#when he possessed people his body would go limp so he had to go and hide it in a bathroom stall or somewhere else

[ominousgradient]

Last night I had a dream that Snotlout gained the ability to possess people and he started living with a married couple and would sometimes possess the husband but their evil emo teenage son found out and threatened to shoot himself to goat Snotlout into possessing him to stop him and then he used magic to corrode his soul and Snotlout almost died :(

[quandledlngle69]

TW: jumping, beating, injuries, yelling, fighting, biting, blood, homelessness, bulling, jumping, trauma, pickpocketing, hunger, crying.

part I. part II. part III. part IIII.

it's been a week since kaiser last saw you.

he had kept your coat, the euro notes that he once possessed gone. the money had managed to keep his starvation at bay for three days before going back to pickpocketing people. the forth day was fine, the fifth day not so much. he had been surrounded by a group of older boys in an alley while dumpster diving. he left with a busted lip, a newly blooming black eye, a limp, and without your coat.

on the seventh day he had learned to not fight back, to lay as if playing dead. they would get bored in the first ten minutes and leave. he curled up on the ground on instinct, enduring the same flurry of ruthless kicks and stomps.

it abruptly stopped when he heard a voice shouting at the end of the alley, the loud ringing in his ears rendering him from hearing the familiarity of it. he could barley lift his throbbing head up before he saw you storming towards them. he had never seen you look so angry, not even that night when the man grabbed him so harshly.

he could see the fury in your eyes, it reminded him of when his father would get enraged. kaiser knew rage and malice like the back of his hand, from others and in himself.

but your rage wasn't malicious, it was filled with desperate frustration, it was like...you cared about what happened to him.

god he was nauseous.

kaiser watched silently as the boy scrambled off, the others following in pursuit. 

you didn't wait another second before coming to kaisers side, crouching down and enveloping his small body in yours. the familiar scent of cigarettes and sickly sweet perfume ensnared him, your hair tickling his broken face. his body stiffened like a board. your embrace was warm. too warm. it was tight, too tight, you held him as if he would disappear at any moment.

it was suffocating.

he thrashed in your arms, a sudden need to get out of this soothing grip, to frost over this tender warmth blossoming in his chest. it was a trap. it was always a trap. adults were wolf in sheep's clothing.

blunt nails dug into your arms, kicking off like a feral child. he bit your shoulder as hard as he could, the taste of flesh in his teeth–metallic tinge of blood on his tongue, yet you still didn't let go. it could only be described as trying to squeeze a barbed wired ball. you cradled him like a fragile baby, even slowly swaying the both of you back and forth. your hold didn't falter, not even when his movements became sluggish, when he fell flaccid in your arms, drained of his outburst. he hoped you couldn't hear him sniffling, or feel the warm wet tears on your skin. to his gratefulness, you stayed quiet, only keeping him in your maternal embrace.

you hoped maybe he wouldn't see your tears either.

Quandaledlngle69 © 2025

[sweetvoidstuff]

Bound by Fate, Chosen by Love I Part 3

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

Summary : A witch bound by duty. A werewolf bound by instinct. When fate intertwines their paths, they must decide if love is worth defying expectations. Hunters threaten their people, forcing them to fight side by side. As tensions rise, so does the pull between them—soft moments turning into something far more intense. A quiet invitation, a lingering touch, a whispered question that changes everything. In the end, choice matters more than destiny. But with danger still lurking, will they have the chance to choose each other?

Word Count: 42K

Masterlist

A/N: Well, I wanted to post this as one, but Tumblr won’t let me… so I’ll be posting Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 back to back. Sorry about that! Hope you still enjoy it!

Part 1 / Part 2

He had kept his promise.

And despite everything—the battle raging on, the exhaustion creeping in, the danger still ahead—your heart felt light.

Because he was here.

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

Smoke still clung to the air. The scent of blood—both human and wolf—was thick, an inescapable reminder of what had been lost today.

The battlefield was no longer a battlefield. It was a graveyard.

One hundred fourteen dead hunters. Including women and children.

Fifteen wolves.

Nine witches from your coven.

On top of that, twenty-eight wounded, some worse than others.

A victory, if one counted by numbers.

A loss, if one counted by names.

Jungkook had barely been standing by the end of it. His leg throbbed with every step, his fur matted with blood—his own, others'. It had been a mess. But none of it had prepared him for what came after.

For you.

For the way you had looked at him, exhaustion written in every inch of your body as you simply sighed, whispering, "Sorry," before stepping out of your spell—

And dropping like the dead.

His heart had nearly stopped.

He had barely caught you before you hit the ground, his mind blank with panic, with fear, with rage—

Jimin and Yoongi had pried you from him.

Dragged him away, forcing him to let go as they carried you to a healer.

He had been a wreck since then.

Jungkook healed fast—faster than humans, faster than witches. His limp was still there, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to not making it back to you. But even with the wound, even with the pain, he was fine.

But you.

You hadn’t woken up.

The magic had taken too much.

Yoongi had tried to explain it, had told him again and again that this was normal. That the spell had been ancient, powerful, and the price had been you. That you would wake, but only when your body had recovered, when the magic had fully run its course.

But Jungkook had never been good at waiting.

He had been a bitch since then.

Especially to Yoongi and Taehyung.

He had snapped at them, growled at them, demanded they do something.

But they couldn’t.

This wasn’t something they could fix.

And deep down, Jungkook hated that.

He had never felt helpless before. He had always been able to fight, to claw his way out of a bad situation. But now—now he was stuck, trapped in this place of uncertainty, with nothing to do but wait.

And the only thing that made it bearable was being close to you.

The first night, he had fought it, pacing outside your door like a restless animal.

By the second, he had given up.

Now, he was always with you.

The pack had taken notice.

They didn’t know you were his mate—not officially. The words had never been spoken, the claim never made. But they weren’t blind.

They had seen how Jungkook had treated the witch from the valley.

They had seen him fight like a beast possessed, tearing through hunters with a ferocity that spoke of something far more personal than duty.

And now, they saw him here.

Unmoving.

Unyielding.

Sitting by your bedside, listening to the soft sound of your breathing, watching the faint rise and fall of your chest.

Jungkook knew he was neglecting his duties.

He felt it with every second that passed—every time a scout came to report on the state of the village, every time someone lingered at the door as if debating whether to knock.

And yet, he did not move.

He sat by your bedside, fingers tracing idle patterns against the back of your hand. The steady rhythm of your pulse beneath his fingertips was the only thing keeping him grounded. His leg still ached. His wounds had closed, but the deep gash in his thigh forced him to move slower, forced him to feel human in a way he hated. But even that didn’t matter.

Not when you were still unconscious.

Not when you hadn’t woken up.

So when the door finally swung open, and Namjoon stepped inside, Jungkook didn’t even flinch.

“Jungkook.”

Namjoon’s voice was firm. A leader’s voice.

Jungkook didn’t answer.

Namjoon sighed, stepping further in, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re my second,” he said simply. “I need you.”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving you.

“I’m not leaving her.”

Namjoon’s jaw tensed. “You don’t have to leave her. But you do have responsibilities.”

Jungkook finally looked up, his gaze sharp. “And I will do everything I can—from right here.”

Namjoon scoffed. “You can’t run the village from a bedside, Jungkook. I need you out there.”

Jungkook shook his head. “No.”

Namjoon’s eyes flashed. “Jungkook—”

“She’s my mate.”

The words came out low. Final.

And for the first time since Namjoon entered, Jungkook turned, fully facing him.

“I will not leave my mate like this,” he said, voice steady.

Namjoon’s frustration evaporated in an instant. His expression changed, eyes flicking to you before settling back on Jungkook.

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then, after a long pause, he nodded.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Jungkook raised a brow.

Namjoon sighed again. “I’ll shift responsibilities around. I’ll make it work.”

Jungkook’s shoulders loosened.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Namjoon gave him a long look before stepping closer, gaze softening as he glanced at you.

“She’ll wake up,” he said quietly. “She’s strong.”

Jungkook nodded.

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

Jungkook wasn’t expecting anyone when the knock came.

He had been sitting by your side, fingers loosely curled around your wrist, feeling the steady beat of your pulse—his only real assurance that you were still here, still alive.

He didn’t move at first. He didn’t want to.

But the knock came again, heavier this time.

With a grunt, he stood, his leg aching as he made his way to the door.

He froze when he saw who it was.

An elder wolf stood before him, thick-haired and scarred, his posture stiff with something close to shame.

It was the old guard—the one who had been by your side during the battle, the one who had sworn to protect you.

Slowly, the wolf bowed.

Jungkook stiffened.

A bow like this—it wasn’t just an apology. It was a submission.

A deep, wordless admission of guilt.

And Jungkook, for all his anger, all his frustration, hated it.

“I am sorry,” the wolf murmured, his voice rough with age. “I swore to protect her. And yet she lies here.”

Jungkook swallowed.

“It wasn’t your fault.” His voice was hoarse.

The old wolf lifted his head. His brown eyes were steady. “I should have done more.!

“It was not something you could control.”  Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat.

And just like that, something clicked.

Now he understood.

Understood why you had needed him to trust you, why you had fought him so hard on it.

Because he had thought he understood strength—he had thought he was strong.

But you had stood at the center of a war, commanding the very earth beneath you, knowing full well what it would do to you.

What it would force you to give.

And worst of all, that it would force you to stand by and watch.

Because while Jungkook had been fighting—had been ripping throats out with his teeth, had been bleeding and clawing to keep his people safe—

You had been forced to stay put.

Had been forced to watch, bound by the spell you had cast.

And still, you had done it.

Still, you had made that choice.

Because the battle was out of your control.

Jungkook had spent so long trying to control you. Trying to keep you safe, trying to force you to listen to him.

But you were not something to be controlled.

And the thought of ever forcing you to bend to him, to this bond, to anything—

Jungkook never wanted that.

His chest ached.

Because you had chosen him.

Trusted him.

Not because of the mate bond.

Not because of fate.

But because you had wanted to.

Because you had wanted him.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, his fingers brushing over your hand.

He would trust you.

Like you had trusted him.

He had to.

But he never wanted to see you like this again.

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

The first thing you felt was warmth.

It seeped into your bones, comforting and steady, like sunlight on bare skin. But there was an ache, too—a deep, pulling exhaustion that made your limbs feel like lead. Your fingers twitched against the sheets, an almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough.

A sharp inhale.

A rustle of fabric.

Then—

"You're awake!"

The voice was startled, breathless with excitement, and you barely managed to pry your eyes open before a figure leaned over you, his round face split into an expression of shock and joy. Jin.

"It’s been five days, five entire days—" He practically choked on the words, hands flailing slightly before one finally settled over his heart like he was trying to calm himself. His eyes were wide, darting over your face, scanning for any sign of discomfort. "Oh, thank god, I thought—no, never mind, that doesn't matter now. You're awake."

You blinked sluggishly, feeling the dryness in your throat. Jin scrambled for a glass of water before you could even attempt to move, lifting it carefully to your lips. You drank, slow and steady, while he continued to ramble in that way he always did when emotions ran too high.

"Jungkook is going to kill me," he announced suddenly, more to himself than to you. His hand twitched like he wanted to bolt straight out the door. "He’s going to kill me. You wake up now—when we finally convinced him to leave for a damn shower? He’s spent every minute at your bedside! Do you know how hard it was to get him out of this room? Do you? Jimin and I had to physically drag him out!”

You let out a weak chuckle, breathless but amused despite the heaviness in your limbs. Jin’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if you could barely keep up with his frantic pace.

“He will end me if I don’t go get him, but he will also end me if I leave you alone—” Jin fidgeted, torn between bolting for the door and staying rooted to your bedside.

“Jin,” you rasped, voice hoarse but carrying enough weight to make him pause. He looked at you expectantly, still visibly vibrating with energy.

“An update,” you said simply, shifting slightly against the pillows. Your body protested the movement, soreness rippling through you, but you pushed through it. “How many did we lose?”

Jin’s expression shifted immediately. The excitement in his eyes dimmed, replaced with something heavier. He hesitated, but you gave him a look—one that said don’t coddle me.

With a sigh, he relented.

“On our side… twenty six,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Nine from your coven. seventeen from the pack.”

You swallowed hard, grief settling in your chest. Nine lives. Nine people who had fought for their people, their family. Nine souls who had stood on the battlefield knowing they might not return.

Jin continued, softer now. “The elders of your coven and Namjoon have been in constant talks. There was… tension, at first. Some of the wolves were angry. Some of your witches were afraid. But we fought together—we won together—so…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think they’re trying to build something now. A truce, maybe. Something more permanent.”

That was more than you had hoped for.

“And… Yoongi? Taehyung?”

Jin nodded. “They’re still here. They weren’t going to leave until you woke up. They’ve been checking in, making sure Jungkook didn’t…” He trailed off, his lips twitching. “Lose his mind, I guess.”

A soft breath escaped you. You weren’t sure if it was relief or something else.

Now that the most important things had been said, your eyes finally flickered around the room, taking in your surroundings properly for the first time. The space was familiar—it a room at the pack house, but something had changed.

It looked… lived in.

There was a chair pushed close to your bedside, blankets draped over it haphazardly. A half-eaten meal sat on a side table, abandoned mid-bite. Scrolls, reports, and letters were scattered nearby, signs of someone working from this room.

Signs of Jungkook.

The realization settled heavily in your chest. You had never meant to burden him with your spell. He had already carried the weight of his people on his shoulders, already fought and bled to protect them. But even so—he had stayed.

He had stayed even when you couldn’t ask him to.

Before you could dwell on it further, the door creaked open.

Jungkook stepped inside, his damp hair curling slightly from the water, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had changed into clean clothes, but his exhaustion was evident in the stiffness of his posture, the tension in his shoulders.

“Thanks, Jin. You can go now,” he murmured, voice distracted, like he had spoken purely out of habit.

Jin didn’t move.

Jungkook still hadn’t looked at you.

Jin’s gaze flickered between you both before he sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just—” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “Leave you two to it.”

With that, he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he stepped further into the room. His brows were furrowed, his mouth set in a firm line—clearly bracing himself for another long, silent vigil at your side.

And then, finally, his gaze landed on you.

His breath stilled.

You saw the exact moment the realization struck.

Jungkook froze.

His entire body tensed, his pupils dilating slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, and for a long, aching moment, he just stared.

Like he was afraid that if he blinked, you would disappear.

Then, without warning, he moved.

In an instant, he was at your side, sinking onto the bed so quickly that the mattress dipped beneath his weight. His hand came up, hovering near your face like he wanted to touch you but didn’t quite dare.

“You’re…” His voice cracked, rough with emotion. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. “You’re awake.”

You smiled, weak but real. “I am.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered over you, taking in every detail. The flush of life in your cheeks. The awareness in your gaze. The way your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets.

He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment—just long enough for the weight of relief to crash over him.

Then, before you could say anything else, his hand did move.

Gently, carefully, he cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. His touch was warm, grounding.

His other hand found yours, fingers curling tightly around your own.

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, voice raw. “I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

You squeezed his hand.

“I’m here,” you murmured.

Jungkook let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening just slightly.

And for the first time in days, the weight in his chest began to lift.

Jungkook held your hand as if letting go would send you back into the darkness you had just woken from. His thumb traced absentminded circles over your skin, grounding both of you in the moment. He hadn’t spoken again since his first, raw admission, just sat there, drinking in the sight of you.

You let the silence stretch for a beat longer before nudging him with your fingers.

“I assume you didn’t just sit here for five days straight,” you said, raising a brow. “So, what did you do while I was out?”

Jungkook let out a quiet scoff, but his fingers twitched against yours.

“What didn’t I do?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I argued with Namjoon. Twice. I argued with your elders more times than I can count. I threatened to punch Taehyung. Then I argued with Namjoon again.”

You smirked faintly. “You must’ve been busy.”

“Oh, I was,” Jungkook said, voice dry. “In between all that, I sat here. A lot.” His gaze flickered over you, softer now. “I watched over you.”

Your smile faltered, something flickering in your expression. Your heart ached for him—because you knew exactly what that meant. He had barely left this room, had barely slept, had waited, agonized, through every second of your spell-induced slumber.

And that made you frown.

“Jungkook,” you said, your voice suddenly firmer. “Did Yoongi not tell you this would happen? That I’d wake up eventually?”

Jungkook’s lips pressed into a thin line, like he already knew where this was going.

“He did,” he admitted. “But it didn’t change anything.”

You exhaled sharply, guilt twisting in your chest. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shook his head. “Don’t be.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted, giving your hand a small squeeze. His voice was steady, sure. “I understand now.”

You looked at him, searching his face. “Understand what?”

Jungkook swallowed, glancing down at your entwined hands before meeting your eyes again.

“Why you wanted to choose me,” he said, voice quieter now. “Instead of letting the mate bond choose for us.”

Your breath caught.

“I get it,” Jungkook continued. “You wanted us to be real. You wanted it to be something we decided.” His grip tightened slightly. “I trust you. I trusted you then, too—I just didn’t understand it yet.”

Your chest ached at the weight of his words.

But before the moment could become too heavy, Jungkook huffed, leaning back slightly.

“But,” he added, feigning exasperation, “you really need to stop dropping like the dead in front of me.”

A startled laugh escaped you. “I’ll… do my best?”

“Not convincing enough,” Jungkook muttered, though there was a teasing glint in his eyes now. “Next time, just tell me if you’re about to collapse. Give a guy some warning.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, Jungkook, I’ll make sure to schedule my magical exhaustion at your convenience.”

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

You snorted, but the warmth in his gaze made your chest feel lighter.

Another moment passed, comfortable now.

Then, you sighed. “I should probably freshen up.” You pulled at the fabric of your tunic, feeling the way it clung uncomfortably to your skin. “I feel like the dead.”

Jungkook chuckled. “You smell like the dead.”

You shot him a look, and he grinned, raising his hands in surrender. “Kidding. Mostly.”

“Mm-hm,” you muttered, shifting slightly to move. But the moment you tried to push yourself upright, a sharp wave of dizziness washed over you. Your body was still sluggish, weakened from days of rest, and your limbs felt far too heavy.

Jungkook noticed instantly.

“Whoa, whoa—” He was already moving, steadying you before you could sway too much. “Take it slow.”

You sighed in frustration, but you didn’t resist when he helped ease you into a sitting position. The warmth of his hands against your arms was steadying.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his tone softer now.

Carefully, he helped you to your feet. The room swayed slightly, but Jungkook’s grip was strong, his presence unwavering. He guided you toward the small adjoining washroom, his movements unhurried but firm.

“Think you can manage from here?” he asked once you reached the door.

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Jungkook gave you a once-over, reluctant to let go, but finally stepped back. “Alright. I’ll be right outside.”

With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving you to freshen up.

The moment you were alone, you took a deep breath. Seeing yourself in the mirror was a shock—pale skin, sunken cheeks, dark circles under your eyes. Your body felt weak, but the warm water helped ease some of the lingering tension.

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

When you finally emerged, feeling considerably more human, you found Jungkook pacing the room.

His arms were crossed over his chest, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. His restless energy was evident—he was walking back and forth, his movements controlled but constant, like he was burning through some unseen tension.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment before clearing your throat.

Jungkook stopped mid-step, turning to look at you.

His expression softened immediately.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” you admitted. “Though I think I’ll need actual food before I start feeling normal again.”

Jungkook smirked. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Jungkook didn’t move right away after suggesting food. Instead, he studied you carefully, his dark eyes sweeping over your face with the same intensity he had used when first realizing you were awake. His thumb absentmindedly grazed the back of your hand, grounding himself just as much as you.

“…Are you sure you’re up for a walk?” he finally asked, his voice measured. “You still look a little unsteady.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but you appreciated his concern. The truth was, your body still felt weaker than usual—like a limb that had fallen asleep and was only now regaining feeling. But you were awake, standing, and you weren’t about to sit in bed any longer if you could help it.

“I think I’ll survive,” you replied, lips quirking up. “I promise to lean on you dramatically if I feel faint.”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but you could see the way his lips twitched, fighting a smirk. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Then, with a final once-over, he finally nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He didn’t let go of your hand as you walked.

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

The common room of the pack house was warm, filled with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spices that made your stomach grumble softly in anticipation. The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls, and a handful of wolves lounged in the space, some chatting in hushed tones while others simply enjoyed their meals.

As you and Jungkook stepped further inside, a ripple of quiet acknowledgment passed through the room. Several wolves, some mid-conversation, turned their heads toward the two of you, their gazes steady and observant. One by one, they gave small, respectful nods—not just to Jungkook, but to you as well.

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the silent show of deference. It wasn’t just an acknowledgment of your presence. It was something more—a recognition of your bond with Jungkook, however fragile or uncertain it had been before.

Jungkook, unfazed, led you toward an empty table near the center of the room, pulling out a chair for you with ease.

“Sit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You arched a brow as you lowered yourself into the seat. “Ordering me around now?”

Jungkook gave you an amused look. “Yes.”

You snorted, but you obeyed, adjusting yourself comfortably.

Jungkook hesitated for only a second before moving toward the long wooden table where food was laid out. As he gathered a well-balanced plate for you, carefully selecting portions with deliberate precision, you couldn’t help but notice how the other wolves subtly shifted in his presence—not out of fear, but out of respect.

When he returned, he placed the plate in front of you with quiet satisfaction, then pulled out the chair beside you and sat down.

“Eat,” he instructed.

You smirked, picking up your spoon. “Yes, Alpha.”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “I’m not the Alpha.”

You tilted your head, chewing thoughtfully. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Jungkook huffed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’m second-in-command. Namjoon’s the Alpha.”

“Right, but you’re really bossy.”

Jungkook shot you an unimpressed look. “You just woke up from an exhausting magical coma, and I watched over you the entire time. Forgive me if I want to make sure you’re actually eating.”

You smirked at his dry tone but didn’t argue. You had to admit—it was nice, the way he cared.

Jungkook leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes focused solely on you as you lifted your spoon. You had never seen anyone watch someone eat so intently before.

“You know,” you muttered, chewing. “You could at least pretend to eat something too, instead of staring at me like a hawk.”

Jungkook’s lips quirked, but he didn’t respond.

The meal was warm and comforting, and after a few bites, you found yourself doing something without even thinking—something that felt instinctive. You scooped up a small portion of food onto your spoon and extended it toward Jungkook.

“Here,” you said.

Jungkook went completely still.

His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time in a long while, you saw him genuinely caught off guard.

“…What?” he asked, voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You frowned slightly. “What? Is it rude? Am I breaking some kind of pack rule?”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“No,” he said. “It’s just… you don’t remember, do you?”

Your brow furrowed. “Remember what?”

Jungkook’s fingers curled against his thigh, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again.

“The last time you did this.” His voice was softer now, almost reverent.

You blinked.

Jungkook let out a short, quiet laugh, though it didn’t hold any amusement—more like disbelief. “Offering food like this… it’s a mate thing. A small, intimate thing.” He glanced at the spoon you still held out to him. “Remember?”

Your chest tightened.

You hadn’t even realized.

Suddenly, what had seemed like a simple, natural gesture felt much heavier. More meaningful.

Jungkook let out a slow breath, his expression unreadable.

“…I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

Your grip on the spoon tightened slightly before you nudged it toward him again. “Eat.”

Jungkook hesitated. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and let you feed him the small bite of food.

Jungkook swallowed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if grounding himself. Then he exhaled, opening them again.

“I really missed you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to wake up.”

Jungkook shook his head. “It’s fine. I understand now.” His lips curled up slightly, a ghost of a smile. “But you really have to stop dropping like the dead in front of me. It’s becoming a habit, and I don’t like it.”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging him with your knee under the table. “No promises.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but looked fond.

As you finished your meal, he remained by your side, closer than before. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel like there was anything between you—no doubt, no uncertainty.

Just warmth. Just him.

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

After you had eaten your fill, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to guide you out of the common room. The moment you stepped into the cool evening air, he was already steering you back now to his home.

“Alright,” he said, voice edged with finality. “Back to bed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the air.

And then—

“Finally!”

Jungkook stiffened beside you, his fingers flexing where they still held onto yours.

You turned just in time to see Taehyung striding toward you with all the excitement of a man who had just been let off a leash.

Behind him, Yoongi followed at a more measured pace, but even he looked relieved to see you standing. Jin trailed after them, looking torn between exasperation and amusement.

Jungkook groaned. “Jin, I thought you were keeping them away.”

“I was,” Jin sighed. “But you can only stall wild animals for so long.”

Taehyung reached you first, his grin nothing short of devilish.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his sharp eyes flicking between you and Jungkook’s still-clasped hands. “Look who’s awake. His princess has finally returned.”

Jungkook glared.

You, on the other hand, raised a brow. “His?”

“Oh, don’t let him fool you,” Taehyung continued, clearly relishing the moment. “He’s been an absolute wreck. Practically growled at anyone who got too close to your room. It was adorable.”

Jungkook made a sound like he was considering murder. “Taehyung.”

Taehyung only grinned wider. “I mean, really. I never thought I’d see the day—”

Before he could finish, Jungkook let go of your hand just long enough to grab the back of Taehyung’s collar, yanking him backward with ease.

Taehyung yelped, laughing as he staggered.

“You especially need to shut up,” Jungkook grumbled, eyes dark with warning.

You chuckled, watching the exchange with no small amount of amusement.

Yoongi, who had been standing to the side, finally spoke. “Good to see you awake,” he said simply, his gaze steady.

You dipped your head. “Good to be awake.”

“Good,” Jin added, looking equally satisfied. “Because now I don’t have to deal with him acting like a lovesick puppy anymore.” He jerked his chin toward Jungkook.

Jungkook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Shaking your head fondly, you turned your attention back to Taehyung.

“What about Jimin and Namjoon?” you asked, watching as Taehyung perked up at the shift in conversation.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, used your question to slip away from Jungkook’s grasp, swiftly moving behind you as if you were his personal shield.

“Oh, excellent question,” he said, placing both hands on your shoulders in a show of camaraderie. “Now, if someone weren’t so busy brooding, maybe he’d have filled you in sooner.”

Jungkook let out a slow, deep sigh through his nose, his patience hanging by a thread.

But you? You let Taehyung hide. You even leaned into it slightly, tilting your head up at him expectantly. “So?”

Taehyung beamed, victorious. “Jimin is with your grandmother at Namjoon’s place,” he explained. “They’re discussing business—y’know, important things. The whole aftermath of the attack, how your coven and the pack might work together moving forward, how we don’t end up tearing each other apart the next time someone so much as breathes wrong—diplomatic stuff. Your grandmother is sharp, by the way. She and Namjoon are probably negotiating the hell out of each other.”

You exhaled, processing this. “And Jimin?”

Taehyung shrugged. “Keeping the peace, making sure they don’t start a war over tea or something.”

You blinked. “That’s… good, actually.”

Taehyung hummed. “Yeah. But don’t worry about it yet. There’ll be plenty of time for you to get involved later. Namjoon, Jimin, and your grandmother already know you’re awake, so they’ll be around soon enough.”

You nodded, processing the information. It was comforting to know that things hadn’t completely fallen apart in your absence, that those you trusted had taken charge where needed.

Still, before you could say anything else, a very exasperated Jungkook, however, was done with this conversation.

“You had your fun,” he said, eyes locked onto Taehyung, voice edged with warning. “Give her back.”

Taehyung gasped dramatically. “Give her back? She’s not a stolen possession, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eye twitched.

“Then stop hiding behind her,” he deadpanned.

Taehyung hummed, considering it. Then, with a sigh, he finally released you—but not before leaning down to whisper, “He’s obsessed with you, by the way.”

You smirked.

Jungkook, suspicious, narrowed his eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing,” Taehyung ever the menace, simply sang, stepping back.

Then, as if his sole purpose in life was to torment Jungkook further, he winked at you and added, “Don’t let him boss you around too much, princess.”

You snorted.

Jungkook did not find it nearly as amusing.

Without another word, he promptly turned on his heel and started steering you back toward your room, his firm grip on your wrist ensuring no more distractions.

As you finally left the others behind, you sighed contentedly, the cool night air brushing against your skin. The warmth from inside the pack house had been cozy, but out here, the quiet was almost soothing. The stars stretched endlessly above you, a deep, scattered sea of light against the black sky. You could hear the distant sounds of the forest—the rustling leaves, the occasional hoot of an owl.

Jungkook, however, had only one thing on his mind.

“We are going home. You’re going straight to bed,” he said, tone leaving no room for argument.

You hummed, barely paying attention as you walked beside him.

You stumbled slightly, catching yourself before Jungkook could notice—except he did notice.

Fatigue, deep and bone-weary, suddenly weighed down your limbs.

Your steps faltered.

“You okay?” he asked immediately, slowing his pace.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Jungkook stopped walking entirely and turned to face you, expression shifting into something you did not trust.

Without hesitation, Jungkook stopped walking entirely. He studied you carefully, his brows furrowing, and then—without a word—he kneeled before you, his broad back facing you expectantly.

It took you a second to process what was happening.

“…What are you doing?” you asked warily.

“Get on.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jungkook didn’t turn to look at you, just patted his shoulder. “You’re exhausted. I’m not risking you collapsing on me again. So, piggyback ride. Let’s go.”

You scowled, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”

Jungkook finally twisted his head slightly, leveling you with an unimpressed stare. “It’s this or I can carry you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You are not carrying me princess-style through the whole damn village, Jungkook.”

Jungkook just shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I will if you keep arguing.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groaned, rubbing your face in frustration. The last thing you wanted was to be carried around like some helpless damsel, but you also knew Jungkook well enough to understand that he would follow through on his threat.

Reluctantly, you sighed. “Fine.”

With some effort (and mild grumbling on your part), you climbed onto Jungkook’s back, looping your arms loosely around his shoulders. The moment you were secure, he adjusted his grip beneath your legs and rose smoothly to his full height, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.

You stiffened slightly at the effortless motion.

“…Comfortable?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You huffed, but your arms tightened around his shoulders instinctively. “Just walk.”

He chuckled but obeyed, setting off at a steady pace back toward his home.

Despite your initial embarrassment, you had to admit—there was something comforting about the way Jungkook carried you. His warmth seeped through the fabric of your clothes, and his steady breaths beneath you were oddly soothing.

Before long, your exhaustion got the better of you, and you rested your cheek against his shoulder, your grip around him relaxing slightly.

Jungkook’s voice was softer when he spoke next.

“You scared me, you know.”

You blinked sleepily. “Mmm?”

“When you didn’t wake up for days,” he murmured. “I knew it was because of the spell, and I knew you’d be okay, but still…” He exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t easy.”

You frowned slightly, guilt creeping into your chest again. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook shook his head. “You don’t have to be. Just…” He shifted his grip slightly, his hold on you tightening for a brief second. “Give me a warning next time.”

You chuckled softly. “I’ll try.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Not reassuring.”

Despite yourself, you smiled.

By the time he reached his home, sleep was tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

Jungkook carefully set you down, keeping a steadying hand on your waist as you found your balance.

“Bed,” he ordered quietly.

This time, you didn’t argue.

You climbed under the covers, exhaustion fully settling over you now that you were warm and comfortable.

Jungkook lingered for a moment, watching you.

Then, just as he turned to leave, you murmured, “Stay?”

Jungkook froze at your quiet request, his breath hitching in his throat.

Your voice had been barely more than a murmur, the weight of sleep already tugging you under, but it was enough.

Enough to stop him mid-step.

Enough to set something alight in his chest.

His fingers curled at his sides as he stood there, unmoving, staring at the slow, steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Stay.

It had been so long since he last held you. Since he’d felt your warmth, your presence this close, without the weight of injury or unconsciousness keeping you apart.

He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

But gods, he wasn’t strong enough to walk away.

Not when you were finally here, in front of him, asking him to stay.

Slowly—almost hesitantly—he stepped toward the bed. The room was dim, the only light spilling in from the slivered moon outside, casting soft shadows across your face. You were already half-lost to sleep, your body relaxed against the blankets, your breathing even.

Carefully, Jungkook reached for the edge of the covers, peeling them back just enough to slip in beside you. He moved with the kind of cautious grace one would use to approach a wounded animal, not wanting to startle you, not wanting to shatter whatever fragile peace had settled over this moment.

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he laid down next to you, keeping a respectful distance at first.

But then—

You shifted.

Instinctively, your body turned toward his, seeking out warmth even in sleep. Your face tucked closer to his shoulder, your fingers twitching against the sheets as if reaching for something—for him.

Jungkook swallowed thickly.

A slow, deep ache settled in his chest, one he had been carrying for far too long.

Without thinking, he reached out—tentatively at first—until his arm brushed against yours.

You sighed softly at the contact, melting against him as if this was where you belonged.

And maybe—maybe it was.

Jungkook’s restraint crumbled.

He exhaled shakily and let his arm drape across your waist, pulling you close, finally allowing himself to hold you the way he had been longing to. His fingers ghosted over your back, not pressing, not demanding—just there.

He buried his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, grounding himself in the scent of you, the familiarity, the warmth. His heart was hammering, but his body felt at ease for the first time in weeks.

For a while, he just held you, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

And then, after what felt like forever, you stirred again.

Half-asleep, you turned your face slightly, your nose brushing against his collarbone.

Jungkook tensed.

But all you did was sigh, voice soft, drowsy, and content.

“…Warm.”

Something in his chest tightened painfully.

He closed his eyes.

And, for the first time in a long, long time—

Jungkook let himself rest.

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

The morning sun cast long golden beams across the room, slipping through the cracks in the curtains, painting warm patterns on the sheets. The light had barely shifted the cool tones of the lingering night, but you were awake.

Lying still, you listened to the quiet, to the steady rhythm of Jungkook’s breathing, to the occasional rustle of fabric as he shifted slightly in his sleep. He was draped over you like he was afraid you’d disappear, his arm a solid, comforting weight across your waist, his face nestled against your shoulder.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was peace.

But that peace was fragile.

Your eyes traced the contours of Jungkook’s face, softened in sleep, absent of the tension that usually pulled at his brows. He looked younger like this—unguarded, almost vulnerable. You took in the way his lashes fanned over his cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly with each quiet breath.

It was dangerous, you realized. How easy it would be to fall into this, to pretend like nothing outside of this room mattered.

But it did matter.

You had come here with a purpose. He had asked for your help, and you had given it. You had fought alongside him, alongside his pack, against the hunters who had threatened both of your people. You had done what was needed.

Now…

Now it was time to go home.

The thought sat heavy in your chest, pressing down with an unbearable weight.

Because you could go. You could walk away.

Unlike Jungkook, you weren’t bound by the mate bond the same way he was. You could live without him—painfully, maybe, but still, you could.

But looking at him now…

Did you want to?

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the blanket, itching to reach out, to smooth a stray strand of hair away from his forehead.

You wanted to stay.

God, you wanted to stay with him.

But it wasn’t just about what you wanted.

You had responsibilities. A life. A coven that had followed your lead in battle, and people who still needed you. You couldn't just abandon them to chase after something as uncertain as love.

And then there was him.

Jungkook wasn’t just any wolf—he was second-in-command. He had a pack to protect, a home he had fought for. Could he leave all of that behind? Would he?

Your heart clenched.

What were you supposed to do?

You let out a slow, quiet breath, willing the ache in your chest to ease.

You didn’t want to think about any of it. Not right now. Not when the warmth of Jungkook’s embrace was so steady, so right.

But you knew it wouldn’t go away.

The questions, the uncertainty, the impossible decisions that lay ahead—they wouldn’t just disappear because you wished them away.

Still, just for a little while longer, you let yourself sink into the moment.

Just a little longer.

But then—

A quiet sound, a soft inhale against your skin.

Jungkook stirred.

You felt it before you saw it—the slow tensing of his muscles, the way his breathing changed as he drifted toward wakefulness. His fingers flexed slightly against your waist, as if subconsciously confirming that you were still there.

Then, finally, his eyes fluttered open.

Sleep still clung to him, his gaze hazy and unfocused at first, but the moment he saw you awake—watching him—he stilled.

For a long moment, he just looked at you.

Then, groggily, voice rough from sleep, he murmured, “You’re thinking too hard.”

You blinked, startled by the unexpected observation. “What?”

Jungkook shifted, his arm tightening slightly around you as if to keep you from slipping away. “You’ve got that look,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “Like you’re trying to figure out how to solve a problem no one’s even asked you to solve yet.”

You hesitated.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Jungkook’s gaze searched yours, something unreadable flickering in the dark depths of his eyes.

“You’re thinking about leaving,” he finally said.

It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled, glancing away. “I have to.”

His jaw tensed.

“I have a coven to go back to,” you continued. “People who rely on me. Just like you have people who rely on you.”

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he let his hand drift, his fingertips brushing over your side absently, as if grounding himself in the feel of you.

Then, finally, he murmured, “I know.”

You turned your gaze back to him, watching as something conflicted passed through his expression.

“I get it,” he said. “Really, I do.”

And you believed him.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded.

Then, because you had to ask, because you needed to know, you whispered, “What about you?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed slightly. “What about me?”

“You’re bound to me,” you said, your voice quiet. “By the mate bond. But I’m not bound to you. Not like that.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing.

You swallowed. “If I left, could you live without me?”

His breath hitched, just slightly.

For a long moment, he didn’t answer.

Then—

“No.”

It was barely more than a whisper.

A confession.

A truth laid bare.

Your chest tightened painfully.

Jungkook shifted then, moving just enough to press his forehead against yours. His eyes fluttered shut, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispered, “I don’t know how to let you go.”

The honesty in his voice, the raw vulnerability—it made your heart ache.

Because you didn’t know how to let him go either.

“…Then we’ll figure it out,” you murmured.

Jungkook’s eyes opened, dark and searching.

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if trying to decipher every unspoken thought lingering between you.

Then, finally—slowly—his lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “We will.”

And just like that, the tension between you eased.

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

The meeting was already in full swing by the time you and Jungkook arrived.

Your grandmother sat at the head of the long wooden table, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. Across from her, Namjoon matched her intensity, his expression calm but unreadable, his presence commanding.

Beside Namjoon, Jimin offered a small nod when he saw you, his usual lighthearted demeanor muted in the face of such serious discussions. The air in the room was thick with purpose, the weight of generations of conflict and possibility hanging between the two sides like a thread waiting to be pulled.

You had expected talks of peace, of tentative alliances, but the sheer depth of what had already been discussed stunned you.

“We are already considering opening trading routes for Yoongi and Taehyung,” Namjoon was saying, his fingers steepled in thought. “There are valuable resources in both territories that could benefit from a proper system. Wolf packs have strong ties to hunting and leather work, and the witches in your coven are skilled in medicines and enchantments—things we could trade fairly.”

Your grandmother nodded, her expression approving. “It will take time, likely decades, to fully establish trust and integration between our people. But for the first time, we are not just discussing if it can happen. We are discussing how.”

Decades.

You swallowed. You had spent years preparing for this kind of work—building bridges, finding compromises—but to hear them already mapping out a future where witches and wolves were more than wary allies, where they were trading partners, maybe even friends... It was almost overwhelming.

Jungkook’s hand was warm against your lower back, steadying. He felt it too—the sheer magnitude of what was happening.

Steeling yourself, you took a breath and stepped forward.

“I have ideas,” you said, carefully measuring your words. “If we’re going to make this work, we need to think about the next few years, not just the next few decades. We should—”

But your grandmother didn’t let you finish.

“You will go back to the coven as the new leader,” she interrupted, her voice final. “I will stay here with the wolves, alongside the members of our coven who are willing to remain. We will be the foundation for the future relationship between our people.”

The words landed like a physical blow.

What?

You blinked, barely comprehending what she had just said. “I—”

She continued, leaving no room for argument. “As of this moment, you are the head of the coven. Effective immediately.”

The weight of her statement settled over you like a mantle of iron.

Your training had always pointed to this moment—one day, you would lead. You had known it would happen, but not yet. Not now. Not like this.

Your throat felt tight.

You had fought, bled, and nearly died for both the coven and the wolves, but the reality of leadership was different. It meant responsibility. It meant you couldn’t just leave for days at a time to visit Jungkook whenever you pleased.

It meant you couldn’t stay with him.

The realization nearly broke you.

Jungkook’s body went rigid beside you, his grip tightening slightly as he understood the same thing you did.

But before either of you could speak, Namjoon leaned forward, his deep voice breaking the stunned silence.

“Jungkook will go with you.”

Your head snapped to Namjoon.

Namjoon’s dark eyes were steady as he elaborated, as if he had planned this all along.

“The witches are leaving their last leader here to build trust and establish relations,” he said. “It’s only right that the wolves have a representative within the main coven as well. Jungkook will act as that figure. He will oversee the connections between the wolves who remain here and the ones who leave with you.”

Your mind reeled.

Jungkook was coming with you?

The weight that had settled in your chest moments ago cracked, and something entirely different bloomed in its place.

Hope.

Not only that—but wolves would follow. There would be families, warriors, others who wanted to help build this connection.

This could work.

This was real.

You felt your breath catch, your vision suddenly blurring.

You could stay with him.

For the first time since realizing you didn’t want to leave him, you saw a future where you didn’t have to choose. Where you could lead and be with Jungkook.

Jungkook was silent beside you, but you could feel the tension in him. The way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the way his hand on your back trembled just slightly.

And then—

“You planned this,” Jungkook accused, his voice rough with emotion.

His sharp eyes darted between Namjoon and your grandmother, as if searching for confirmation.

And to his absolute frustration, they smiled.

Your grandmother’s lips curled just slightly, proud and knowing. Namjoon’s smirk was subtler, but just as smug.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, still teetering on the edge of overwhelming relief.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you surged forward and jumped into Jungkook’s arms. He caught you easily, his reflexes sharp even in his shock, his arms locking around you like he never planned to let go.

“We can stay together!” you exclaimed, breathless, overwhelmed, relieved.

Jungkook froze for a second, his grip tightening like he needed to make sure this was real. Then, slowly, carefully, he buried his face into your neck, his breath hot and unsteady against your skin.

“And you want that?” he whispered, voice raw.

You nodded viciously into his neck.

He didn’t say anything else—he didn’t have to. His hold on you, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing grounding him, said enough.

Namjoon—who had been watching the exchange with a knowing look—tilted his head slightly and asked, “Unless, of course, you don’t want to go together?”

You barely had time to process the words before Jungkook scoffed, a sharp, incredulous sound. His grip on you tightened, fingers curling into your waist as if someone might try to pull you away.

“Not want to?” Jungkook echoed, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous. “Are you joking?”

Namjoon’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Your grandmother, on the other hand, lifted a brow as if awaiting your answer as well.

They were giving you a choice.

You knew you had one.

But your heart had already decided.

There had never been a choice.

You turned to Jungkook, truly seeing him.

“I want to,” you said softly, but with certainty. “I want to stay with my mate.”

Jungkook’s exhale was almost shaky, like he had been holding his breath. His forehead dropped against yours briefly, his relief tangible.

Then, without looking away from you, he turned his head slightly toward Namjoon and deadpanned, “Ask me that again, and I’ll break your nose.”

Namjoon only smirked. “That’s the answer I was looking for.”

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

The moment your group crossed the borders of your coven, the shift in energy was immediate. The witches who had traveled with you—those who had not chosen to stay with your grandmother—let out quiet sighs of relief, their shoulders easing as if the very air here soothed them. The wolves, however, remained on edge, their eyes flickering around as they stepped into unfamiliar territory.

Jimin wasted no time. He turned to the witches and began issuing quiet instructions, ushering them forward with a mixture of authority and warmth.

"Alright, everyone, you know the drill," he said briskly. "Make sure the newcomers have everything they need. They’ll be staying in the common rooms until we can get new huts built, so help them settle in and make them feel at home."

The witches moved with practiced ease, some of them already reaching for the wolves, offering guidance, showing them where to go. The wolves hesitated at first but followed, some visibly relaxing as they realized they were being treated not just as outsiders, but as part of the coven.

Amidst the movement, you noticed Jungkook standing a little apart, his head slightly tilted as he took in the sights of your home. His sharp eyes flitted over the various huts, the herb gardens, the small glowing lanterns that dotted the village, each one burning with soft magic.

Then, without a word, he turned and began following the other wolves toward the common rooms.

You blinked, confused.

“Jungkook?”

He stopped in his tracks and looked back at you, just as confused.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

His brow furrowed slightly. “With the others?” It sounded almost like a question. “I thought we’d all stay together in the common rooms until the new huts are built.”

Your lips parted in understanding, and suddenly you felt uncharacteristically shy. You shifted on your feet, glancing away before clearing your throat.

“Well… you can do that,” you admitted. “But since I stayed with you when I first came to your village, I… wouldn’t mind if you stayed with me.”

It was barely a whisper by the time you finished speaking.

Jungkook stared at you.

And then—slowly, hesitantly—he nodded, something warm flickering behind his eyes.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

You turned away to hide your flustered expression and began leading him through the village, feeling Jungkook’s presence right at your back. The familiarity of home settled around you as you passed through the narrow pathways, the scent of fresh herbs and earth filling your lungs.

Then, finally, you arrived.

Your hut wasn’t particularly large, though it was slightly bigger than some of the others, given your role within the coven. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting Jungkook follow behind you.

The space was instantly you.

Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, filling the air with their soft, natural fragrance. Shelves lined the walls, crowded with ancient scripts, handwritten journals, small vials of potions, and jars of ingredients. A thick, knitted blanket was thrown haphazardly over the couch by the window, the soft glow of the late afternoon sun spilling over it, overlooking your small herb garden outside.

It was warm. Lived in. Home.

You suddenly felt self-conscious.

Quickly, you reached for some of the books scattered over your worktable, to tidy the space.

“Sorry, it’s messy, I—”

“I love it.”

Jungkook’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

You turned to look at him.

He was standing just inside the doorway, taking it all in. His dark eyes roamed over the space, lingering on the shelves, the dried herbs, the open books. You watched as his shoulders eased, his fingers flexing slightly at his sides like he could feel how much of you lived here.

“It smells like you,” he murmured. “And the tea you always made for me.”

Your heart squeezed at the confession.

You cleared your throat again, shifting awkwardly before gesturing toward the small sleeping area off to the side. “There’s only one bed,” you pointed out, cheeks warming. “But, um… I can make something for me on the couch if—”

Jungkook raised a brow.

“No.”

You blinked.

He smirked slightly. “You think I’d sleep anywhere other than next to my mate, after you invited me?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

It was still strange— hearing him say it so easily, so assuredly, as if claiming you was second nature.

Instead of responding, you turned toward the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. “Tea?” you asked, needing something—anything—to ground yourself.

But before you could take another step, Jungkook moved.

A heavy thud echoed through the small space as he dropped his bag at the door. And then—before you could even turn fully—his hands were on you.

Large, warm palms framed your face, his fingers threading gently into your hair while his thumbs brushed featherlight strokes along your jaw. His touch was firm but careful, reverent in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught.

Jungkook’s dark eyes searched yours, something raw burning behind them, something unspoken but felt. His gaze dipped to your lips, and your heart pounded.

Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he kissed you.

It was soft at first. A quiet press of lips, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment—like he wanted to taste what it meant to be here with you, in your home, in your world. His fingers cradled your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone in soothing circles.

But then—

A quiet, needy sigh slipped from you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him.

The next kiss was nothing like the first.

Jungkook tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands moving to grip your neck, his thumbs pressing just beneath your jaw as if he needed to hold you, to anchor you to him. His lips parted against yours, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, claiming, stealing the very breath from your lungs.

Heat flared through you, curling in your stomach, pooling low and deep. Your fingers found his shirt, gripping it tightly as his body pressed flush against yours, his warmth searing through the thin fabric of your clothing.

Jungkook groaned softly into your mouth, the sound reverberating through your chest, down your spine, making your fingers tighten against his shirt.

Your knees wobbled.

You might have fallen—if not for him.

Jungkook’s grip on you tightened, his arms shifting lower to steady you. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed forward, walking you backward with sure steps until the backs of your thighs hit something solid—the edge of your kitchen counter. A startled gasp left you, but he was already gripping your waist, already lifting you effortlessly, setting you down onto the smooth surface.

A heartbeat later, he stepped between your legs, crowding into you, claiming the space between your thighs like it was his by right.

His lips never left yours.

If anything, the kiss only deepened—hotter, messier, more desperate. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing a whimper from your throat as his fingers dug into your waist, holding you there, against him, chest to chest, heat to heat.

You clung to him, breathless, your fingers threading into his dark hair, pulling him closer.

Jungkook growled lowly, the sound vibrating against your lips as he pressed himself even further into you, as if trying to erase any remaining space between your bodies. His hands slid up your sides, warm and firm, as if memorizing every inch of you all over again.

It was overwhelming. The way he kissed you—possessively, like he had waited lifetimes for this. Like he would never let you go.

Jungkook’s hands roamed greedily, sliding up your waist, over your ribs, thumbs grazing the curve of your stomach before retracing their path. He gripped at you like he was mapping every inch of you, like he had been starving for this—for you.

His hands found the dip of your spine, pressing you flush against him, making sure you felt every inch of his warmth. Then they slid higher, over your shoulders, tracing the line of your throat, thumbs ghosting over your jaw.

He pulled back just enough, his breath warm against your lips. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough, offering you an out, a sliver of space.

But you didn’t take it.

Instead, with a soft whimper, you fisted the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer, your lips parting against his in silent invitation.

His breath stuttered, a tremor running through his frame as your words spilled against his lips—

“Use your words.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his hold tightening. “Yes, m-mate.”

The effect was instantaneous.

Jungkook stilled. Completely.

His breathing went harsh in the quiet of the room. His fingers twitched where they held you, his entire frame going rigid. And then—

A growl rumbled through his chest, deep and raw, vibrating against your skin. His grip turned bruising, his lips crashing back onto yours, all hesitation gone.

His lips trailed from your mouth, over your jaw, down the column of your throat, and you gasped at the sensation, at the heat pooling low in your belly.

His teeth grazed your skin, “You—” he rasped between kisses, his voice breaking apart with need, “—cannot say things like that and expect me to stop.”

You shivered, fingers tightening in his hair, your pulse hammering as you met his gaze.

Boldly, breathlessly, you flicked your tongue over your lips and looked up at him—his gaze dark, pupils blown wide with hunger—and, shyly, you asked,

“Then… if not mate than maybe—” you whispered, trailing a hand down his chest.

His breath hitched.

“Lover?”

Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath, his grip flexing against your waist. But it wasn’t the word itself that unraveled him—it was that you had finally called him. A name, a claim, a truth.

And that was all he needed.

Then his lips left yours, trailing lower, brushing against your jaw, down the sensitive skin of your throat. His breath was hot, teasing, as he whispered against your skin,

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitched.

He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the side of your neck, his voice a rasp—demanding, pleading.

“Call me your mate again.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your pulse thrumming beneath his lips. And in the quiet, breathlessly, you murmured,

“Yes, mate.”

Jungkook let out a low, wrecked groan before his mouth was on yours again.

His mouth devouring yours in a way that left no room for uncertainty. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, the heat between you nearly unbearable.

Your body responded instinctively, your legs wrapping around his hips, holding him tight. He let out a sharp exhale at the feeling, his arms caging you in, his entire body pressing against yours like he wanted to become part of you.

His voice, when he spoke, was raw.

“Bed. Now.”

His hands slid down, strong and sure, gripping your thighs. You felt every shift of his muscles as he lifted you, carrying you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing, like you belonged in his arms.

He didn’t just carry you—he possessed you.

With each step toward the bed, his lips ghosted along your skin, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

Jungkook eased you down onto the mattress, the sheets cool against your heated skin. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he settled over you, his arms bracing on either side of your head. His dark eyes locked onto yours, intense, unwavering.

One of his hands moved, fingers trailing up your arm, slow and reverent. He brushed your hair away, tucking it behind your ear before cupping your cheek, his thumb sweeping over your skin in a slow caress.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. His voice was thick with something deeper than just desire.

A shiver ran through you as your hands found his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms, matching your own.

“Jungkook—”

He silenced you with a kiss, softer this time—deep and slow, like he wanted to savor every second. Like he never wanted this moment to end.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, gripping the fabric as warmth spread through your veins like fire.

His hands roamed your body, tracing every curve like he wanted to commit you to memory. He gripped you, pulled you closer, as if he could sink into you completely.

And you let him.

You wanted all of him.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, your fingers splaying across his bare skin, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch.

Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, then pulled back just enough to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen from kissing you, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

And then—he smirked.

Slow. Dangerous. Utterly devastating.

“I hope you know,” he murmured, his voice husky, his fingers skimming down your thigh, pressing closer, “you’re never getting rid of me now.”

A breathless laugh bubbled from you, your hands coming up to cup his face, your thumb dragging across his cheek.

“Good,” you whispered. “I don’t want to.”

Something flickered in his expression—something softer, something deeper.

And then he surged forward again, capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss.

And you let him.

Because he was yours.

Your mate.

Your lover.

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

The End

Masterlist

Epilog

[star-girl69]

Apocalypse

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: a day of capture the flag, and clarisse finds out you’re ashamed of your scars.

a/n: love love love love love also from this ask

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

warnings: shitty ending but IDC!!!!!!!, hurt/comfort, more hurt/comfort, god i need to be put down, insecure y/n, scars and all that stuff, possessive clarisse, protective clarisse, soft clarisse, probs ooc clarisse, yeah, swearing, mentions of food, mac n’ cheese is y/n’s fav but you can just pretend if you’re a weirdo and don’t like mac n’ cheese, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“I don’t get it,” he laughs. “How can you be a daughter of Aphrodite and still have those ugly scars all over you?”

You pretend like you don’t hear him, leaning your head back against the tree, staring up at the blue sky through the gaps.

Him and his two friends have been teasing you the entire 20 minutes you’ve been tied up to this tree, captured by the blue team.

That was horribly embarrassing, but you were doing your best to ignore it- instead doing your best to pray to whatever God would listen that Clarisse would win for the red team.

It’s just plain stupid. He’s been saying the same thing over and over again for 20 minutes- can he at least come up with something original?

Besides, you don’t see where he gets off from this. It’s not like you give any reaction, or even look at him. The most you give him is the occasional squeeze of your hands- imagining his neck under them.

“Maybe she’s forsaken you,” he hums, kicking at your limp leg.

You finally look up at him. You’re sitting on the ground, arms at your sides, back pressed to the tree and rope digging tightly into your chest.

“Maybe your mother gave up on you after the second scar,” he says, staring straight into your eyes. “And then you’ve just gotten uglier and uglier ever since.”

You have scars all over your body. Clarisse has them too, and she shows them off proudly, a dramatic story for each one. You have a horrible memory, so you don’t remember all of them- but the tiny one on your jawline is from you accidentally tripping with scissors in your hand as a kid.

Clarisse had laughed hysterically when you told her about that one, pulling you closer when you pouted, saying something about how she was going to carry all scissors for you in the future.

The one on your collarbone is from sparring gone awry. Clarisse likes to kiss that one- it’s silvery smooth, she says some bullshit about how it feels like your lips.

The big one on your arm is from some clawed monster getting a bit too close to you- slashing at your arm and leaving a permanent tattoo of your failure to kill the monster. Or at least successfully run away.

Then, there’s all the tiny ones you can’t remember.

The boy, you seriously don’t even know his name, looks at you. There’s fire in his eyes, he wants a fight, but you won’t give him one. Especially not when your stomach squeezes inside of you in a way that makes you feel like you might throw up.

The conch mercifully blows, even as you feel sick- you don’t want to let his words effect you. But you just can’t help it.

He gives you an odd look, like he’s contemplating just leaving you out there- but eventually releases you. You stand up, dusting yourself off, grabbing your sword from where it was discarded on the ground.

“Good game!” you say, smiling brightly, but you can’t even pretend to be nice to him, so it tapers off into a laugh. He glares at you, but you’re already jogging through the woods, eager to see Clarisse again.

—-

The blue flag waves proudly above a sea of orange camp t-shirts and red helmets, so you smile widely and skip down to the beach. Your team has formed this huge pit of people, everyone congratulating each other, shouting and celebrating. You stick your sword in the sand as you head into it- one person on your mind.

“Clarisse!” you shout, heading straight towards the middle. “Clarisse!”

She actually rips apart two people hugging to meet you.

“Baby!” she says, even when the two people give her dirty looks, pushing past them and into your arms. “We won!” she giggles, kissing your cheek.

“I know,” you smile, digging your face into her neck. She holds you there for just a moment, hand on the back of your head, relishing in the feeling of her girlfriend running to her after a long day.

“Are you tired?” she fusses, squeezing your waist. “What happened? Did you get hurt? I knew I should have made you stay with me-”

“No, Clar,” you laugh, taking your face out of the hiding spot that is her neck and pressing your noses together. “I got captured,” you sigh.

Her fingers wind through your hair.

She scans the crowd, like she might just beat up any random member of the blue team.

“If they don’t learn to not fucking touch you I am going to make them learn.”

“Guard dog,” you tease her.

“And?” she says, leaning down to kiss the scar she loves kissing, right at the beginning of your collarbone. It makes you freeze. “You love it,” she mumbles against your skin.

You can’t think of an answer.

When you stay silent, she looks up at you, confusion in her face.

“What? You look… sad. Did something happen? What aren’t you telling me?”

“N-nothing,” you breathe, because it’s just embarrassing to know you let his words get to you like this.

“You can tell me anything,” she says, searching your eyes.

“I know.”

The conch blows, making you jump at the sudden loud noise. “Lunch!” someone shouts, and Clarisse settles for just grabbing your hand, walking with you back to camp.

—-

You stop by your cabins first, taking off your armor and switching into clean camp shirts. You hesitate for a second, but eventually put on a thin long-sleeved shirt under the orange.

You take extra care in reapplying your makeup, making sure to cover the scar on your collarbone and your jaw, and once everything is as covered as it’s gonna get you set out.

Clarisse is waiting for you outside the Aphrodite cabin, smiling as you open the door, applying lipstick with one hand. She grabs your hand and helps you down the steps, admiring the way you’re so intensely focused on getting the perfect lip, even without a mirror.

It’s not like you have to try very hard, but still.

“I don’t mind waiting a second longer,” she says, bringing you closer by the waist as you tube the lipstick and stick it in your pocket.

“You’re a hungry demon after capture the flag.”

“Yeah,” she says, not really trying to deny it.

You smile and lean against her, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“Oh, do I look pretty now?” she asks, rubbing in the lipstick that came off onto her lips.

“Always,” you smile.

Her eyes focus in on the green sleeves pulled up to your wrists.

“It’s, like, 100 degrees, baby. You’re gonna boil.”

You frown and shake your head. “No, it’s not that bad. I’m cold.”

She looks at you oddly, but seems to begrudgingly accept it, hand against your forehead as she brushes your hair back. You make it into the buffet style line for lunch, grabbing plates, Clarisse quickly piling hers with a cheeseburger and a hot dog, making you laugh.

“You’re so hungry, all the time,” you mutter when she gives you a dirty look.

“I work out all the time,” she glares. She flexes her arm. “All of this takes a lot of work.”

You stare at her muscles peeking out from just under her sleeves, biting your lip as you quickly look away. She smiles brightly.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought. You love these muscles, don’t judge me.”

You make your way down the line, scanning the trays of food.

“Ooh,” Clarisse coos, “They have your fave, pretty thing.”

She scoops probably the biggest portion of mac n’ cheese you’ve ever seen in your life, slapping it onto your plate with a smile.

You gape at the now almost empty tray, remembering the still long line behind you. Hopefully there’s another one somewhere.

“Clarisse, we should save some for everyone else.”

She seems actually confused by that statement.

“Uh, yeah, no. My girl gets the best.”

“Clarisse-” but you’ve reached the end of the line and she heads off to a table. You follow her, begrudgingly, because you really do covet this mac n’ cheese like it’s ambrosia.

—-

By the time the night rolls around, you’ve retreated into the blankets of your bed, feeling much safer completely covered up. You’re supposed to be going to the bonfire- all of your siblings have come over and bugged you at least once about going, but you’ve refused them all.

Finally, all of your siblings leave in their pretty but revealing outfits- after today, you don’t think you could ever wear something like that again.

The door to your cabin creaks open.

“Y/N?”

You make a mumbled sound in the back of your throat that’s supposed to resemble “I’m here” but Clarisse is already walking over to you and pulling the blanket off of you.

“Silena told me you were staying back. Why?”

You pull the blanket back up over yourself.

“I’m jus’ tired.”

“Okay…” she says, sitting down on the bed. She puts her warm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Do you have a headache?”

“No, Clar, I’m fine.”

“I’m confused,” she huffs. “You love the bonfires. Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you tell me?”

“I’m just tired, Clarisse, that’s all.”

“Fine,” she says. “I can be tired too.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed with you, under the blankets, chest pressed against your back.

“I’m not good at this. You know that,” she sighs after a second. “And I wish I was. But I do know something’s wrong. And I really don’t know for the life of me what it is, but I really want to know. I really want to help you.”

She traces her fingertips up and down your arms, tracing over the silvery scar from the monster- and you involuntarily jerk away.

“Oh,” she says. She’s painfully observant. She notices everything. She notices you pulling away when she touches your scars. “Your scars.”

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them.

“W-when I got captured, this boy kept teasing me. And I tried not to let it bother me, I tried not to give him a reaction… but I just- what if I’m not worthy of my mother anymore? It’s embarrassing. I know. But I…”

“Who the fuck said that to you?”

She sits up, eyes blazing, like she can just imagine it and whoever hurt you will suddenly feel her wrath.

You turn around so you’re facing her, laughing.

“I don’t even know his stupid name,” you mutter.

She looks down at you, at the tears spilling from your pretty eyes.

“I’ll kill him later,” she mumbles, settling back down and kissing the corner of your cheek. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, baby. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I’ve never met your mother, of course, so I can say that without getting us both struck down by doves, or something.”

You swat her chest.

“I’ll kill you with doves, watch me.”

She hums. “Probably. Okay, stop. You’re getting me off topic.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not good with my words,” she whispers. “But I hope I show you everyday that you are the only woman I have eyes for. This is, like, really embarrassing… but I’ve planned out our entire lives together. We’re gonna go to to college in Arizona by my mom, we’ll have an apartment off-campus, and after we graduate we’ll get married. I really wanna be married to you. And I don’t care if that’s cheesy, I just really want you to look at the ring I’ll give you and be able to feel all my love. Besides, if you ever want to get away from me, it’ll be a hell of a lot harder.”

“I would never wanna get away from you, Clar,” you smile. “It’s not embarrassing. I wanna go to college in Arizona. I wanna marry you.”

“Good, because you didn’t really have a choice,” she smiles.

“And you’re plenty good with your words.”

“Yeah… okay, I guess. But let me show you, too.”

“What does that even-”

She shuts you up by kissing your lips.

“I love your lips. I love how soft they are, and how they feel so perfect against me.”

She kisses your cheek.

“I like your cheeks for the same reasons.”

Your temple, your forehead, your nose.

“Same reasons,” she smiles.

Finally she ends up at your jawline. She rubs over the scar, taking concealer and foundation with the pad of her thumb.

“And I love this scar. It looks kind of like a C, so everyone knows you’re mine.”

“Freak,” you huff, and she doesn’t have to say it. You both know you love it.

She kisses your neck and talks about how she loves the way you get mad at her for leaving hickeys, the dedication you pour into covering them up before you eventually decide it’s too much effort and let them show.

She kisses the scar on your collarbone.

“I like putting my head here, right under your chin. I can feel your pulse. I can hear you swallow, too, which is weird but also soothing.”

She kisses from your shoulder and down to your arm, skimming past the scar. She kisses the back of your hand and your fingertips.

“I love it when you braid my hair, or just put your hands in my hair for… other reasons.”

“Freak,” you mumble again. “You’re just obsessed with kissing me.”

“True,” she hums, kissing back up to your scar. “I don’t have anything poetic to say about this one. It’s just fucking badass. I mean, you got it when you were 12- you survived what most have been something truly monstrous to leave a scar like this, and that’s all you get? Most of the kids here would have died. Even the ones our age. And you escaped when you were only 12.”

You smile like a lovesick fool. The apocalypse could be going on outside, and you would just be here with Clarisse.

“In conclusion, your beauty is actually life changing. I mean, have you seen me? I become a total softie, just for you. And it’s all because I like seeing that pretty smile on your gorgeous face. But you frown pretty, too, which I didn’t even know was possible- so I win either way.”

You smile and put your hand on her face, kissing her softly.

“Thank you, Clar. For always taking care of me, and reassuring me…”

“It’s quite literally my job,” she smiles. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“You don’t even trust me, Little Miss Makes-My-Plate-For-Me.”

She laughs and presses her head under your chin, her hair tickling your skin, pressing a kiss to your scar.

“It’s my job,” she smiles. “As your girlfriend and future wife.”

“I love you, Clarisse,” you whisper, a secret just for the two of you. Nothing can have you here. No pain, no suffering.

“I love you too,” she says. “I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.”

—-

the kid who bullied you walking around with a big ass scar on his cheek the next day 😍😍😍😍😍 no….. no clarisse did not cut him with her spear….. ofc not….

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

[hotluncheddie]

Day 5: Possessive Steve

"Rockstar"

Ao3

wc: 1.7k | rated: E | tags: Sub Eddie Munson, established relationship, blowjobs, mention of exhibitionism

written for @subeddieweek <3

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Eddie always gets like this after a show - flighty and restless, unable to sit down. Even after a good fucking show like they had tonight. A good fucking metal fucking show. 

He just can’t ever seem to wind down, to stop, to think. 

He tried to fix it with whisky, but that didn’t go well. Not for anyone. He tried weed too and that works, sometimes, if he gets the timings right it can help him sleep. But mostly he just paces, while he waits. waits for the one thing he knows will help. Help him out of his head. Help him relax enough to go eat with the band, get some sleep tonight. Ready to start it all over again tomorrow. 

‘Hey rockstar.’ 

Steve. 

Steve smiles at Eddie’s from where he leans against the open doorway, arms crossed. He looks perfect like always; neat and put together and sinful in one of Eddie’s old merch designs. 

He strides over, pulling Steve in and closing the door, locking it and grabbing Steve’s hand, stepping in for a kiss and just as quickly stepping out again, pulling him further into the room. 

Eddie doesn’t realise he’s asking questions too close together, hands flailing, not leaving any breath for an answer. ‘Do you want a drink? Food? How was the show? Was your seat okay? Are you tired?’ Until Steve squeezes his hand and steps in real close, ghosting his mouth over Eddie’s. 

‘No, no, really fucking good, yes and no stop worrying.’ Steve mumbles, stopping Eddie in his tracks, arms limp at his sides. Steve tugging them closer by Eddies belt loops. 

Steve’s voice is low, soothing, playful. ‘My seat was perfect, I could see you so well. And….’ Steve leans in, hot breath against Eddie’s ear. ‘There was a couple in front of me tonight, wanna know what they were talking about?’

Eddie shivers, Steve stepping them back once, twice, Eddie’s back hitting the wall. Steve’s fingers digging into his waist. He waits for Eddie, eyeing him. ‘Please’ Eddie whispers eventually, mind finally catching up, body ready for what might be about to come. 

Steve smirks, dipping in close again. ‘The girl said she wanted you as her hall pass baby, and her boyfriend said okay. Said he understood.’ Steve whispers, shoving his thigh between Eddie’s. ‘My little slut. Showing off for the crowd all night. You love it don’t you?’ Steve kisses down Eddies neck. ‘I bet a whole stadium of people would pay just to watch you, just to see you like this. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ 

Eddie chokes on his spit, writhing under Steve’s hold. His cock rapidly hardening. ‘Fuck. Steve.’

‘You’re going to give me what all those fans out there were wishing for.’ Steve’s hard length is pressed against Eddie’s hip, grinding. ‘But it’s all mine isn’t it.’

‘Yeah, yeah Steve, yeah.’ Eddie’s feels on fire, head rapidly loosing space for any thoughts that aren’t Steve and the feeling of their bodies pressed flush together. 

Steve laces their fingers and lifts them so Eddie’s hands are either side of his head. ‘Think you can keep these still for me?’ He asks and Eddie nods, he does, he can. 

‘Good, don’t wanna mess up my hair.’ Steve winks and sinks to his knees. 

The clack of his belt being undone makes Eddie blink slow and breathe deep through his nose. ‘You want me to stop just move your hands okay? But if you want to be good then keep them still.’ Steve explains as he palms eddies cock through his boxers. 

Eddie’s eyes widen, he can’t look away, can never look away from Steve when he’s like this, in control and touching. Teasing and tasting and sending Eddie insane. 

Steve slides his mouth all the way down, Eddie buried all the way in his throat. Steve breaths deep through his nose, nuzzles into Eddie’s pubes - said he likes it, having Eddie inside him like this, powerful. 

Eddie balls his fists and wills his hips not to move, sweat beading at his temples. Eddie likes Steve like this too, feels powerless. 

Steve swallows and Eddie whines, throat tired from the stage but he can’t help it when Steve is doing this, can’t help anything when he’s around Steve. 

Steve pulls off and keeps working Eddie with his hand. Lips pink and glossy with spit. Eddie groans. 

‘Feeling good baby?’ Steve asks, smiling up at him, watching Eddie fall apart. 

He nods, arms aching from holding them up, but the ache adds to his high, helps him feel grounded and under Steve’s thumb. 

Steve kissed his tip and tugs his leather pants down further, fingers dancing over his balls and towards his hole. Petting at it and pressing into Eddie’s taint, making him see stars. 

‘Steve.’ Eddie whimpers, thighs shaking and tip pearling, starting to leak. 

‘What?’ Steve asks, innocent. ‘You said it was mine didn’t you?’ He pouts and Eddie wants to thrash, wants to scream but he doesn’t want Steve to ever stop touching him, playing with him. 

‘S’yours. S’yours, always.’ Eddie pants, eyes squeezing shut, leaning heavily on the wall to keep from keeling over. 

Steve pushes his thumb roughly into Eddie’s slit, gathering the cum to slide it over his cock. Eddie’s eyes fly open. ‘Good. Eyes on me baby.’ Steve coos. ‘Now I want you to imagine all those fans are seeing you like this, who think big tough rockstar Eddie Munson could dick them down so well, I want you to show them what you really are okay baby?’ Eddie nods, frantic, not daring to move his eyes from Steve’s face, his hands. ‘Show them what a little slut you are for me, my own little play thing, can you do that baby? Cum down my throat the way all those fans would’ve killed for tonight?’ 

Eddie moans, tensing as Steve’s mouth envelops him again, hot and wet and tight. Bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks the way he knows Eddie loves. That sends him close, and reeling. 

And he does like it. Likes having all those eyes on him, the attention and praise. Even if they don’t really know him, just think he’s hot. that’s enough. It’s why he chooses pants cut extra tight, why he slices the ends off all his t-shirts, why he lets his mascara run and never wipes the sweat from his neck. He wants the crowd to want him, look at him and hunger for him. Even though they’ll never really know him. It’s okay. 

He has Steve, and Steve knows everything. 

Steve’s fingers move again, teasing and pressing at Eddie’s taint, at the bundle of nerves inside him. 

Eddie can’t help but move now, edging closer and closer. He thrusts forwards and rolls his hips, sinking deeper, filthy. Moves the way he does sometimes on stage, when he wants every pair of eyes on him, wants Steve’s eyes on him. Wants to be Steve’s own special rockstar, porn star. Steve’s anything. 

‘Oh god.’ Eddie moans, pushing in deeper and Steve holds him there, hand on his ass, other hand still knuckling his taint. Everything impossibly warm, impossibly close. Held together by this man on his knees. Eddie bucks once as much as he can, mind flashing with the movements of the night, Steves words, the lights and noise of the crowd. 

Steve squeezes and pushes and swallows and Eddie looses himself in everything. Spurting thick and hot down Steve’s throat. Chest heaving and eyes clumping with tears. 

‘’Tevie’ He whimpers, as Steve pulls away and surges up, ripping open the fly of his jeans and latching on to Eddie’s neck. Taking Eddies stiffened arms and fingers into his own. Wrapping them around his waist and holding Eddie close. 

He licks over a spot and bites, hard. No doubt it’ll be a bruise by morning, front and centre for anyone to see. 

‘Ah ah’ Eddie pants as Steve dips lower and bites again, littering his neck with blooms of red. Eddie feels how Steves fisting his own cock, bumping against Eddie’s abdomen, hot breath over his neck. 

Steve licks a long stripe from his collarbone to the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, sealing the marks and leaving a hot, wet, open mouthed kiss on Eddie’s lips. 

‘Wear your hair up tomorrow, want everyone to see.’ Steve pants, close. ‘Promise me.’ Se’s so close, the wet end of his tip slicking Eddie’s happy trail, his own cock giving a twitch. 

Eddie kisses Steve back, licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue. Eddie eyes roll at Steve’s groan. ‘Anything, anything. promise.’ He whines, wants everyone to see, wants people to know. 

Eddie rubs his nose agains Steve’s cheek, still feeling stretched thin and fragile from his orgasm. Steves hot breath on his face. ‘Belong to you.’ He mumbles, voice high and breathy and achingly soft. But this is who he is, who he wants to be. 

Steve buried his hand in Eddie’s hair, tensing and pushing him into the wall, releasing all over Eddie’s hip and pubes. Steve pants for a moment, Eddie sinking into the warm pressure, mouthing at Steve’s cheek and squeezing Steve’s waist. Keeping them close. 

Eddie sniffs, burying himself in Steve’s neck, nuzzling and smelling him, kissing over Steve’s tanned skin. Always so pretty, so perfect. His Steve. 

‘Hey rockstar, you okay?’ Steve asks, pulling Eddie’s head out and ghosting his lips over Eddie’s fluttering eyelids. Kissing his flush cheeks and sweaty forehead. 

Eddie hums, a little loopy, still off in space. But Steve just keeps kissing him, smiling through it, nipping at Eddie’s dimples. ‘’M so proud of you Ed’s, the show was so good tonight.’ Steve mumbles, then sucks lightly on Eddie’s bottom lip. 

Eddie lens into in, kissing Steve back, he feels happy and settled and like his bones are all back in the right place, all the staticky anxiety gone from his brain. ‘You mean the show out there or the one in here?’ He asks, grin forming, still not opening his eyes. 

Steve pinches him on the hip and Eddie yelps, giggling. Steve kisses him once more, murmuring a fond little ‘brat’ before stepping away to get tissues, tucking himself back in his jeans. 

‘Come on.’ Steve claps, once Eddie’s clean and his pants are re-buttoned, ‘I want dinner.’ He says, walking Eddie out of the door, plastered against his back. 

Eddie goes willingly, ready for food with the band, to have a couple drinks, enjoy Steve’s hand on his thigh. Then, sleep. 

And then he’ll do it all again tomorrow. 

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Tag List: @pearynice @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scoops-aboy86 @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor @marvel-ous-m

[beescrafting]

Headcanons/lore for my Forsaken au

these are my thoughts about 1x1x1x1 and how telamon's hate was ripped out from him

(tw: gore, mutalation, cult stuff)

alot of this isn't in like a real order in some way, a lot of it is just stuff I come up on the spot and just write down (thank you for listening to my insane ramblings @/the-peaceful-anon/@/lost-ginger-detective)

The topics that will be held are how 1x1x1x1 came to be, Noli and his true personality, and the effects that came from after the hate left shedletsky's form.

if any of these subjucts to worry you please do not read any further!

alot of this is for my ask comic, but then again a lot of my personal headcanons are being used for the ask comic/forsaken au.

_____________________________________________________

when shedletsky's anger was ripped from his body, breaking from his back and destroying his wings and injuring him to the point he was nearly dead... the hatred shifted in the ritual grounds before finding the dead body of what would have become a great admin, leaving its living host to take control of this dead one it created 1x1x1x1...

they still bear the same features as shedletsky, and even some habits... but they embody the worst of him, his cunning side to trick those, for others to feel pain, to cause misery...

meanwhile, Shedletsky who was limp on the floor, shredded wings beside him, holding onto them while mumbling with tears: "i can't... i can't feel... no... i can't.." while breaking down...

builderman found him and quickly fought of the cultest all apart of that Spawn religion started by Noli... builderman ask if telamon had found the missing admin child, and shedletsky only responded with: "that bastard killed him... i failed... im sorry.." before passing out from blood lose and pain...

my thoughts are that noli finding out that telamon was training 1x1x1x1 from being a hacker to an admin would kidnap that small child with the help of his cult, leave a note for him to find...

when telamon comes to recuse his trainie which he came to view as a son he is swarmed by the cult of spawn, by people like two time, and held down by the circle as Noli kills the kid in the name of spawn

evily grinning at Shedletsky as he screams, this was his reveange for him taking 007n7 from him...

the circle would glow green as the cult members drag shedletsky to the center alongside the dead body of 1x1x1x1, he grabs to hold the body before the glowing gets worse...

sobbing and mumbling how sorry he is, that its okay, that his big brother is here now...

his back begins to prickle in pain as the ritual starts to take place, they were going to harvest the anger and pain of an admin to create a great hacker....

___

Noli-

noli is a possessive bastard, he's evil, he doesn't care for most, but if he wants it he'll have it until its boring for him.

while 007n7 was injured noli did care for him, but he knew the risk of what would be coming, so when he left for a walk in the forst to collect his thoughts, one of the main was to abandon this life for something better.

he shook that thought out before trying to go back to their home, he stopped after seeing Telamon close by.

and like the coward he is, he fled... choosing to save his own skin then to try and save n7's... his injured partner.

noli left, starting the cult of spawn after starting his experiments to try and clone and create beings of the same power as 007n7, someone he adored just for his power...

thats how c00lkidd and bluudud came to be, forged from the horns of 007n7 mixed with the dna of an extinct roblxxian creature to make something easy for him to control..

he accidentally made the cult, but he didn't stop it, it made it easier to hide in some ways, more places with groups of people who'd do anything if he convinced them...

he formed experimental labs out of certain groups, control groups and such... one of the cults for his experiments is one that Azura and Two time would be apart of, that subject line and experiment was: "respawning and death"

noli wanted to try and give robloxians an extra life, thats what he told the cultiest but truly it was just for himself...

Noli is the baseline example of a Psychopath.

___

Builderman-

builderman would take the injured shedletsky back to roblox HQ, john doe would be pissed the hell off, panicked because one of his best admins and someone he viewed as a son was nearly murdered!

Mr. Doe would order Builderman to take Shedletsky somewhere hidden while he went to take care of Noli...

Builderman, after finishing up closing Shedletsky's gapping back wound, would take shedletsky to 007n7's home, to that world...

007n7 would be shocked, but let them in and care for Shedletsky both outta panic and worry... he truly did change from that ruthless killer hacker/exploiter he use to be...

once he learned Noli had done this, n7 truly was horrified, petting Shedletsky's head as that injured man lay limp and exhausted, numb from a numbness effect n7 had given him to help with the pain..

n7.... he couldn't believe this... he felt horrible... felt guilty... as if he had caused this...

and in some way he did... because he didn't stop Noli's toxic behavior.

little baby c00lkid would coo softly, from his little play piin on the floor while bluudud ran around as builderman sat in the chair... grey from worry as well...

shedletsky was placed in a coma to heal from his wounds.

---

I will be turning these thoughts into a fanfic or oneshot with some art in it. that will be posted here, and if I can manage, it'll be posted on bluesky and twitter as well.

let me know if this is something you'd actually enjoy and I'll work on it more alongside my ask comic (which is still open *cough cough, nudge nudge*)

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: haluuu, I don’t do tag list my loves. But here it is. Leave a comment and reblog

Masterlist Prologue

“Give me your phone,” the nameless man ordered as he limped to the kitchen. You turned to look at him, pausing from cooking to give him attention. You looked at his entirety. You weren’t able to take him in a few nights ago when he was literally dying on your garden, or when he was in and out of delirious state during his recovery, or when he finally opened his eyes and spewed bullshit from his shamefully beautiful mouth.

“Looking at you,” you started as you leaned against the counter. You crossed your arm and a thoughtful expression crossed your face. Your hand was rubbing your chin as you pointedly looked him over- his disheveled state, his injured leg and how he favored his right side, and his pale skin. He looked like he fought with death himself, which technically was correct. “Looking at you, I now fully believe that Darwin was right.”

He blinked owlishly, his mind slowly processing what you said but his still weak body was making it difficult. Fuck, he missed being sharp. It had only been a week and he was ready to go back to his life. He missed people fearing him. He missed the feeling of people, even grown men, physically shivering when he walked in the room. Yet you, a woman living alone did not even flinch once from his threats. “What?”

You shrugged, “You know…theory of evolution and stuff…”

“Are you calling me a monkey?!”

Your answer was an indulgent smile. Well, if the shoe fits, you thought. You turned your back on him and brought the meal on the table. He noticed how you set two dinner sets, yet he didn’t bring it up. He only faltered for a moment, your immense kindness and how you were willing to feed him despite his less than pleasant attitude was starting to put him off.

He followed you and you didn’t know how, but when you turned around, there he was. He was standing too close for a stranger, his dark eyes looking down at you. He was so close that the thick strands of his hair touched your cheek. His hands were on either side of your hips, leaning against the table. “Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

You sighed, putting your hand on his hard chest. “I really, really don’t want to poke your wounds again. Please. For the love of God, don’t make me,” you said in exasperation, your hand hovering over his side where the wound was.

He blinked twice, fully mulling over your words. They weren’t a threat. They were a promise. And so, for the first time, he retreated with his head bowed down. How could someone as small as you managed to threaten someone as powerful as him?!

You smiled at his obvious reluctance before patting his shoulder twice and walking around him. You busied yourself by putting dishes on the table, never minding the stranger behind you until you were sat down. You looked at him and smiled, “Okay, try again. But this time, say please.”

He glared at you, “Please be aware that I hate you.”

“Okay, and?”

“And please. Give me your phone.”

Min Yoongi pressed the phone to his ear after walking out of your little house. He looked around while he waited for that fucker to pick up the phone. It was dark when he stumbled across your home that night, and it was only now that he was able to freely observed where he was at. His less than…pleasant activities were what brought him to this little town. The dealings that required his personal touch was a bust. Some asshole who would soon returned the life that was gifted to him decide to betray him. If he wouldn’t voluntarily surrender his life, well he would have to take it.

He looked around your house to somehow distract him from his murderous thoughts. Your house was small, yet it looked so domestic. Overgrown vines had already found its way to your walls, slowly enveloping your house with Ivy vines and flowers. His dark brow raised when he noticed that your house desperately needed minor yet many repairs. He gave the house one more year of survival before it succumbed to the pressure of keeping it together. He shook his head theatrically at the thought of how you were able to survive living on your own in this kind of house.

But what did he care, right?

It seemed that your neighbors, although far in between, all lived as simply as you did. Well at least no one would tattle about his strange presence here.

“Who’s this?”

Finally.

“Yah-” he seethed when he heard Jimin answered the phone.

“Hyung!” He wailed dramatically that Yoongi’s ear rang from the volume. “I thought you died! I thought you left me alone in this boring world! How could you not contact me-“

“Are you done?” He cut him off knowing he had limited time for his over-the-top dramatics.

“No-“

“You’re done. What do you know, Jimin? Who’s the mole?”

Jimin’s voice immediately sobered at Yoongi’s question. He had been researching for days about who might have betrayed them and the organization Yoongi himself created from the ground. The organization did not tolerate mistakes. More so, the leader himself did not tolerate betrayal.

And the fucker betrayed the leader himself.

“I had a lead. But then each time I was even remotely close to sniffing his trail, I hit a dead end. The fucker is smart. And he obviously wants to dethrone you.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched from the barely restrained rage he felt. It was a huge mistake. Betraying him was the biggest mistake he could have ever made in his life.

“Hyung, I’m cleaning this up. But you absolutely cannot return yet.”

He raised his dark brow at Jimin’s serious voice. “Why is that?”

“Because I don’t think he’s acting alone. If you take one step here, I am certain he’ll be able to finish what he started.”

He clenched his jaw and it would have cracked from the strength had he not controlled himself. How could anyone infiltrated his organization? Who fucked up? And who did he have to kill?

“I need resources, Jimin.”

“Hyung…that’s another thing,” he said sheepishly and Yoongi knew this wasn’t going to be a good news. Great. His fucking week had been going fucking great. “I am certain even I am being watched. If I send you money now, they would know you’re alive. Give me time. I swear to you my life, you will rule Korea again.”

You jumped from fright when you heard your phone land on the table. With your hand clutching your chest, you looked up angrily at the man you were increasingly regretting saving.

You meant, honestly, he looked like a grumpy cat. And how difficult was it to say thank you?

The nameless man plopped in front of you and began eating. “Had a good call?”

He shrugged, busying himself with devouring your food. The days he spent recovering took a toll in his body and he had to replenish. After all, he had almost met the devil himself.

“So when are you leaving?”

“I was standing beside you for a minute and you didn’t even see me,” he stated in a deadpanned voice as though he didn’t care either way. “Why is that?”

You rolled your eyes at him. Should he answer your question with his own question? “Well honey, I’m blind.”

He scoffed before shifting his focus at you. “Sure you are. And no, I won’t leave just yet.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed, confusion clouding your face.

He smiled angelically at you. If only you knew back then that he was anything but a heaven sent, you would have kicked him out. Or better yet, you would have ran away from him.

You should have ran away.

You should have.

But now, it was too late.

“I’m staying here, angel.”

Latibule II

[joannasteez]

nsfw alphabet | romans reigns

pairing: roman reigns x black reader

warning/authors note: self explanatory. explicit content below! minors please do not interact. i been wanting to do one of these for a little minute so here it us.

(A) AFTERCARE

the throb in your spine is sweet. but it is torture. it aches. takes the course of your muscles, leaving you limp and short breathed. dragging moans pass into whimpers, the split of your ears and that wayward blur of vision taking you fast. he was good, too much even, making a mess of you to please his own needs. an insatiable desire to see you broken and undone. he loved you, a natural dedication to you like the sun to it's sky, but he loved to wreck you just as easily. pull you to pieces just to build you whole again. 

so he holds you close, like a soft mold against the wide build of him. a tender grip of hands and light kisses to your pulse that will away those harsh thumps of blood. he kneads and caresses. slots the wet of his tongue till its between your lips, taking you in for a tender kiss. whispers delicate into your skin, sweet nothings, that sound like everything. "so beautiful". fingers warms. soothing. "feeling so good on me". his mouth lazy and loving. "you were made for me". 

and you preen, nudge your nose to his and wrap your legs tighter. maybe in the hope to stick to him. 

(B) BODY PART

theres always a favorite, but whats more important is the occasion. for his more amorous needs, when his skin grows skittish and hot. fingers flexing with need, twitching at nothing in the hopes to touch you soon, he will absolutely bring his mouth to your breast. squeeze and pinch and groan till he's had his fill. flick and roll his tongue at the hard of your nipples, messy drips of his spit slipping down past his mouth. and he groans. takes his time and feels you tremble in his lap, breath hitching as you grind at him for some form of friction. 

but when he isn't that needy, struck by lust. his favorite part of your body is your neck. it's where his lips go, if not at your lips, they trail the skin there at your neck. at home, at gatherings. quick pecks and lingerings kisses. it's intimate and possessive. 

(C) CUM

roman had resolved himself early on to the idea that, if he was gonna come undone anywhere, that it'd always be inside you. the tight mess of your heat too incredible to ignore or forsake. he'd groan, something strangled and rugged, hips rutting wild and ill controlled, and when he was ready, he'd pull from the softness of you slow and watch his spend drip lazy.

but you'd changed his mind. or rather, you'd given him a different perspective. in some summer country villa in the dead of the night, surrounded by melted candles and the lulling scent of lavender. you'd been particularly fired up and demanding. "kneel", you'd told him, and without much fight he'd dipped his tongue through your slit. committing the taste of your clit to memory. every moan you made hardening him till his dick ached from the faintest touch. but he worked you good, pleased you, and when he was through, you took him, hot and stiff in your hand and ran him through the soaked mess of your pussy. and there he stayed. rutting and groaning, till his speed and control broke to nothing and he came there. just at your clit. chest rising and falling deep. 

your fingers rubbed and teased his cum at your slit, arching and spreading as he watched. he felt the possession in it, a silent claim that you were his. 

(D) DIRTY SECRET

you're a charming woman. you make people smile. so when the guys on the roster meet you, it's no question that their hand shakes come with a brighter smile, something more genuine than before. and their eyes linger a little longer when they think roman isn't looking. "i like your shoes", but its really your legs. "i like your dress", but it's really your figure. "you look nice today", but they'd rather say beautiful, their eyes flitting to your lips. 

but he hates that part of him would like to watch. he would like to see you with someone else, only to have you after, and have them realize that the difference is jarring. they'd pale in comparison, because you were made for him, or rather that's what he'd like to believe. it's all voyeurism for prides sake, a simple means for his ego to swell. so he keeps that tucked away from you, in the deepest parts of him. where the control of it is strong and true.

(E) EXPERIENCE 

its not about how experienced he is but more of what the experience is like being with him. his in ring persona is manipulative and domineering and a lot of an asshole. he takes pieces of all those things and sprinkles them throughout the loving ways he takes care of you. teases and controls the pace, between kisses. whispers of sweet nothings in between taunts that leave you desperate for more of him. when he grunts, and urges you to "take it". when his hips grind and an awfully harsh beat moves his heart at the dazed sight of you. "my good girl", he'll say in praise. and "i love you", when your eyes take his own in a deep stare. 

but sometimes the tribal chief bleeds into his eyes, suffers the softer parts of him to quiet and he becomes merciless, even in his mercy. tosses and pulls at your body to have you exactly where he wants you and when you spasm hard and soak his skin and sheets a sodden mess he scoffs. feigning disgust as you spurt wet and unrestrained. narrowing his eyes at the shivers your body takes, your voice small and sobbing. begging. “im sorry”, you cry, thighs wet from the seemingly endless onslaught of him. feeling him press into the arch of you back. his knee bending for a better angle. a more brutal pace. he sneers in a taunting manner, reveling in the weight of his power. “no, no youre not. you love coming for me”, his breath heavy. “so fucking needy”.

it's an intense experience.

(F) FAVORITE POSITION

missionary, missionary, missionary. with your legs bent to your chest, spread and aching. well yes, of course. BUT. those lazy days, afternoons, nights, whenever they are, moments on the couch still. when the lights are low and the breeze is a little more than just chilly. you find your self hot, skin damp, nothing more than moans and a mess of whimpers, hips taking a slow ride atop him. the pace lax, his lips sticky from the filthy roll of your tongue. "take your time sweetheart", his palms spread and caressing at your hips. working through the ache. "get what you need", soft and sure. "fuck me till you come" as his hips push upward, a tender nudge into the clutch of your slick heat. hot and hard and patient for you. 

(G) GOOFY

playful during? not so much. maybe when you both have had a drink or two. not drunk but buzzed, and you're not so steady. not as poised and put together. a little clumsy and falling over him. he's kissing your skin, leading with tongue and ending with painless nips of his teeth. you giggle and squirm, and he tries to get you to still. to concentrate, but you giggle more. more and more and it makes this big burly man atop you snort. a cute silly little moment before you're kissing him and asking him to take you slowly. 

(H) HAIR

yes yes yes, he trims. not enough to be bare but its clean. it looks kept, but who gives a fuck about that when he's got a head of hair like he does. its this raven black color almost. inky and long. sticking to his skin, falling over his eyes and at the soft line of his lips. it whips up when his head nudges hard, slick at his back threatening to fall over once more as he pushes his tongue to taste the inner warmth of your thighs. your fingers pulling through it to urge him. his hair is always soft. like fine silk running through your palm. and when you rough at the root, pleading, enough to give him a firm guide to where you need him most, he grunts and waits for another tough short pull because he's such a damn tease. and sometimes when need overtakes the natural authority of him, his hair will get messy, splay out and over till its everywhere, fluffy and kind of damp, as he kisses you with sticky wet lips. sloppy and full of breath. his tongue drunk and his eyes threatening to roll. he clings to you like his own strands of hair. utterly addicted.

(I) INTIMACY

the feeling was an odd one, something new and less known to him. this breaking in his bones, in the wide stretch of muscle, where strength holds fast and his resolve proves unbendable. its a tension in him that splits even till it grows raw to the touch. every one of your kisses making him shiver till groans push hard from his chest without restraint. his spine throbs and in the deep parts of his ears resound this heavy pulsing. his nape shivers at your touches there, delicate and tender. your skin soft and sweet to the tough build of him. you hum and purr, a moan and a kiss, his hips slow to move but persistent for the tight vice of you. he breathes heavy, warm. cursing the ache in his gut for the way it coils and burns unashamed. his eyes watered with yours, welling till a tear slips free. "tell me again", roman pleads. his fingers nailing into the sheets, the brown of his eyes earthy and sincere. "tell me please". and the seam of your lips play along his, sharing his breaths, the pound of his heart rolling into your chest. your arms about him, clinging desperate to savor. his forehead rests against yours and you whisper amongst the silence. "i love you". 

(J) JACK OFF

its a mixture of preference and occasion. alone and needy, he’ll conjure up the filthiest fantasy. your body, your skin, the wet take of your lips and the tender claw in of your nails to him. lines drawn from broad shoulders to the slim curve in of his waist. begging with tears, with short faint breath. please please please, you’d beg. his wrist stiff and his palm tight as he strokes hard, trying to replicate the shape of you. somehow soft and unrelenting all the same, powerful enough to bring him to his knees. and when the dream is vivid enough, the blur of his imagination coming into something defined, he can almost feel you. and just there, amongst the rain of a shower, he’ll come. groans broken and stuttered in their escape.

but it isn’t always like this, left by himself to work through the tension mounting in his bones. sometimes the air is more sultry, more sensual than the emptiness of white bathroom tiled walls and warm prickling water. sometimes he’ll melt into your touch, into the leather of the sofa. he’ll whimper and curse, breathy and fighting for patience, finding himself undone and ill suited to do anything but beg for you to be near him. and you’ll kiss the skin behind his ear, trail lazy and seductive till you take his neck as a place to taste. to lick and suck, teeth nipping to tease. and your hand goes strict, this steady wringing of your wrist that coax’s his hips to lift, chasing the feeling. he huffs, struggles to fight the unraveling that awaits him, breath hot and delicate as he nudges into your neck. lips attempting to kiss, to gain some form of control, but he grasps at nothing, left dazed in his own desperation. he mumbles, incoherent.

“fuck i-“

“please”

“oh-ah…shit”

every muscle in him tenses, a stillness where his breath hitches, before his nerves rattle wild. he drags through a groan, chest pulling in and pushing out, breath after breath as he comes.

(K) KINK

say it with me. overstimulation. roman, within the boundaries that have been set, is menacing. he schemes, he plots. he thinks methodically, and he acts out his ideas in ways that you have only ever briefly dreamed of because trust is a scary thing to give. he'd of course only step as far as you'd let him, but roman was a big man, and so the distances he could cover were more than enough to meet your every desire. and he took to ropes easily, their weight, the strength of a knot as it wrapped about your skin, tight but not too much. the supple inner flesh of your thighs bare and bound, your pussy dripping with anticipation as darkness loomed. the tie around your eyes silky and assuring. you could feel him staring, a grand statuesque form roaming about the room as you laid spread and shallow breathed. 

the bed dipped and you fought against the pounding in your chest, begging for it to still with shudders. the seconds drawn slow into minutes. 

his mouth this gentle skim above yours, tongue slipping to run faint. "breathe babygirl". 

you chase the phantom of his lips for something. a kiss, his tongue, anything. he chuckles dark, a rumbling from his chest that leaves you eager. 

"you trust me?", he asks. fingers running in a clever maneuver toward where you ache for him. his thumb a sweet delicate caress at the pulse of your clit. 

you body melts into the bed, back arching as your hips buck for friction. "ahh", the length of his middle and ring finger burying deep till they cover wet to the knuckle. "oh fuck me, i need-"

"not yet", he cuts. his fingers resting idle in you. letting you throb and pulse. letting you feel and rest in the depth of his touch. 

(L) LOCATION

let's set the scene shall we?...steam, a thick cloud. water raining with a prickling heat. the cascade of it stressing a warmth into your skin, but nothing that beats the heat of him. the tower of his body, taut and statuesque. he's all muscle and power, the pull and push of his hips is vicious and beautiful. languid and tormenting. his mouth drapes your neck, trails lazy till his nose nudges into wet hair. curses and groans deep, melodic. he ruts singleminded, the heart of his pleasure stored in the devious clench of your pussy. his breaths draw in, they release, they shudder, waver with weakness, drag and go broken, all done by the tight slick dripping between your legs. flowing till it trickles along the shower floor. 

and he likes the echo here. the bounce of your moans from tile to tile, till it finds itself slipping clever into his ear. the shower differs from the bed, calls for something possessive and raw. the space doesn't open the way it would in his bed. here he stills your body, holds your hips and wills into your flesh the need to trust him. to trust the hold he has on your body.

your hand trembles, dainty and desperate. pulls his fingers till his palm rest just at the soft of your mound. you groan, weak and dazed. eyes threatening to roll. 

"how's that sweetheart? you like me there? you like me stretchin' that pussy?" 

a tear wells. your voice small. "yes".

(M) MOTIVATON

let's revisit his dirty secret, that slight voyeuristic streak in him that wonders about you with other people. and though he, in the deeper, more quiet parts of him, likes to fantasize about it, what gets his blood going more than knowing they wouldn't hold a candle to him, is the subtle and not so subtle ways you reject these advances. you feel the stares and the lingering touches, the charming smiles and the eagerness for small talk. and you indulge to a degree; coy grins, little intimate laughs where your hand takes to a strong arm that isn't roman's and that slight head tilt to the side as a whisper flows to your ear like some little hushed secret. 

and these little events are all the same. wrestlers in a room, drinking and eating, chatting about everything and anything. 

it's a little easy to slip into a few drinks, to get comfortable. sometimes overly comfortable. and while it doesn't always happen, there are moments where the air pushes beyond flirty into something more solid and the veil is lifted. you pull back, feeling roman's eyes turn cold, because the game is only fun for you when he's playing too. 

"whats one more drink?", someone from the roster will ask. completely taken by your charm. a hand attempting to reach for the lower dip-in of your back to guide you to the bar. "one too many", a soft smile. quick and naturally small about your movements as you slip away from them  and back over to roman before anything else can transpire. 

"having fun?", he'll ask. 

"not anymore", a gentle pout. standing under the burden of his eyes. the grip of his hand at your waist a little more firm than usual. trying against his will to calm. 

he hates to love this little game. 

"we gotta fix that". 

but the fix is a blunt stroke of his hips. hot fingers and an even hotter release. it's this odd chain reaction of waiting and watching, till the possession in him unfurls broad and stifling. his palms twitch and his nose flares. you could have anyone and anything you wanted, this he knew for sure, but you were here with him. choking on the heaviness of a moan as he fucked rough into you against the sink of a bathroom. 

"he'd never have you, none of them would. not like this, so desperate and ready to come".

pride blooming in his chest, the soft warm pull of your heat greedy and unsatisfied as you drip against him. 

(N) NO

roman won't do anything non-consensual based, and nothing that could directly compromise his hygiene or yours. he's all about trust and a shared experience, and if anything goes against that, he won't even consider it. 

(O) ORAL

curtains sweep, flowing delicate. a soft glow taking to your skin as they sway, working to tame the harsh rush in of the morning sun. and the view from where he stands is picturesque. the drape of you against the sheets reminiscent of beloved paintings of old, far too fine and intricate to be handled. but here, he gets to touch you, form the heat of his hands to tender skin. and of course roman aims to be gentle. aims to caress light, to enjoy the feel of you without such harsh rushes of desperation. and he does it well, molds his lips to you unhurried, patient, there at your neck, the smooth plain of your shoulders, till they grow deep and lingering, teasing where your collarbone lives. 

you shift awake, moaning with a drunken sort of awareness. tethered some still to sleep. your fingers roaming the wide stretch of his back. taut muscle and warm skin.

roman finds himself nestling in at where heat runs just at your inner thighs. so close to where you begin to yearn for him.

the steadiness of his patience feeling to you more and more like teasing. 

his tongue licks warm and simple. riles up the rest of your nerves that dare still to sleep. and his lips move, in tandem with deft fingers. panties pulling over and away to make room for the heavy heat of his breath. 

he’s just there, looming over the throb of your clit. eyes lazy and growing fascinated at the way you clench and release about nothing but the anticipation of his touch. 

the tip of his nose leads the seam of his lips as they ghost and when he speaks, your hips chase that faint soft bed of his mouth. hungry for him. 

“i had a dream about you”, he muses. suckling the skin where your inner thigh bends. 

your voice breaks off the remnants of sleep. tone coarse but still to him so damn sweet. “yeah? about what?”

“doesn’t matter”, he hums. a wet gentle strike of his tongue at the tip of your clit. testing the reflex of your hips, a satisfied grin as he watches your hips roll and arousal pool. “you being there was enough” 

you chuckle. hissing as his thumbs spread your wider, angling to push in and trap your clit. the nub pulses, forces an arch to form just at your back. 

“you love to sweet talk”. words breathy. 

“you love to hear it”.’

“roman…”, you urge. pleading his name. 

he hums. “you ever known me not to take care of u?”

“no”. 

“then relax for me”. command gentle and restraining. 

his thumbs move, circling firm. but you need more. 

he's touched you, but barely, not in the way's you've at many times known him to, when the air is heavy, your body's clinging and rutting one against the other, senseless and wild. in those times, the urgency takes him and possesses him with a more vicious sort of passion. storming with impatience. but his time here though, as he skims your skin and takes delight in the heavy bursts of breath from your chest, whiny and incapable of waiting, is endless. 

and his restraint has much reason, if nothing more than to see you weak and undone. his kisses sweet at the light quiver taking your thighs, and the soft slipping lick he takes at the fat of clit. a steady downward stroke, moving to reach at the wet clench of your entrance, till he curls lazy, drooling with thirst, adding to the mess of you. 

oh his restraint has much reason, mouth working till it covers over the whole of your lower lips, roman's hands like nails as they push to suffer your thighs under their weight. anything to spread you further, to get himself deeper into the taste of you. tongue prodding till it dips through to where you drip and throb, muscles clenching, begging for a stretch and to feel the fullness it knows he can give it.

he slurps obnoxious, your taste steeping in till it soaks his mouth. forces something raw out of his chest, a lax groan that rattles your bones. 

and he holds there, suckling till he feels you grow weak into the bed. whimpers that break off fragile. 

his touch, where ever it finds itself, is all passion. every flick and caress, every roll and kiss and tensing bite, every moan and every second he takes to please you is this raw form of devotion. a wordless sort of reverence that is singleminded in its plot to draw from you the finest pleasure. 

(P) PACE

he's an all around type of guy, and the pace varies upon his mood, but you can always tell what you'll get before he even touches you. when those coffee brown eyes twinkle in their mischief, and his touch pours hot into your skin, you know he'll tease you till your nerves stress and your voice breaks with begging. the dip and roll of his hips shallow and unfulfilling. almost like he can't stand to see you happy and satisfied, and you hate to love him then. his taunting words and the amusement in his eyes, high off control.

but sometimes he reads more vicious. his touch is the harsh piercing of a nail and his hips knock into you rough as they see to your undoing. he spreads you wide and grows relentless, ego fed by the writhing of your body and the limp form your moans take. his pace is brutal then, stills your hips to dig into you till he's buried to the hilt. 

and other times a softness overtakes him, washes him whole and drives him to the utmost gentleness. his ministrations grow tenderly deft, hips steady and patient. he takes the time to feel you, every short twitch and the lingering way you cling and pull at him, coaxes him deeper till you've taken every part of him. 

(Q) QUICKIE

if he doesn't have to have a quickie he won't, but life doesn't work that way and sometimes, when the pull in his gut is far too harsh to ignore, he'll pull you aside and make quick work of sharing that neediness, till you're attacking him quick and breathy, kissing his lips wet and hasty. his hips rutting, sweat breaking at his skin, his forehead nestled into your neck as he chases that heavy pulling in his gut and the burn in his flesh that comes with release. 

(R) RISK

he's not as much of a risk taker as he'd maybe like to be. he's very much all about his image and staying negative press free. and you of course respect his wishes, but there are times where he will indulge your riskiness, at private events mainly, where cameras are more than likely non-existent. 

(S) STAMINA 

his restraint will more than likely dictate this in a way. if he's hard pressed to release the tension in his bones, he makes quick good work of taking care of you before he does so for himself, and sometimes that can look a little quicker than usual but other times, more often than not, the pleasure can feel endless, with these short bouts of reprieve, right before he's back to doling out pleasure. 

(T) TOYS

the voyeur in him can't hate your use of toys and you are more than proficient at pleasing yourself. can you bring yourself to a hair pulling release, completely breathless and ears split as you feel the undoing of your nerves, maybe not as intensely, but thats where he comes in. he's all about the collaboration, anything to see you twitch and quiver uncontrolled, to have you begging and pleading his name. 

(U) UNFAIR 

he's the BIGGEST TEASE, and definitely has more moments of unfairness than you do. he mocks you, denies you sometimes even, and when he's in a less generous mood, all in the name of seeing you squirm, he'll even downright ignore your advances. 

(V) VOLUME 

the volume is something that is shared more equally than not, neither of you more louder than the other. the both of you falling into your moments where words and noises are unabashed in how loud they can be. but it's never insanely loud. theres been a time or two though, at a hotel maybe, where a knock comes about a complaint. 

(W) WILDCARD  "do you trust me?" you'd asked him. 

"yes", without hesitation. 

and the rope wrapped tight about his skin was beautiful, something quite more artistic than you'd expected. his muscles bulging against the taut knots and tawny twine. his hair hanging long and damp, stray pieces sticking to him as his skin grew red with desire. his thighs spread and restrained, dick aching and standing stiff. in need of much attention. but you were not in the service of pleasing him. no you were very much enjoying the tremble in his body, the desperate way he chased your lips, and the lazy pass of his eyes as they took to the tight lace painting your skin. 

you lean in, bowing forward, your nails resting at his thighs, lips running to ghost the seam of his. tongue escaping to lick a less than faint strip. and he rumbles, cock twitching, his chest rising the more you tease his mouth. 

"you're so good. so obedient". 

your hand itches to touch him, fingers delicate and controlled as you take his warm length to caress light. and he accepts what friction he can get, his head lulling back, hair swaying, a groan flowing as your touch becomes slightly more firm. his hips rut forward, and then your touch disappears. a frown taking your lips in confusion. you'd thought you'd made yourself rather clear.

"if you can't control your urges, then maybe you don't deserve to come". 

" 'm sorry", the loom of your figure leaving him, and it nearly leaves him ill. "fuck, i'm sorry". 

you hum, thumb reaching to sooth at his cheek. the only touch you can afford to give him as you watch him suffer. 

(X) X-RAY

you could say so many things, but to put it short and sweet, he's above average, but not incredibly big. he's thick, veiny, and a bit curved. just enough to slightly knock the wind out of you. to have you feeling full. 

(Z) ZZZ

he'll fall fast asleep rather quickly. after he's sought to your needs, he'll pull your body in close to share the heat of him, shape the silhouette of you with his warmth and allow sleep to take him. and other times, when you're last to sleep, roaming around till your restlessness is no more, you'll wrap an arm around his waist, attempting at a big spoon, but it's no use of course. and he'll remedy that by turning over in his daze, a soothing drag of a hum sounding from him as he's pulling you to his chest. effectively turning him into a body pillow.

[sapphicseasapphire]

Once upon a time, there was a Princess and a Knight.

There were others as well: Champions hailing from the far corners of Hyrule, innocent civilians, soldiers for the crown…

And a world ending evil.

The kingdom of Hyrule knew of their impending doom, they knew of the Great Calamity that threatened their lives. And so, the Princess prepared to protect her people by offering her prayers to the Goddess Hylia, giving every last ounce of herself in order to unlock the sealing power that she supposedly possessed.

Around her, the kingdom of Hyrule made its own preparations. Ancient automatons were discovered deep in the heart of the land and, piloted by the Champions, would be an asset to the Hyrulean Army. Guardians would act as foot soldiers, Divine Beasts would deal a heavy blow.

All in all, the kingdom hoped. They were well equipped for the battle ahead of them. The Princess’s knight wielded his sacred sword with confidence. The Champions piloted their Divine Beasts with valor. The Princess continued to pray for a power that would never come.

It would end up being their downfall.

Faceless bodies, nameless faces, all lost to the maw of the Calamity. The Champions had perished, their weapons becoming deadly prisons. The soldiers had fallen, slain by the very Guardians meant to protect them. Though, in her desperation, she tapped into the wellspring of power within herself and managed to save herself, it was not enough. In her lap was her knight, and he was not breathing. She had lost.

She had lost everything.

The blade of the Master Sword, tarnished in blood and muck where it rested in her knight’s limp fingers, reflected her tears as she cried over his lifeless body. All was silent, save for her sobs and shaky pleas. She begged the Goddess for forgiveness, for her knight to magically start breathing once more. She cursed Hylia for allowing this to happen, for ignoring her all these years, for taking the lives of so many.

The Goddess had ignored her in the past, and she had no qualms ignoring her now.

For the first time in her life, surrounded by the skeletons of corrupted Guardians, by the lifeless forms of the fallen, the princess was alone.

She was truly alone.

After the battle, the princess was discovered by the Sheikah, who ushered her to safety. The Kingdom was lost, buried somewhere beneath the ruin and carnage that surrounded her. She brought her knight with her, one last escort, she told herself. The princess could not bear to leave him there, alone with the emotionless automatons that had stolen his life away.

She walked beside him as he was carried from the battlefield.

When it was safe, she laid her fallen knight to rest in a quiet forest near his hometown, where the mountains had shielded the village from the worst of the Calamity and the sea breeze rustled through the leaves on the trees. The static sound was a comfort to the princess as she placed a blue and white flower onto the mound of upturned earth. Six feet under an unmarked grave lied a young man- just a boy- who deserved better. He had defended her until his very last breath, cursed to bear the responsibility of wielding the Blade of Evil’s Bane, destined to fight an impossible battle.

It was always going to end like this.

The princess did not have time to mourn. She entrusted the Great Deku Tree with the Master Sword, her heart aching with the knowledge that the sacred blade would no longer be wielded by her brave knight. Hyrule would have to wait for the cycle to begin anew, but in the mean time…

She had a job to do.

With nothing left to loose, the princess marched straight to bones of Hyrule Castle, where the beast of Calamity Ganon circled ominously above. With her sealing powers finally available to her, the princess was ready for one final fight.

But there’s an intrinsic magic in the balance of nature. The more religious Hyrulean citizens might even say they see Hylia herself in the glorious orange and pink sunsets, in the gentle hum buzz of the forest, the rolling majesty of waves. Life thrums under one’s feet if they walk too far off the paths across Hyrule.

It is no secret that there are spirits that roam the wilds. A select few claim to see lively children of the forest, playful little gremlins with the face of a leaf. More commonly seen are spirits called Blupees, mysterious, their eerie blue glow visible to everyone in Hyrule. No one quite knows their origin, but it is said that they’re the result of pure earthly magic bursting at the seams with heavenly light.

And such light, such divine grace, needed a place to go. It worked its way into the fallen knight’s lifeless body, slowly but surely revitalizing him. Some might say Hylia herself cradled him in the palms of her hands and breathed shimmering life back into his lungs.

The process of revival changed him fundamentally, though it only took a month at most. The knight was robbed of his memories, his body becoming almost unrecognizable. His hair became ghostly white, his skin flowed a gentle bluish hue. He had become a forest spirit with no recollection of the Hylian he once was.

Hyruleans citizens might occasionally see him in dense forests or scorching deserts. He wandered about the lava pools of Eldin for a time. Aimlessly wandering the wilds. Those that saw him called him the Child of the Mountains, believing he had a connection to the elusive Lord of the Mountain that he so closely resembled.

Years passed, and the Child of the Mountains was spotted less and less often. A century after the rise of the Calamity, no one remembered the knight that had fallen in battle. No one noticed the upturned earth of that unmarked grave. No, the nameless knight was lost to time.

The Child of the Mountains remained the topic of folklore all across Hyrule, an otherworldly presence that was so rarely spotted. But things began to change for the forsaken kingdom. Divine Beasts stopped their rampaging, towers and shrines went from vicious orange to soothing blue. Still, no one connected the dots until Calamity Ganon itself was defeated and the fabled Child of the Mountains was spotted after the battle bearing a familiar blessed sword.

He disappeared completely after the war was won.

Somehow, the princess had survived the century long battle against the malice, and she had been quick to order a search for her knight. But that’s the thing about spirits: if they don’t want to be found, there’s just no finding them.

Still, the princess would not give up on him. Not again. She’d seen him, briefly, after he’d slain the monstrous Calamity. Her knight was still in there, she was sure of it. She will stop at nothing to bring him home.

. . .

Some notes!

• Wild is kind of sort of immortal. He can’t die unless he’s killed. (He’s been alive for a century and is vibing)

• Wild spent the entire century between waking up and fighting Calamity Ganon just… wandering in the woods like a lost child. Freaks out the locals but eh, he doesn’t really care.

• Of all of the Links, Wild is the least… human. He has no memory of ever being Hylian. All he knows is the wilderness.

• It sounds like bells and chimes when he walks, just like a Blupee!

• LOVES shiny things! Distracted very easily

• Mostly nonverbal. He communicates mostly with his antennae, though he doesn’t really have anyone to communicate with. He can speak telepathically with other spirits and the Great Deku Tree.

• Flora never expected him to come back. He was dead for good. But when a spirit with the same face as her fallen knight suddenly arrives at the castle after a century to kill the thing she’s been fighting, she was in disbelief. She recognized him which freaked him out and he ran away.

• He’s been wearing the clothes that he was buried in this WHOLE TIME.

• Subject of Hyrulean folklore, everyone has different thoughts on what he is. They all know he’s a spirit. But is he friendly? A protector to the people? Guardian of the wilds? He’s seen pretty rarely and encounters are short and quiet. Sometimes he’ll stare at the person, sometimes he’ll try to fight them, sometimes he’ll just run away.

• Chaos gremlin

• I love him very much

Original Character Sheets!

Sky’s Origin!

Time’s Origin!

[cherrycola27]

(blood)lust

Warnings: Blood, language, whump. 18+Minors DNI. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

A/N: Hey, y'all. I'm dipping my toes back into writing and trying my hands at some whump for Whumptober. This is the first of 3 TGM Whumptober fics I'll be releasing!

...........................................

When most people thought about immortality, they idolized it. They coveted the idea that they could cheat death, make a fortune, or travel, or be a part of the future that everyone dreamed of but would never be around long enough to see.

Yes, the idea of immortality had a certain air to it that drew you in like a moth to a flame, and no ever really thinks about the consequences. Just like the moth going toward the light, unaware of the fate that was waiting for it, he too was enticed by the idea.

Moreover, he was more drawn to the idea of not dying in a medical tent in the Carolina wilderness, miles away from his home, fighting for a nation that didn't even exist yet.

He was young, barely twenty-five, able-bodied, and brawny from years of working on his family's farm when the revolution broke out. He had so much to live for, so many things he wanted to do. So when the field doctor with the mysterious eyes came to him offering a cure to all of his pain and suffering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder that would surely end his life, he agreed without hesitation.

Looking back now, he realizes that maybe he should have turned the doctor down and died with the rest of his friends. The pain that came after he agreed was far worse than any gunshot. The sound of the blood rushing through his ears was louder than any cannon fire, and the burning sensation in his veins was hotter than any camp fire or summer day back on the farm.

But peace came after that. For a while—at least. Then came the thirst. The one that no matter how much water or wine or ale he drank—it couldn't be quenched. Then there was the hunger. The deep, insatiable hunger that no meal could touch. The hunger that hurt so deep in his stomach that he thought he would surely parrish as he stumbled through town that night.

Until he stumbled upon the man in the alleyway, too drunk to walk, that had cut himself on his whiskey bottle. And that's when he smelled it. The blood. Fresh and warm and oozing like red gold down the man's fingertips and onto the cobblestones. And it that moment, he knew exactly what he needed to satisfy the craving that nothing else would touch. In that moment, he realized what the doctor he'd never seen again had turned him into, a creature he'd only heard about in tales that parents told to scare their children.

That night, as he feasted, he had an epiphany, he'd been granted a gift, and he wasn't going to waste it.

.......................

Two hundred and some odd years later, he didn't feel the same about his "gift" as he did back then. In fact, it was more like a curse. He was damned to wander the earth forever, which meant he was damned to be alone. He'd watched everyone he ever loved die. First, starting with his mother in the winter of 1781, then, his wife and son ten years later during childbirth. He'd tried saving them the way the doctor had done for him, both times, when he'd sunk his teeth into the soft, supple flesh of their necks and tasted their blood, he couldn't stop. It was like a demon possessed him, inhibiting him from hearing their cries and blinding his vision until he'd drained them dry, leaving their bodies limp and lifeless in his arms.

For a while, he vowed never to try again and never to love again until he knew he could find a way to keep her forever.

So, for the next two centuries after the death of his wife, child, and mother, he practiced. Starting on small animals at first, working his way up to larger ones, the eventually people.

He'd successfully master the art of turning, and now, he needed to find the perfect mate. Someone to spend eternity with.

He suspected that it would take him a while to find the right one. He certainly wasn't expecting it the night he walked into the bar and was hit with the most enticing scent he'd ever experienced.

He followed it until he found you.

You were exactly what he was looking for. You were probably around the same age that he told people he was. You were beautiful. A stunning natural beauty that drew him to you.

An aura that called him. A beacon of light in his darkness.

So, he walked right up to you, and asked "can I buy you another drink?"

You turned to the handsome stranger who'd offered to buy you a drink and gave him the once over. He oozed charisma and charm. His eyes, that could only be described as golden, sparkled as he flashed you a stunning smile.

"Sure, thing. I'll take another tequila on the rocks." You told him. He laughed before ordering one for each of you.

Once that glasses appeared before the two of you, you cheersed before extending your hand and introducing yourself.

He took your out stretched arm and brought the back of your hand to his lips, and placed a kiss there. "Charmed to meet you, darling. I'm Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley didn't miss the way your pulse quickened as he held your hand. Nor did he miss the blush that crept to your cheeks. He continued to sit there at the bar and talk to you for hours. And the longer he did, the more it affirmed for him that you were definitely the girl he had been looking for you. You'd been the perfect girl to have around forever. Now, he just had to convince you of the same.

..............

If Bradley has learned anything in his 273 years of life, it's patience. If he was going to convince you to be his eternal bride, he knew he'd have to play the long game. He wasn't deterred by the fact that it may take months, maybe even a few years, to convince you. He had been waiting to find someone like you for over two centuries. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Which is why he was perfectly fine in agreeing to take the relationship that was budding between the two of you as slowly as you wanted.

Bradley had also learned to be discreet about who—what he was. As the world moved on, and his age stayed the same, Bradley made sure never to stay in one place for too long. He also learned that taking jobs that kept him away for long stretches of time helped provide the perfect cover for when he needed to sneak away and feed.

Right after he was first turned—the fledgling stage, he would later learn what it was called— Bradley wasn't as careful when it came to choosing his meals. Anyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path when his thirst arose would become one of his victims. He couldn't bear to be around people because the tangy metallic scent of their blood drove him mad with need.

Later, he learned to control it. He could function in society and keep up the act. And for a while, it worked. Until he took the wrong person as a meal.

She was the daughter of the local pastor, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. After she disappeared, the police began looking, asking questions. Bradley became paranoid that someone saw him, that he wasn't careful enough.

So he fled town and vowed to himself that he'd only feed on people he knew wouldn't be missed. Criminals, the homeless, vagrants, and vagabonds with no one to come looking for them, no one to ask questions.

He'd come to San Diego about ten years ago, claiming that he was twenty-two. Shaving his mustache and letting his hair grow helped make it believable. The one thing all the stories get wrong about being immortal is that your hair and nails stop growing. They don't. And for that, Bradley was thankful.

Because of this, he learned he could spend about fifteen to twenty years in one place before speculation arose. A shaggy haircut and a beard can do wonders for a person.

............

Maybe that's why it was so easy for you to believe that Bradley was thirty-three. Despite the fact that he seemed like an old soul, wise beyond his years.

He also told you he was in the Navy and that he was an aviator, which meant he had frequent deployments and trips for work that he couldn't tell you about. Which is why you never questioned him when he told you he was leaving for a few days or weeks or months the longer the two of you were together.

You never suspect that half of those "trips" and "deployments" were, in fact, times when Bradley traveled somewhere to feed.

He was smart. Making sure to go to a different state, so if what was left of the body was ever found, it could never be traced back to him.

He had a system, a routine, a schedule that worked and kept him under the radar and undetected for decades. It worked for him, and eventually, he would share his secrets with you, and the two of you would stay in the shadows together forever.

...............

You were busy in the kitchen of the house you and Bradley shared. He was due back from his latest deployment today, and you wanted to make sure he had a hot meal waiting for him. You wanted to make sure he had plenty of fuel for the plans you had later for the two of you.

Not that he ever seemed to need it. Your boyfriend had the most amazing stamina. More so than any partner you've had before. He told you it because he was an elite fighter pilot, the top one percent, and being the best at everything was in his blood. You had to agree with him. Bradley could go for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you, and never asking for more than one of his own in return.

You shivered as you flipped the steaks that were in the grill pan you had on the stove. You pulled the one for Bradley off the heat while leaving yours to cook a bit longer. He always preferred his more on the rare side, while you favored a more medium cooked steak.

You'd just finished setting the table when you heard Bradley's keys in the door. "Honey!" You squealed as you launched yourself at him. He easily caught you and held your frame against him.

"Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled as he kissed you passionately. His lips glided across yours before he trailed them across the column of your throat, stopping when they reached the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He grazed his canines over the pulse point that was thrumming just below your delicate skin.

"Bradley—" you groaned into his neck, gentle pushing on his chest. "Yes, Darling?" He asked you, pulling you closer to him. "I made dinner." You chuckled. "We can eat later. I missed you, My Darling Girl." He whispered against your ear.

"No, I want to make sure you have plenty of fuel in you for the plans I have for you later." You laugh again before dragging him to the dining room for a hot meal, blissfully unaware that the food you made would have no effect on your boyfriend.

That night, you let Bradley carry to your shared bedroom and strip you down the crimson lingerie you'd chosen specifically for the occasion. You let him tear the delicate lace from your body with his teeth, and then, you let him make love to you for hours until both of you were sated and his cum was dripping down your thighs and sweat covered your skin.

In the early hours of the morning, Bradley lay quietly beside you, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you slept. It had been two years since that faithful day he met you and knew you were destined to be his mate. As he watched you, he knew in his heart that it was time to tell you about his plan. Hopefully, you wouldn't take much convincing, and under the next new moon, he'd take you up to one of his—hunting— cabins and change you. He'd find a perfect first feed for you, and teach you everything you needed to know. Then, once your fledgling phase was over, the two of you would have a bonding ceremony to seal your love forever.

Bradley could feel that the time was coming soon. All the work he'd put in. Moulding you—grooming you— shaping you into his perfect mate would soon come to fruition.

.....................

Bradley had been acting—different— the past few weeks. Not different in a bad way, but doting on you much more than normal. He'd taken you out to a few fancy dinners, bought you some new clothes, and he came home every day with a new flower arrangement. He'd also given you the most beautiful necklace you'd seen. Honestly, you weren't sure how he afforded all of this, and when you asked him about it, he told you not to worry. He'd been so calm lately. You hoped he would be that way when you gave him the news you'd just received.

You waited patiently in the living room for Bradley to come home. When you heard his keys in the door, you jumped up to greet him. "Hello, My Darling Girl." Bradley smiled before kissing you passionately.

"Bradley, come sit. I have some news to share with you." You told him as you led him by the hand to the couch. His mind raced with what it could be.

Could you be pregnant? It wasn't unheard of for his kind and mortals to have a child together. That was how he lost his first wife, Elizabeth, and his son, Nicholas.

Her body couldn't handle the labor. Thankfully, Bradley knew what to do this time. If you were pregnant, he'd start the changing right before you gave birth. The strength the change offered you would see you through the labor.

His heart raced at the idea. Maybe this was the second chance he'd been waiting for.

"Bradley." You let out a long exhale as he sat there waiting patiently.

"Yes?" He eagerly replied.

"I've been offered a job!" You told him excitedly.

"What? You already have a job." He said dejectedly.

"I know, but this is a promotion. Head of the new office in Virginia. Isn't that wonderful? I know it might take some time to get your transfer in, but my office is willing to work with us. You could be back home! We would be so much closer to your family!" You bounced with excitement on the balls of your feet.

"Darling, it sounds like a wonderful opportunity, but I'm happy here. I don't want to move." Bradley told you. His voice was more stern than normal. Your smile fell from your face.

"Wha—what do you mean? Bradley, this is everything I've been working for. I've supported your career with your deployments and moves more times than I care to count in the past few years. I know it seems like a lot, but this is what I've always dreamed of. Why can't you see that?" You pleaded with him.

Bradley inhaled sharply. "We aren't moving to Virginia. That's final." He said with no room for argument.

Rage bubbled inside you. How dare he say that to you. After all you'd done for him.

"You're right. We aren't moving. I am." You deadpanned.

Bradley turned on his heels. Your words hit him in the chest like a dagger. No, he thought. No, no, no. After all the work he'd done, there is no way he's letting you leave him now. You were staying with him whether you liked it or not. Bradley had worked too hard to let you go. He'd spent decades learning to control his temper. The unbridled rage that could come with what he was. He'd kept it under wraps for decades. But hearing you say that you'd give him up so quickly? It caused something inside of him to snap.

................

You weren't sure what was happening. One minute, you were packing a bag to leave. The next, you felt a jolt of pain shoot through your neck. Then, your whole body felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. You cried out for Bradley, begging him to help you, to save you from the invisible attacker. But instead, all you heard was a voice that almost sounded like his, whispering in your ear that it would all be over soon.

...............

When consciousness came back to you. It was slow. The first thing you noticed was the smell. You weren't wrapped in the warm vanilla scent of your home. No, you were somewhere near the woods. You could smell the dirt and hear birds somewhere in the distance.

The next thing you noticed were the sheets. The soft cotton ones of your bed had been replaced by a stiff and scratchy flannel.

You slowly opened your eyes and sat up. You didn't recognize the room you were in. The walls were bare and wooden. Some kind of a cabin, maybe. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, and that's when you felt it. The thirst. The overwhelming urge to drink. But you didn't want water. You wanted something else. You just didn't know what.

"Hello?" You called out tentatively, unsure of who else was there.

"My Darling Girl. You're finally awake." You whipped around so fast you made yourself dizzy. Bradley stood before you, his large form leaning on the door frame. Only something was off about him. He wasn't the Bradley you once knew. He stepped forward and smiled, and for the first time, you noticed how prominent his canines were. Had they always been like that?

"Bradley. Where am I? How did I get here? Did you—did you kidnap me?" You shriek, eyes darting around the room. You try to breathe, but you can't get any air into your lungs.

"Darling, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself. Tell me. How are you feeling?" He says so smoothly.

"I feel like I want to know what the fuck is going on." You spit at him. "Where are we?"

"We are at one of my hunting cabins. I figured it would help with the adjustment if we weren't near people." He tells you

"H—help with what adjustment?" You say as you clear your throat. A burning sensation creeping in. "What—what did you do to me?" You say as you being to claw at your skin.

"I changed you—for the better. I made you perfect. The perfect mate for me for all eternity. I know it must be a shock, but you'll get used to it. I'll help you, My Love." Bradley tells you as he glides across the room to you and turns your towards the mirror you hadn't noticed before. You look in it and see yourself, well, almost yourself. Something is different. You just can't place it. You trace your eyes over your features, and then you see them. Two small puncture wounds on your neck. Your hand flies to to them.

"Don't worry, they'll go away. But these—" Bradley says, and he pulls your gums back to reveal your new elongated canines, "these are permanent."

You run your tongue over your teeth and wince at their sharpness. "Don't worry. You'll get used to them." Bradley assures you, taking a step back. Just then, you hear a thump in from another room. "Ah, perfect, looks like it woke up just in time." He smiles.

"What do you mean 'it'?" You ask him harshly. "Your first feed, My Darling Girl. I know you feel the thirst. Every fledgling does. I know it did. Believe me, your first feed is always the hardest, so I brought you one. I wanted to make this as easy as possible for you." He says almost kindly.

"Easy? You wanted to make this easy on me? Bradley, you kidnapped me and brought me to the middle of nowhere and turned me into a—a—a—" you can't finish your sentence.

"Vampire. It's okay, you can say it, dear. I turned you into a vampire so we can be together forever. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing it this early, but when you said you were going to leave me, I knew I had to act then. I've spent the past two years grooming you into the perfect mate for me. I knew it was you from the first time I picked up your scent at the bar. Ideally, you would have willingly let me change you, but it doesn't matter now." Bradley tells you calmly.

"You've been planning to do this to me ever since you met me? How could you! I trusted you! I loved you. I thought you loved me?!" You wailed. "I do love you. That's why I did all of this. Why I brought you to my hunting cabin. Why I found a first feed for you. Why I've practiced for years getting the art of transforming right. All for you." Bradley says.

"I'm not the first person you've done this too?" You ask in disbelief. "Well, I had to practice to get it right. After I lost my mother and my first wife because I failed at transforming them, I vowed never to do it again until I perfected it. I started on small creatures and then worked my way up to people. But don't worry. I killed them after. I couldn't have a bunch of my own creations trying to kill me." Bradley laughs.

"First wife? Creations? What the hell is wrong with you. How could you ever think I'd want to spend my life with you after what you did to me? How long have you been like this?" You fire questions at him.

"I was born in 1751, changed in 1776 by a field doctor during the Revolutionary War. I've been practicing turning since about 1900. But I never let my creations live long after I turned them, lest they take revenge and try to kill me. You see, the movies and the books have it all wrong. Garlic and wooden stakes aren't what kills a vampire. We can only be killed by a dagger through the heart by our creator or one of our creations. A creation killing their creator also reverses the effects. Turns them human again. I couldn't risk that so I made sure to take care of that before it became an issue." Bradley explains to you.

"You see, I've been alone for so long. I was married to a wonderful woman, Elizabeth, but she died during childbirth. I couldn't save her. I vowed to myself that I'd never love again until I could keep her forever. And you were the one I choose for that, My Darling Girl. You're special, perfect, my perfect mate. I picked you out of everyone." Bradley tells you as he cups your face. You look in his eyes and don't see the man you once knew. He's long gone, replaced by this—monster. But if you wanted to survive, you knew you'd have to play into his fantasy.

"I see now. It all makes so much sense. Now I know why you didn't want me to leave." You say what he wanted to hear.

"Exactly. And in one year's time, when your fledgling phase is over, we'll have a bonding ceremony, sealing our love with a blood pact, so we can never be separated." Bradley tells you with a smile.

"That sounds wonderful." You lie to him. "I knew you'd see my way. Now, let me help you with your first feed." Bradley smiled as you let him lead you by the hand to the other room.

...................

Lying to someone for a full year is much harder than anyone expects. But you knew if you wanted to survive, and for your plan to work, you had too.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. Even though this wasn't what you wanted, you looked stunning. A long-sleeved, lace, stark white gown hugged your body. A crown of blood-red roses on your head. Exactly what Bradley wanted you to wear.

You stepped out of the cabin your home, no, your prison for the last year and made your way across the field. The bright light of the full moon illuminated the area, causing your dress to practically glow in the light.

Bradley was standing near the edge of the clearing, waiting for you. You could see the glint of the bonding dagger in his hand reflecting in the moonlight.

"My Darling Girl. You look breathtaking. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Bradley praised you as he took your hand in his.

"Are you ready?" He asked you. "I've been ready." You smile at him.

Bradley takes the dagger in his right hand and makes a slice across his palm, then hands it to you. Your fingers wrap around the grip tightly.

"I've been dreaming of this moment all year." You tell him. "I've been counting the days."

Bradley smiles, unaware of the true meaning of your words.

You grip the dagger tightly and raise it up. Bradley waits with baited breath and watches your palm, ready for you to slice the skin. Instead, he feels something sharp pierce his chest. He looks over to see your hand wrapped around the dagger that is now in his heart.

You pull it out and watch the blood drip from the blade, staining your once pristine gown.

"My—My Darling Girl. What have you done?" Bradley asks you as he stumbles back. More blood oozes from the wound as he drops to his knees.

"I'm taking back my life. And I'm not your darling girl anymore." You sneer before he collapses dead on the ground, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream.

You feel the exact moment he dies. You feel it in the pain, searing through your body and leeching out of every pore of your skin. You feel as though you may die, but you know it's worth it.

You black out and fall to the dirt.

When you finally wake up, it's daylight. You run your tongue over your teeth, and the once sharp canines are gone. You stand up and find that your white dress is now a deep shade of maroon, and the man you once loved has shriveled up to almost nothing. You give his remains a kick, and they turn to dust, blowing away in the breeze.

You pick up your dagger from last night and walk back to the cabin and find the bag you pack. You sling it over your shoulder and grab the keys hanging from the keyring near the door. You climb into the blue Bronco that had once belonged to Bradley and drive away from the cabin, from the woods, from him, and from the nightmare, you just woke up from.

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @withahappyrefrain

[blackfoy]

Silco's Pet Scientist

(Please note that this was written without having actually watched Arcane and before season 2 started.)

Time traveling Silco does a lot of things to change the state of the world. He didn't come back far enough to save Vander and his boys, (and he felt somewhat guilty about the fact that he wasn't too upset about that seeing as if he had saved them he wouldn't have Jinx and he's not sure he would have been able to make the choice between his daughter and her old family) but he can still do a lot of things to help Jinx and to make a better world for her.

One of the things he wants to get for her is someone who is both a good influence, trustworthy not to hurt her, and can keep up with her mind. He remembers Viktor and realizes that he has access to the perfect thing to blackmail the man into helping him raise his daughter. He has been experimenting with Shimmer to make it safer and better for medical use in case Jinx ever nearly dies again, and he realizes he can use that to help heal Viktor's limp. In order to keep it working he will have to take small diluted doses regularly, meaning he will have to do what Silco wants if he wants his medication.

Of course first he has to actually make the deal with the man. When he proposes the deal he mentions nothing of Jinx, meaning Viktor believes he will have to do some crazy, possibly immoral, experiments for the man if he agrees. In the end the lure of a cure makes him decide to agree to do what Silco wants.

decide to agree to do what Silco wants. So Silco brings him back to his lair, undresses him, removes his brace, and puts the prepared back and leg brace with Shimmer and future technology embedded in it on him. The leg brace is mostly there just in case and will be removed later, but the back brace will have to be permanent. It's got flat circular vials of modified shimmer all down the spine, and at the very top is a part that goes around the base of his neck. A needle inserts itself from the collar in between two of his vertebrae, and slowly and steadily pumps the modified shimmer into him. It hurts going in, but once the shimmer has settled in the properties that allow it to heal also help numb the pain of the injection site. 

Viktor passes out from the pain of the initial insertion, and Silco brings him somewhere more comfortable so that he can lie in a bed until he wakes up. By the time he is conscious again, the shimmer has fully integrated into his body and when he stands he finds himself able to stand straight and firm without aid. He is delighted by this, but also uncertain of what Silco might make him do. This fear is made worse when Silco threatens him about keeping his mouth shut and acting appropriately about what he is about to see. Then Silco brings him to a small blue-haired girl and introduces them with the softest voice he's ever heard from the man. He realizes that this is his daughter and that he will absolutely be dead if he says anything to anyone or does anything to harm the child. At first, he is hesitant around Jinx, but they quickly bond with their love of inventing and engineering. He helps Jinx improve her bombs, but he also helps her make other things less inclined toward destruction.

After some time Silco gets an idea based on how things are going and his future knowledge. He convinces Viktor to act as his pet, his guard dog, in front of his people. Only those who know about Jinx know that Viktor isn't just Silco's favorite pet. Viktor is brought on board by the idea of being able to have public sway with Silco without tarnishing Silco's reputation. He also gets to act as a defender for Jinx as she gets older and starts venturing further from the nest. It also garners him some protection, as anyone who messes with him is messing with Silco. He has to debase himself and put up with Silco acting possessive over him, but he doesn't mind all that much with how many benefits he gets from the situation.

He's never both hated and loved his position more when Jayce and some other topsiders get brought to Silco, obviously to be tortured for information. Viktor is immediately begging Silco not to kill Jayce, to Jayce's utter horror, which disrupts things from the norm enough for Silco to not kill them, imprisoning them instead.

After a few hours Viktor has worked himself into a panic and goes to break the prisoners out himself instead of waiting for Silco to come up with a plan. This of course backfires when one of the guards catches him. The people with Jayce are killed, and Viktor is slammed into a wall so hard his brace cracks. His screaming alerts Silco, who comes to see what is going on. He comments on how Jayce was a bigger deal to his pet then he first thought and how he could use that before having Jayce moved to a more secure cell and Viktor dragged off to the lab for punishment.

Silco talks with Viktor, admonishing him for his impatience and getting caught. After removing the broken brace it was decided that it would take some time to fix, and Silco gave Viktor a choice. He could either set him up with an IV to supplement his brace until it was fixed, or he could be put in the same cell as Jayce, allowing him to spend time with him but leaving him weak and in pain until the brace was done. After confirming that it wouldn’t kill him Viktor chose Jayce. Silco is pleased as Jayce having to watch Viktor start to wither away with give them man some perspective as to why Viktor is working for him.

[edosianorchids901]

When You Fall Asleep

Ace Omens Hugfest prompt - "an accidental hug"

Rome, 41 AD

“Would you like any more oysters?” Aziraphale asked, leaning forward to acquire a bowl of grapes. “Or are you all set?”

“Nnnh, this m’ set. I don’t, er. Eat big meals all that often.” Blinking slowly, Crowley pushed his tiny dark glasses up onto the top of his head. They knocked into his silly silver laurel wreath, and he hissed in irritation. “Guh. Here, hold this.”

He wrenched the wreath off and put it on Aziraphale’s head. It slid to one side and bumped into his ear, threatening to topple off.

With a chuckle, Aziraphale adjusted the wreath and fluffed his hair up to accommodate it. “Very stylish. What is with your outfit, anyway? I don’t think togas are supposed to be black, are they?”

“M’ not gonna be caught dead in white, am I?” Crowley snapped, snatching the jug of wine. “Probably literally caught dead. D’ya have any idea what Hell would probably do to me if I showed up wearing white? Besides, blood shows on white. S’ not exactly a good thing for a demon to be wearing.”

Aziraphale frowned, confused by the sudden outburst. “I know you’re a demon, but it’s not as if you’re running around stabbing people. Are you?”

“No! I’m the one getting stabbed, usually. And beaten, cut, whipped, whatever.” Crowley’s irritated expression slid to deeply glum. “It’s better when I can stay on Earth. I like Earth, even when I’m having to deal with bastards like Caligula. At least it’s not… I can get away from it all, up here.”

“Ah.” Unsure what to say, Aziraphale twisted his hands together. He eyed Crowley, suddenly quite chilled. “And you had to go to Hell recently?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Even Aziraphale, who sometimes struggled with such things, couldn’t miss the heavy sarcasm in Crowley’s voice. Swallowing hard, he slid a little closer on the dining couch. “I’m sorry. Is there, um… anything I can do to help?”

Crowley shrugged and poured his wine. He largely missed the cup, pouring wine all over his leg. “Shit. M’ not very coordin… whatever. Maybe had too much to drink.”

He drank more anyway, then clumsily topped off Aziraphale’s cup as well. Aziraphale drank, a trifle lost. He was quite intoxicated himself, and that made it rather difficult to determine the right course of action. But there must be something he could do.

“Are you injured anywhere?” he asked, leaning to look at Crowley’s toga. He didn’t see any bloodstains, but it was black, after all. Much harder to see blood, indeed. “I could heal you.”

“Nuh. Not hurt anymore.” Crowley swayed, reaching for the jug again. He let out a derisive snort. “Too bad we didn’t run into each other yesterday. Coulda used it then.”

“Oh! Oh dear.” Stricken, Aziraphale clutched his hands together again. “Oh, I didn’t realize you’d been hurt so recently. I’m sorry. You really ought to be resting, rather than me pestering you to spend time together.”

Something odd tugged at Crowley’s expression. He took another drink, then set the cup down and leaned back. His dark glasses fell off his head and vanished amid the pillows. “Nah. This is, er. A good distraction. Hanging out and everything. It’s loads better than just sitting around being all blah. And we can argue and stuff! I like when we get all…”

He did some sort of complicated flailing gesture with both arms, as if trying to demonstrate the enthusiastic verbal sparring they’d engaged in earlier. Then he overbalanced, toppled over, and slammed into Aziraphale’s side.

“Oh!” Aziraphale automatically caught him, pulling his limp body closer. “Crawley— Crowley, are you quite all right?”

“Nnnnyeaaah,” Crowley mumbled, eyes closed. “I just. Just. Er. Drinking.”

“Yes, you certainly have been drinking.” Concerned, Aziraphale hugged him closer. Then he realized he was hugging a demon, and wondered if he ought to stop.

But no. He didn’t want to stop. And Crowley was certainly too drunk to straighten up. Really, Aziraphale was more than slightly drunk, and therefore possessed lowered inhibitions. It was quite reasonable to hug a demon, under those circumstances.

Crowley had been rather tense all day, a fact Aziraphale had noticed earlier without realizing the cause. Now, though, Crowley went quite liquid in his arms, like a cat fitting into an oddly shaped container. “Oh. Wow. You’re really ridiculously warm, you know that? S’ like. Like. Sunning on a really soft rock or something.”

“Quite a compliment,” Aziraphale teased softly. “And you look rather thoroughly intoxicated and on the verge of dozing off.”

“Nnnhrgnmph.”

Smiling, Aziraphale cradled the demon to his side, Crowley’s head on his shoulder. Crowley had somehow gone even more liquid now, his lips slightly parted, eyes still closed. His breaths slowed, deepening. Perhaps he really was falling asleep.

Remarkable, that Crowley could feel safe enough to sleep here after being hurt so recently. The trust was quite an honor, really, and Aziraphale gladly settled in to watch over him.

[angelsdevils]

October 7, 2024 - Kazutora Hanemiya (TR)

Kazutora Hanemiya Pt. 1  Tokyo Revengers Warnings: Obsession, Stalking, Drugging, Possessive Behavior, Murder, Kidnapping Tag List: @reiners-milkbiddies @thisbicc @bontensbabygirl @useless-potatho 

You were his little tragedy, someone that he has become so obsessed with. Kazutora Hanamiya has never thought about girls that way, since he had let his hatred for Manjiro Sano. But seeing you at this Halloween party, in that little tiger costume, had Kazutora forget everything else. His eyes stayed locked on you the entire time that you guys were at the party. Whenever a guy got too close to you, jealousy blinded him. He wanted to kill anyone who even dared look at you. 

You felt someone’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t figure out who it could be since the party was packed. Music blared through the house, providing a eerie feeling. So many people were wearing costumes and masks. You shook the feeling off as you being paranoid. You decided to entertain yourself by walking through haunted area which was located near the woods. 

You walked out the house unaware of the shadow following you at a distance. The woods were filled with fog, and Halloween decorations. Fake spiders, fake bats, fake spiderwebs. Some people jumped out at you causing you to let a small scream before laughing when you heard them laugh. Throughout the woods would be random people working the haunted woods prepared to scare anyone brave enough to walk through. You turned down a path, it got spookier, and there was virtually no one down this path. 

You hesitated for a moment debating on if you wanted to go down this path. It looked like it was part of the path since it was decorated and such. Shrugging, you turned down the path, but the deeper you went the more eerie it got. Plus, you still felt like someone was watching you. No one jumped out at you, pretended to grab you. It was just dog everywhere, this fog looked more real then the one coming from the fog machine. 

You stopped, and hugged yourself. You were shaking slightly, looking around. Suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around your waist. You let a scream out, but they covered your mouth. They put a rag over your mouth, as you inhaled. You slowly began to get drowsy, and confused. You realized it was a fast acting drug. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you fell limp in your attacker’s arms. 

Kazutora’s eyes darkened as he witnessed the attack, he was suppose to be the one drugging you, not some no name guy. He watched as the guy held you close, his hands touching you. He felt his anger rise, and he walked silently behind the guy, gripping his knife. The guy turned around, and saw Kazutora.

“You should leave, this isn’t part of the path.” The guy said, and Kazutora tilted his head, a crazed look in his eyes. 

“You have something that is mine,” Kazutora’s voice was low and threatening.

The guy looked down at your unconscious body before at Kazutora. The guy started laughing.

“She is single, belongs to no one. But I am willing to sh—” the guy was cut off, and his blue eyes trailed down to his stomach. He dropped you to the ground, as he covered the wound. 

Kazutora had stabbed him, and he was now bleeding. He yelled, but it was drowned out by the screams of the haunted path. Kazutora watched as the guy looked at him with horror. Kazutora shoved him to the ground, and began to stab him repeatedly. He had a crazed look in his eyes as he murdered the man that dared laid his hands on you. The knife plunged deep into the guy multiple times. 

Once the man was dead, Kazutora stepped back off of the guy. He looked down at you before grabbing the man who drugged you, and dragged him away, Once he disposed of the body, he came back for you, still unconscious on the ground. He lifted you up with ease, and put you over his shoulder.

He walked you to his car, taking the longer route to avoid the crowds since you were drugged and he was covered in blood. He wanted to avoid any and all attention. When he got to his car, he placed you in the back seat, and started to drive off to his house. 

You woke up groggy, and disoriented. You slowly sat up in bed, the effects of the drug slowly Waring away. But the moment it did, you panicked because you didn’t recognize the room you were in. 

Did the person who drug me bring me to his place? I have to get out of here…

The door began to slowly creek open, and you looked up. You didn’t recognize the guy, but he was carrying some water, and medicine.

“I brought you some medicine, the guy who drugged you, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“You… didn’t drug me?”

“No.” Kazutora said, walking closer handing you the medicine. 

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but this guy had an unsettling aura about him. You hesitated but took the medicine and drank the water but only in small sips. 

His eyes stared at you, as he sat on the bed, stroking your hair out of your face. He didn’t look away, like he was staring into your soul and it sent shivers down your spine. 

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbled, nuzzling your neck. You tensed up when he did that, not liking the way it felt. 

His arms tightened around you, and you tri ed to get out of his hold but he refused to let you go. He sigh softly, before looking up at you, glaring.

“Don’t. Move.” 

You nodded unable to find your voice, and he went back to nuzzling your neck. His hands began to roam your body. You couldn’t help but squirm in his hold.

“Please, stop. Don’t do this.” 

“Shh, you are mine, I just want to claim what’s mine.” 

“I don’t want this, I don’t even know you,” you tried to say, but he bit down on your neck. 

“My name is Kazutora, and you are mine. No one is allowed to touch you, hurt you, or love you. Only me, got it?” He mumbled, gripping your chin so you were forced to look into his eyes. 

Some sick part of you made your heart beat faster. You never had someone so obsessed with you, you always said you wanted someone obsessed and so in love with you. But you weren’t sure if you meant it literally. 

“I-I have rights, I don’t belong to anyone…” You tried to stand your ground, but he only grinned, shoving you back onto the bed. 

“Is that so? Maybe, I should bring that guy back-”

“No, don’t.” You panicked, you didn’t want the guy who drugged you because something told you the other guy’s intentions weren’t pure if he had to drug you. 

Kazutora only smirked slightly, his eyes trailing over your body. You shuddered as he slowly stripped you of your clothes.

“Don’t worry, I killed him. He can’t come back even if I wanted him too.” He mumbled against your skin. 

That snapped you out of it, and you went to shove Kazutora off of you but he caught your hands in his.

“You did what?!”

“Come on princess, don’t be so upset… he was going to literally hurt you. I simply did my duties to protect you… my little tragedy.” 

Your hands were shaking in his, your heart was racing and he grinned pushing his lips against yours.

“I said it already. You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?” He growled lowly, and you slowly nodded your head.

“Good,” he got up from the bed. He had plans to officially make your body his, but considering that he wants you more willing he decided to wait.

“Gonna go make you breakfast, don’t try to stand up the drug he gave you will make you all wobbly. Don’t want you falling.” He turned to the door but you spoke up.

“I don’t want to stay in here. I can walk.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes, I can…” 

You were stubborn, and Kazutora’s jaw clenched slightly. He watched as you got out of bed and as he expected your legs gave out. He caught you, picking you up bridal style. He carried you to the kitchen.

“I told you the drug’s effects was still lingering.” 

“I—” 

“You are so troublesome…” Even though he said this, he didn’t mind it. He leaned down kissing you. You turned your head, and he growled.

“Will I get to go home?”

“No.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“I don’t care, I murdered a man, multiple men, do you think I care about kidnapping?”

“Are… you going to hurt me?”

“Yes, in the best way possible.” He looked down at you, and a shiver ran down your spine. 

“Just not right now, only when the drug wares off.” 

“Oh…”

© [@angelsdevils] all rights reserved. none of my posts or stories should be modified, reposted, etc. I do not own the character or the fanart, but I own the plots of these stories. All fanart goes to their appropriate owners. 

[im-his-druidess]

I love your writing!

Can I request ABO prompt 19 with our darling Otis?

I’m so excited you added him to your characters list!

Took a bit of creative license with this one! Nothing too big! Hope you like it! 💙

"You really don't have to do this," you tried once again to persuade the two security guards flanking you.

One, a short rotund Beta, snorted and the other, a tall burley Alpha, shoved you rather roughly towards the door to your home.

"Zip it, Omega. I've had just about enough of your yapping. Got to realize there are consequences to your actions," the one who pushed you grumbled, his thick mustache and even thicker eyebrows twitching with every word, and you felt your shoulders slump in defeat.

"Just remember...you asked for it," you muttered under your breath before shouldering the door open.

The old hinges squealed in protest, announcing your presence long before you could shout out a greeting to Mama Firefly that was no doubt clanging around the kitchen.

"I got some people here that wanna see...my Alpha," you said loudly, shooting a disapproving look to the security guard lingering by the door, and almost instantly Mama rounded the corner with a flair that only she possessed.

"Oh! You brought visitors! You should have warned me! I would've put on something...nice," she cooed while fluffing her teased blonde hair and you got a nose full of her sweet perfume mixed with the tang of smoke.

You didn't miss how she propped her free arm under her breasts to make them stick out even more. Her pastel pink corset nearly ripping at the seams from the movement. You heard one of the men choke on their spit and you fought back your grin at her antics.

"Why don't you boys keep me company in the parlor while she go gets her man?" Mama continued with a bright pink painted fingernail pointing towards the living room.

She wasn't even done speaking before the Beta was all but running to the room, but the Alpha lingered.

"I'll wait right here, ma'am," he said curtly and received a long unblinking stare that had him clearing his throat awkwardly.

With a heavy sigh once Mama and the man were out of sight you heaved yourself up the rickety stairs, one eye still trained on the Alpha to make sure he didn't follow you, and you made sure to stomp and drag your feet to make as much noise as possible.

You already knew you were in trouble and you didn't feel like adding more to it by having another man in your Alpha's territory without some sort of warning. As if sensing your thoughts, long pale fingers shot out from the upper floor and wrapped tight around the back of your neck, and you were unceremoniously dragged the rest of the way up the stairs and out of eyesight of the security guard. You kept your body limp and your eyes downcast as a nose was promptly shoved against your throat, hot breath huffing against the sensitive skin, and the grip on your neck tightened.

"What the fuck is all this about, mama?" Otis spat and you felt dread curl in the pit of your stomach at the underlying growl to his voice.

Deciding to metaphorically rip the band-aid off this situation you took a deep fortifying breath.

“I got into some trouble today. I sort of punched an Alpha in the face when he touched me. Long story short, there’s a couple of security guards at the door who would like to talk to you about getting control of your Omega,” you said quickly and then all but whined as long white hair slipped over your shoulder as he moved until his chest was flush against your back.

Otis continued to aggressively scent you, snorting like an agitated bull at the lingering scent of the two strange men on you, and his grip moved to fist in your hair at your words.

You could tell he was thinking over what you said. Rolling them around his head while replacing his scent on you. You felt his jaw work against your throat as if he was grinding his teeth and you immediately leaned back to nuzzle against his temple in an instinctual effort to comfort him. His pale hair tickled your nose and you let the natural Alpha earthy scent of him fill your lungs and you ignored the slight tinge of copper wafting from him. Jagged teeth pierced your shoulder, ripping you from your head, and you barely bit back a yelp at the sharp stinging pain.

“Don’t start with that lovey-dovey bullshit. You made a fucking mess and now I gotta clean it up, dammit,” he snapped once he let go of your abused shoulder and you whimpered as he yanked on your hair while he spoke.

With your shoulder and scalp stinging, Otis marched you back downstairs, and you were momentarily relieved once his grip returned to the nape of your neck and away from your throbbing scalp.

“Are you her Alpha?” the security guard asked as you both popped into view and you could smell the sudden surge of smugness rolling off of the man behind you at the question.

The deep jagged scarring of your mating gland hidden beneath your t-shirt was only a pale imitation of the vivid and painful memory you had of the night Otis claimed you as his. You swore you could still feel the sensation of rope burning against your wrists as you struggled underneath him even all this time later. His laughter still echoing in your ears.

“You are correct,” Otis said, fingertips brushing against your mating bite as if he was remembering that night as well, and you quickly swallowed past the bile rising in your throat.

Instead, you reached out to tangle your fingers in the beltloop of his jeans. You felt an immediate sense of calmness wash over you at his little grunt of approval at your movement.

“Well, it seems your Omega here got into a bit of a…spat,” the man began while stroking his mustache and Otis interrupted him with a laugh.

“Yeah, she is a feisty one. Only reason she’s stuck around as long as she has,” he said and you winced and the double meaning of his words.

Otis had been charmed by your aggression when you first met, so unusual for an Omega, and he continued to push and prod your buttons just to get reactions from you. Your ass and thighs still stung from his earlier ‘playing’.

“But she knows better than to let others touch what belongs to me. Knows I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to my property,” he continued and you could see the awkwardness settle of the security guard.

It seemed he was finally starting to realize that Otis wasn’t just the average possessive Alpha. The think scent of Alpha aggression was clear to you, probably because you were so used to it, but the man just shifted on his feet and cleared his throat.

You could feel Otis grinning from behind you.

“Now, what I really wanna know is…how fast do you think you can run?” he asked casually and you closed your eyes briefly.

There was hardly ten seconds that passed before he was shoving you to the side and launching himself at the Alpha. A loud wet yelp sounded from the living room, a gurgled groan followed by a loud shrieking cackle, and you knew that Baby was taking care of the security guard in the living room. You thumped pitifully against the wall as you watched a flash of long pale hair and the glint of a knife fly past you and out the door. The security guard didn’t even make it to the porch steps before Otis was on him with a growl that you felt in your bones. You heaved another sigh before turning and dragging yourself up the stairs towards the room you shared with Otis as you waited for him to finish and began to mentally prepare for your punishment. The man pleading for mercy only made you feel exhausted.

“I tried to warn you. You brought this on yourself.”

[follow-my-literature]

A Palace Full of Cranks - Newt x Reader

— Back to Summary

Chapter One: SHORT GOODBYE'S

NEWT'S POV:

— I had felt a lot of pain in my life, both inside and out, but I believed that very moment, watching Tommy and the others leave me for the last time, was my rock bottom. A part of me desperately wanted to accept the reckless whims of love and friendship. To run off the Berg and join my friends in their quest to find Hans, get their implants removed, and accept whatever came next.

But I'd made up my mind, as fragile as it might be. If ever in my life I could do one thing right, the thing that was unselfish and full of good, this was it. I'd spare the people of Denver my disease, and I'd spare his friends the agony of watching him succumb to it.

My disease. The Flare….

I hated it. I hated the people trying to find a cure. I hated that I'm not immune, and I hated that my best friends were. All of it conflicted, battled, and raged inside me.

I know that I'm slowly going insane, a fate rarely escaped when it came to the virus. It had come to a point where I didn’t know if I could trust myself, both my thoughts and feelings.

Such an awful circumstance could drive a person mad if they weren’t already well on their way to that lonely destination. But while I knew that I still had an ounce of sense, I needed to act. I needed to move before all those heavy thoughts ended me even sooner than the Flare.

I can do this, he thought. For them.

I got to my feet and ran to the bunk I'd used on the flight from Alaska. Throwing what little possessions I owned into a backpack. Including water, food, a knife I'd stolen from Thomas to remember him, and a launcher from Jorge. Then I grabbed the most essential item—a journal and pen I'd found in one of the random cabinets on the Berg.

My breath came in short, stuttered gasps. My chest hurt with the pain of it. My thoughts turned cloudy as my breathing nearly stopped in choaked sobs. I have a plan, don't I? Several plans, depending on the contingencies. But each plan had the same ending—it was how I got there. I will last as long as I write what I need in that journal. Something about that simple, empty little book waiting to be filled.

It gave me a purpose, a spark, a winding course to ensure the last days of my life had reason and meaning. A mark left on the world. I will write all the sanity I can muster out of my head before it is taken over by its opposite. Wiping my eyes and grounding myself before the anxiety attack could take over my body.

The only item left to settle now was how to leave it with Thomas and the others. Maybe give them a little closure. I decide that my journal will survive if it weighs less by one page. I tear out a page and take a deep breath. Pen almost to paper when I stall as if I'd had the perfect thing to say, but it floated out of my mind like vanished smoke. Sighing, I itched with irritation. I am anxious to get out of the Berg and walk away—limp or no—before something changes, so I refocus my emotions. Scribbling down the first thing that pops into my head, I leave the note for the others.

"They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks.Its for the best. Thanks for being my friends.Goodbye."

I put the notebook down as tears blur my vision. Was it short and curt enough to prevent them from coming after me? To get it through their thick skulls that there was no hope for me and that I'd only get in the way? That I didn’t want them to watch me turn into a mad, raving, animalistic human? To give my friends the best shot they had at succeeding, it would be with one less obstacle.

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. I am going one way or another. I scrawl out the rest of what my mind can put together and hope that will be enough for them.

"Even as the darkness whispers across my mind, beckoning with smoky tendrils of blackness and rot, even as I breathe in the stench of a dying world, even as the blood within my veins turns purple and hot, I feel the peace of a certain knowledge. I have had friends, and they have had me. And that is the thing. That is the only thing."

Steeling myself one more moment to panic I stuff the notebook into my bag, double-checking I have all the supplies I need. With a deep breath, I open the Berg doors and look out into the chaos. A mass of disorder, shaken up like dice and spilled across the land. But that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was how normal everything felt....

— Excerpts from Crank Palace

[bubble-popping]

day 6? i think? roleswap au again yeah there's a lot of it

He couldn't stop shaking. Several minutes had passed. His breathing was still ragged. The stench of rust and slaughter still burned his nostrils. Blood still matted his fur. (He didn't even want to think about who's.) He felt so disgusting; he couldn't bear to look at himself.

He kept rereading the main channel on his communicator just to be occupied. His grasp on the device tightened and loosened, assuring him it was all real, that this wasn't some twisted nightmare.

That he'd just massacred so many innocent people--including his best friend. And worst of all, he still felt the overwhelming urge to do it again scratching at the back of his brain.

Dream squeezed his eyes shut, willing the bile to stay down.

"Some festival, huh?"

The enderian jolted, his entire body puffing up and a strangled enderman noise leaving his throat. He looked to the source of the voice, and all the panic-driven adrenaline that'd filled his veins crashed to a halt.

"Technoblade, what the hell! Don't sneak up on me like that!" His communicator creaked under his crushing grip.

Techno raised his arms in surrender. "Woah, sorry. Didn't realize ya were tryna have a moment there. I can go if-"

"No, no," Dream interrupted, maybe a little too quickly. "It's fine. You can stay. Just, surprised me is all." He relaxed against the oak tree at his back, letting his device de-materialize so his hands were limp in his lap. He hated the empty feeling, but the constant reminder of his crimes was worse.

The masked man approached to join him under the shade. He sat with a low sigh, knees bent and arms resting on top.

Something about Techno's presence was very comforting--in the way that an old trusty axe or a well-worn shield was. Of course, Dream would never admit this, much less to Technoblade himself.

"Ya wanna talk about it?" Techno asked, startling Dream from his thoughts.

Dream snorted. "Since when do you care about my mental health, Techno?"

"Since I found ya shakin' like a leaf under a tree covered in blood n' guts."

"Oh yeah, cuz I totally believe you just happened to be walking by. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was just mindin' my business walkin' down the Member Road when my comms exploded, no pun intended, so I was like 'Dream's goin' off? Oh, this I gotta see' and now I'm here."

Dream blinked at him blankly. Then he scoffed, and then he couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Without even realizing, he gradually relaxed more and more until he was slouched against the trunk.

"So, you followed me out here to, what? Make fun of me? Brag about how you would've killed more?"

"Nah, I told ya, Dream. I came to see if yer okay."

"And I told you I don't buy that."

"Can I not care about my favorite rival?"

"Techno, I'm your only rival."

"Wow, Dream, that's kinda narcissistic of ya. Possessive too."

"Do you have any other rivals?"

"None on yer level, but I'd say I have a few. If I had known ya wanted to be exclusive then I would've told 'em-"

"Oh my god, shut up! You're so stupid! That's not what I'm saying!" Dream exclaimed while giving a playful shove. Techno promptly dissolved into hiccuping laughter. The enderman pretended his face wasn't heating up, crossing his arms like a petulant child, despite how he joined in the giggles.

Yet, he knew he needed this. Even if just for a moment, he could imagine everything was okay. That he was safe here, tucked away from the rest of the server with the admin harmlessly bullying him while an undeniable fondness grew in his heart.

A comfortable silence blanketed them once they'd calmed down. Dream could feel a certain exhaustion start to weigh on his eyelids, and inevitably his hands itched to grab something.