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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue.

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end.

All he can see is your body.

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh.

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs.

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me.

It was him, though, wasn’t it?

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him.

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line.

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking.

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder.

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward.

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.”

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse.

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade.

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked.

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water.

But a mortal could.

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it.

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver.

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing.

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds.

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away.

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing.

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment.

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds.

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too.

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you.

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him.

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well?

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you.

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens.

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone.

—

This place isn’t real.

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave.

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps.

It doesn’t feel right to speak.

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here.

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking.

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory.

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale.

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him.

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.”

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast.

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault.

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold.

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.”

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head.

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you.

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath.

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you.

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?”

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.”

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other.

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose.

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?”

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking.

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it.

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon.

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst.

What were you missing?

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster.

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it.

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it.

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides.

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter.

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you.

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.”

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone.

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?”

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?”

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim.

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why.

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level.

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.”

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship?

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched.

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting.

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.”

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms.

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank.

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him.

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat.

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it.

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast.

You blink. “Mr. Riley?”

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.”

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife.

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up.

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling.

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood.

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant.

Now or never.

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness.

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles.

Only you’re not touching the handle.

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened.

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors.

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts.

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close.

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints.

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside.

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked.

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink.

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right?

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this.

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!”

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready.

Hell, you’d already died once.

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear.

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets.

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this.

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping.

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away.

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect.

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil.

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once.

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away.

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back.

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again.

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again.

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you.

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here.

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls.

Because that was what it was.

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you.

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other.

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can.

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here.

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands.

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin.

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps.

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands.

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth.

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip.

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself.

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not.

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s.

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on.

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger.

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war.

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens.

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping.

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that?

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch.

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool.

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle.

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred.

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.”

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward.

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall.

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.”

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees.

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.”

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know.

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.”

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter.

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus.

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts.

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath.

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks.

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten.

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do.

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.”

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm.

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes.

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here.

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face.

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside.

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having.

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he?

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another?

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up.

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you.

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking.

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.”

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly.

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much.

He’d explain it all when you were better.

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all.

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him.

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion.

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different.

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners.

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well.

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size.

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone.

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs.

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place.

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps.

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly.

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses.

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction.

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this.

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut.

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear.

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails.

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you.

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears.

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso.

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach.

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips.

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat.

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height.

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.”

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air.

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils.

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.”

Literal or a metaphor, you care not.

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw.

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned.

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls.

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse.

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates.

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back.

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear.

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now.

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.”

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.”

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins.

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all.

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters.

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls.

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form.

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles.

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds.

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?”

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs.

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core.

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way.

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white.

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm.

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.”

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently.

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.”

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!”

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch.

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze.

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath.

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting.

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees.

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you.

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs.

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs.

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.”

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too.

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace.

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light.

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second.

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder.

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath.

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp.

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response.

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly.

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn.

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything.

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose.

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness.

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation.

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you.

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low.

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more.

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you.

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?”

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.”

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you.

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against.

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over.

“I’m sure, Simon.”

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up.

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control.

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat.

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?”

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch.

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh.

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?”

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core.

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right.

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair.

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that.

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.”

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open.

The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in.

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him.

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate.

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.”

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter.

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides.

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death.

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

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kiame-sama · 27 days ago

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Not to overthink this and I mean this is a genuinely curious way, but how does Riddle's "virginity radar" thing work with 'virginity' not being... real? Or like how it's traditionally defined through a hetero-specific lens? Is it belief-based magic or based on Riddle's own bias? I could absolutely see a scenario where you put a completely stigma-free human in front of Riddle and Riddle clocking them as a virgin because that human could not care less for labels.

Riddle's ability to tell Virginity is a result of inherent magic that all Unicorns have, which allows them to clock others are virgin or not. Virginity- as the magic defines it- is being without residual magic from another creature. Especially in terms of their magic, it can detect when someone has been intimate with another because their bodies leave residual presence (a kind of soul specific essence) behind on previous mates. It isn't always accurate as someone who was previously intimate being celibate for seven years confuses Unicorns and comes across as virgin due to that residual presence fading after time. It is harder for a Unicorn to tell the 'Virginity' of a Human that has only been with other Humans due to the lack of magic left behind on them, as most residual presence is a result of the unique magic from specific creatures.

Technically the HAE!Human could have been intimate prior to entering NRC but Riddle sees them as a Virgin due to the lack of magical presence on their bodies. As most creatures in the Monster AU of Twisted Wonderland have magic, they leave behind that residual presence on their mates. The Human could have a rather large body-count, but Riddle can't tell due to Human/Human relationships leaving no magical trace behind. It had since faded to obscurity, but most Unicorns were confused by pregnant Humans that were 'Virgins' based on that magical sense due to only being with the other non-magical Humans. It has also faded away to obscurity that Unicorns can be inaccurate when it comes to Virginity senses due to almost everyone in the Monster AU Twisted Wonderland having magic and therefore falling under the purview of magical presences.

Basically Riddle has no accurate idea on if the Human is actually a Virgin or not due to no residual magic left on them. It's more a sense of if someone has been intimate with a magic user or not and not the actual concept of Virginity. He still firmly believes this lack of presence means the Human is untouched by others (it may fry his brain to realize the Human isn't technically a 'Virgin' because his senses tell him they are).

#kiame-sama #humans are extinct twst au

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queen-of-reptiles · 1 year ago

Text

𝚁𝚄𝙻𝙴𝚂

description: For Alexia, she had rules...

rule one: don't date teammates

rule two: don't give up

rule three: don't date your best friends siblings

rule four: ignore rule 1 and 3 for y/n hermoso

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Alexia Putellas x female reader

this is all fiction! Jenni and Alexia were never a thing in this au!

warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, bad google translations of spanish !

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y/n just posted

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tagged fcbfemeni

y/n VAMOS BARCA! 6-0 ❤️💙

view 19, 339 comments

username1: she is so hot i wanna cry 😭

username2: VAMOS VAMOS VAMOS ! ❤️💙❤️💙

username3: Tres goles para nuestra superestrella!!! 😱

three goals for our superstar

jennihermoso: Mi hermana menor ❤️🥹

my baby sister

y/n: te amooooooooo !! ❤️

love you

lucybronze: Little star!! 🌟🌟

y/n: my double assist bestie!!! ☄️

username4: Ella es tan linda! 😍😍

she's so pretty

username5: BODY YADA YADA YADA YADA 😛😛

username6: Su celebración del tercer gol fue demasiado divertida 😂

her third goal celebration was too funny

username7: ¿bien? su pequeña salsa 😂😂

right? her little salsa

marialeonn16: HERMOSOOOOOOOO!!!! 🩷

y/n: LEONNNNNNN!!!! 🩷

keirawalsh: I still have no clue what you said to me at half time... 🧐

y/n: you'll get it one day amiga! 😏

alexiaputellas: ❤️💙

y/n: ❤️🩷🫡

username8: want her body now please!! 😛

see more comments...

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y/n laughed as Mapi tumbled over, the defender getting her feet tangled as she tried to tackle y/n, the young Hermoso instead sending the tattooed blonde the wrong way and onto the ground.

y/n sent a cross into Alexia, the woman striking it past Cata and into the back of the net, meaning just as Jonatan called time, the playful training match coming to an end.

y/n cheered with her bib team, jumping on Aitana who was closest to her, the woman laughing and spinning the winger slightly as they celebrated.

Salma poked her tongue out at her friend, clearly annoyed at the playful loss, y/n just shook her head at Salma who laughed as she watched y/n get off Aitana.

An arm wrapped around y/n's shoulder and Alexia pulled the girl into her side, y/n's head coming onto her shoulder being just an inch shorter than her Captain.

"Perfecta como siempre mi estrella." Alexia hummed, relishing in the blush which fought its way up the woman's cheeks.

perfect as always my star

"Sólo porque la reina lo recibió." y/n countered with a smile.

only because the queen received it.

The use of the term usually made Alexia feel slightly shy, but whenever the words slipped from y/n's lips, something twisted in her stomach, a protective want that made Alexia want y/n to chant the name out in pants and groans beneath her.

As y/n turned to laugh at Mapi, Alexia shook her head of the thoughts which had started to push into her head, she looked up arm still wrapped around y/n only to see Lucy watching her with a knowing look.

The Brit seemed to have been able to sniff out the captain's crush since she stepped foot in Barcelona. The only other soul to know was Mapi, and that was an accident.

Alexia had gone out with the team and the one time she had decided to let loose, and drink she spilled the secret she had kept so close to her heart.

She was in love with y/n Hermoso, her team-mate, her striker, and worse, her best friend's little sister. Mapi had found her in the bathroom after two drinks.

Alexia didn't drink often so she didn't have a high tolerance and she was sat on the closed toilet lid, head in her hands as she tried to rid her impure thoughts while she tried to not think about y/n and the tight dress she was wearing.

When Mapi found her, she was scared her captain had hurt herself, but the woman just scoffed and blamed love for her injury, it didn't take Mapi long to figure it out after that.

Alexia rolled her eyes at Lucy, the Brit just sighing and looking away as y/n chased after Mapi, the blonde letting out a panicked shriek as y/n chased her down with her water bottle.

"Mierda." y/n cursed as she missed Mapi.

shit

Mapi turned back with an evil grin and before y/n could blink she was covered in ice cold water and Mapi was howling in amusement as she stood there shocked.

The rest of the team were all laughing along as y/n trudged back to them, a pout on her lips as she waved her hands in upset at her soaked body.

"Alexia." y/n whined but the captain shook her head.

"juega juegos estúpidos, ganas premios estúpidos, princesa." Alexia hummed, Mapi shouting in victory as y/n huffs.

play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, princess.

Suddenly y/n launches forward, her body jumping onto Alexia's back and pressing her cold wet shirt into the back of Alexia's dry one, the captain letting out a shout of annoyance.

"juega juegos estúpidos, ganas premios estúpidos, reina." y/n hums back.

play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, queen.

Alexia huffs and rolls her eyes but her hands come up to hold y/n's thighs, walking them both toward the changing rooms which once they arrive in, y/n hops off.

Lucy laughs at y/n as she rips her wet top off, flinging it at the now shouting Lucy. y/n ignores the complaining older woman and moves to the showers, unaware of her staring captain.

Alexia wondered if she hadn't seen y/n shirtless in a while, but the once faint outline of abs, were now a chiselled picture on her stomach, the rest of the toned muscles hidden behind her sports bra.

"You're drooling, la reina." Lucy mutters to Alexia, and the captain glares at her.

"Shut up." She sighs.

Once the group were all changed, a large group of them made their way toward the exit, the Barcelona sun still dangling high in the air, trying to keep as much of the day alive as possible.

y/n was talking to Ingrid when she saw her, a body lent against her car, a familiar body who when y/n let out a shocked call looked up grinning.

"Jenni!" y/n yelled, racing over at her sister, the two meeting in a very tight hug, it becoming impossible to define where one sister started and the other met.

If there was one thing that was known of the Hermoso siblings, it was that they were incredibly close. And since they no longer played at the same club, the two were known to visit each other as often as possible.

Jenni's move was tough on her younger sister, the two having been depressed from days at the beginning when they weren't together everyday.

While the two had now become used to the distance, the shock of seeing her sister was still an incredibly grateful one for y/n, especially when they had a day off the next day.

"¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" y/n asked her sister as they pulled away. The group coming over and hugging their friend one by one.

what are you doing here?

"Me jalé el muslo, estoy bien antes de que te preocupes. Simplemente no jugaré durante las próximas semanas." Jenni explains as her sister kisses her cheek again.

pulled my thigh, i'm okay before you worry. Just no playing for a few weeks.

"¡perfecto! ¡Puedes unirte a nosotros esta noche!" Mapi grins.

perfect, you can join us out tonight

Jenni laughs but nods, knowing there was no saying no to Mapi Leon, and y/n grins as the group agrees to meet in several hours at their usual place.

As y/n starts packing her car and the others depart, no one notices the shared look between, Lucy, Mapi and Jenni, no one other than Alexia herself.

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y/n just posted

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tagged jennihermoso

y/n Mira quién vino de visita!

look who came to visit

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username1: AWWWWWWW 🥹😍

username2: my fav sister duo!!!! 🥹🥹

lucybronze: Ready for tonight!!!

y/n: 😏💙

marialeonn16: 🥹🥹

y/n: 🥹🥹

jennihermoso: ❤️

y/n: ❤️

username3: 😊😊😩

see more comments...

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Jenni sat happily sipping her drink, watching her sister who laughed as Mapi picked up another four uno cards. The group were at a small beach-side bar.

It was a usual for the group to go and relax, they didn't have to drink or party and were warned against it during the season so the bar here was perfect for them to relax but still be out.

Jenni was sat next to Alexia and Lucy, the latter talking with Keira about something funny that her nephew had done, Alexia was just sat watching y/n.

"So, will we talk about it?" Jenni asks Alexia, using English as she knew if her sister was to overhear, which would be doubtful, she would have a harder time picking out English words, not as fluent as her sister.

"Talk about what?" Alexia asks, turning to face her best friend, her face stone cold.

"Your feelings for my sister." Jenni shrugged and if she hadn't have known Alexia so well, she wouldn't have seen the slip in her cold mask.

"Jenni." Alexia sighed, clearly not having the strength to lie to her.

"It's okay, amiga." Jenni tried, knowing how much Alexia hated being overly vulnerable. "It's okay." She adds.

Lucy and Keira move with a shared look, understanding their captain deserved privacy in this moment, the two opting to join the rest of the group who were watching the intense Uno game happening.

"Rule one, don't date teammates. Rule two, don't give up. Rule three, don't date your best friend's siblings." Alexia denies, her voice void of any emotion.

The captain knew as soon as she slipped from her cold mask Jenni would see. She would be able to see the pleading in her eyes, the captain would be begging to be with her sister if not for her rules.

"Rule four, ignore rules 1 and 3 for y/n Hermoso." Jenni says simply.

Alexia and Jenni never had to say much to each other, they both preferred it that way and with that sentence Alexia could have cried.

She looked over at her best friend who smiled softly as if promising it was okay. Alexia gripped her best friend's hand, grateful for her more than she would be able to voice.

"Now, you must swallow your pride amiga, and your stupid rules." Jenni warns as she nods to her sister, who had bowed out of Uno and gone to get another drink.

Alexia nodded and moved quickly, smoothly gliding next to y/n as she thanked the bartender for her new drink.

"Hola Ale." y/n smiled as she looked up at her captain.

"¿Quieres salir a caminar?" Alexia asked softly, and the look in her eyes had y/n nodding and placing her drink down as they left the bar.

do you want to go for a walk?

The two found themselves walking hand-in-hand down the beach, the crisp Barcelona air still warm, even with the inky sky above them reminding them of the time.

They talked quietly, their conversation flowing easily as they talked of anything that came to mind. But as y/n giggled at a joke Alexia had made, the captain could no longer keep her rules.

"Sal conmigo." Alexia said softly, not even realising it had slipped from her lips.

date me.

y/n paused, her body tensing as Alexia stopped, cursing herself in her mind for how un-romantically she had said that, an entire speech had been brewing in her mind but instead she said that.

"qué?" y/n asked.

what?

"Sal conmigo." Alexia repeated, stronger this time. While stil not what she wanted to say it was progress.

date me.

"¿Qué pasa con tus reglas?" y/n asked rush, holding up three fingers to show she knew the three.

what about your rules?

"¿Quién te habló de ellas?" Alexia questioned annoyed.

who told you about them?

"Mapi." y/n admitted sheepishly, Alexia sighing.

"Mapi." The woman nodded.

Alexia bit her lip and stepped closer to y/n, her hand coming up to take hold of the woman's waist, giving her time to pull away, but when she didn't, Alexia pulled her closer.

"Eres tan hermosa que duele, juegas como nadie que haya visto jamás y podrías llenar el océano con cosas que sabes. Pero no podrías llenar el océano con mis sentimientos por ti, porque ni siquiera los océanos tienen suficiente espacio para ellos." Alexia whispers.

You're so beautiful it hurts, you play like no one I have ever seen, and you could fill the ocean with things you know.

But you couldn't fill the ocean with my feelings for you, because not even the oceans have enough space for them.

Her speech was much closer to what she had wanted to say and y/n sucked in a shaky breath, her hands coming up to cup Alexia's face, as if trying to reassure herself this was real.

"regla cuatro, ignora las reglas uno y tres si eres t/n Hermoso." Alexia whispered.

rule four, ignore rules one and three if it's y/n Hermoso

y/n smiled softly, her thumb rubbing circles on Alexia's cheek as she pressed her forehead against her captain's.

"Bueno, entonces estoy de acuerdo con la regla cuatro." y/n giggled softly.

well, i agree with rule four then.

Alexia let out a breath laugh, her nose brushing y/n's as she did so, her hand tightening around her waist as the other came up to rest behind her neck.

"¿puedo besarte?" Alexia whispered.

can i kiss you?

"Por favor." y/n pleaded and Alexia needed no more.

please.

Her lips pushed against y/n's softly slotting them together as she pulled her tighter to her body, she took it no further, despite her body begging her too, simply for now having their lips together was enough.

And suddenly, Alexia was very grateful for rule four.

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alexiaputellas mi amor

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y/n A la mierda las reglas uno y tres

fuck rules one and three

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END

kicking my feet giggling nd shit at this one

loved writing this cannot lie

two requests in one on this one!

Thank you for all the requests ! I will do my best to work through them!

Queenie xo

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I just read Prince steve's shot of the steampunk au and god, I loved it. I saw below it said you could make a request for it, so I wanted to know if you could do one about the how they met. I know it's mentioned, but I'd like to see what it was like at the time, if it's not too much trouble.

PS: qmo how you write, you are one of my role models 💕.

prince!steve au ♡ fem, 1.1k

Young people stand like dominoes in the sun, teetering, waiting to topple in on one another if given reason. Nine days of bated breath, the city waits in a ramping anticipation for Prince Steven to meet his soulmate.

You're almost hoping it isn't you so you can go home and rest your aching legs. Hours in the warm summer air, your worst dress sticking to the back of your clammy knees. You're not fit to meet the Prince. But… if you meet the Prince, and you were to somehow be his soulmate, you'd live an easy life.

You'd live in a Palace, wear the finest clothes, eat the nicest foods (three times a day!). You could spend your days lounging under crystal chandeliers eating plates of fruit and expensive cheeses, air-conditioned and always smelling of vanilla, or sandalwood, or saffron. You've never tried saffron perfume, but it's the most expensive at the apothecary.

The line mills shorter. You follow close to the heels of a girl dressed in better finery, a cherry red dress that looks like it's made of thin sheets of glass, her dark hair coiled in sweet cherubic curls at the back of her neck. They bounce with every step you take closer to the pedestal. You attach your attention to them, following the winding twist of them to the root over and over.

You want very badly to be the Prince's soulmate. You'd be stupid not to want such luxury. But letting yourself believe that it's you out of the tens of thousands of eligible young people is asking to feel disheartened.

You convince yourself for the millionth time that it's not you as you follow the line inside of the royal gardens. Trees with weeping branches arc inward, their leaves kissing and sunlight dappled onto the people below. You feel it warming your skin as you take the final stretch.

Apparently, for the King's soulmate search, he simply held out his arm and let women touch the inside of his palm with their pinky finger. He did this for two days. Prince Steven's search is taking much longer, as he's insisted on greeting and shaking the hands of everyone who's presented themselves.

You wonder what that might feel like. He's a super pretty man, with exactly the sort of smile a Prince might hope to have. Whenever you see him on the holo screens you feel sick, wanting desperately to remain indifferent to him, but knowing you're just like every other silly young person in the kingdom. You want to be a special perfect royal. You want to take his hand and leave behind your disappointing life.

Too bad it's a fantasy.

"Next, please," says a young woman with red hair, looking at you pointedly.

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth and walk determined to the top of the garden. Up three gentle steps and into a Palace of white, pearly stone. There's a long corridor lined with guards who eye you as you draw in. Deemed decidedly undangerous, they let you pass into a makeshift reception. You'd already had your name taken to be allowed in the line; nothing stands in your way of the Prince but chiffon pink curtains that shine like rose honey in the sun and a surprisingly small girl with a sword.

And there, among an audience of officials and important people, sits the Prince. He looks smaller than you imagined, a little tired. The girl with the sword kicks his shin and he perks up, to the ire of the older members of his court.

"Hey," he calls, "don't be shy! And don't be slow, either. Please. I missed dinner last night–" The girl clears her throat. Prince Steven takes on a more princely effect. "Please, come in."

The audience isn't exactly paying attention. Any hope they had for a soul mate today has seemingly passed, and you can hear a few poorly muffled scoffs at your appearance. Surely the girl before you posed a more pleasing possibility. She looked like a princess.

You stall a few paces from him.

He frowns at you. In his garb, his neat clothes, a heavy platinum crown atop his head, he's strangely intimidating. You assumed he'd feel more familiar up close, like buying a gemstone from the catalogues and finding they've sent you zirconium, but it's the opposite.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks.

"She's fine," Prince Steven says, standing up from his ornate chair. He steps down from the short platform, even his steps a princely brand of perfection. "Well you're more than fine," he says to you, and you gather from the get go that he's not flirting with you, only joking to ease your nerves.

He offers his hand.

You take in a breath and approach him with measured steps. Being run through by his personal guards crystal sword isn't on your agenda this week.

All you have to do is touch his hand and go home when nothing happens. You're nervous, but stalling any longer prolongs the awkwardness you've created.

You step forward.

Before your fingers can touch his palm, the feathered lines curled around your opposite wrists begin to glow.

A silence falls.

You take your hand back but the light doesn't fade. It's white, nearly cream in colour, with the density of fog but none of its cold. Prince Steven's eyes are wide and awash, the sun-kissed skin of his arm paled. "You–" he says, stepping forward again.

You take his hand. You have to know.

White light sears and then blooms, like petals unfurling, the source of it indistinguishable from your wrist or his. And then, when you're sure your heart might fall out of your mouth, the light dims. What remains is thin as fairy floss wrapped around your skin and his.

He rubs the meat of your thumb with the tip of his, and that light glows soft pink, like flower jam.

"It's you," he says. He sounds happy, as though you were a pleasant surprise.

You tuck your hand behind your back, and the glow remains. It's you. You're Prince Steven's soul mate.

"She doesn't look much like a princess," someone whispers.

"I wouldn't say that," Prince Steven says, his eyes roving over you without apology. His smile is as authentic as they come. "I think you'd better meet my mother."

"Now?" you ask.

"Afraid so. Don't worry, though, you look pretty." He offers his hand again. "Come on."

He's a prince. You take his hand.

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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after-witch · 1 year ago

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A Morning After [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Title: A Morning After [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Synopsis: You didn't think about what you and your newly found soulmate Uvogin might do next. Follow up to Late Night Break In.

word count: 2040

notes: yandere, soul mate au

You hadn’t thought about what might come next.

But here you are, sitting in your bedroom while your tall, unusual soulmate rests his chin on his hand, seeming to ponder the events more quietly than you might expect from someone with his appearance.

“So uh,” you interrupt, and he turns to look at you. “What do we… do now?”

Your question seems to surprise him.

“Do?” You can make how his features twisting a little in the night-time light through your window. “Huh, I didn’t really think about that.” The words come sighing out. He’s just as lost as you, which is both a comfort and a worry.

Your fingers grip at your comforter--there’s a brief, stupid flash of a thought about the fact that it was brand name, purchased without a payment plan, and you’d even saved up enough to have it dry-cleaned--and twist at the fabric.

“Well,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “Are you staying the night? Or um, staying here?” The questions come tumbling out, now that your mind has shaken off the shock of his meeting. “Am I staying here? Are we staying here?” You blink rapidly. “Am I still going into work? Are you going to pay my bills? Do you have bills, wherever you live? Do you have enough room for my things, if I’m not staying? Is there a way I could stay?” You think about what that might mean, living here while your soul mate pops in secretly. But you had a gut feeling that your soul mate was not some ordinary person, and another thought crept in, slower and more serious. “I mean… could I even stay here? Is someone going to come after me or something like that?”

Uvogin regards your incessant barrage of questions with a simple quirk of his eyebrow, and then a quirk of his head, and then a quirk of his mouth. Finally, he simply chuckles and shakes his head.

“You’re something, all right.”

Your lips curl up a little.

“Excuse me?”

He hums and splays his hands out.

“I just said--you’re something.”

You pull the comforter up higher and wrinkle your nose at him.

“Well, don’t make that sound like a bad thing.”

He grins again--you get the feeling, innate, that he can’t quite help it--and puts his hands up in surrender.

“Didn’t mean anything bad by it. I just haven’t met someone like you before.” He looks up at the ceiling, his hair shifting with the movement. “But I guess most people who meet me aren’t talking about bills and houses.”

You should ask something like: What does that mean? Why don’t people talk about casual things to you? Who are you, anyway?

But in your chest you feel something… warm and bitter. Like a twinge of sympathy, maybe. Is that your soul mate bond reacting or something else?

You sigh. Your world suddenly seems both very small and big at the same time, alternating on some wild axis and you don’t know where it will stop.

“Look,” you say, gathering your thoughts. “I… I won’t fight you, if you don’t want me to stay here. I get the impression that you’re not a settling-down-in-one-place type of person.” He snorts, and you continue. “But I really mean it when I say I want my things.”

You feel that pinching in your chest again, and wonder if he feels it, too. “You don’t know how much it took me to get all this. Not just money-wise, but taking the time to research things.” You gesture around your bedroom. “How to tell quality over quantity. How to take care of nice things.”

Your fingers tighten and loose on the comforter again and again.

I”m not rich and I don’t have a lot but… it feels nice to pretend sometimes. You know?”

There are a few moments where he simply looks at you

“Yeah,” he tells you, a little softly. “I get it.”

He sighs, this time a long, stretched out thing. And when he speaks next, he seems to have made some sort of decision.

“Well. For now, I’ll stay the night. It’s late. We can figure out the rest in the morning, can’t we?”

You nod. It really would be more sensible to think on things and approach this with a clear head, although you wonder just how much your opinion mattered in the end here.

But then Uvogin starts to shift as if he’s going to lay down and the noise you make is something in between a squawk and a shout.

“Wait! Wait!”

He freezes.

“There--there isn’t room on the bed for both of us. The weight limit is probably already being stretched, I--”

He shrugs, a big, casual gesture. You think for a moment that he’ll insist, which is something you aren’t comfortable with for more ways than one, but he merely stands up. “No problem. I can sleep on the floor.”

Pinch, pinch, twist goes your chest. What is this feeling, anyway?

“I’ll get some blankets,” you offer, the words coming out slow. You feel both like a terrible host and a victim tonight in the same measure, and you’re not sure which wins out.

You slowly peel your comforter aside and scurry off, feeling his eyes following you all the while. But it doesn’t feel entirely creepy. There’s an intimacy to it--and is this how it feels, to be wanted by your soul mate? Is this how your coworkers feel? Your friends, your family? Those people on TV who gush about finally finding “the one��?

As you return with a pile of carefully folded blankets in your arms, you suddenly can’t blame them, for worrying about you missing out. It feels… nice. Worrisome, sure, considering the circumstances. But you can’t deny that nice warm pull in your chest, even as your logical mind worries about other things.

He watches quietly while you unfold and unfurl the blankets, creating a makeshift bed on the floor. You grab a few extra pillows from your closet and toss them down, cringing a little--they were really nice cases, too, a good thread count. But there was nothing to be done about that. When you’re finished making the floor bed as comfortable as it can possibly be, you glance at him, and he stares down at the creation you’ve made which is… clearly far too small for his frame.

You cough and scurry back to the linen closet and return with more blankets. How big must his bed be, wherever he slept normally? Did he have somewhere to sleep normally? Too many questions, and you wonder if you’ll ever get an answer.

When you’re truly finished making the bed, you glance up at your soulmate, who is sporting a smile on his lips. You wait for him to make some kind of snarky remark, but he says nothing. And… you, you like that. He knows how to tease you, sure, but he apparently knows when to keep it back as well.

Somehow this nice little thought carries you through the process of crawling back into bed, and waiting for him to get settled into the makeshift blanket-bed on the floor.

In the morning, you two will have to talk things through. Maybe in the morning, he’ll be more forthcoming with answers to your questions. Or maybe you will have a clearer head and put your foot down on leaving… or a clearer head and realize that doing such a thing would be truly pointless.

Maybe you can ask him more about how he found you, or ask him if he ever felt lonely or if his friends--did he have friends?--wanted him to find a soulmate like yours so readily did.

Maybe in the morning you’ll ask him how much money he makes, because you’ll have to come up with a budget. He’s so much taller than you, more muscular, he probably eats a ton. Where will the money for that come from? Will you even be able to store that much food in your apartment? Maybe you’ll have to get a new one, if he doesn’t take you somewhere. Maybe he makes enough for an upgrade. Or maybe not.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe it will all make sense in the morning.

That is… if you can fall asleep.

You’re tossing and turning, and it’s not surprising, but it definitely doesn’t help matters. You land somewhere in between on the next toss, staying flat on your back and staring up at your bare white ceiling.

“Uvogin?” You ask, voice soft in the darkness.

There’s no answer at first. He might be asleep. You should just go back to bed.

But then there’s a noise, low but unmistakable, from the floor.

“Hmm?”

You choose your words as carefully as you can.

“I don’t mean to be negative, really, but um. I don’t have the money to buy groceries for 2 people and toiletries for 2 people and a bed for another person--where would it even go?--and I don’t know if I can afford to move--”

You hear the blankets on the floor rustling, and see his figure moving in the dark. He doesn’t stand up, but merely gets up on his knees and looms over the bed. There’s a moment where your heart thuds hard (he’s so close to you) but all he does is put a finger to your lips.

Then he shows a cocky grin, white teeth in the dark.

“Listen. You think too much. Don’t worry your pretty head about stupid things like money. Who cares about that?”

You bristle, and you’re ready to argue but he taps his finger on your lips again.

“It’s not the type of thing you gotta worry about when you’re my soulmate.” You see him rub his nose, considering. “

“Got it?”

He’s waiting for an answer.

“Got it,” you murmur.

He nods and gets back down, taking his position back on the makeshift floor bed.

And you? You stare back up at the ceiling, which until perhaps an hour ago had been nothing more than the white space you were vaguely considering jazzing up with some fake crown molding, like the kind you saw in magazines.

You wonder if Uvogin was the type of person who liked fake crown molding. Or hated it. Or did he care at all? Maybe he had no opinion on home decor, which in your estimation, was practically offensive. Did soulmates like all the same things you did? Or did they--

“Don’t think so much,” his voice interrupts. “It’s like I can hear you thinking in the dark.”

Your lips twist together, frowning.

“I--”

“Go to sleep” he says, a little softer. “We want to go at this with a clear head tomorrow, right?”

It’s your turn to lean up in bed, though you don’t go as far as getting off it. Instead you look down at him, and it’s no surprise to see him staring at you.

“That’s just what I was thinking earlier-- a clear head.”

He nods.

“Yeah, I know.”

You swallow hard, and your fingers go back to twisting the comforter.

“Can you… read my mind?”

He snorts and lets out a chuckle.

“Don’t be stupid.” For some reason, you don’t take offense. It’s the way he says it, maybe. He taps his chest.

The twinge, the pinch, the pull.

“Ah,” you say, and rest your head back down on the pillow. This time, you turn so that you’re on your side, facing the interior of your bedroom and the spot where Uvogin was set up to sleep. Although he wasn’t doing it anymore than you were at the moment, obviously.

He looks at you for a few more moments, then closes his eyes.

“Go to bed.”

“Okay,” you murmur, closing your eyes. This time, you begin to feel the tug and pull of sleep, shutting down your conscious thought and leaving you drifting with threads that went nowhere.

Maybe things would truly be clearer for the both of you in the morning.

#yandere uvogin #yandere uvogin x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes

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yallthemwitches · 2 months ago

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Talk to Me

When Lily and her boyfriend have a public breakup, James suspects he is to blame.

Pre-dating Jily angst-ish fluff ft. good guy Sirius for @jilytoberfest Day 9, Prompt: " You Literally Checked your phone 3 seconds ago"

....look at me finding any way possible to NOT write an AU fic.

AO3 Link Here

“Prongs—just give it back.” Sirius leaned on the edge of James’ four poster bed, cigarette dripping ash from his mouth, hand outstretched and grasping.

“Not yet—she might still–”

“She’d be calling for me remember—or Moony I guess, but c’mon mate. I’m going nutter just watching you.”

James stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, hand gripping around the handle of the two way mirror. He flipped it up to his face for what had to have been the hundredth time in an hour, seeing only his reflection glare back.

“I’ll give it to you if you tell me what happened.” Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sirius snub out his cigarette on the bedpost, hair shrouding any emotion on his face.

“I’ve told you, she didn’t want to get you involved—”

“Bollocks. Apparently I already was involved.” He sat up, leaning on his arms. Sirius glared back at him, two equally stubborn boys at an impasse.

“They had a row. Sparrow went mental, threw his butterbeer, and Rosmerta kicked him out.”

“I’ve heard.”

“--And I assume they are broken up. At least Moony heard her say something along those lines while I helped Rosmerta and the other Hufflepuffs get him the fuck out.”

“Ok, fine. So then why were they rowing?”

This was the vital piece of information that everyone was withholding. Peter, Remus… even Marlene remained tight lipped, offering a simple shrug as he had cornered her earlier in the main hall.

“They were rowing about me—weren’t they.”

Sirius snorted, but James could tell it was forced, a weak performance at best.

“Don’t start being arrogant again.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying what seems to be the only conclusion.”

James flipped the mirror up to his face again. Every flash of his reflection felt more and more grotesque, like the anticipation and confusion was twisting his soul into a tight ball.

“Can you quit it—I highly doubt she’s gonna call anyways. I just gave her the mirror in case Sparrow decided to do something even more stupid on her way back.”

James could feel anger rising .“So why didn’t you walk her then.”

“Because she didn’t bloody want me to and she already had one arsehole bloke overstepping his boundaries to deal with, alright? Merlin for fucks sake.”

Sirius threw his arms up, a rare action of exasperation. He kicked some of the records laying on the ground out of his way and threw himself onto his bed face first.

James softened, sitting up to look at his mate. “Pads, fuck mate I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you—I’m just—if I had just been there and not at bloody quidditch practice—”

“Then it probably would have gone a lot worse.” Sirius’ voice muffled through the fabric of his pillow.

A sting of pain shot through him. “What do you mean by that?”

A knock echoed through the dorm, the knob turned and a vibrant green eye peeked through the crack.

“Nobody naked in here? Remus said you’d be–”

She stopped speaking as she caught sight of James. Unintentionally swinging the door wider, he could see she was grasping Sirius’ mirror in her other hand. She had clearly been crying, streaks of salt bleached skin lined her cheeks, eyes red and puffy.

“Nope, unfortunately fully clothed!” Sirius’ mood made an immediate rebound, hopping off his bed towards her.

Lily eyed James for a fleeting moment before turning her attention to an approaching Sirius, mirror outstretched.

“I wanted to give this back—and thank you. I didn’t think Sawyer was capable of–of acting like that.”

Sirius gave her a smile, all frustration completely melted, flashing one of his biggest and most genuine grins.

“No worries Evans. Sorry your boyfriend–er, ex boyfriend was such a fucking idiot.”

Lily nodded, offering him a weak smile.

“Right—well have a good night.”

She closed the door behind her and Sirius spoke, not turning to look at him.

“If you go right this second I bet you could catch her before anyone else does.”

It was the confirmation he needed to hear. James bounded towards the door and ripped it open. Lily was only a few steps down, clearly not too enthused to walk back into a room full of people who wanted to hear about the newest scandal.

“Hey Evans–”

She turned to look up at him, eyes glassy.

“You alright?”

Lily tried to give a weak smile. “Yeah, peachy.”

He took a calculated step forward. “I heard what happened with Sparrow—it was a real shit thing he did.”

Her eyes wandered around the dim lit stairwell, looking everywhere but at him.

“Yeah well, I guess he isn’t going to make the cut.”Her eyes glanced up at him. Mouth open, poised for something. He was about to say his goodnight when it tumbled out of her mouth, clear and unwavering.

“It was about you, you know–.” Her eyes were steady on him, even with tears in her eyes, she looked defiant.

“All I did was mention how we sit together in the library after charms—guess that hit some jealousy nerve I never knew about.”

James could feel his whole body tingling. She continued.

“I kept telling him it was nothing, that you and I were just mates but—he just went raving,” she hesitated, “--anyways, I’m sure you know the rest. Everyone is talking about it.”

She turned to step back down the stairs, clearly spent from the emotional toll of it all. To James, she had never looked more beautiful, like the most resilient person in the world.

“Lily wait,” he called down and she turned back to him, eyes glowing from the reflection of the candlelight.

“You can always talk to me. I’m here for you—you know, if you want me to be.”

It was the first real smile he had seen her give since he saw her.

“Yeah, I guess I do want that.”

#jily #jilytoberfest2024 #jilytoberfest #james potter #lily evans #sirius black #I cribbed this senario from the office what year is it #marauders era #jily fanfiction #james x lily #hp marauders #yallofthemwitches

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smilesatdawnmain · 1 month ago

Text

ETERNAL LMK AU (Part 9) (Interactive Story)

Forgiveness. A beautiful thing...

Blind forgiveness? ....We'll see where that goes.

The rules are simple.: I will give the written passage, and then at the bottom there will be a vote on how the characters act next!

Story: Eternal Au

Ships: Shadow Peach

The air around them shimmered, and for a heartbeat, a flicker of light danced between their souls, pulsing with fierce recognition. Macaque's instincts wrestled within him.

The look in Wukong's eyes—a cocktail of guilt and yearning—brought memories flooding back. Memories of laughter shared under the stars, heated arguments turned into playful banter, and soft touches that felt like home. Each recollection twisted his insides until he felt as if he might shatter, caught between two worlds he could never fully inhabit.

"Moon," Wukong pleaded, his hands held out in the air, knowing he couldn’t touch, but so desperately wanting to. “You’re really here, right?” A vulnerability Macaque had never seen before—a raw ache that mirrored his own wounds.

A twisted sense of loyalty forced itself upon Macaque once again, despite his better judgment. Years of enduring Wukong's endless apologies and empty promises- a cycle that had woven itself into his very being. Each time, Wukong's actions grew more destructive until they ultimately resulted in Macaque's untimely demise. But even in death, Macaque's heart couldn't fully release the grasp of forgiveness on his treacherous Mate. His everything. To deny forgiveness was to deny Wukong. He didn't want to deny his Sun....

The shadows could not exist without the light.

Macaque's breath, or what felt like breathing in this half-life, hitched in his throat. The darkness that clung to him shimmered, almost invitingly, yet he remained tethered by that unbreakable bond. For a moment, he fought against the encroaching urge to rush into Wukong’s embrace, to bask in the warmth he'd lost.

His instincts screamed at him: "Run!" But here was Wukong—with open arms and a quivering lower lip—and Macaque felt himself weak to it. Always so weak. Always so desperate for Wukong. For Wukong to be desperate for him. To want him- fight for him- choose him!

Even with his anger and fear, his adoration and love just wanted to keep the man in his life. whether that be through clawing to keep Wukong close or offering forgiveness at the cost of himself.

With a trembling resolve, Macaque took a cautious step forward, the chasm of his existence shrinking between them. “I’m here, Wukong,” he confirmed.

Wukong's eyes widened, shimmering gold pools glistening with unshed tears, every flicker of emotion radiating the sheer force of his longing. He smiled in relieved joy when Macaque acknowledged him. That smile was an undoing. He seemed to sense that Macaque was not approaching him with anger.

His Moon was willing to forgive. That got him eager, stepping closer with a weak exhale and airy sound of joy. "Moon," he cooed in delight. It cracked something deep within Macaque, a fissure that widened as he took another step, despite the sharp bite of his past clawing at him like a pack of wolves.

"Don't," Macaque's voice trembled, fragile like glass yet full of unyielding force. "Don't smile like that, Wukong. You don’t get to smile after- don’t look at me like that…." Each word sliced through the tension like a blade, carrying hurt and betrayal.

Wukong's ears flattened, understanding he was moving too quickly. Smart enough to backtrack just a tad, yet still close enough to keep Macaque in his sights, “I-I know. I’m so sorry…” His hand quivered midair, reaching towards the ephemeral outline of his mate. It was an invitation wrapped in desperation- pleading for him to go easy on him. To forgive and forget. To stay with him.

Sometimes Macaque wondered if Wukong was even aware of what he was doing. If he maliciously knew what kind of power he had over the Moon, or if this was just a habit he too had unknowingly learned. That Macaque had allowed blind forgiveness for so long, that Wukong thought it natural. It was just their way. An expectation. Not an ill one, but just how things were between them.

Still- Wukong seemed earnest and desperate, so that was a change. A little one. Like a siren's call drawing him back to a place he thought he had escaped.

Wukong took another tentative step forward, unwavering in his hope yet visibly trembling at Macaque’s words. “Tell me! Tell me what I need to do to make it right.” His urgency dripped from every syllable. “I’ll never let you go again. I’ll never hurt you again…!” how often had Macaque heard such apologies? How often had the situation been swept away by handsome smiles and seemingly heartfelt assurances that were never planned out?

Bold promises. Empty promises. What could Wukong do to him now that he was a spirit? Of course, he could never physically hurt him again…

And yet foolishly, Macaque still believed such honeyed lies. A shadow who bent over backward just for praise of the Sun.

What could Macaque even ask right now with his body like this??

“I-I don’t-” he shakes his head, “Wukong look at me,” he gestured to himself, broken and upset. “I’m not even here. I’m intended to be dragged down into the Diyu.” he covered his eyes, shaking. "My soul is meant to be punished...."

Wukong's eyes ignite with a fiery rage, his body coiled like a spring ready to strike. He hisses through gritted teeth, each word dripping with venom, "The Diyu?!" The mere mention of the underworld, the Ten Kings, sent a shiver down his spine. How dare they even consider approaching his mate! Touching him with their vile hands! Taking what was his!? "Have they approached you?!" His voice echoes with a primal ferocity that sends shivers down even the bravest of spines.

Macaque's body tenses, his wide eyes darting around frantically as he stammers out a response. "I..." At that moment, he considers spilling the truth to Wukong. The existence of that invisible golden thread that binds them together, never allowing them to stray too far from each other. A curse and a blessing all at once. Yet, he paused. Should he tell Wukong that?

Should he reveal they were soul mates?

#lego monkie kid #lmk wukong #shadowpeach #eternal au #interactive story #angst~#You asked for this and you are allll gonna get it!#yandere Wukong. yandere Wukong!!! yandere Wukong!!!

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iamgrape · 2 years ago

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Accidental or fate ? || Madara Mikejima "Punisher"

(Route 5)

Welcome to the world of soul mate au. Where not everything what it seems.

In which a little spell and a deal with a devil to find your destiny made you to accidentally "change" your companion for life.

You stared at the handsome young man across the room beside the pink devil who offer you a deal.

"little imp, do you really want to cause trouble to your higher up?"

Charming emerald eyes stared at you with a gentle smile on his face, you wonder if you don't see the horns on his head or the tail he have. You would think his a gentle giant. But seeing the truth cause you to stay put and not say some weird pick up lines.

"o-of course!!!" You answer both with fear and no self control or care.

"ok then ya have to carefully pour out the liquid to the pot." The pink devil says as he give you questionable liquid.

"o-ok!!!" Honestly that be a lie, your shaking to your core as you grab the vile and tried to pour it out to the pot as the two gaze at you, already wondering if you can make it or not. But you still manage to pour it out to the last drop.

The Potion began to bubble up and glow in different light.

"wow. I did it! Then what." You ask.

"just make sure to not add some other stuff as I mix this-- hey is that a spider over your shoulder....? " The pink devil pause as he point at the dangling spider... A banana wandering spider. A very poisonous spider.

"KYAAAAAAAAAAAA!!?" you scream and hell broke lost. You who's curse to have strength that is not normal to others, hence being disliked by others especially those who wanna be the top of the relationship.

To be the man of the relationship, but sadly your more manly than they are-- snap the glass vile with your bare hand causing your hand to bleed and a single drop of blood drop but green eyed devil tried to stop it to only be dunked to the big pot.

A big guy now inside the tub, through not burn or anything. The pot start to glow brighter and blinding light erupted. Through you could see the disbelief in the eyes of the pink devil. As everything turn black.

The next moment, you dream of someone kissing you. It was soft at first. Almost made you giggle, wondering what type of sweet passionate dream your having till the kiss become heated, strong large hands held you from the back of neck, giving you a deep and passionate kiss.

".... Hmm... Nn..." You whimper not able to breath anymore in a dream, cause the guy keep kissing you. But then you realize it's not a dream when you begone to suffocate and wake up with wide eyes, tapping out to the big fellow. The green eyed devil who's kissing you.

"...??!!!!??..??!!!" You tried to push him away but your too weak against a none human and the fact your weak from not being able to get a grip to yourself.

"OI!!? STOP SUFFOCATING MY CUSTOMER!!!" the pink devil proceed to smack the back of the big guy. Who finally snap out of it, but hugs you with full securities and possessiveness.

"Oukawa, it's rude to disturb people. Go to your minor corner and leave me be with my new companion. This is not for minors. Go away now." His voice seems cold than his tone earlier.

"OI! DONT TELL ME CRAP. THAT'S ONLY CAUSE OF THE ACCIDENT. stop holding that human and go to the corner you big devil!" with no sense of fear or whatsoever, the pink devil called Oukawa smack the big devil again.

"aww... But mama want to spend more time to my new mate." (Mama(?))

" [ temporary] mate. Devils and demons don't have mates." (Oukawa)

"but mayoi Ayase have one ." (Mama(?))

"his mayoi Ayase -han. And your Madara Mikejima-han. Two different people AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOUR GOING??!!" (Oukawa)

It seems that the big guy who's now carrying you in his arms (olalala the muscle heueheu) is going to take you else where to continue (not that you don't mind it. Totally not)

"home with My mate.*

In this route where you seek your soul mate identity to even ask the devil online about it. To gaining a "temporary" or have "change" your soul mate "temporary" devil/demon mate who seem to like the status you both have. After all to devils and demon alike. There's no such thing as soul mate. If there's one it's rare and only happened to lucky people.

#soul mate Au with a twist #soul mate Au with a twist: Accidental or Fate?#madara Mikejima x reader

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kookiewithluv · 3 months ago

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Request -

Werewolf Taehyung × Human Reader

Reader who was on a forest trek with her friends , Taehyung attacks their camp only to find out reader as his mate and then he abducts her . Everybody thinks that she is dead but noone has the idea that she is actually in a cabin with her big wolf mate and call it Stockholm syndrome or maybe that mate string pull even reader falls for him after sometime . Please add a nswf part in this too maybe their marking , consummation of mate bond.

● Or alternate request-

Lycan Taehyung × omega reader

Taehyung was abandoned by his pack for being a Lycan ( they feared that he might overtake their alpha someday ) .

Taehyung who finds his mate oneday as they both fall in love but the pack of her mate doesn't agrees with their relationship as he is an abandoned wolf infact they even imprison his mate to prevent their mating and prevent further production of undesirable Lycan offsprings and hence they all face the wrath of a ferocious Lycan who finally puts and end to his and his mate's sufferings . They produce a happily ever lived after little Lycan family 🥺

You can choose any of them and sprinkle your own creativity to produce a masterpiece for us .

Title: dear mate!

pairing: werewolf taehyung x human!female reader

Genre: fantasy!AU, dark romance, paranormal romance, forced proximity, mate bond

Word count: 3.2k

Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of non-consensual situations, manipulation, intense power dynamics, physical dominance, and possessive behavior, which may be distressing or triggering for some readers. It also includes explicit sexual content, references to forced bonding, and emotional/psychological manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.

a/n: Hey, Lovely anon! First of all thanks for the ask and I’m really sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I just saw your ask, and your ideas are seriously amazing! I ended up wanting to work on both of them, but I know it took me a while and you might be upset with me. I tried to keep it under 1k words, but I ended up around 3k because the plot you gave me was so thick! I've been super busy with my studies, which is why it took longer than I thought. I apologize in advance if you don’t like what I wrote. I’d love to work on the other idea too if you’re still interested, but I totally understand if you’re not after reading this. I hope you can forgive me if I made your reading experience worse.Thanks for your patience! I really appreciate it! :)

You ran.

As fast as you could.

As fast as your feet would carry you.

But no matter how fast you ran, he was faster. The massive figure of the wolf, who had just killed your friends before your eyes, pounced on you from behind, knocking the breath from your lungs as you both hit the forest floor. You screamed and thrashed, swinging your fists, scrambling to get up, get away, trying to free yourself, but a heavy weight pressed down on you, pinning you to the ground.

You felt warm breath, along with thick, slick saliva coating your neck. A guttural growl followed, low and menacing. You froze, heart pounding in your chest, waiting for the death blow that never came.

Then you felt it—the faint shift of something, followed by the low whisper of mine. The words were a low growl, more human than animal. The presence behind you was as human as it was inhuman, but the hint of humanity did nothing to soothe you. Instead, it only heightened the bubbling anxiety in your stomach. You twisted beneath him, trying to see your attacker, but all you caught in the darkness was the glimpse of piercing yellow eyes—so ethereal, so beautiful, so intense. They set your soul ablaze.

"Dear mate," he whispered with a chuckle, and just like that, everything went black.

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

You woke up. The world felt distant, like you were living in a dream, as if this wasn’t real, like you would blink and it would all fade away. Somewhere deep down, you wanted that, but you were smarter than to believe the tricks your mind was playing.

The soft glow of sunlight filtering through the window was as comforting as the oppressive air surrounding you. You were in a small, modest, rustic cabin—a single room with a fireplace, a rough-hewn table, and a door that seemed far too thick for a place this remote. Your eyes caught sight of the chains near the bed, discarded as if they had been used not long ago. The scent of pine and earth filled your senses, making it all feel more real.

You shot up straight, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, but you held yourself together before you could hit the ground. You turned around.

And then you saw him. Standing there, ready to pounce.

Your body ached, but the panic was slow, slithering to the surface. He stood at the far end of the cabin, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze pinning you to the spot. No words, no explanations—just the raw connection crackling between you both. His presence filled the space, dominating it, leaving no room for doubt about who—or what—he was.

You would have recognized those eyes anywhere—those same eyes that attacked you, killed all your friends right before your eyes, and almost killed you too. You always thought the villagers’ tales of werewolves were nothing but lies, but now, with one standing before you, you didn’t know what to do. The biggest question was why you were still alive and why his presence seemed to soothe your senses. Why didn’t his gaze make you want to run? Why did it set your soul ablaze instead?

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. “What... what do you want from me?”

Taehyung’s lips curled into a smile, a predator’s smile. “You already know.”

You did. Deep down, a part of you had known from the moment his eyes met yours in the forest. It wasn’t just an attack. It was something else—something primal, something you couldn’t fully understand yet.

“Where... where am I?” your voice trembled, fear and anger bubbling beneath the surface.

“You’re safe,” Taehyung’s voice was deep and commanding, yet there was something soothing about it. “In my pack. My home.”

Pack? You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “What are you talking about? Will you kill me too?”

“No.” He seemed hurt by your accusation. “I would never. Not even in my wildest dreams could I think of hurting you.”

As soft and sweet as his words were, they did nothing to soothe your mind; instead, they left you more puzzled. “Why am I here? Let me go.”

Taehyung took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t do that.”

Your fists clenched the blanket tighter. “Why not?”

“Because,” he growled softly, his tone more serious now, “you’re mine.”

“I don’t belong to anyone, not to you. You’re insane.”

His gaze softened, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “I... I know this is confusing. But you’re my mate, and it’s not something I can control.”

You stared at him, the word echoing in your mind. Mate. It sounded absurd, like some kind of fantasy, but there was something inside you, something primal, that tugged at you, pulling you toward him. Like your body knew something your mind couldn’t accept.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, your breath coming in shallow gasps. There was a heat in your chest, a pull that felt like it was coming from your very soul. “You’re insane.”

He stepped closer, cautiously, as if sensing your fear. “I didn’t want to do this to you. But the bond… it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. I can’t let you go.”

Your pulse raced. It should have been fear, and yet… there was an unfamiliar warmth blooming within you, a need that terrified you because it wasn’t your own. Or maybe it was, but you just couldn’t understand it.

He was closer now, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. You knew you should scream, run, fight—anything to escape. But you didn’t. There was an inexplicable connection, like your souls were intertwined, something deeper than logic or reason.

“You’ll feel it too,” he said, his voice gentler now, as if he understood the chaos inside you. “It’s only a matter of time.”

You wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong. But a part of you knew he was right. A part of you knew you couldn’t run away; he wouldn’t let you.

You didn’t move as he drew closer. You wanted to, but your body was denying all the commands your mind was screaming at you. You should have been terrified, and a part of you was, but it was so small it almost felt insignificant. Almost. The fear was tangled with something more—a warmth, a pull. Your breath hitched in your throat as his hand brushed against your wrist, the contact sending a jolt through your body.

“What are you doing to me?” you whispered, your voice shaking, though it wasn’t only fear you felt.

“I’m not doing anything,” he replied softly, his thumb grazing over your pulse, which raced beneath his touch. “This is the bond, the connection between us. I can feel it too. It’s like… gravity. Stronger than anything we could ever resist.”

You yanked your hand away, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You’re talking about me like I’m some... possession. I’m a person, not something you can just claim.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I know that. I’m not trying to control you. But this bond—it’s beyond either of us. I’ve waited my whole life for this, for you. I didn’t choose this any more than you did.”

“Waited for me? You don’t even know me!” you screamed at him. He moved closer, but you backed away quickly, this time listening to the voice in your head.

“Please, don’t. I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice smooth but laced with hurt. The words should have been comforting, but they only tightened the knot of dread in your chest.

You stared at him, searching his face for some trace of the monster you'd seen in the woods. The one who had torn through everything you knew, shattered your life in moments. His features softened, but the intensity remained, that raw connection tethering you to him, holding you in place even when every instinct screamed at you to run.

“Don’t be scared,” he repeated, this time softer, as if he were trying to soothe a frightened animal. And maybe, in some twisted way, that’s exactly how he saw you. His prey. His prize.

You shook your head, the conflict inside you threatening to tear you apart. “How can I not be? You... you killed them. You killed my friends!” The memory surged forward, vivid and cold, the blood, the screams, the unbearable helplessness. “Why should I trust you? Why should I believe anything you say?”

His eyes darkened, a shadow crossing over his face. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.”

“Then what was supposed to happen?!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “Am I supposed to believe that this—this bond—justifies everything? That it makes it okay?”

Taehyung inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep control. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted any of this, but fate—” His voice faltered, and something shifted in his expression. “It’s cruel. It bound us together, and I can’t fight it. I can’t let you go.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating. But there was something else too, something darker—his frustration, his struggle to contain the primal urge inside him.

Then, his demeanor changed, his control slipping as the storm within him broke through. “Yes, you should be scared,” he snarled, more to himself than to you, as though he was warning you of what he truly was, what he could become. His voice grew rougher, harder, a sharp contrast to the tenderness he had tried to show.

The words came out harsher than he intended, tearing through the fragile calm he’d tried to maintain. He pushed himself away from the bed, storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls.

He didn’t lock the door behind him, but you were too scared to try and run—or maybe you didn’t want to. There was a need within you tugging at you to run after him, but you stayed put.

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

Days turned into nights, though you lost track of time easily. The cabin felt like a prison, yet it was the pull toward him—your mate—that you couldn't escape. You told yourself it was the isolation, the lack of freedom that was twisting your thoughts, but deep down, you knew better. He watched you constantly, his sharp gaze never leaving your form, his presence like a shadow that never relented. It should have terrified you. It should have kept you on edge, waiting for the moment he'd finally snap.

But it didn’t. And that terrified you more.

You found yourself drawn to him. The way he moved, the way his eyes followed your every step—it stirred something deep inside, something primal that you couldn’t shake. Every time he came close, your heart pounded in your chest, but it wasn’t fear that caused the rapid thrum. It was something else, something far more unsettling. The way your body responded to him betrayed everything your mind fought against. How can this be happening?

You told yourself you hated him. You repeated it over and over, like a mantra: He killed them. He’s dangerous. He’s a monster. But the words began to lose their power, weakening with each passing day. There was no escaping the truth that settled into your bones: He is your mate.

The bond between you both was undeniable, a constant, low hum beneath your skin that never stopped. It pulsed with each glance, each accidental brush of his hand against yours. Your breath would hitch, your muscles would tighten, but not in fear. This isn’t real. It can’t be. But it was.

The bond tugged at you with every breath, every moment. His proximity was suffocating and yet, it was the only thing that felt real. The scent of him—earth, pine, something wild—would wrap itself around you, clinging to your senses long after he’d left the room. You could feel the tension between you both, the way his eyes lingered on you as if he was waiting for something, for you to break or give in.

But the worst part? You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not really. What’s happening to me? you wondered, night after night, as your thoughts spiraled into the same dangerous loop. You were losing yourself. You were losing the version of you who had fought, the one who had screamed for her life as her friends were slaughtered. That girl was fading away, replaced by someone who couldn’t stop thinking about him. About what it would feel like if you stopped resisting.

And that terrified you. But it also made your pulse quicken with anticipation.

The truth settled like a weight in your chest: He is your mate. It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t something you could deny. The bond tethered you both, winding tighter with each glance, each step he took closer to you. You hated it. You hated him. But you couldn’t stop the feeling that swelled inside you, the feeling that scared you more than anything else—maybe you didn’t want to stop it anymore.

Is this who you are now? Is this what you have become?

It consumed you, filled every moment, until it became harder and harder to remember who you were before him. Before the bond. Your fear began to melt into something far more dangerous, something darker, something you couldn’t ignore any longer. The part of you that wanted to run was growing quieter, drowned out by the part of you that wanted to stay.

What have you become?

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

Tonight, something between you changed, the air was filled with tension you were unable to ignore. He stood by the fire, his back to you, his shirt discarded and his bare skin illuminated by the flickering light. You watched him, your eyes tracing the defined muscles of his back, the way his breath rose and fell in even, controlled measures. Something inside you stirred.

You didn’t even realize you had moved closer until you were standing just a few feet behind him. He turned, catching you in his gaze, and you froze.

"I see it now," Taehyung said softly, his voice a rumble that resonated deep in your chest. "You're starting to understand."

You shook your head, your throat tight. "Understand what?"

His eyes darkened, and he stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hand lifted, fingers brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness, but there was a raw, dangerous energy behind it. "That you belong to me. That you've always belonged to me."

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid down to your throat, resting there with a possessive weight that sent your pulse skittering beneath his touch. You should have pushed him away. You should have fought.

But instead, you tilted your head, baring your neck in silent submission.

He smirked, but there was something deeper in his eyes, something that mirrored the fire burning within you. "Good girl."

"You're mine?" he asked. It felt more like a question than a statement, though he'd said it before, many times—more than you could count on your fingers.

Yet your heart still raced at his words, and instinctively, you found yourself saying, "I am." Every fiber of your being responded to him—his touch, his presence. Your very essence was a captive to him now.

He picked you up, cradling you lovingly in his arms as he moved toward the bedroom, his steps slow but purposeful. In no time, he was standing near the edge of the bed. He eased you back onto it, his touch gentle but firm. The mattress shifted beneath you as he moved on top, his weight settling carefully. His breath, warm and shallow, ghosted over your face, drawing a soft giggle from your lips. Your laughter softened his gaze.

"This will be different. I'm not human, and you realize this won't be anything you're used to. I intend to claim you," he said, his eyes searching your face as his hands rested on your hips. "I don't want to force it on you. Do you want this?"

His question felt ironic to you, as the wise voice in your head reminded you that the mate bond was forced on you, and now, with both of you playing a part in it, his asking if you wanted it seemed paradoxically comical. But there was another voice in your head, one whose origin you didn’t know, that only whispered his name over and over. You had ignored it for so long, but you no longer had the will or intention to do so. For once, your intention was clear. You nodded, your voice steady as you said the words aloud. "Yes, I want this. I want you, Taehyung."

With a fierce growl, he leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, as if marking your soul. You melted against him, heat radiating off his body. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard and drawing a low growl from him between the kiss. You pulled him closer, and he froze, momentarily shocked by your boldness.

His gaze met yours, and you swore you were breathless, but this time, it wasn’t because of fear or the intensity of the bond you'd always tried to fight. It was because of the sight before you. He looked heavenly. His swollen lips, those glossy eyes that seemed to flicker between black and yellow, his messy hair—he looked ethereal. You weren't sure if it was the mate bond's effect, or if you'd just been too blinded by fear to ever notice it before.

He leaned in again, kissing the corner of your lips before whispering slowly, "Do you even understand what it means for us to mate?"

You didn’t respond, just stared at him.

"It means you’ll be mine in every way possible, and so will I," he said, his nose brushing against your cheek. "I won’t let anyone else touch you."

"I understand," you said, your heart pounding inside your chest. "I want you."

Satisfied, he smiled, his gaze trailing to your neck as a primal instinct ignited within him. His eyes turned yellow once again, the color you'd once loved. "I’m going to mark you," he said, his voice filled with authority. "Everyone will know who you belong to."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. "Do it," you found yourself saying. You didn't even know where this boldness was coming from.

His eyes darkened at your words, filled with lust and determination. You felt a shift in the air around you—it grew oppressive, as if something intangible was pressing down on you. He kissed a trail down your neck, his lips warm against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation through your core.

When he finally reached the spot, he sank his teeth gently into your skin. The initial pain was soon replaced by a wave of arousal that washed over you. The bond surged to life. He licked the wound to help it heal, a moan slipping from your lips, met with a soft chuckle from his.

You felt warmth pool between your legs as your body reacted to his touch. You had never been able to resist his touch before, but now it felt like you'd become even more sensitive to it.

Taehyung's hands roamed your body, tracing every curve, every inch of your skin with possessive hunger. "You're beautiful," he murmured against your skin. "And I'm going to take you—right here, right now."

"Please." It was all you could manage to say. His hands moved with perfect precision, and in no time, your clothes were discarded, lying on the floor.

He positioned himself between your legs. "I won't hold back," he said as he entered you, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation. The anticipation was electric, a moment that felt like it could stretch into eternity, and then he was there, claiming you.

A gasp escaped your lips, a mix of pain and pleasure, but it quickly transformed into a wave of bliss. Taehyung's eyes searched yours for any sign of discomfort, and when he found none, he pressed deeper.

"More. Please," you begged, feeling the heat build within you. His pace started slow but soon quickened, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure surging through you.

With each thrust, he took you higher, and you felt yourself unraveling. "You're mine, and I will never let you go," he whispered fiercely, pulling you closer to the edge.

With a final thrust, you shattered, waves of pleasure crashing over you. "Ta-Taehyung," you cried out his name, the sound echoing in the small wooden cabin. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he reached his peak. He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, exhausted.

As the night fell silent, the air heavy with the scent of the bond between you, everything felt different. You were no longer the person who had been dragged into this cabin by force, but you were no longer afraid. The way he held you—possessive, yet protective—spoke of a bond that ran deeper than you could have imagined.

The bond wasn’t just physical. You could feel it in your soul, the invisible thread tying you to him, as inescapable as the moon is to the night sky.

Taehyung’s arms tightened around you, as if sensing your thoughts, and he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine, and no one else will ever have you.”

A chill ran down your spine, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was acceptance. You belonged to him now. And perhaps, in a way you never thought possible, he belonged to you too.

#bts ff #bts ffs #bts fanfic #bts taehyung #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fanfic #taehyung kim #taehyung smut #bts smut #anon ask #anonymous

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kurosstuff · 10 months ago

Note

RED STRING OF FATE WITH LUTE PLS LOVELY-

🙏🙏🙏

Jk- you don’t gotta if you aren’t able to do it

omf YES- omf twist(like we talked abour-)

making it a bit short since- idk what else to add I hope you like it-!!

Lute x demon!reader: soul mate au

Warning(s): adam- so he talks about his dick(implied?), Don't think really any other then that

You couldn't help but curse Charlie for making you send this letter to these pesky angels. APPARENTLY you have to find some annoying(Charlie's words surprisingly) Man. Adam, the first man. Grumbling, you froze, glancing at the once dimmed red string spring to live a soft sting entering the rope interlocking with your ring finger.

A crude reminder of the dream you wished when alive. Finding a soul mate. Your soul mate but. Never once has it actually been this bright. This beaming light. Snorting at the sick joke. Of course, hell would be playing a sick joke like that. Walking to the tower, you glanced at the paper, the name written exactly who to give this to - entering something odd happened.

The string burned. Yanking you to the room.

Singaling your soul mate is near. Your forever mate. Is near. A dry laugh escaped your throat. What a joke. Entering the room There's no way in hell your soul mate is here-

Your tail flickered in thought before an annoyance flush crept up your face. Staring at the exorcist before your finger burned, looking down at your hand, you watched as the rope burned, going into a straight line to her instead of limp like usual. As if yelling that your mate is her.

Guess this explains why your string never acted up until now. Your soul mates an angel

Oh how cruel the irony is.

The more Adam talked, the more drained you got. Does this first man ever talk about anything else other than being the original dick haver? Apparently not. Grumbling, you glanced at the woman beside him- where your string was connected to her - humming in thought

How cruel of am irony that you. A demons soul mate is an angel. And any type of angel, either. An executioner. Who? Treat demons like animals to slaughter - not much different from some demons you knew of- humming you crossed your arms glancing over her mask how to changed depending on how she *felt* what she said- God. Her voice

Blinking, you barely even noticed how Charlie entered the room - just so focused on the masked woman you're bound to. Not even as the meeting began. You just stared in deep thought, humming softly. Before? Your face heated up as she took her mask off-

Hearing her name for the first time from that crude angels lips. How did he manage to get into heaven anyways-? Your thoughts of the matter went away when you locked eyes with her- that cold almost uninterested look but - you could have sworn? Is that a hint of curiosity in her eyes?

Staring at Lute as she spoke- your heart beat faster. Feeling warm all over as if her speaking(which was so fucking hot?) Seemed to relax you- put you in some odd sense of warmth and security. You hummed softly- the red string glowing even more brightly filling your whole hand as if to convey your true feelings for one another-

Before that, Adam guy started to sing - you internally groaned. Is Hell and Heaven just some musical? Blocking him out until she began to sing- humming, you didn't even care of the crude words she spoke of your kind - never mattered in the slightest to you anyways given your a demon-

But damn. Her voice? Was the single most gorgeous thing you've ever heard- staring at her. You ignored how Charlie grabbed your arm on instinct as the executioners came close - Lute came so close to your face - it took everything in you to not lean in as well

"-All vile sinners Like yourself should be slaughtered- can't wait to kill you" she snarled in your face- but that did nothing to change your views. Your heart beat faster as you came to a single conclusion

Your fucked.

#hazbin lute #hazbin hotel lute #lute #lute x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you

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kiame-sama · 28 days ago

Text

More drawn monster men

Warnings; Dragon, Shinigami, Unicorn, Caecilia, Naga, Tree Nymph, Kelpie, some spoilers for HAE chapter 8, yandere monsters, yandere behavior,

- Malleus is a Dragon and has a Draconic temper to go with it. Due to his own instincts, he is extremely territorial and openly hostile to anyone who encroaches on that territory without permission. His Hoard is included in that territory and he views all of his Hoard members as a mix between close friends and belongings. He can't help but see his Hoard as belongings due to his inherent proclivity to view others as treasures to be kept and protected. As the Dragon guardian of his Hoard, the job of determining mates for his Hoard falls on his shoulders as well.

- Most in Twisted Wonderland would kill to be a member of a Hoard as it means safety from others and a guarantee of protection from the Dragon. However, most are too afraid of Dragons to approach them directly and thus cannot become Hoard members as it is a decision solely made by the Dragon. Once a Dragon decides a creature is part of their Hoard, there is very little beyond death that can change their status as a member of the Hoard. Dragons don't often steal from another Dragon's Hoard, but it does happen from time to time. Mated Dragons share their Hoards with their mates.

- Dragons are one of the few species of Twisted Wonderland that don't have an age-cap and will continue to live unless killed by an outside factor. This means that a Dragon could live indefinitely. Due to this long life-span, Dragons are able to link their magic and vitality to another living being of Twisted Wonderland to extend their life, this is not a task taken lightly as it does mean that the Dragon is handicapping their own magic by supporting two lives with it and not just their own. The one bonded with the Dragon will share in endless youth where age cannot reap their souls, but they can still be killed by other factors. A Dragon will typically only bind themselves to another if they view that other creature as a life-long mate.

- Dragon scales are immune to most magics and even resistant to most flames, meaning they would make great armor and have uses in magic resistant potions. Malleus saves his shed scales and has considered making a scaled robe for his beloved Human to both protect them and to claim them with his scent. He has run the idea of making a scaled wedding gown for his Human by Lilia and Lilia agrees that it is a wise decision. The scales could offer general shielding and protection from most magics as well as show that visual and scent ownership.

- Papa Hades is well over 6,000 years old and has since lost count over the ages. He has lived many lifetimes and has seen the rise and fall of many civilizations over his long life. He once tried to help the various Kingdoms/Queendoms by offering council and aid, but had since decided to take a backseat to the ongoing march of change. He will render aid if it is requested, but he will no longer offer help or even seek out those who want help. Many a time his words and advice have gone unheeded by those he sought to help and they fell to ruin as a result.

- Papa Hades can- and occasionally will- allow Shinigami unrelated to him to leave Tartarus and seek out a new life in the realm of the living. Very few have been granted this right as Shinigami can be quite dangerous to common folk given their affinity towards death. Few creatures are considered living in Tartarus and even fewer have traversed the realm of the living for any reason. Most creatures native to Tartarus stay in Tartarus excepting the few that Papa Hades has allowed to move between the realms.

- Papa Hades had one lover when he was younger, she has since gone feral ages ago, kept in containment until she had to be put down after she attacked Ortho in blinded rage. Hades does miss her and knows most Shinigami do not have souls the same way those outside of Tartarus do, so he will not see her again even in death. Hades is one of the few Shinigami considered the living-dead as he is from Tartarus but has spent enough time among the living to be considered 'alive' and is in part why he is able to move among the land of the living and dead.

- Papa Hades does not want to go back to Tartarus and is keen to keep as many of his descendants alive and with him. They were born in the land of the living and not Tartarus, he feels they don't belong there anymore. Some of his descendants have willingly gone to Tartarus permanently and they tend to the Shinigami that were born in Tartarus.

- Overblotted Riddle wields a Headsman's Axe as his bound weapon and will attempt to behead those who oppose him. In his mind, his word is law and any who disobey him are breaking the law, so they must be punished. He is ruled by instinct which demands he protects the one he loves above all others, going as far as to isolate and kidnap if needed.

- Riddle's fangs that grew when he Overblotted actually ripped open his mouth at the corners and he still has scars around the corners of his mouth after the Overblot. He also cracked his horn so it had to be filed down past the crack otherwise it could potentially break his entire horn which will result in death for a Unicorn.

- Riddle's fur is still somewhat stained by the inky after effects of the Overblot and his golden hooves have lost some of their shine due to the overblot. They will eventually return to normal but he is still plagued by inky tasting coughing fits and oily fur until it works its way out of his system.

- Riddle has anxiety about losing control again because of what he did to the Human when he lost control the first time. Riddle's yandere tendencies took control of him and forced him into an Overblot, he worries that any direct rejection from the Human will result in the same.

- Azul can taste with his tentacles and as such, doesn't often use them to wrap up those he is angry with. He will wrap up those he feels romantic emotions towards because he does want to take in their natural taste. This means he will almost unconsciously grab the Human with his tentacles should they get close to him while he is in his full Cecaelia form. It embarrasses him to no end with how grabby his tentacles are especially with the Human.

- Azul has a large Octopus pot in Octavinelle which is for his (and the regular octopus') use only. He will often pout in the octopus pot and refuse to come out until either Jade or Floyd go and get him out of the pot. When he decides to pout in the sulking pot, the twins will typically let him stay there for a few hours before they go to get him. He still has duties to take care of in the Monstro Lounge, but he will forgo those duties to sulk in the pot when he is in a bad mood.

- Azul is much like a regular octopus in the fact he has three hearts and blue blood. His tentacles can mostly squeeze into small spaces due to the lack of bones in them. He is also venomous and his venom has mild paralytic properties that tend to incapacitate in high doses or cause a euphoric-like state in low doses. He also has an ink sack he can eject ink out of when startled or in distress, Floyd has a deal with Azul specifically to stop the eel from making the octopus ink in surprise.

- Azul writes extensive romances primarily to do with Humans. He has been long obsessed with the idea of Humans and has romanticized Humanity as a whole. Him meeting a Human has only made him write even more Human related romances and smut due to the fact he is just so in love with the species. Many merfolk viewed Humans as peak beauty and Azul is no different. The Human is absolutely gorgeous in his eyes and he can't help but be completely enamored with them in every way.

- Jamil is a creature that prefers the warmth of sun-baked sands over the cold of winter's touch, so he does not like it when winter rolls around. Often- especially in cold weather- Jamil will find sources of heat (larger students, heaters, sunny areas) to rest his snake half as it does get cold easily or it takes a lot of food consumption to keep that half warm. Nagas are technically warm-blooded, but can act like their cold-blooded snake counterparts in winter and can enter brumation. Jamil refuses to enter brumation because he is busy looking after Kalim and stresses about what may happen while he sleeps.

- Jamil sheds his snake skin and any patches where he has scales. He does not have eye-caps or shed them due to being able to blink and having a regular eyelid. When he sheds, his colors are much more bright and vibrant to look at and he often will show off his scales following a shed. He is especially interested in the Human looking at his scales after a shed because they have an iridescent quality to them following sheds. He is extremely proud of this shine and even Vil envies the freshly shed scales.

- Jamil is Kalim's life-long guard and will remain a guard for Kalim unless he manages to win over the Human and rise above his station. If he does not win over the Human as a mate, he will be stuck in the service of Kalim eternally until his death in which another of the Viper family will take his place. His life expectancy is shorter than Kalim's but Kalim is more likely to be killed as member of the Al-Asim family before Jamil dies of natural causes. He is expected to give his life in the service of Kalim. He resents this deeply.

- Jamil can cook and knows how to cook due to being the primary chef for Kalim. He is very fond of spices as he has a much higher tollerance for them due to being a Naga. Regular snakes cannot taste or register spice, but Nagas are capable of tasting spice if there is a lot in their food. Kalim likes spicy foods and this works just fine for Jamil, the rest of Scarabia (some of whom are not as resistant to spices) avoid Jamil's cooking as a result, no matter how good it smells.

- Epel eats food like a regular blooded creature of Twisted Wonderland, but he gets more nutrients from specific plant matter and high-fat meats. He is less interested in fruits and tends to like meats and vegetables more due to the higher nutrient value. He can easily eat and digest rotting things but avoids them because they have an odd taste to them.

- Epel flowers year round and will always have several flowers atop his head. These flowers often attract bees, who tend to have symbiotic relationships with plant/earth Nymphs. Epel is quite fond of bees and- with Vil's suggestion- takes care of an apiary of bees in Pomefiore. This honey is often utilized by the other students and Vil, but only Epel can get close without being stung due to his standing positive relationship with the bees. Epel can produce apple fruits (seedless) in Autumn and early winter.

- Most plant/earth Nymphs can winter over if they manage to get their roots deep enough and enter a state like hibernation to wait out the scarce months of winter. Epel is a winter hardy species of apple tree Nymph and so he doesn't feel the need to winter over like many others do. Despite being a hardy species, he will occasionally go to the greenhouse to bask in the tropical temperatures.

- Epel has marks along his skin- which is barklike and rough- usually due to fights he has gotten into and the bark-like skin has had to heal around the injury. Most would injure themselves trying to fight him due to his naturally dense body, but sometimes he will meet his match in unexpected places, such as his scrap with Vil who beat him soundly and without using magic.

- Trey has a Water form and a land form due to being a Kelpie. His land form makes him look like a regular Centaur as he just appears to be a white horse with a pale green mane and tail. He cannot see very well out of the water as his eyes were made to be used underwater, hence his need for glasses when he is in his land form. On land, Trey has the body-type of a Scottish Draft-horse and is over 9ft (274in) standing on flat ground.

- In his aquatic form, Trey's back legs turn into a large fin and is made of pure muscle. He can easily concuss or kill others if he whips them with his tail-fin. His white fur turns green and his mane/tail take a more kelp-like appearance. He grows several fins and his fingers become webbed so he can move easier in the water, allowing for a rather quick locomotion when submerged. His skin takes on several green tints and even crates a light striping along his neck and face due to this green coloration. Cater can often be found laying on Trey's back when he is in his aquatic form and the two often swim together in the Heartslabyul lake.

- Trey is a Kelpie, so his primary diet is meat. When he was young, he would often catch his own meals and got in trouble a few times for snatching goats that wandered too close to his preferred hunting grounds. As an adult, Trey will still occasionally grab wandering deer or other larger creatures that get near his lake and will snack on them without cooking them. He often eats his prey raw, but has developed a love for cooked meats thanks to the Human. Trey has even caught a few students from time to time in the Heartslabyul lake. He always releases the students, but he does think scaring the daylights out of them is funny when he does catch them.

- Trey's bonded weapon is a claymore which he often keeps on him at all times. Just because there are more sentient species doesn't mean the world is any safer for anyone. He is very skilled with the claymore and has the upper body strength needed to wield such a large and heavy weapon with ease.

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #humans are extinct twst au

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