the cameras following his every move as he takes a small breath in an attempt to hide his growing jealousy. 

“unfortunately this is our last song for tonight,” jungwon begins apologetically. 

“it’s been an honor to preform for you all. we hope to see you again sometime soon,” you say. heeseung smiles softly at the way you brighten up at the second wave of cheers through the crowd.

you wander over to sit beside him on the stairs, leaning your head against his shoulder. heeseung’s arm finds a familiar place around your waist, tugging you even closer to him. he leans over to press a kiss against your forehead as the first few notes of shout out begin to play. 

“my life without you is a misery,” you bring a hand up to cup heeseung’s cheek, turning to face him as you finish singing your line. “my heart is racing like it’s gonna explode.”

⋆｡°✩ jay

(word count 214)

you tiredly rub the last remnants of sleep out of your eyes as you quietly enter the kitchen. jay stands with his back towards you, scrolling through something on his phone. even from behind you can see tension in his shoulders. 

“jay?” you walk closer to him, hesitantly resting a hand against his waist before you pull him into a back hug. he startles slightly at the contact but doesn’t move away. your arms rest gingerly wrapped around him as you peer over his shoulder to see what he was reading on his phone. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” he whispers. 

you bring a hand up to rest against his shoulder, gently massaging the tension out of his muscles. you softly smile when he relaxes against you. “jay,” you sigh. “you know you can tell me anything.”

he twists around in your hold so he’s facing you; his back is now leaning against the counter. “it’s just a dumb article from dispatch.” 

“about?” 

“...you. and sunoo. people think you’re dating.” he glances down at the floor, almost ashamed. “i just don’t like the idea of my boy dating someone else.”

“you have nothing to worry about,” you whisper. you bring a hand up to cup jay’s cheek, quickly pulling you into a sweet kiss. “i promise.”

⋆｡°✩ jake

(word count 223)

you adjust the thin, black mask on your face as you sleepily watch the cashier continue scanning the miscellaneous items the other members had asked you to pick up from a nearby convenience store. another yawn escapes you as sunghoon brushes against your side, sliding yet another bag of chips towards the worker. her long, black hair has been messily tied back into a low ponytail. a thin pair of glasses frame her features. 

sunghoon’s arm gently brushes against your waist as he stands beside you at the register. the woman smiles softly at both of you as she finishes scanning the last of your items. “you two are cute together,” she says. 

“oh, we’re not-”

you’re cut off by a gentle but stern voice from beside you. jake’s arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you away from sunghoon and against his chest. “he’s mine, actually.” 

sunghoon stifles a small chuckle at your embarrassment as he takes the bag from her, handing her a few bills in return. “thank you,” you murmur as you turn to leave the store. 

“so, jake-hyung,” sunghoon teases as you begin walking back towards the dorms. “are you perhaps… jealous?”

jake remains silent, though you notice the way his grip around you tightens slightly. “shut up,” he mumbles, hiding his reddened cheeks behind his own mask.

⋆｡°✩ sunghoon

(word count 220)

sunghoon softly smiles as you step closer to the crowd as you reach down to pick up a small penguin plush laying at the edge of the stage. you hold the plush up to your cheek, playfully posing for the cameras. 

heeseung chuckles softly, stepping closer as he reaches up to adjust the cat ears a fan had carefully placed on your head a few minutes before. you lean down slightly to give him better access as he adjusts your hair around the faux ears on your head. 

a small wave of cheers echoes through the crowd at the interaction. despite sunghoon knowing it was completely platonic from both you and heeseung, he can’t help the jealousy that immediately spreads throughout him. it curls around his heart and constricts in his chest as a small frown tugs at the edge of his mouth. 

you step back away from heeseung after he finishes adjusting your hair, wandering back over to sunghoon’s side. you gently uncross his arms from over his chest - something he had done unconsciously - before leaning back against his chest. his arm finds its familiar place around your waist as he holds you against him. 

“don’t be jealous, hoon,” you whisper. sunghoon simply playfully rolls his eyes in response; though you can tell he’s silently grateful for the reassurance.

⋆｡°✩ sunoo

(word count 218)

sunoo furrows his eyebrows slightly as he continues scrolling through the comments on a recent dispatch article. you can’t help the way your own eyebrows furrow in concern as you quietly close your bedroom door and set your things down before joining him on your shared bed. “what are you reading?”

he sighs slightly as he hands his phone to you. you scroll to the top of the article, reading the headline: enhypen’s y/n and niki are seen holding hands on a possible late night date.

“it’s stupid, i know,” sunoo begins. “but it’s been bothering me for the past few days.”

“it’s not stupid,” you whisper. you set his phone aside, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. your hand falls to cup his cheek as you gently tilt his face up so he’s looking into your eyes. “sunoo, you’re incredible. you’re sweet, and kind, and handsome,” he chuckles softly, playfully pushing your hand away as he denies your compliments. you lean over him with a small smile. “and everything i could’ve asked for in a lover.”

a small blush spreads across sunoo’s face as you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead. then his cheek. nose. and finally, his lips. “you mean everything to me, kim seonwoo.”

⋆｡°✩ jungwon

(word count 223)

jungwon curiously pushes his still-damp fringe back as he steps out of the bathroom, tugging your t-shirt over his shoulders. you stifle a small grunt when he walks over to you and lays down with his head resting against your back. 

he laughs as he rolls off of your body to lay next to you. “what are you doing?”

“searching my name.” jungwon furrows his eyebrows slightly in concern as you hand him your phone. “it’s nothing bad. just more dating rumors with jay.”

“more?” the word sounds akin to a whine as it leaves his lips. you stifle a chuckle at the small pout threatening to tug at his lips. he tosses your phone aside, relishing in the feeling of curling up beside you. your arm rests gingerly around jungwon’s waist as you pull him even closer. “why don’t you ever get dating rumors with me?”

“sorry wonie,” you murmur. “you know i would stop them if i could.”

jungwon lets out a soft sigh. you bring your hand up, slowly beginning to rake your fingers through his hair. you twist the soft strands in an attempt to soothe the boy laying in your arms. “i know,” he whispers. he softly smiles as he leans up just enough to press a kiss against your jawline. “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

⋆｡°✩ niki

(word count 204)

niki’s eyebrows furrow slightly as he continues scrolling through his weverse feed. there are hundreds of posts, each of them about a recent interaction between you and jungwon. he had simply brushed some of the hair out of your face - a common interaction you often shared with the other members; himself included. though seeing so many posts about his boyfriend with someone else made an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy cloud his mind. 

niki jumps slightly when you enter your shared bedroom, closing the door behind yourself. he shuts his phone off, setting it on your bedside table. 

“is everything okay?” you ask, moving to sit on the bed beside him. niki remains silent. he lets you reach over to coax him closer to you until his head rests in your lap. you rake your hand through his hair, twisting the strands between your fingers. 

“‘m fine,” he finally hums. he lets his eyes slowly flutter closed, exhaustion slowly beginning to catch up with him as he nuzzles his body even closer against you. 

a comfortable silence falls over the room for a few minutes as you keep playing with his hair. “are you sure?” you finally whisper.

“i’m just… glad you’re mine,” he smiles.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

could you maybe do headcanons on how the succession characters would comfort their partner? it's just being such a shit week and on top of that i finished succession and i am immensely sad💀 it's okay if you can't tho !! thanks <3

I hope your week ends on a good note!!! Thank you for requesting anon, I love u and I hope this makes you feel better :) <3

p.s. I’m so sorry I’m updating slowly :( I promise I’ll get better about it the moment I’m on break, im sick and school is ruing my life :,) enjoy x

comforting you

Kendall

ᝰ he doesn’t need you to say anything, ever

ᝰ he just knows what you need

ᝰ when he comes home and finds you in bed early, he knows you’ve had a difficult day

ᝰ he doesn’t know what happened, but he won’t ask until you’re feeling better

ᝰ he changes out of his work clothes and just gets into bed with you

ᝰ when you don’t say anything either, he pulls you into a cuddle, one hand pressing your head to his chest and the other cupping your hip

ᝰ “hi, ken.”

ᝰ peppers your face in kisses

ᝰ “feeling off?” he asks

ᝰ you nod

ᝰ his fingers go to stroke your jaw

ᝰ “you can talk to me, you know. i want to make it better,” he tells you

ᝰ so you tell him everything

ᝰ whatever the issue was, the next day, he’s found some way to solve it

ᝰ just for you

ᝰ anything for you

Roman

ᝰ he’s not exactly a ‘sit down and talk about feelings’ type of person

ᝰ but he can tell when something’s wrong

ᝰ and he wants nothing more but to make you feel like you’re on top of the world

ᝰ he sees your pouty face when you get home from a grocery run

ᝰ “hey, babe, come look,” he says after he helps with all the bags

ᝰ he’d been at work when you’d left for the store

ᝰ so he’s had some time to figure out what to do for you without making it seem like he’s prying

ᝰ he’ll ask you about what’s bothering you once you’ve relaxed

ᝰ he plops down on the couch, dragging you with him

ᝰ your favorite movie is paused on the tv, waiting to be played

ᝰ “i found an extended version. with bloopers and deleted scenes and everything,” he murmurs

ᝰ the entire movie, his hand is rubbing up and down your back

ᝰ his fingers sometimes creep up your neck, playing gently with your hair

ᝰ the entire thing is extremely soothing

ᝰ you know he knows something’s wrong

ᝰ and you also know he’s going to do everything in his power to fix it

ᝰ and you’re so grateful he just loves you

Shiv

ᝰ the minute you come home from work, exhaustion and misery rolling off of you in waves, she demands to know what’s wrong

ᝰ “is someone bothering you? is it your boss again? because i can get him fired.”

ᝰ you tell her everything

ᝰ she promises to help you with whatever it is that’s causing you trouble

ᝰ she’d tip the earth off it’s axis if you asked

ᝰ and she does as she said she would

ᝰ everything’s somehow resolved in the next hour

ᝰ “come here, i want a kiss,” she tells you

ᝰ you very happily oblige

ᝰ she spends the entire night just spoiling (and worshiping) you

ᝰ the sheets of your bed are tangled between both your legs

ᝰ you’ve never felt more loved

ᝰ she murmurs about how valentine’s day is coming up

ᝰ and tells you to get your nails done and dress pretty day of

ᝰ you don’t really know how you got here

ᝰ but you’re not upset

ᝰ you smile up at the ceiling, delightedly dazed

ᝰ you don’t even remember why you were upset

Tom

ᝰ the two of you are watching your current show, as you do every night, and he notices you’re zoning out

ᝰ he pauses it and looks down at you

ᝰ he dots a couple kisses over your brow

ᝰ “everything okay?”

ᝰ “rough day…”

ᝰ “why didn’t you tell me?”

ᝰ his expression is one of concern now, yet still absolutely laden with affection

ᝰ “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to keeping things from you or anything. i just don’t want to bother you.”

ᝰ “i want you to bother me. say everything that comes into your brain, i want to hear it.”

ᝰ he pulls you closer, palm smoothing over the back of your neck as he sets your head against his chest

ᝰ you tell him about your day, and how you were getting so frustrated

ᝰ frustrated everything was going wrong today, frustrated that the entire week was going wrong

ᝰ he listens intently, stroking your hair the entire time

ᝰ he gives soft “mhms” and “of courses” at your words

ᝰ he peppers warm kisses all over your face

ᝰ he does his best to give you a solution

ᝰ even if what he suggested doesn’t work, he’s sending you flowers to your office for the next week

Greg

ᝰ he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit

ᝰ he’s a little nervous to ask what’s wrong

ᝰ he’s afraid he won’t know what to do to make you feel better

ᝰ “hey, uh, everything okay?”

ᝰ you shrug

ᝰ “wanna talk about it?”

ᝰ you tell him everything

ᝰ he nods the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face

ᝰ he’s trying to memorize everything you’re saying

ᝰ he doesn’t really have any great solutions

ᝰ and he kind of hates himself for it

ᝰ he wants to help you

ᝰ “hey, how about we go out tonight? take your mind off things.”

ᝰ you spend the night at dinner then wandering through a night market

ᝰ you both talk nonstop

ᝰ he gets you a bunch of trinkets

ᝰ just things that reminds him of you

ᝰ and a bracelet, too

ᝰ`he spends a bit of time fiddling with the clasp, eventually hooking it together and letting it sit on your wrist

ᝰ you don’t take the bracelet off

ᝰ ever

ᝰ at home, he’s worried you’re still upset

ᝰ but you’re not

ᝰ you fall asleep curled up against him, your worries now nonexistent

Stewy

ᝰ he feels what you feel

ᝰ and at this point he can never leave you alone

ᝰ he NEEDS to be with you 24/7

ᝰ so naturally it’s like he’s dying when you come home looking upset

ᝰ “hey, no kiss hello?” he whines

ᝰ that manages to get you to laugh

ᝰ he smiles at your smiling

ᝰ you go over to kiss him and he catches your wrist before you walk off

ᝰ “no, c’mere,” he insists

ᝰ he tugs you into his lap and winds his arms around your waist

ᝰ he sets his chin on your shoulder

ᝰ “why’re you upset?”

ᝰ “oh, it’s nothing, stewy.”

ᝰ “bullshit.”

ᝰ you spill

ᝰ he rubs circles into your hip bone

ᝰ “i’d be upset, too,” he admits

ᝰ he kisses all up your neck

ᝰ “but we don’t have to think about that all now. can we just spend some time together? i promise, though, if you’re still having problems i’ll gladly fuck up many lives for you.”

ᝰ you laugh, making him laugh

ᝰ you spend the rest of the night just sitting there talking to him

ᝰ he even lets you put his hair into pigtails with your hair ties