#( wip ) forest with teeth

[encrucijada]

not actually nanowrimo but since it's november, might as well be!

title: the forest with its teeth

genre: found footage horror (but written down)

wordcount goal: 5k because university is trying to kill me. the main goal is actually to do some writing to start figuring out the sequence of events and the characters

cw: cannibalism, depictions of violence and torture, body horror, harm to animals, unreality, feeding into fear and paranoia, probably fire

summary: multimedia project about a group of 5 friends who become stranded within a forest with some unsettling folklore tied to it, as the cliché goes. the horror is slowly revealed to them and it seems to go beyond just the eerie feeling of being watched or the figure they can sometimes see ambling between the trees.

core theme: love as horror and the horror is making it your problem

characters: that's a secret 🤫 a lot of the story relies on the characters being a bit of a mystery

inspiration: over the garden wall, the magnus archives, mabel podcast, the blair witch project (that i have not watched), marble hornets (that i also haven't watched), whatever @teddywriting tells me is good horror

[stars-for-circe]

Bones and All - Part 1

Part 1, Part 2 - wip

Tags / cw: Cannibal!reader x Vampire!Ellie, reader is a psychopath, Ellie is over 100 but physically 23, reader is around 27-30, reader is sophisticated/classy, gore, blood, suggestive, dark themes - read at your discretion, murders, drugging, cannibalism, reader is rich

On Monday, you were reckless. Starved. It had been three days since you had last feasted. And even now, after catching a meal, it was only a leg. The poor victim crawling away in agony as you dined on his limbs. And when he dared to pause his escape, to look back at the sight of you tearing through flesh with your teeth - your white cocktail dress now wine red, drenched with his life - he screamed.

"Y-you fucking monster!" He was dry heaving at this point, saliva and snot and tears dripping out as his body tried to keep itself alive.

You merely turned to look at him, and grinned - bearing your red teeth.

"And what did your wife call you? When you hit her? When you killed her?"

He whimpered in realisation. This, this wasn't some random attack. This was planned, methodical. This was karma. Whatever god that ruled above had breathed a purpose into you, as a vessel of retribution. You simply took back what your victims stole. A life for a life.

"Darling, don't act so righteous. You and I? We are no different." You were almost patronising, void of any empathy, any remorse.

He promptly passed out. Either from the blood loss or the shock - or both, you considered - it made cleaning up easier when the mess wasn't screaming for help. Unfortunately, the pill you slipped into his glass didn't work for long. You realised as such when you noticed his brows scrunch as you dragged him out of your car and into the forest. God, there was so much blood. Painting the forest floor, the fallen Winter leaves now reflecting the colour of Autumn. It was nauseating.

And usually, you were meticulous. In choosing your victims (who were always as evil as you, in their crimes, their abuses), in luring them out of hiding, in drugging them until you killed. You made sure to be inviting, enticing, making them eager to have dinner at your manor, or drinks at a quiet bar.

Of course, dining at home was easier for you to slip something in their food, but most bars were dark enough for a dissolving pill to go unnoticed. And sometimes you enjoyed going out - the thrill of possibly getting caught, the clouded eyes of your victims thinking you were taking them to bed. Well, you did, but it was to their deathbed, rather.

You would undress them, bathe them, even talk to them. Because who knows? Maybe they could still hear you in their dreams, amidst all the drugs in their system. Then, in a bathtub filled halfway with warm water, you would slit their throat. And you would let them drain until there wasn't any blood left. Because unlike your other, more famous peers, you hated blood. Its metallic taste on your tongue oh-so unpleasant, when you'd rather savour the other delicacies in humans.

But this time, you had no choice. The son of a bitch woke up halfway home. You had to take a detour into the forestry surrounding the manor. You had to eat. You couldn't wait any longer. That sense of panicked urgency now overtaking your ravenous hunger. And as the drugs wore off, he was thankfully still weak enough to drag outside, and leave laying against a tree. But as the drugs wore off, he screamed and begged for his life when the glint of your knife shone under the moonlight.

You just begged for some peace and quiet while having dinner. But, some dreams would only remain dreams. And he would remain screaming as the knife sunk in.

So that night, you ate. A disgusting, bloody meal. But a meal nonetheless. It tasted horrible, but it would last you another few days - it was enough for now. The creatures of the forest would eat the rest.

On Monday, Ellie smelled the blood. It was fresh.

On Tuesday, Ellie found the source. 7 miles away, in some forest in the middle of nowhere. Wolves, surrounding a carcass of what was once a man, now just fertiliser. The leaves, damp from early morning fog, squelched under her feet as she got closer. And vampires, being at the top of the food chain, bowed to no-one. The wolves ran away at the sight of her.

"Holy shit..."

It was missing a fucking leg. A clean cut - the wolves weren't this clean in hunting. And it couldn't be because of the wolves - they never attacked people. This was a body, left in the forest, missing a fucking leg - and Ellie didn't know why.

For a moment, she suspected another vampire in her territory. This was in the outskirts after all, maybe they didn't recognise her markings. But vampires didn't do this. They were discrete - which was part of the reason why it was so difficult to hunt in this era, with the amount of fucking CCTV everywhere. Ellie herself hadn't eaten in weeks. This? This was a fucking mess. There were clothes thrown everywhere, the body was still identifiable, and the smell reached miles on every side.

But most importantly, there was blood. So much blood. And Ellie was a vampire, for fucks sake. Another vampire wouldn't kill for no reason - and this looked like the blood was avoided on purpose. Her mouth watered. Fuck, it was unintentional - this was so gruesome she could have thrown up at the sight. But the coat of fresh blood spread everywhere made her wish the body was still alive - still warm.

So Ellie was confused. And honestly? She was really fucking spooked, too. This forest was quiet - eerie even. There were no birds singing, no crickets chirping, even though they should have been wide awake. It screamed of danger, even to her. Vampires were predators, but for some reason, Ellie felt like prey. Her leg started twitching, begging her to run out of this place, lest it be next.

So she got out of there as fast as she could, in whatever direction was in front of her. The fog, still cold and damp, blanketed both the forest floor and herself, and Ellie couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or nervous that send the chill down her spine - but she ran. And after an hour, spent narrowly missing hidden branches and rocks (No, she didn't trip), she found a break in the clearing. Thank god.

Wait, was that a manor?

…

She ran the wrong way.

"Son of a-"

"Fuck these fucking forests and their fucking trees and their fucking rocks and houses-" She kicked a nearby tree, breaking the trunk in half. Then a rock, then the dirt. The volume of her yelling caused the birds to fly out of the trees. She glared at them, and then ran back to the proper way out. Fuck the blood for smelling so enticing.

On Tuesday, You heard commotion in the clearing near your house. But no human dared to come near, so you blamed it on the wild animals.

On Wednesday, You built an appetite. But so did Ellie. And this time, you were prepared.

On your bedside table sat a sugar bowl, a vintage style of ornate - only the sweets worthy enough deserved to be held within. It was rather beautiful, as the early morning sun gently reflected off the edge of it. It garnered your attention, as you slowly woke up. And slowly, as you leaned against the headboard of your bed, and reached over to sit it on your lap, your mouth watered at the promise of the treats inside. Today was the day.

You took the little gold lid off, eyeing the candy inside. Each piece wrapped in a different type of paper than the last. You licked your lips tentatively - what would you fancy today? Gooseberry? No, you had that one two days ago. How about Grapefruit instead? A tough choice to make, given the amount of flavours to choose from. Gently, your fingers circled the rim of the bowl, tracing the intricacies drawn onto the china, before you dipped your hand into the bowl and pulled a piece out at random.

The pastel green wrapper crinkled as you unwrapped it, before popping the candy in your mouth and closing your eyes as you savoured its taste. Green apple - an old favourite of yours. Though, it had definitely been a while since you last had that one in particular, because they were always the hardest to catch. Hidden in the ridges and bumps of the bowl, seen rarely, and chosen even lesser. Hm, you had your work set out for you tomorrow.

You clenched your fist in contemplation, and felt a poke from the crinkled wrapper still in your hands. You almost forgot. And at your favourite part nonetheless! You sat your self up, now cross legged on the bed as you unfolded the wrapper in anticipation. It was silent for a moment, as you raised a brow, absorbing the information in front of you.

Oh?

Written, in small font, was her information. Her age, her name, her crime. A lovely choice. And it was ironic, that out of all the ways she would be punished for it, you were her executioner. How cyclical, you thought. But never mind that, for she was just another victim to get rid of - nothing more, nothing less. You bit down on the candy, breaking it inside your mouth. It’s sour taste clouding your senses as you contemplated your methods. And yet, it would be a shame not to have fun with this one, after all, it wasn't often you feasted on one of her kind.

'Ellie Williams, 23, vampire.'

A dinner party at your manor would suffice, to lure her into your clutches, and to celebrate your forthcoming victory.

On Wednesday, Ellie was reckless. Starved. 3 weeks since she had last fed - and she was ready to do anything for another taste.

Taglist: @bready101 @elliewilliamsblunt @aouiaa @strangehuman101 @lov3lylotus @wishbones999 @seraphicsentences @les4elliewilliams @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

[hedwig221b]

snippet sunday monday

tagged by wonderful @endwersed! thank you so much! this is a kinda long(ish) snippet from my @hotgirlstiles wip but I'm feeling generous

The alpha shook his head viciously as if shaking the order off. “Go fuck yourself, Hale! I swear I’ll kill you one day. You think you’re invincible, but—” he stumbled over his words, his eyes narrowed.

Derek, of course, sensed Stiles’ presence. He glanced at the omega who walked up quietly to the railing and pushed one of his hands around Derek’s elbow. His impenetrable gaze was focused on the alpha on the first floor.

In the low pink and purple lights, he didn’t look real. His white clothes changed color along with the lights, and all of his little trinkets only accentuated his preciousness. Nothing gleamed as hard as his eyes, though.

“Go,” said Stiles in a quiet voice.

The alpha looked at him for a moment, then roared, swerved around, and ran on all fours across the bar until he crashed through the exit.

Stiles lifted his chin. He gave the people staring at him a brief glance and turned to Derek.

“I’m kinda hungry,” he said and smiled.

If they weren’t in the club in the middle of the busy city, Derek would’ve run out like that alpha just did. He would’ve headed straight for the forest and found the best game there was: juicy, young, and soft. He would’ve torn its throat with his teeth and dropped the prey at his omega’s feet. He would’ve cut the meat in tiny pieces with his claws and fed the bloody bits right into Stiles’ open mouth.

Derek swallowed.

“Let’s see what they have,” he rasped.

He took the suddenly obedient omega by the hand and sat him down on the sofa right next to himself. When Derek took the menu, Stiles waved it off.

“Order for me, alpha.” He swung one of his knees over Derek’s thigh and dangled his foot. “Cora, you’re scaring people. Come here, please, I need to know all the family drama.”

Scoffing, Cora left the railing and walked back to the sofa.

“So, here’s the thing…” she started.

Derek could hardly concentrate on anything beyond Stiles’ body that settled so nicely against him and the omega’s leg swung over his thigh. When the food arrived — steak and fries, because Derek needed to feed Stiles something bloody — the wolf took it apart and fed his omega slowly and carefully.

While Cora waved her fork around between the telling of the complicated tale, Stiles didn’t lift a finger. He must have sensed something from Derek, something primal and scorching that needed attention and wouldn’t agree to a compromise.

Interestingly, Stiles seemed to find just as much pleasure in the wolf’s actions.  

Derek didn’t forget how he complained about the alphas choosing the food for him, yet, this time he asked Derek to do exactly that. It nearly drove him feral as he realized that Stiles trusted him with the choice. He knew that the wolf would feed him well.

Whether it was a conscious decision or a play of instincts, they fit together. Two puzzle pieces locked and stuck so hard that one could not take them apart without completely destroying both.

Read full version here

[divider link]

[inexplicifics]

For the WIP-game have we had any Eskel & the Fae yet?

So full disclosure, I have no idea where this one is going.

Eskel is on his way from one no-name tiny village to another, via a surprisingly peaceful stretch of forest - which probably should have been his first clue that something was about to go very wrong - when a streak of yellow light comes zig-zagging through the trees and runs smack into his chest. He catches the small glowing creature as it bounces off his gambeson, and blinks down in surprise at a person, about six inches tall, with glowing yellow wings about as long as its height, and an expression of pure terror on its - her? - tiny face. “Help me! Hide me! Please!” she cries. Eskel makes an impulsive decision, and reaches down with his free hand to flip open a saddlebag. “In,” he says, and she launches herself from his palm and into the bag, burrowing into it and vanishing. He drops the flap and gets his hands back on the reins - Scorpion, being a well-trained witcher’s horse, has kept walking steadily, without flinching at moving lights or strange noises - just in time for a whole cavalcade of riders to come out of the woods. Eskel reins Scorpion in, eyeing the newcomers warily. They’re definitely people, but their steeds range from what sure as hell look like kelpies to him, to slat-sided elk, to something that looks like a horse but very definitely has a predator’s teeth. And the riders are all armored in bronze and horn, and are shaped…not quite like humans. All the hairs on the back of Eskel’s neck stand on end.

[eureka-its-zico]

Kiss Me and My Bones Turn to Ash

Synopsis: You get introduced to Mito in the worst way possible.

A/N: I love AU’s like this. This was a long time coming, but finely, this WIP is seeing the light of day after some long months. I tried to make it 5k words or less, but apparently, 7.3k is the smallest I can do. I hope DPR fans (and even nonfans) enjoy this little one-shot of mine. As always, much love, Jenn 

Pairing: DPR IAN x Reader

Genre: Demon!Mito, Demon AU, 

Word count: 7368

Warnings: dark themes, sacrificial themes, light BDSM, smut, blood, light gore mentioned, there is some dirty shit in here y’all. Mentions of drug-use

Your throat was raw and your skin ached. 

Raw from screaming and attempting to struggle out of the many hands that gripped your arms and legs. Your one last shot at freedom echoing between cypress trees and an endless midnight sky. Multiple hands stripped away every last shred of dignity from your body until there was nothing left but tears that flowed freely down makeup smeared cheeks down to naked skin. 

You were defenseless as these intrusive hands came by the dozens - yanking and pulling you down dirt paths deeper inside the forest. 

It didn’t matter how your voice rose in a crescendo of despair; the fear worming its way deeper inside your gut. The small hope you’d held onto that someone - anyone - would save you died the minute your bloodied back met cool stone. 

You continued to give them a fight as they spread you like a star across the midnight stone of their altar. You wouldn’t make it easy for them. While they treated you like something disposable, you knew your life meant something to you with all the moments you’d never see flashing wildly behind frantic eyes. 

It wasn’t until the ropes cut painfully deep into the skin of your ankles and wrists that you felt the last grain of hope die in your chest. The prayers to whoever was listening, cracking one last time and washing out to silence as a wolf howled somewhere off in the distance. 

No one was listening to the sounds of your prayers - or so you thought. It wasn’t until later you’d learned he’d been walking beside you, as they dragged you through dirt and rocks that cut into your skin. He watched and listened as you thrashed and cursed them with your own hatred bubbling molten hot beneath muscles and bone.

He watched and waited for the perfect time to peel free from the shadows and find his new home inside you. 

Cloaked men came together to form a tight circle around the altar. Their arms raised up along with their voices in a deep chant that you swore made even the branches on the trees tremble. Was it Latin? Aramaic? The only ones who knew were the voices of the men and whatever god they were praying to. 

You were trying to catch a glimpse around the edge of the hood of someone’s clock - was that Devin from microbiology? - when a knife started to carve shallow lines across your stomach. 

A fresh wave of screams rose from your throat. The sound was lost inside the ominous chanting of men with hidden faces and the night. You knew your thrashing was pointless. You weren’t miraculously going to develop superhuman powers and Hulk your way free from your restraints. 

So, with each descending cut down your abdomen you snarled, “Fuck you!” In their direction. Your fear was bleeding away into something carnal - something worthy of savagery. No longer did you want them to see you weeping for a God to save you. If you were dying, it would be with defiance in your eyes and skin in your teeth. 

Another seething retort was flaring to life on your tongue when you noticed him, and that was when your world completely shifted. 

You had to be hallucinating him. A sadistic trick of your own mind to find comfort in…what? He didn’t seem real. He couldn’t be. But there he was. Over the shoulders of these hooded men, at the backdrop of the forest, he paced around them. His eyes pitiless and empty except for what looked like a blue spark of flame. His thumb traced the bottom of a pouty lower lip with the top of his Cupid bow curling into something sinister. You were watching him - you’d seen him and for some reason it brought him joy. He seemed amused, whoever he was, and that amusement sent that blue spark into a flame that lit up the entire iris of his eyes. 

He was handsome. The kind of handsome Roman sculptors looked for as a muse when carving into marble. You were willing to bet that there were dozens of odes and poems written just about him. Dark long hair framed his features and somehow made the pout of his lips more exaggerated. The edges touched the collar of his black trench coat that framed wide shoulders. Shoulders that spoke volumes of muscles that rippled with power and seduction: that left thousands begging for forgiveness for following any that wasn’t him. His jawline was razor sharp and the bones of his cheeks raised high. A part of you wanted to call him Apollo, but deep down you knew if he was a God he could only have one name. 

Hades. 

The chanting came to an end and with it the carving. You didn’t want to turn away from him - your lord of the underworld - but your curiosity took hold. You wanted to see what these bastards had done. 

You didn’t yell or scream when you saw the drizzles of blood that ran like heavy syrup down your sides. The crudely cut shape of a pentagram carved into the soft flesh of your abdomen. 

He could’ve done better. 

It felt fucked up to think that way but you were all out of tears and if you were going to die you at least wanted it to look better than resembling a carved-up Christmas ham. The enter situation began fucked up from the minute you woke up inside a cell and only worsened with each passing hour. If only you hadn’t accepted that stupid invitation maybe then you’d be home in your room eating discounted Oreos and on to your next Netflix binge. 

The regret built thick and thicker on your tongue until it made it impossible to swallow past the growing rage. Or maybe your throat was just raw from all the unanswered pleading you’d done - you were done crying. If you were going to die you refused to let it happen with fresh tears in your eyes. 

You took in a heavy breath and let yourself grow rigid -  hard and hollow - ready to curse them and show them your defiance. It didn’t matter if it was a pitiful last attempt at acting like you had any semblance of control. You weren’t going down begging. 

“Fuck-“

You. That’s how it should’ve finished. 

Instead, one of the hooded assholes - Jisoon from economics, it looked like - let out a gasp. If you were under better circumstances, you would’ve made fun of him. 

“It’s you! Oh, my lord!”

His body collapsed down to his knees. His arms out in front of him in what he must have thought resembled reverence. In actuality, he looked more like he was afraid. 

Groups of hooded heads turned to see what made their brother fall to his knees. Your own head included. You weren’t entirely sure why you needed to look. You knew he was there. 

You’d felt him long before your eyes ever gazed upon him.

He manifested from darkness. The shadows cast down by the moonlight from trees, bushes, and rock slithered to create his form and once he was made he stepped out into the clearing. The second the group of eyes fell on his darkened figure they followed down on their knees. Their faces buried in the dirt where their praises fell from their lips to the soil. 

“What are you praising? The dirt? Fuckin’ idiots,” you snarled. 

If you’re going to worship something - someone - you look it in the eyes. Let them feel your devotion like a plague. 

One of them looked at you then. His hatred was evident on his face. If he could, you were sure he would’ve spit on you. If you could, you would’ve strangled him with the rope he left you to die in. 

“Dark lord - foul one - we bring you the offering that you have desired.” 

Besides the long dark coat he wore underneath was a graphic shirt that reminded you of a Rorschach painting. Black designs flooded the white material until it took on different shapes. It was tucked inside black denim that hugged his thighs and dove inside black combat boots. 

If he really was a demon he was not only the most ridiculously good-looking one out there, but self-consciously stylish. 

Your head dropped back against the stone. Your wrists and ankles are still tightly spread and trapped by the ropes that hold you bound in place. You want to keep looking at him. The desire to look at him was overwhelming, but your body was too weak to fight the exhaustion of holding yourself up. 

He walked calmly into the circle they created with you at the center. His eyes took you in and you swore you could feel the trail they took along your body. You felt a need so violent suddenly flash under your skin your wrists jerked against the rope. A whimper of urgency to plead with him to touch you almost escaped your lips, but you caught it and swallowed it back down. 

A sexy smirk played across his lips. As if the son of a bitch knew what he almost made you do in a sacrificial circle with you as the main star. 

Fresh anger brewed in your stomach and you were ready to spit it out at his feet when you blinked and he was just there. His hand clasped tight to your cheeks in warning as his obsidian eyes of flame met yours. 

“I wouldn’t do that, little lamb.” 

You would have told him to shove it if he wasn’t holding on to your face so painfully tight.  

“Is this all you brought me?”

Well, that was fucking rude. 

“Lord Mito- “

One of the hooded assholes from earlier began to rise from his knees. This guy makes himself the preverbal leader of this merry band of idiots. He was on his way up from a one-knee position when Mito stopped him. His only other free hand halted him in place. 

At first, you thought it was nothing more than a gesture. He was staying still because his master instructed him to do so. It didn’t hit you that it could’ve been something else until you noticed his pale complexion begin to darken to crimson. The other hooded assholes now looking around in uncertainty and - something you truly enjoyed - fear. 

“You come to me - like your parents - to make deals for your Ivy League tuitions with riches and recognition and you come bearing fruit from only one tree. You ungrateful roaches.” 

With each word he spoke the boys began to writhe on the ground. Their identities exposed to you the way they’d exposed you to their treachery - naked and alone - to a demon for slaughter just so they wouldn’t need to try hard at life. Some of them you’d thought were your friends. 

“We have more! We can get you more!”

“There are tons of these drunk bitches back at the house.”

More drugged women they meant. More women like you who were dumb enough to take their betrayal as friendship. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted revenge. It stoked the dying fire of rage that was left in your gut and made it new. 

For a moment, you blinked, and your entire world evaporated into darkness. A part of you screamed as you tore your face free from his hands to stay put - to be a good girl. 

What had being a good girl ever got you but sacrificing yourself until you end up on some fucked up altar in the woods. 

You were surprised when Mito didn’t turn his grip tighter to hold you in place. He didn’t try to keep you in place and was willing to let you go. Your defiant eyes staring up into his that flashed with mirth. 

“I have a better offer for you.”

Your voice was hoarse. Hours of begging for your life will do that to you. Now it felt like its own premonition. Maybe to begin again all of what held you back needed to be stripped away in fire and blood to show you what you were capable of becoming. 

“Shut up, you whore.”

It was Carl - sweet coffee shop Carl - who lashed out at you then. His words full of a frantic need to keep you quiet. Mito’s head tilted in his direction giving Carl only a sideways glance before a hand moved into view. His middle and ring finger making a swift motion up sending Carl up into the air. 

When Mito spoke the rich baritone of his voice grew darker. The night itself shifted back as if whatever words he hummed in Latin were more terrifying than what resided inside it. You watched as Carl tried to scream as his body contorted in an ungodly way. Blood pulled from the corners of his mouth and eyes with unspoken words gargling out his agony. 

“I don’t expect any further interruptions, children” Mito snarled with Carl dropping in a twisted - and very dead - heap on the forest floor. “I smell a deal coming. Please, little lamb, continue.”

Your tongue flicked across your cracked lips. Your hesitancy dying off as soon as you watched his hungry eyes follow their movement. 

“I offer you them.”

A crescendo of yelling rose as a wave around you. The men who sought to end your life with brutality did not seem to enjoy losing their lives the same way. How funny.

Mito made a swift turning motion with his hand and pulled it close to his chest. In the span of the same heartbeat it took to do it all the screaming stopped. He’d stripped them of their voice. 

“If I wanted them I would have them.”

You shook your head hard once to deflect his claim. 

“That’s not true. If that was the case, they would already be dead. Especially Carl. You’re stuck in some weird servitude thing. I bet you can’t even leave this area.” An unnatural cold wind rushed over your skin. It involuntarily caused your hands to grab at your bindings as a shiver ran across your body igniting it in goosebumps. “I can offer you all of them. All twelve of them along with my servitude and the release to feed freely as you wish until I’m dead.”

Everything appeared to grow still as his eyes searched your face. Was that excitement in his eyes? You couldn’t tell at first but realized the growing flames that seemed to leap up endlessly past his iris wasn’t because of anger. It was the thought of new prospects. A freedom to feed in a way he’d been denied after however long he’d been summoned.

Mito began to slowly lean down towards your face and you struggled not to turn away. The fire in his eyes created the illusion that you were falling further into hell and, maybe you were. Strangely enough - for him - you were willing to burn. 

“You’ve got a deal, little lamb,” he breathed across your lips just before he crushed his mouth against yours. 

You shouldn’t have thought of it as a kiss. It was visceral - every part of you fought against your ropes, digging the thread deeper into your flesh just to feel his pouty lips envelope over yours. The tip of his tongue moved across your lower lip, asking for entrance, and you gladly gave it. 

You opened to him without hesitation and Mito deepened the kiss. He used his tongue to open you up further; cracking your lips and smearing it against his own. At the first hint of copper on your tongue Mito let out a moan that made you strain against your bindings. The sound was pure sin. It was the promise of pleasure and pain - of being torn apart and made anew. 

When he tore his mouth away from you in a snarl, you almost screamed out in frustration, but the twelve hooded assholes who you’d offered up did it for you. 

You couldn’t see all that well what was happening in the clearing around you. The sounds of screaming resonated back inside the night sky once more, but this time it no longer was yours.  You listened as some ended abruptly while others gurgled around throats full of blood just before their end. The sound of flesh and thicker things landing with a plop on the dirt made your stomach flip. Splashes of blood rained down on you and you squeezed your eyes shut tight. 

It felt like an eternity before the screaming stopped abruptly after the sound of a boot crunching the bones of someone’s neck. You could hear the wind move across the leaves and scatter them over objects - maybe bodies, maybe rocks - and branches. It became so eerily quiet that you wondered if the whole thing had been a dark part of your imagination. 

Maybe you’d open your eyes and find yourself back inside the party. Your friend handing you a warm beer as you danced to a remix of some song that you didn’t know half the words too. It was a good thought - a great one, actually - but one you knew wasn’t going to be true. 

When you opened your eyes a hurricane of emotion billowed up in your chest and threatened to release from your lips. Mito was floating above you, his eyes completely consumed with the flames that earlier had only shown like dying embers. Now, the fires were completely stoked by the souls of the corpses littered around you. 

A devilish smile showcasing perfectly white teeth raised his lips as he watched you swallow down your fear. You could’ve sworn they all looked very sharp and pointy, but just like his eyes you watched as they all but disappeared. The only thing left to show for what had happened was a naked torso covered in tattoos and streaked with blood. 

“Are you afraid?”

You licked your lips as you tried to think of how to answer and watched as hungry eyes followed the movement once more. 

“It depends on what you mean by afraid,” you answered him softly. “Am I afraid of being in your debt? No. Am I afraid of you? Yes.”

His finger dragged along your cheek and followed the curve of your face. You thought he would stop there and gasped as he traced it further down to your throat, over your chest, and to the curve of your breast. 

“You’re smart to be afraid of me,” he replied huskily. His body was no longer floating above you but was now being held up by his own weight. “But I promise to take good care of you, little lamb as long as you promise to do the same for me in return.” 

His head dipped to the curve of your neck to press a soft kiss just below your ear. The intimacy of the gesture wasn’t something you’d prepared for. You’d expected him to be brutal; to take without remorse. Instead, Mito pressed his lips softly against your skin as if to tell it a secret. 

It didn’t seem possible, but as his lips glided down your throat and to the hollow of your collarbone an ache began to grow hot and molten in your blood. He placed one last kiss between your breasts before his tongue dragged a hot line down close to the carved flesh of your stomach. 

You were aware of his hand as it crept up your thigh. Mito made sure he took his time with every inch his fingers took - tracing over the dips in your hip and over the mound of your pussy. Constantly he teased you - getting close and pulling away - and never let you have an inch of relief. 

A whimper was rising in your chest. Your hands no longer docile as they struggled to loosen the hold of the ropes at your wrists just so you could lace your fingers roughly in his hair. Mito’s tongue ran over the top point of the pentagram causing a hiss of surprised pain to rush past your lips. You wanted to move away from his wandering tongue as it continued to explore the open wound, but a strong hand held you in place. 

Mito worked his mouth over the botched grooves of your stomach - cleaning up the last remnants of your fucked up night. A growl was growing louder deep within his chest, humming against your skin, just before he shoved his tongue brutally into the open wound. 

The pain tore the air from your lungs. The scream you would’ve unleashed was stolen by silence and two thick fingers pushing themselves past your folds until they were knuckle deep inside you. 

You wish you could say that your body fought him - your thighs had clenched shut around his arm or your hips made it impossible for him to enter you. That he didn’t find your pussy dripping and eager for him. None of that would be true, however. 

Your body accepted him like a zealot to a newfound religion, and his fingers pushing past your folds to fuck you had your hips rising up to meet him with devotion. 

“Please,” you hummed. 

You didn’t care that you were begging. You were ready to shout for him to go further - deeper - when he inserted a third finger. The feeling of your pussy stretching followed by the overwhelming sense of fullness caused you to buck against the rock. The movement forced your stomach up into his hungry mouth causing his tongue to go deeper into the cut. 

The stinging sensation should’ve been enough to bring you back to your senses - a warning that this was fucked; you shouldn’t be enjoying this - but Mito made your body crave his pleasure through brutality. 

His wrist began to pump his fingers in deep, curling and stretching you until you came impossibly undone. Every time he pulled back - his fingers entering you anew - he went impossibly deeper. His fingers curl enough to hold the breath in your lungs and tear it free when his thumb curved up and pressed down on your clit. 

A wet squelching noise began to rise up around you. It was lewd - complete filth that mixed itself together with the sloppy sounds of his mouth hungrily cleaning up the dried blood surrounding the pentagram. Your cheeks would usually burn red hot with embarrassment at the sounds being made, but when Mito’s thumb began to apply pressure as his thumb rubbed small circles on your clit, fingers still fucking you, you couldn’t find a reason to care. 

With a thick pop, Mito removed his mouth from your wound. Fresh blood - your blood - outlined his puffy lips. He made no move to go back to your chest or do anything. His fire filled eyes did not stop from watching as you writhed beneath him. 

“Tell me: I want you to tell me to whom you belong.” 

His voice was sin. It was sex - something ancient and primal that blossomed inside you like blood on a white shirt. It made your body needy as his thumb stroked in time with his fingers as they pushed inside your cunt. 

“You - fucc it’s you.” 

“You’ll do what I ask of you. No questions asked.”

His curled fingers touched something deep inside you. Something that clawed a mewling sound out from between your lips and made your body struggle anew against your restraints. You knew Mito wanted an answer. The irritation was creasing that pretty brow of his and making his hairline drop to greet them. 

The same irritation stoked the flame in his eyes from cobalt blue to crimson. Mito thrusted his fingers one last time into you before he removed them. If he was trying to punish you he was too late. 

That last thrust - with the hard rub of his thumb against your clit - sent you barreling over the edge. Your orgasm hit you violently and fast and you found yourself wetting the front of his chest. 

“Dirty girl,” he huffed. “You got me all wet.” 

He moved along your body until you were eye level. Your body was still trembling underneath him when his fingers laced themselves at the base of your scalp and pulled. A yelp leapt out of you as Mito’s free hand took hold of your jaw and held your mouth open. 

You watched as he accumulated salvia at the edge of his lips. Your brain barely registered what he was doing until he spit it inside your open - waiting - mouth and forced it closed. 

“Swallow.”

The demand was fire. A promise of punishment if you disobeyed. You wish you could’ve said it was disgusting. The taste of blood - your blood - and brimstone staining the inside of your mouth and coating your throat pissed you off. That you fought against him and told him to fuck off. In all actuality, it only made your cunt clench down on nothing. 

Once you swallowed it you opened your mouth and flicked your tongue out just to show him you’d been good. Done as he asked. The gesture alone sent a devilish smirk to curl across those pretty lips. 

“Good girl. Now let me hear you say it.”

Oh. Right. “I’ll do what you ask of me, Mito. No questions.”

“I expect you to hold up your end of our deal tonight, little lamb.” 

“I always keep my promises.”

You were trying to sound cheeky. Instead, it simply came out breathless. Mito was still staring down at you like you held the world he wanted to destroy and fuck if it wasn’t making it hard to think past the growing heat between your legs.

Slowly, Mito lowered himself closer to you and only stopped when his lips hovered a mere inch above yours. 

“That remains to be seen.”

The baritone of his voice whispering against your lips sent your body into hyperdrive. You were ready to beg him to fuck you when he dropped the last inch and placed a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. 

The sheer softness of it startled you. Your eyes went wide as he pulled himself off of you and finally your makeshift altar. He was moving around you carefree. His movements slow and careful as he picks up his shirt and jacket out of the viscera and carnage he’d strewn across the fall leaves. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little lamb.” 

This asshole! Now your eyes were wide for another reason. You reached your arms up as high as you could raise them before giving the ropes at your wrist a shake. 

“Ugh, hello? Are you just going to leave me like this in the woods?”

Mito stopped at the edge of the clearing and regarded where you were like you were complaining about being in a five-star hotel. His shrug only set a fire to blaze in your blood. 

“It did cross my mind.”

“That’s gonna be a huge no for me.”

“You mean, you don’t like being tied naked to a rock in the middle of the woods?” He teased, with an eyebrow cocked. 

“Tempting, but no. Not in the slightest.” 

“Very well,” he shrugged. “See you soon, little lamb.”

Mito disappeared back inside the darkness he was born from, and you were ready to scream. To threaten to take your deal back when you threw up a middle finger at his exit and realized the rope was gone. 

Thank god - whoever - for spooky favors. 

You weren’t a smoker - still weren’t - but if offered you took one. From curious bartenders, frat parties with social smokers, and the ever-present sleazy drunks who assumed you must be a whore pressed so close to the shadows of the brick buildings Mito liked to frequent. 

The only whore you were was his. 

Of course, you were sure the only reason you let the toxic trash touch your lips was the same reason you drank in excess when he was gone. You weren’t entirely sure when you first noticed it. The emptiness you felt at small pleasures you used to enjoy became a distant memory. 

When was the last time you truly enjoyed a milkshake? A damn good Lumberjack-style breakfast or a warm cup of coffee? These days it seems you need multiple milkshakes to really taste the sweetness of the cream or the artificial flavoring of candy. You need dozens of pancakes and a mountain of syrup to even begin to feel full. 

No. When Mito was gone there was no fulfillment in anything. You were a bottomless pit of wants and craving and the only thing that could ease the burden of that unfashionable emptiness was him. 

At first, you didn’t want to believe such a thing could happen, but the more he stayed away the more you felt the black hole of longing begin to brew inside your gut. You wondered if anyone else could see it; the desperate way you tried to fill it. No matter what you tried nothing could ease the ache of nothingness until he reappeared. Your knight in his all-consuming darkness. 

When he would simply appear from the shadows or come up quietly from behind you while you sat on a bar stool, his hands covering your eyes and a devious, “Guess who?” cascading down your senses, you felt whole again. Complete. A fucked up missing puzzle piece finally fitting back in its rightful place. 

Maybe this is what it meant to be soulless. A hollowed-out version of who you were that only knew relief by the hands of the devil. 

You spent weeks since that night at the party - from your little adventure in the forest - before you saw Mito again. When he finally re-emerged for the first time that night with his hands hovering over your eyes you didn’t need to hear the husk of his tone to know it was him. 

Your skin had become feverish with a desire so deep it felt like you’d taken a sledgehammer to the gut at just the heat of him pressed against your back. All the life you’d felt slipped out of you day by day, everything you loved and that made you-you suddenly was coming back with blaring clarity. 

The second Mito’s warmth retreated from your back, your legs were swinging the bar stool around to follow him. He was moving to sit in the empty stool next to you. His feet barely touched down on the grimy linoleum floor before you were on him. 

You secured your arms around his shoulders and, to his apparent surprise, used the momentum of your body rocking into his to pull him towards you. You weren’t giving him a second to speak or deny you any longer. With a hand secured at the nap of his neck, and the other twinning inside the soft silk of his shirt, you crashed his pouty lips down on yours. Your tongue darting to trace a request for him to open up to you. 

Mito didn’t make you wait long. 

As suddenly as you’d taken hold of him Mito took hold of you - trapped you - in his arms. His kiss devoured you; ate and tasted up every whimpering plea his tongue stroking over yours coaxed from your chest. 

You felt alive. You felt whole again. 

Every sinew - every nerve of your body crackled with electricity, and as Mito’s hands glided up the back of your thighs you swore you could’ve become a storm. 

The both of you had stumbled into the bars’ back bathroom. The door held together by makeshift locks letting you know the entire place heard every moan he’d torn from you as he fucked you. When his cock bottomed out - so incredibly deep - between your folds and left you coming all over the edge of the bathroom sink, you knew that the whole entire bar heard.

Later that night, Mito made two deals with two grimy-looking fucks. They weren’t into specifics of the deals they tried to make, and that was the thing about demons. Specifics. They were wordy bastards - great at mind games and twisting phrases and promises around until it sounded like a sweet deal, but the fine print was always missed. Needless to say, the two men had made their own separate deals that night. Neither one of them made it to see the sunrise. 

After that night, Mito allowed you to travel with him. When you made yourself useful and found him unsuspecting souls full of grief and gluttony and, Mito’s personal favorite, rage. He particularly enjoyed the souls that looked sweet on the outside; soft and sincere sounding with their crosses around their necks. Underneath all of that tried-hard smile was something sinister; something Mito claimed to be the sweetest flavor of sin. 

You weren’t sure how all of his deals were struck. You were positive the women, and some of the men, probably asked for the deal to be sealed with a kiss. Sex. Not all of them prefer a handshake and words of good faith. One guy, in particular, wanted the deal to be sealed with a little flame, making Mito do a weird magic trick of using his finger like a candle. 

Yeah, that was a weird one. 

None of them made it past a week. Some - if they were lucky - got a few months. 

That’s how you ended up backstage in a band’s dressing room. You’d met the lead singer at a club they’d been performing at. He’d sauntered up to the bar pressing the crotch of his jeans against your ass and tried to play it off like he was just leaning against the bar - waiting for a drink just like you.  

The dislike for him was instant. 

You allowed yourself to listen to him ramble. His pickup lines were incredibly atrocious. He thought being in a band made him instantly fuckable. 

The only way you saw out of your predicament was to play into it and invite him to meet Mito. There were four other members in their group - four other people to come along for the ride. It didn’t take long for you to excuse yourself to their dressing room so Mito could do his whole song and dance. 

Show them he’s a demon and did his best not to freak them out. He was out there buttering them up. Five fresh souls for the taking. 

Whenever he made a fresh deal Mito liked to fuck. You weren’t sure if it was the excitement of a fresh soul, or a fresh kill when a particularly delicious sinner sat down at his table was too good to pass up (here is where the word games came into play). Whatever it was, he came back to you in such a euphoric high the tattoos that painted his skin writhed like a living thing.  

You weren’t complaining, not really. Your only complaint - if you had one - would be on those days when he’d made multiple transactions in a day. You cared very much when your overstimulated body threatened to rip in half as his cock pushed back inside your bruised walls; fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His teeth leaving impressions in the mounds of your breasts.

There was no doubt in your mind that he was going to come back in one of those highs. He’d warned you to stay put and that taking one foot outside the room meant punishment. 

Mito wanted you close and easy to find. You, however, were growing impatient. 

You hated how easy it became for him to read you, especially during sex.

There were times you enjoyed playing hard to please and Mito? Well, he enjoyed playing into it just to tear you apart and turn you into a crumbling mess beneath him. It was his way of reminding you that he owned you - mind, body, and soul - and while you continued to play your little games, it was only because he allowed the facade of freedom to dance like little sugar plums around in your head.

But there were moments he stripped those sugar plums from your head. 

The first night he’d marked you had been in the dressing room of someone famous. It’d make you nervous to be around them not because of who they were - you would have cared less about their money and a false sense of infamy. No, it made your skin crawl to watch these people negotiate deals with Mito as if they were making a setlist. They were too stupid to realize they needed to read the fine print; to know that fine print was open to change whenever Mito saw fit. 

You tried to wait like he’d asked, just like now, but the place made your skin crawl. You’d grabbed your bag and had just made it to the door, your hand on the knob twisting and swinging it open when - like Houdini - Mito was just there. 

An itching sensation began to grow between your shoulder blades. One where you couldn’t tell if it was a warning, you just being antsy to flee, or an actual damn itch. Whatever it was, maybe you should’ve listened to the first part, but just the memory of being left alone - again - inside another dressing room left your brain pleading with you to flee. 

Mito be damned. 

You slid off of the couch and your chunky boots made a resonating thud inside the empty room. 

Yup. Time to go. 

The second your hand wrapped around the doorknob and pulled the door towards you flashbacks of that night replayed through your head at warp speed. 

He didn’t seem surprised at your attempted departure. Instead, with an arm draped against the doorframe, Mito seemed like he was actually waiting for you to open it. A flurry of thought erupted in your head on how you could explain what you were doing - what he was seeing. You could easily tell him you’d sensed his presence at the door and were just trying to make it easier for him to enter. You knew, however, when reflecting obsidian eyes glanced down at your bag clutched tightly in your hands the jig was up. 

“And where, little lamb, do you think you were going?” 

“Mito I wasn’t-“ 

“And don’t lie to me,” he continued. His words over saturating yours as if he wasn’t finished talking to begin with. 

His body immediately encompassed what small space was left between you, him, and your attempted exit. His pitiless eyes were still staring down at you - waiting for a response - while he closed and secured the door behind him. 

You already knew the minute you saw him at the door you weren’t going anywhere. Now that he’d locked you in, sent your pulse racing with excitement or fear you weren’t too sure which was which. Lately, the two seemed to blend together. 

He was pushing you back farther into the room; your feet backpedaling into a moment of peace before you knew what would happen. 

“I was tired of waiting for you to get back. I was going out for a smoke.”

“I told you to wait here,” he growled. 

“And I wanted a smoke.”

You wanted to sound unmoved by the fluorescent gleam of rage billowing up in his eyes. At any minute his left could wash over to the bleak white that promised he was minutes from breaking. The facade of playing a mere mortal man bleeding away until all that stood before you was Death. 

You were so hyper-focused on him that you weren’t aware he’d backed you against the built-in makeup counter until your lower back came into painful contact with its edge. Just as a sharp gasp huffed from your lips Mito’s hand struck out - fluid and snake-like - to wrap around your throat. Constricting just enough to remind you it was there. 

“Little lamb, I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen.”

He did. He’d told you many times. Mito even embellished his warnings like a tiny little nightmare meant to keep children from adventuring out into the woods. 

Don’t go out there children. That’s where the wolf resides and he’ll tear you to bits. 

You always were a whore for things with sharp teeth. 

“You did, but I can’t help it,” your words gasped around his tightening grip. “You know I love to see if you’re a demon of his word.”

You watched intently as his eyes scanned your face. The Smokey trundles of white that began to billow up inside his left eye as his nostrils flared. A part of you felt victorious. A matching smirk was seconds away from sliding the corner of your lips upward until it was cut short. 

Mito released his hold from your neck, his body moving back just enough to allow space for him to turn you around to face the mirror. His hips closed the few inches he’d given while he kicked your feet apart. 

“You love being punished so much, don’t you, little lamb. Always testing your limits and one of these days you’re going to push too far.” As he spoke, his words curled at the base of your spine brimming with a threat that sent your heart thundering in your chest. “You’re so gluttonous for my punishment, let's see how you handle this.” 

The reflection in the mirror showcased your uncertainty. Your brow creases with the weight of unspoken questions as to what Mito could possibly mean. For a split second, ice-cold fear encapsulated your mind that maybe this was it. Maybe your deal was done and he was finished with you. 

That thought was ripped from your mind as Mito pushed your skirt up to your hips and a sharp smack of his hand against your ass brought you back to the present. Looking in the mirror, you could see his right eye was brimming with fire while the other had been completely consumed with white. 

He pressed up against you to keep you trapped between his body and the counter. Mito’s eyes watching as you watched him begin to remove his jacket and then the colorful shirt that had lived underneath it. 

No matter how many times you’d seen him naked, Mito never ceased to catch the air in your lungs. Your body forgot to register to breathe as you drank in the caramel tone of his skin and the museum of art that now slithered against his flesh. His muscles bunched and flexed as he tossed his clothes aside, and already you could feel the fabric of your underwear become soaked. 

He dragged a hand from the base of your spine and slowly moved it up until his hand laced in your hand. His fingers twinning in its strands and pulling back hard enough to tear a scream from you. 

With his free hand, he spanked you hard on the same cheek. The sting dulled out the momentary pain you’d felt.

“Tell me. Let me hear you say what you want.” 

“I want you.”

Another hard smack against your ass left your hands scrambling for something to hold you up; anything at all.  The only thing you logically seemed to find was the mirror itself. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, little lamb. I know you want me. You’re soaking my clothes.”

Licking your lips, you caught his gaze in the mirror and held it. Your chest heaving as you struggled to get out the words you knew would ruin you. 

“I want you-I want you to fuck me, Mito. My lord. My master.”

You threw in the last for fun. You knew he loved it when you used pet names for him. One that reminded you both of who - what - he truly was. 

“As my slave commands.”

You weren’t about to correct him, because you were. You knew without him you were nothing and when he dropped to his knees in front of your cunt with his tongue pushing between your folds, you knew Mito worshiped you too. 

_____________

Comments and reblogs are always welcome. Thank you for reading! XoXo

[aris-ink]

I need step brother jungkook fcking sister in a tesla driving home pls 🥵

I know this wasn't in my wips but I was listening to ordinary life by the weeknd and here we are

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: mentions of violence (not towards the reader), slight allusions to murder and corruption kink, pseudo incest, oral sex (road head 💀), soft dirty talk, tiny bit of degradation, lots of praise, car sex, creampie, as always this turned out soft

The trees passing by looked like ink, branching out against the pink and orange brushes of dusk in the sky. Jungkook's hands tightened around the wheel, the feeling of your lips on his neck caressing him like a gentle gust of wind, causing goosebumps to erupt along his spine. He leaned his head back against the leather seat when you left a kiss below his ear, one hand landing on your thigh.

It was so difficult to find a moment where you could be alone together like this. He couldn't exactly kiss you or hold you out in the open, because what would people say? Personally, Jungkook didn't give a fuck. He never hesitated to bury anyone who bothered you deep in the ground, and therein lay the problem. You gave a fuck, and seeing as he was your brother, he would have to burn the whole city down, starting with your parents. Somehow, he doubted that you would have liked that.

Not that ultimately he wasn't going to have to take care of this issue anyway. But for now, he was happy to just fuck the tears and the doubts out of you, until you understood that you were his and he was yours.

And it seemed like you were beginning to understand, little by little. His cock hardened as your warm lips brushed up against the silver cross on his neck, your nimble fingers working on undoing his zipper. He wished he could open the window to cool down, but he wanted to hear you clearly, each breath you took and each soft hum you let out.

Heat bubbled in his stomach, a sharp intake of breath following the feeling of your hand wrapping around him, easing his cock out of his jeans. Inked fingers tightened on your thigh, eyes trained on the road stretching out before him. Even when you leaned down to swipe your tongue across the tip.

He twitched at the feeling of the wet warmth, the veins in his hands more prominent the tighter he squeezed the wheel.

"What are you doing?" He murmured, unable to help the flutter of his heart and his eyelids, his back straightening when your lips wrapped around him.

The only answer you provided him with was a small suck as you lowered your head further, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. Jungkook groaned, restlessly searching the outside scenery for a place to park. Instead of continuing down the highway, he made a turn into the forest that stretched for miles from both sides, where the old oaks and willows could conceal you from any prying eyes.

The path he entered was rocky and uneven, the unexpected bump causing your teeth to graze against him. Jungkook hissed, slowing to a stop, not caring enough to drive deeper into the woods. As soon as the ignition was off, his hand buried in your hair, head tilting down so he could look at you. He grunted, taking in the way half of his cock disappeared inside your mouth, the way you tried to take it deeper, sloppy and wet and tight.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Oh, what a good girl."

He finally let himself throw his head back and close his eyes, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, tongue running over his piercing. The small moan you let out around him made his cock drip, and you sucked on it like you needed more. Jungkook whined, tugging on your hair softly to get your attention.

But when you lifted your head, spit shining on your lips, his hand cupped the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a messy kiss.

"Get in the back," he muttered. "Go."

It shouldn't have been surprising that as soon as you did as he asked, he was sliding your wet panties down your thighs, ready to bury his face in between them. Smoothing one hand over your spine, he bent you over the seat, the other hand busy tucking your underwear into the back pocket of his jeans.

"I'll be keeping those, baby."

Your hips rolled when you felt his lips brush your inner thigh.

"Need you inside, please," you sighed, resting your head comfortably against the seat.

Jungkook pressed himself against you, shielding you with his warmth, hard cock rubbing in between your slick folds.

"Yeah?" He groaned. "Be more specific, baby, because you know I'd give you anything. What do you need? My tongue? Fingers? Tell me, pretty angel."

You shook your head, a shiver running through you when he started kissing your neck, his lips soft on your heated skin.

"Come on, you can do it. What do you think you deserve, baby?"

You took a deep breath, eyes closing, his strong hands rubbing your thighs.

"A-anything I want," you whispered.

Jungkook hummed.

"Mm, that's right. You deserve anything you fucking want, angel."

The tip of his cock nudged your entrance. The feeling of your walls trying to suck him in made him suppress a shudder, but he didn't let up, sliding one hand under your shirt.

"And why do you deserve anything you want, hm?"

He circled your nipple with the pad of his finger, feeling it harden instantly under the touch. As if to motivate you, he pushed in a few inches deeper, stretching you out slowly.

You gasped.

"Because I'm- because-"

Another inch forward, his hips pushing closer to your ass.

"Because?" He coaxed breathlessly, wrapping his entire hand around your breast to fondle it.

"Because I'm your good girl," you whimpered. "Please."

Jungkook slid all the way in, teeth biting gently into your throat, strong arms enveloping your frame. A low moan left him as your pussy clenched around his cock, pulsing and leaking.

"Mhm," he breathed out slowly, immediately setting up a rhythm, his thrusts starting off hard and deep, pushing you into the seat. "Tell me more."

He didn't care if you had trouble speaking, or if he had to fuck you and edge you all night to hear what he wanted. You knew that by now, because as much as you struggled to answer him, you didn't hold back like you have before, even if your skin burned with embarrassment.

"Be-because I'm your pretty baby," you moaned. "Please, faster."

Jungkook provided you with just that, lewd, smacking sounds beginning to mingle with your soft whines and his groans.

"Yeah, that's right, look what a smart, good girl I have here. Fuck, you're so tight. Missed this perfect pussy so fucking much, fuck."

The last word came out as a grunt. No, a growl, something more feral spreading through his veins, making his cock ache as he fucked you.

"You wanna come?" His breath tickled your ear, voice raspy, arms tightening around you possessively. "Tell me. Want me to ruin your little cunt?"

You only whined in response. Jungkook knew you like the back of his hand, and oh, there was no doubt left in him that you were on the verge of giving in and letting go. There was no mercy left in him either, his cock pounding you faster, balls tightening with every thrust.

"Please, please, please," you mewled. "Please, Jungkook!"

He gritted his teeth.

"Say it first, baby. Fucking say it or I'll stop right now."

You shook your head weakly, groaning.

"No! Please, I want to come. Make me come."

With a strangled moan, he sneaked his hand in between your legs, pressing into your swollen clit.

"Yeah? You wanna come? My pretty little baby is gonna fall apart on this cock like a good slut? Huh?"

He could see stars explode behind his eyelids when your cunt convulsed around him, his jaw set tight, glistening with sweat. The way you moaned his name made his stomach twist, his cum shooting deep inside of you and painting your walls white. It felt hot, wet and messy, his hips grinding into yours unsteadily, his body tingling from head to toe.

He held you close to him, not knowing how else to satisfy his endless cravings, nor how to silence the constant demands of his bleeding heart. It always called out for you.

Maybe you weren't a good girl, certainly not after this. Even though your parents knew nothing of this little secret, it was almost impossible to please them, no grade or job ever seeming good enough. And Jungkook couldn't replace the acceptance he knew you craved from them; but he could fill you up with his own love, and continue to fuck your insecurities out of you. Maybe you weren't a good girl, but-

"What are you, angel?" He whispered into your neck, his body slumped against yours, knees numb from being pressed into the seat for too long and cock still buried inside you.

"Your good girl," you sighed again, the words stumbling out with more ease, almost absentminded.

Jungkook smiled, pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

"Yeah. My good girl."

Another kiss, then one more, tender and sweet.

"My good, little angel."

That was all you needed to remember.

💌 taglist: @imnotlauriane @baalsgurl1913 @bucketofhiros @silv3rswirls @osakis-gf

[marisferasiop]

Clearing out wips- I posted my vampire!reader/cryptid!Ezra last night. Enjoy!!

Ao3: link

Rating: mature/explicit- minors DNI

Summary: since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

Warnings: lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Word count: about 2.7k

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“Pleeeease, baby,” he begs, his chin tipping further up, neck curving back, pulse thundering under your slicked lips. His hand pulls at your hip, desperate to have you pressed all along his front. You oblige, your breasts sandwiched between your chest and his as you follow his backward tilt into the sofa backing.

His warmth bleeds into your skin, along with the sharp scent of moss, dirt, wood, life etching its way into the fibers of your soft cotton shirt. He tugs upward at the hem, wanting more skin, and you shift to accommodate.

You’ll always oblige him. You don't know how not to anymore. But he will still always ask.

“Ezra,” you sigh, letting his skin slide out of your wet mouth as he scrabbles for the buttons down your front. A line of that woodsy-scented blood crests over the swell of your full bottom lip, making you suck it between your teeth to swallow it. You can’t spill a drop of him. Even now, watching it pool slowly in the well of his collarbone feels like a sin. You lick over the pinpricks, sealing them, and lap away at the stains.

It would be a crime, wasting what he offers you freely.

He pushes the fabric off your shoulders and, finding you bare beneath, whines anew in his throat as you ease close again. He lets you so close. He wants you that close. Closer, even. Like it’s never enough unless you’re under his skin.

You tuck your nose against the hinge of his jaw, smelling the scent of him clinging to the scraggly beard that grows there. Moss hits the back of your tongue, makes you salivate. Your fangs drop again as you trace the sharp line of his jaw with the tip of your nose back to the bite already slowing on his skin. You lap at it, at the coagulating droplets there, twinned pinpricks.

“The other side, sweet thing. You haven’t had enough. Not yet.”

You hum in the back of your throat, dropping a kiss on his Adam's apple. It bobs under the press of your lips; tender. The pulse of him is still strong, the half cup you’ve taken barely noticed. He’s immortal as well- or as good as. Resilient. You can have much, much more.

“I have. I don’t need it.”

“You haven’t. Take your fill,” he says; pleads, really. You grin, quick and sharp, against his throat.

“Then fill me, Ezra.”

_______________

“Why are you following me?” You had slammed the moss-scented man into the bricks of an alley and pinned him with a hand on his shoulder. He held up his one hand and held your gaze easily.

“I’m not; not like that,” he explained. You wrinkled your nose at his scent again and suppressed a growl. “You’re ah – not human,” he hedged, blinking down the mouth of the alley. The street lamp at the end flickered and gave out. “Neither am I. Not anymore, anyway. Not really. Come somewhere quiet with me? I can explain.”

He had interrupted your meal. Your throat and chest burned and your skin prickled with how cold you were. “Fine.”

He had led you a few blocks away to a truck. Drove you outside of the city to a small farm edged in forest. You had spent the drive alternating between forcing yourself to ignore his pulse and body heat, and trying to pick out the notes of his heady scent.

He smelled like a dense, dark, old forest. Emphasis on the old. He smelled like everything from bright new leaf shoots to dense, herbal decay.

You learned that name was Ezra. He had a kid at home called Cee that isn't his but is now. He led you inside and called out up the staircase that he was home. A call returned, and he ushered you into the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, feeling every bit of how out of place the image was.

“Tell me about yourself. I’ve waited enough.”

“I will tell you anything you wish to know. But first, I interrupted your meal, sweet thing. I wonder if I can amend that?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Explain. And throw in why you smell like you bathe in Pine-Sol.”

Ezra smirks at you, his head tilted to the side, and nods. “Alright.” He slides onto a stool and props his elbow on the table.

“I am. Ah- approximately three- hundred and eighty- four years old. As a boy, I was playing in the woods with my brothers when a – a creature sought to chase us. We ran back for the village, to our family, but the creature caught up to me. It was- ah. A monster. We called them piwuchen. It hypnotized me, and very much intended to eat me, and steal my heart. I was helpless. My brothers ran and got the village’s medicine woman, a machi, and they came back and she killed it before it did more than bite me. The Machi touched me,” he touches the tuft of blonde at his temple and hums. “But the piwuchen had already bit me, and instead of staying under its spell, I was brought back by the Machi’s magic. My arm was amputated in an attempt to stem the spreading venom. And I aged slowly into adulthood, but no further. So I remain the same, and just… move around.”

You whistle low and make a mockingly impressed face at him. “Gonna have to Google that one. You gonna feed me, fae-boy, or am I hitchhiking back to town to drain some other asshole?”

Ezra grins at you and nods. “Fair enough. You’re welcome to try and feed from me. I admit I have never attempted to feed a vampire before.”

“How could you tell what I am?” You ask, watching him slip closer. He shrugs out of a zip-up hoodie, his right arm pinned, and is left in jeans and a tight gray tee shirt. You can smell his blood from here, washed over with the scent of damp earth and intricate root systems. He smells alive like nothing you’ve ever scented before.

“The ah- forest gift, whatever you want to call it, that was imbued upon me from the bite and the Machi’s magic, have left some side effects. My scent, as you have mentioned, is tinged with that of the forest creature’s. I am uncannily handy with direction and luring on a hunt. I can hypnotize, if I need to. And of course, the endless lifespan.”

He comes to stand right in front of you now, the tips of his boots framing your converse as you remain leaning against the counter. “So, I suppose, little bird... That like sees like.”

“Have you tried to die?” You ask, taking his wrist as he offers it up. His arm is toned but not bulky, the skin soft and supple, a beautiful golden- olive. The scent of dew on moss greets you as you bring your lips to his pulse in a kiss. He watches you test his skin, those dark eyes holding mostly curiosity. An odd sort of kinship, this.

One side of his face tics up in a knowing smile. “I have. Nothing takes.”

You hum in agreement, knowing well what the grip of ennui is like, as well as the disappointment when any action taken against it doesn't work.

“And what about the girl?”

“Another child lost in the woods, though fully human. She was fleeing a neglectful father, and got herself quite turned around. I am only ensuring she gets her education with a roof over her head and food in her belly. No nefarious intentions abound. You could no doubt scent it on me if there were.”

He’s not wrong. He smells too pure of intent. Evil sours the blood, and his is… Almost painfully clean.

Carefully, nearly afraid of what you’ll find, you pierce his wrist with one fang. He winces at the breaking skin but doesn't flinch.

His blood tastes– like blood. But gamey, almost. Old. Aged in jungle wood, with all manner of inclusions from the forest floor. You can pick out mushrooms, moss, fresh rain, bark. The drop you suckled out of the pinprick you made dissolves on your tongue. Nothing happens. The empty, aching burn in your chest grows from a single crackling log into a furnace, if anything.

He’s delicious.

Nothing negative seems to happen to you. Aside from the raging burn of your hunger, you feel fine. Your eyes flick up to his, and he nods, tipping his wrist back to your lips.

“Continue, sweet thing. Take your fill.”

_______________

Ezra has spent a long time alone. After his village aged on and he didn't; after the Spanish came and genocide sunk it's claws in. After the strange pox - sickness claimed those survivors. After he learned a new tongue and traveled across the mountains in search of anything- anywhere he could settle into, and only found more of the same. He kept trekking north, slowly and soundly. And never found anything that suited for long.

He has worn many hats. He has been a shaman, a translator, a guide. He has robbed graves and dug them, lived off the forest alone and killed countless Spanish conquistadores. He has been a cowboy, a stagecoach driver, a highwayman, a smuggler. Mostly a con artist. He has aided those he considered friends and killed those that he considered enemies.

And in all those endless lives, he has never felt wanted. Not since his chachay and papay and his brothers passed. He stayed with them, watched them age while he only made it to adulthood and never further. He cared for them, and comforted them when they went on. And every step since has been to find something he can feel in his blood but cannot find with his eyes.

He thinks, now- perhaps too poetically for his own foolish heart - that it has been you.

You like him. You will talk to him for hours, or curl into him on the sofa for a movie. Life has a painful domesticity now, with you and Cee. You don’t live with him, but you come by most days.

Cee likes you, talks to you amicably when you're there and asks after you when you’re not. Ezra likes that you two get along. His girls, and he always grins so wide when he says it.

Ezra wonders, if after a dozen lifetimes of being forgotten, questioned, reviled, exiled, othered– if he can finally have … This.

You, under him, your soft thighs parted around his shifting hips. His weight, on you; your breasts mashed on the rise of his pecs, your mouth, open and panting. He licks into you, thieving over your palate, making your fangs tingle. You pull back and drop them, nipping his lip and then soothing the sting with your wicked tongue. Without both arms to balance, he relies on you for some movement. You undulate against his hips, rising to meet each thrust, skimming your nails down his spine to dig at the meat of his narrow ass.

“Touch yourself, sweet thing. I would gladly bury my face down there for hours, strum that sweet little clit with my fingertips til you break apart if I could.”

“Roll us,” you pant against his mouth, and he is helpless but to comply.

You settle on his hips, his full weight and girth in the vice of your slick cunt. You squeeze him internally and he hisses, grappling with your waist to get you to move.

You have been coming to his little country house for months now. You and Cee still get along well; you often help her or talk to her about her studies, and then in the night, you take your fill of him, in whatever means you see fit.

He is happy to provide. To be of use.

To be wanted.

“You want it, sweet thing?” He pants, arching his neck up into your mouth, rutting his hips up in the tiny space you’ve left him. He’s quite effectively pinned. You have his one hand in your iron grip and the other closing around his throat.

“I want all of you, Ezra. You’re mine, yes?” your throat, lined with his blood, is claggy; your eyes glint like gems in the dark when they meet his.

His eyes dilate, and he goes still and pliant under your hands. Your teeth.

“I am, my sweet. You have me. All of me.”

He explodes moments later, with your hips snapping against his, his cock rooted deep in your core, and your hands still pinning him at wrist and throat. He fills you, at your sucking mouth and your clenching cunt, and you greedily take it all.

Later, when you’ve fed him and he rolls you over and makes you spread your tacky thighs for him, he licks the deep jungle- taste of his spend out of you, luring you steadily into a rolling orgasm that steals your breath.

He’s yours. And you’re his.

_______________

The sun does not kill you, but it is stifling and uncomfortable. You wear layers and hats if you have to go out. Working from home makes your life easier. Ezra often comes if you don't come to his for days. He wants to make sure you are fed, and well.

You catch him snoozing on your couch in a sun spot most of the time. Sometimes you curl against him, take a break from corporate bullshit to breathe in your own personal little forest clearing. Your job is a careful balance of keeping up appearances and giving yourself a task each day so you don’t let the ennui suffocate you again.

He bands his arm around your ribs in his sleep and hums, happy to have you close. It still strikes you at times, how close he allows you to rest. As if you’re not a threat to his very existence. As if you’re not a literal blood-sucking monster.

He has let you know, in brief spurts, how lonely he has been. You suppose that is part of why he has kept Cee. But she will be gone in a year, off to college and her own life. He has already ensured her success by way of a trust with his vast and quiet wealth. And when she is gone, he will only have… you.

You worry, sometimes, that you will be enough. That a few meals and fucks each week will satiate the gaping void in his chest left after eons of walking the earth alone.

But then he holds you tighter, and begs you to drink deeper, and take more from him, and softens into such languid peace when you declare him yours, with his blood on your lips and his cum dripping from you.

He is yours.

You have lived a few lifetimes to his dozens, and you have known him for the blink of an eye by comparison, but you would cheerfully prefer to starve to death, staked out in the sun, than taste anyone else’s blood again.

You are his. He found you, and lured you to his den. And fed you, filled you. He is under your skin, in your very veins, and you only want to crawl inside him and tear him to shreds with your affection. It’s an all-consuming thing, this untapped well of love you have for the first time in decades. You want to drown him in it.

You know he will sink willingly under your waters.

You tuck your nose under his scruffy chin and skirt your arm around the fading sun-spot, and allow sleep to draw you under.

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

tagged by: @guiltyasdave @avocado-writing @stargirlfics @eupheme thank you for the tags last week/today darlings! i finally have a little something to share.

i haven't started on right where you left me ch7 yet but i'm working on a logan series for october. it's spooky & deals with death in an interesting way. anyways enjoy the sneak peak!

pick your poison: atropa belladonna

The forest is silent save for the rhythmic thump of an axe against wood. Life doesn't exist in the small sphere of dead branches and fallen leaves. No bugs, no birds. The wolves hunt elsewhere; the prey have all but abandoned a place where death permeates the air.

What was nature to do when someone so unnatural had been laid to rest?

He knew he was too far from the predetermined area. The yellow tape was marked for trees ready to chopped down. But the sound of the men laughing about some bar they found had set his teeth on edge - a rush of anger from deep in his chest now resurfacing quicker than he liked. Some days were better than others. Some days he could join in on the laughter, make simple conversation, pretend to be normal.

Other days he felt the clawing urge to bite and snap and dig his claws into flesh rear in his head. On those days he preferred to be alone. Away from humanity, separate from what they wanted from him.

They saw him as a man. Not an animal. That should be enough to appease his restless spirit; give him some peace after so much chaos.

His teeth ground together in his clenched mouth, sweat sticking to the back of his neck despite the cold weather. The axe felt like an extension of his arms. Hacking away at the base of a tree he knew would make enough noise to draw attention once it tipped. That didn't deter him from repeating his swing. From baring his teeth and growling through it in order to dig out what calm he could.

The blade wedged itself halfway into the bark before he heard it. The stifled scream of a woman. His body went stiff, head whipping around to see if someone had followed him. The instincts from before - when he was once a soldier - began to overtake his senses as another muffled scream pierced his eardrums.

tagging the lovelies: @sunflowersteves @rae-gar-targaryen @ovaryacted @superhoeva @wlwloverwrites @agirllovespancakes

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

I'm finally back with more MLC long fic snippets for you! FDB is carrying a wounded and barely conscious DFS on his back and is about to attempt to use qinggong to get them out of the tree DFS had collapsed in. (You can find all previous excerpts here.)

**

Slowly, making sure the additional weight on his back didn’t unbalance him, he planted one foot up on the branch and shifted his weight. He brought his other foot up to join him, clenching his core to stay stable.

He looked down at the ground below. He hadn’t exactly used qinggong from heights quite like this before, and certainly not while carrying anyone else or without the use of his arms, but presumably  it was the same idea. He cleared his throat. “Ok. Here we go! Hold on tight.”

“Wait,” a-Fei croaked in his ear.

Fang Duobing froze immediately. “What is it?” 

A-Fei shook his head, his hands fumbling until his left thumb was positioned immediately over the nailbed of his right hand’s fifth finger. Then he jabbed his own Shaochong acupoint with his thumbnail with a force that would have made anyone else cry out in pain. Fang Duobing gaped at him as a-Fei kept digging into the very sensitive point, with a faint, barely audible hiss as the stubborn man’s only reaction. 

“Wait, you were about to faint?” Fang Duobing yelped. Oh Gods, if his arms had slipped off of him while they were in the air and he’d fallen backward, a-Fei could have hit his head on a tree branch, or worse! Thank goodness he’d thought to use the acupoint to restore consciousness. “Here, scoot higher up so you’re draped more over my shoulder! That way, even if you let go, you’ll stay–”

“–Stop. Talking,” a-Fei snapped, his breathing labored. “Fix your technique. Or you’ll shatter your leg.”

“Oh.” Fang Duobing winced. Apparently there was more of an art to this than he’d realized. “What am I doing wrong?”

A-Fei’s answering sigh was so much heavier than he was. “Your qi is too slow. And the proportion is off. Put more around your feet and ankles. Start now and increase it as you approach the ground.” He took a deeper breath. “And you’ll need your arms,” he said, his scowl audible.

Fang Duobing shook his head and forced himself not to press them closer to his sides. “I can’t. You need them more!” A-Fei could already barely move from exhaustion; it was unthinkable that he could support his legs on his own. And even if he could, they’d both seen how poorly he responded to being that close. The emotional toll alone would be–

“–Do it,” a-Fei growled through clenched teeth, “or you’ll splatter us on the forest floor. Right arm first. Now.”

“Fine! But you better not fall, ok?” Fang Duobing’s voice shook slightly despite his best efforts. He slid his arm out from under a-Fei’s thigh and lifted it far enough away that a-Fei wouldn’t bump it as he changed position but close enough that he could catch his leg if a-Fei didn’t have the strength after all.

Slowly, jerkily, and with less grace than a-Fei had ever before exhibited, a-Fei extended his leg and wrapped it tightly around Fang Duobing’s waist. 

Fang Duobing stayed as still as possible, hardly daring to breathe.

A-Fei swallowed and dug his thumb harder into his Shaochong acupoint. “Left,” he gritted out. 

They repeated the process, a-Fei’s foot, then leg, then entire body were trembling from the effort by the time he was fully in position. If a-Fei was breathing, it was too shallow for him to feel, despite their proximity.

Fang Duobing swallowed. “You’re sure about this?” He tried desperately to ignore the fact that a-Fei’s groin was once again pressed tight against his lower back. This was absolutely not the time to–

“–Hurry and fix your qi, brat,” a-Fei rasped, his voice shaking almost as hard as the rest of him.

“I’m trying!” Fang Duobing pushed his worry and other feelings for a-Fei aside as much as he could and closed his eyes. He imagined his qi spinning faster and faster through him, on separating some to cushion his feet, ankles, and knees while the rest kept circulating.

“Arms,” a-Fei prompted, and Fang Duobing stuck his arms out to his side, feeling the qi race through his fingertips, ready to slow his descent.

“Now,” a-Fei snapped, and Fang Duobing opened his eyes, shifted his weight, and stepped off the branch.

Time slowed. Fang Duobing felt it drag against him like the air currents they flew through. A-Fei hissed other instructions at him–faster qi, lean back, not that far, bend your knees–as the forest floor grew before them. 

“Palms,” a-Fei growled in his ear. 

Fang Duobing sent out a large pulse of qi from each palm straight at the ground, just before his soles hit the floor. 

His ankles and knees twinged slightly with the impact, but that was all.

They were safe, because a-Fei had helped.

A-Fei, who had been on the verge of fainting, who had just had a qi deviation, and a panic attack, and who could barely move or speak moments earlier because of whatever horrors had haunted his mind, had used a resuscitation maneuver to force himself to save them yet again.

It wasn’t fair. A-Fei deserved rest, not having to push himself to and past his breaking point once more.

Maybe, now that they were back on solid ground, and would soon be back at Lotus Tower, they could give him the safety and comfort he needed.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d accept some of it.

[twola]

WIP Wednesday

Twas tagged by @redwritr and I told myself I had to get to this.

Passerine, Chapter 5

Smoke wafts through the night, from the campfire, from the cigarette between Arthur’s teeth, from the match John Martson strikes to light his own cigarette. The song of crickets fill the air, an owl randomly hoots. He sits upon ta log, his boots crunching leaves softly beneath. This damn forest was too quiet. It was like something, someone was lurking just out of reach at all times. He hates it here.

“Need you to do somethin’ f’r me.”

John looks up from the fire, having been lost in his thoughts. He nods, watching Arthur take the cigarette from his teeth and hold it between his fingers, his other hand clutching that worn gambler’s hat of his father’s that he is never without.

Arthur’s voice is rough, tired. A reflection of his being. Shit, it could be a reflection of everyone’s being after moving to this shithole.

“What you need?” John asks, waiting for Arthur to ask for him to be his second on a robbery.

“Need you to take care of them. Her - the baby,” He nods over to the ramshackle tent, “I need you to keep them safe.”

“Arthur-” 

Arthur stands up, effectively silencing his foster brother’s bellow. He throws his cigarette to the ground, mashing it under the toe of his boot. His spurs jingle against the movement. He places that black gambler’s back atop his head and glares down at the younger man.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Marston.”

[thedestineddove]

Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora [ WIP GUIDE ]

MATERIALS

Bark

Blood Leaf

Cloud Pine

Crimson

Scale

Stairfoot

Bast

Clouded Lily

Forest Seaweed

Kinglor Forest Sol's Delight

Shaded Waterweed

Bone

Hollow

Petrified

Branch

Dawnsheen

Dusk Leaf

Moonwood

Night Leaf

Stormsky Bamboo

Cone

Forest Pine

Frillstem

Rock Orchid

Snakewood

Egg

Coronis

Kite Mantis

Moonscarab

Stormglider

Yoten

Updated: 8/5/24 16:33

Fatty Meat

Fiber

Fish

Fruit

Heavy Hide

Herbs

Horn

Lean Meat

Light Hide

Milk

Moss

Mushroom

Nectar

Pod

Reed

Resin

Root

Seed

Shell

Stick

Teeth

[encrucijada]

nano day 1 — the forest with its teeth

words written: 128, but i did some plot work to make this make sense. also i told you i would be vague af with these updates. please enjoy

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

Here's a thought. What if growing up as a kid in an AU in a cold country, Luffy claims he has a big fluffy leopard friend called meow-meow who keeps him company and listens to him and his problems.

Yes, meow-meow is Law in his snow leopard form. Yes, I'm finally doing a childhood AU! I have so much lore for this. I'll share wips in due course.

Also, I caved and started writing SaboAce! Lots of ASL lore in this fic!

This is a long one, so strap iN!!

Despite being besties, Ace and Luffy weren't very close back in the day. That may be surprising to onlookers but it made sense then. Ace had a sort of inferiority complex over not being a 'legitimate' grandson and lashed out at Luffy over that.

Feeling lonely and bullied, Luffy ran away from home a lot. Not like Ace or even Garp cared. They had their own shit to worry about.

One day after a particularly bad argument, Luffy ran to the forest without even brining a weapon. It was dinner time. Ace ate all of his share of the porridge out of spite and Luffy furiously said that if Ace hated him that much, maybe it'll be better if Luffy just ran off and got himself killed.

Ace flipped him off and said that it didn't matter either way.

And here's Luffy, alone, cold and hungry in a place he doesn't even know. It's snowing now. People at school told him that it'll snow more nowadays and that he should stay inside. Did Luffy listen? No. Did Luffy want to listen? Nah.

Luffy was cold and shivered a lot by himself, that is, until a small snow leopard cub came towards him. He looked small and helpless but there's a fierceness in its eyes that scared Luffy. It looked like Ace's eyes.

"If you hit me, I'll eat you."

A growl.

Luffy frowned. He heard that even snow leopards have families. He wondered where this one was. Luffy wondered who's more violent—female or male ones. It didn't matter either way: Luffy would beat 'em up and eat 'em whole!

"Where's your friends? Don't you have any? Y-you can't eat me!"

Another growl.

Luffy looked around and he didn't sense anyone, or anything else there. If Luffy looked closer, he saw that he looked...

"Are you lonely?"

Silence. The little guy looked away, as if embarrassed. Luffy smiled for once and reached out to poke his nose. The guy sneezed. Ah. Luffy laughed for the first time in months, probably.

"You're like me, aren't you?" Luffy said softly. And then with the courage Luffy never had to face Ace, Luffy said, "You're like me! Let's be friends! Where do you live? I don't wanna go home. Ace's always mean to me."

And with the compassion Ace never had, the little guy agreed. He picked up Luffy's shivering body with his blunter teeth and took him back to his cave, a modest thing with a small fire and some fish. Luffy ate it and fell asleep quickly. The cub tried to wake Luffy up to chastise him but gave up quickly. He fell asleep too.

The next morning, Luffy was found by his home. Traitor! That cat told him he could stay! Anyways, that's one thing. The bigger problem is Ace was sitting there, right next to him.

"Ace...?"

Ace woke up at that. His bloodshot eyes made him look a bit insane like he's not really aware of what's going on. Ace sniffled.

"There's bear meat in the fridge. Cook it yourself." Luffy saw that Ace had scratch marks on his arms. Ace stood up and left before Luffy could ask more questions.

At least Ace didn't slam the door like he used to. Luffy was unsure whether to be relieved or afraid.

The next few days were tame. Ace was still quiet but he wasn't as angry at least. Ace even talked to Luffy about things he learnt in school and offered to teach him how to read. Ace was a good teacher, even if irritable and impatient. Luffy decided he need not be as afraid.

Alongside Ace being nicer to him, Luffy also snuck out to meet the cub more. To be fair, Ace knew but didn't say anything. With some heartache, he understood this sneaking out was something like payback so he let it be. But God Damn it, could Luffy be more subtle!

Picking flowers, catching frogs, hoarding pretty rocks. "Bro," Ace complained to his friend Sabo, "Is Luffy meeting up with a girlfriend-slash-boyfriend-slash-genderless-significant-other or a fucking cat in the woods?" Ace tried not to snicker when he finally 'caught' Luffy.

Understandably, Luffy got defensive.

"I'm hanging out with a friend and you aren't invited!" If anything, Ace seemed amused by that outburst. He smiled. Luffy saw why Ace kept getting girlfriends. Ace is quite handsome.

"Is it that cat?" Ace said. This is the first time Ace spoke to him in a not unkind way. Luffy unconsciously nodded. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Luffy didn't know what to say. Ace said okay? For real? No catch?

"Introduce us some time. I need to thank him for saving your ass. He's the one who keeps bringing you back whenever something goes wrong. Tell him I said thanks. That's all."

"Ace-" Luffy looked like he'd cry when Ace pat his head and told him to come back in one piece.

"Have fun." Ace looked awkward as he finally said Luffy's name for the first time, "Luffy."

Luffy laughed and ran off. Oh boy did he have GREAT news to share with his new friend!! The cub tried his best to be pleased but he lost track somewhere and resorted to using his tail to stroke Luffy's face for the rest of the day. Luffy found it cute and ticklish.

Since that day, they meet up a lot, almost every day. Sometimes, they even meet at Luffy's house. It's on one such hang out that Ace formally admitted that he had a crush on someone.

Luffy was in the kitchen cutting meat and the cub was spread out on Ace's lap. Ace had so much fun stroking his fur that he simply blurted out, "I like Sabo. I wanna ask him out. What do you think?"

The cub looked up keenly. Ace supposed this one's probably smarter than Sabo but still pretty chill. Maybe Luffy was onto something for liking this one so much.

"Do you reckon I have a chance? Blink once for yes and twice for no."

He blinked twice easily. Ace punched him on the head. Luffy saw this violence and cried, hugging meow-meow protectively.

"Leave meow-meow alone! He didn't do anything wrong!"

"He said Sabo wouldn't go on a date with me!"

"Meow-meow doesn't know who Sabo is but he knows Sabo doesn't like bullies!" To prove a point, Luffy stuck his tongue out. "Bleh!"

Ace got mad and walked out. "Well, fine! I'll show you twerps what's up! I'll ask him out right now! Just you watch!"

Luffy and the cub cuddled on the couch when Ace came back a few hours later, hand-in-hand with a new fr-, no boyfriend called Sabo. Sabo seemed nice. He waved at Luffy and said meow-meow was cute. Luffy found it amusing that Ace looked shy but happy. Luffy had the feeling that Sabo would become someone important...

So, the routine nowadays is that Sabo would go over to study with Ace while Luffy would play with meow-meow in the living room. If it got too cold, everyone would gather around meow-meow for warmth.

It was wholesome and everyone gets closer or whatever. That is, until one day, Garp showed up after six months of being an MIA deadbeat. Imagine his surprise to find:

Ace and Luffy willingly sitting together.

A third blonde child resting on Ace's shoulder, contentedly reading a book full of words Garp didn't understand.

A fucking snow leopard sleeping on the living room floor

All three children lying back against said snow leopard.

Garp could either be calm and ask Ace what's going on or pretend nothing happened and make small talk. Instead, he pointed to Ace and the blonde child and said, "YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE UP TO NO GOOD!"

Luffy stood up first. "Nuh-uh! Ace and Sabo play with me and meow-meow! They're good boys! I like them!"

Ace look like he's going to cry at the sudden confession. Sabo woke up and quickly hugged Ace to comfort him. Garp got even more livid.

"Look at that. These kids are immoral nowadays. They're rushing things and doing things they shouldn't be doing!"

Luffy was about to stand up for them again but Ace told Luffy to sit back down. Sabo looked like he knew what's going to happen next.

"Shut up, you stupid old man. Sabo and I will fuck when we want to." Ace would flip Garp off but then a bushy white tail wrapped around his hand. What? Ace wasn't cold. Meow-meow had a habit of doing that whenever he thought anyone of the ASL trio was cold.

It seemed that Sabo was the only one who actually understood what meow-meow wanted to do.

"What do you even know? I haven't given any of you the talk!"

Ace was ready for this! "I know that either Sabo or I will get on top and from there we-" Meow-meow's tail went down, wrapped around Ace's hip and clutched. Since when was meow-meow this strong? Ace was more impressed than embarrassed. He cringed. Oh fuck, he's going through character development.

Garp merely laughed.

"Well! Looks like you can't do anything!" Garp said with triumph. Then, as suddenly as he came, he said he'd get some food and left them be.

Luffy wanted to scold meow-meow. Why did he hurt Ace so suddenly? Was meow-meow jealous? Meow-meow never looked like the type but then meow-meow looked so lonely. Luffy was upset that meow-meow never said anything. Was meow-meow making him choose between them? Why-

"Don't cry, Luffy," Sabo said. "Meow-meow's protecting Ace."

Luffy was dumbfounded.

"He's making sure that Ace doesn't run his mouth and get in trouble with Garp," Sabo said kindly. "He gets defensive over me and talks back to our teachers and gets in trouble even though he didn't do anything wrong."

"Is meow-meow making sure Ace doesn't get in trouble for protecting Sabo?"

"Yup!" Sabo gave Luffy a thumbs up as Ace groaned in pain. "Protect meow-meow too, okay, Luffy? Meow-meow loves you a lot."

"Uh-huh!"

As if he understood all that, meow-meow raised his tail and stroked Luffy's face, tickling him. Luffy started laughing. Luffy loved meow-meow too!

[hedwig221b]

Trick or treat!!

Hiiiii! Based on what you usually reblog I think you'd like this piece of a wip

“I’m just feeling on edge today,” Stiles confessed.

That was one way to put it.

“Let’s figure it out then,” Derek insisted, and Stiles couldn’t help but look up at him. “You have to embrace it. You know it’s the only way for you.”

Fuck, Stiles loved this man so fucking much. His throat was closing up at the sheer determination in Derek’s voice. He was probably the only one who didn’t want “the old Stiles” back. Derek didn’t want to change him. From day one he encouraged Stiles to be at peace with what he was, to explore the new abilities in order to understand and control himself better.

Maybe, that was because he was a born werewolf, who was always told by the humans that there was an “other”, wolfy part of him that he had to tame in order to be “normal”.

But Derek was already normal. He just wasn’t human (fully or half) and that irked people because he looked like one.

Derek was the only one who could understand. Well, he and hunters, but the latter weren’t so nice about it.

“Do you need to vent?” Derek asked. “Scream? Punch someone?”

“I want blood.”

Derek’s mouth closed with a click.

Stiles forced himself to keep looking at Derek because his mate needed to know. If Stiles could demand Derek to be truthful with him, he had to do the same. No matter how horrifying the truth was.

Derek cleared his throat and blinked a couple of times in rapid succession.

“In what way?” His voice betrayed nothing.

Stiles’ heart was beating in his throat, despite him sitting still on the couch. He looked to the side, biting the skin off his upper lip. He was clutching at Derek’s hands in a pitiful attempt to make him stay.

“I don’t want to have, like, a Bloody Mary or anything, but… I have this urge, and it’s been killing me, like a constant headache. I want to—” Stiles stopped to swallow the spit that immediately gathered in his mouth. “Want to tear into something. With my teeth, my hands. To feel their last breath and keep breathing myself.”

Now he was afraid to look at Derek. It was too much. Derek was going to look at him in disgust and fear, lean away and run far to where Stiles would never find him.

“Please,” he begged in a choked voice. “Please, don’t— Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to be afraid of m— Oh, my god, why the fuck are you smiling?"

And it was a full smile, with his usual set of bunny teeth and fangs, breathtaking, wide and feral.

And then Derek said the thing Stiles never thought to hear from him in the light of recent events.

“I’m so glad to have you as my mate.”

“Fucking huh?”

Derek chuckled, rolled his eyes, then smacked a hard passionate kiss on Stiles’ lips and jumped up with athletic ease.

“I’m taking you on a hunt, come on.” The man grabbed his hands and lifted him off the couch, tugging his stunned mate after himself.

“Hunt?”

“Yeah,” another giddy smile, so beautiful Stiles stumbled a bit into his shoulder. “I wanted to take you with me for so long, but since you don’t like running in the forest…”

“When I run in the forest it’s usually because I’m running away from someone, that’s why I despise it,” Stiles said to him absently, still reeling from Derek’s reaction. “You’re… you’re not disturbed? Not even for a little bit? Not feeling any urge to call 911?”

Derek snorted and shook his head.

They finally stopped at the edge of the forest; Derek turned around, gave Stiles the softest excited glance, then cupped his face quickly and kissed him again. Seemed like he just couldn’t keep it inside himself.

“You’re a predator now, Stiles,” the wolf breathed out with an almost proud smile, “like me.”

Stiles soaked up the sunny expression on his mate’s face, and the realization hit him hard and with no warnings. When was the last time Derek was able to experience the thrill of the hunt with someone? He was a fucking wolf, for fuck’s sake. Scott absolutely refused to do it, Allison and Lydia weren’t even worth asking and Isaac was still too weirded out by his own urges.

The last time Derek hunted with someone, just for the fun of it, was probably back when his family was alive.

But now… Now he could share this with Stiles.

“Like you,” said Stiles and smiled back.

[raybyanothername]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @thiamsxbitch and bestie, we'rebon the same wavelength because writing this week has been like pulling teeth. I'd blame work, but that's been a struggle too so I'm pretty sure it's just me right now. ^^'

Managed to add a bit to this Davron WIP! Though not the section I've copied below... because I haven't decided if I shall be *keeping* any of that bit yet.

"Bracken!" The shout startled Aeron. Between that, and his nerves, it was no wonder his grip on the bow in his hands gave out. He might have preferred it do so in a less dramatic fashion though. Aeron jumped, his bow clattered to the forest floor, and the arrow he'd just notched went flying. A snort erupted behind him as the arrow hit a tree several yards away from where the animal he'd been hunting once stood. Not that any creature remained. Davos Blackwood could probably send even a dire wolf fleeing in the other direction. No one else had a voice quite so grating. Rough, with a deep timber, echoing like a raven's call through his body. Utterly annoying. Aggravating even! "You're on Blackwood land," Davos drawled, arms crossing as Aeron spun around to glare at the man. He was smirking, of course he was. The old scar on his lip twisting up as it always did. Chining rising, Aeron's jaw clenched, "No, it isn't." He gestured eastward, "Widow's Wash is the boundary line from here to Pennytree. This is Bracken land-" Davos snorted, head falling back as he took a step closer. He held his ground, at first, refusing to turn his head or back away. Even though his only weap0n besides the bow at his feet was a skinning knife in his boot. Aeron knew how quick Davos could be with the dagger on his belt. "300 steps from the western bank," Davos reminded him, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He leaned directly into Aeron's space, teeth snapping as he laughed, "And it only took me 200 steps to get from there to here." "And I'm to take your word for it?" Aeron scoffed, arms crossing and then uncrossing. His jaw clenched. Davos sneered. His arms dropped, one hand falling to his knife, "Are you calling me a liar, Bracken?!" Aeron swallowed. His chin rose up even as his hands began to shake. "You're a Blackwood," Aeron spat out, holding Davos' gaze. "Hardly a difference."

I don't have energy to tag... but if you see this, open invitation. I love seeing other's WIPs. 👀

[butmakeitgayblog]

Okay but I just know that Lexa gives the best hugs 😤 If they ever had the opportunity, I just KNOW Clarke would be making use of Big Strong Invisible MusclesTM all the time and absolutely koala-hugging the shit out of her 🥹

Never question that Lexa was a fantastic hugger. Look at the sheer relief on her face. You can see the piece of her soul within the chip sighing in joy at just holding Clarke again. The way had hands gripped at Clarke's back and pressed her in tighter. Commander noddle arms was an amazing hugger through and through ok 🥺

Just because the blog has felt so gd negative tonight here, a Clexa hug from the canon wip I got going, because why not. We deserve the fluff

/////////

It's hard for Clarke to keep it together when yet another piece of her heart turns to shrapnel, jagged and deathly in its destruction. It makes old wounds sting like new as she adds the confession to the mountain of sins she cannot fix for them, for anyone, by sheer will alone. Because she would. So many pieces of her scream in duty-bound rebellion with how much she needs Lexa to know that she would do anything to fix the ache of her absence - to wash away the nights spent apart and spare them both. 

She would, if only she could.

Clarke hugs her. There's really nothing else for it. There's nothing that feels as right in that moment more than surging closer, stretching her arms to loop around Lexa's neck and pull her in. 

“I'm here now,” Clarke says, and seals her paltry offering with a kiss to the column of Lexa's throat.

She ignores her captive's flustered start at the tenderness and tucks into Lexa. Any worry for how she clings more than she means too is left for another day as her arms tighten at the burst of that familiar scent that is entirely Lexa; all forest greenery mixed with the clean scent of her sweat against skin that carries lingering notes of some floral sweetened soap. 

The coil of muscle and sinew in her arms turns into a mass of Commander-shaped jelly when Lexa melts into the touch, knees seeming to buckle with how fiercely she folds into the hug. Her arms cinch around Clarke's waist so tightly it nearly lifts her onto the tips of her toes; hip bones pressing to hip bones, ribs crushed to ribs. 

They hold each other in the creaking silence of the hut so long Clarke's feet pool in pins and pricks, offering little else more than sniffles buried into coat sleeves and armor and the syncing of juddered heartbeats. The buckles of Lexa's coat dig into Clarke's stomach and the pommel of her sword knocks rough against her hip, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when she's this close. Not when every press of Clarke's lips to Lexa's throat is mirrored against her own, tender in its supplication. 

The hands that hold her feel restless against her back. Constant in their moving, gentle in their caress. They rub languid circuits from her shoulders to the tops of her hips, as though Lexa can't quite control the need to touch her as much as humanly possible, and it's only when Clarke opens her eyes just to see that face again, that she loosens her hold and slowly, so slowly, inches herself away. 

Lexa doesn't let her go far. Keeps her right where she wants her with a dig of fingertips against leather and spine, temple resting against temple and cheek against kohl smudged cheek. She fills all the spaces Clarke has missed her touch.

Heat traces over her skin in Lexa's shaky exhale as the snuggle-inclined warlord nuzzles closer, tickling the plump bow of her lips along Clarke's chin and up, until Clarke doesn't know where one breath ends and another begins. Eyes sparkle under the hang of long lashes. Lips drift closer, closer to the warmth of Clarke's mouth.

“May I?”

Two sets of lungs hiccup in the wake of Lexa's whispered plea, the vulnerability of it stinging with just how small she sounds - as though she still doubts this. As though Lexa has no idea that the memory of her mouth and her taste and the sweet bite of her teeth were the only things that's kept Clarke sane in her misery for all these weeks. 

Clarke's mouth tugs into a smile at the question.

Even more as their lips brush when she speaks. 

“Please.”

///////