#every millennium and every century they got a little closer

[catabasis]

1601 | 1941 GOOD OMENS 1.03 | 2.04

[gallusrostromegalus]

How does trash pickup, Recycling centers, &/or Hazardous Material Disposal work for Soul Society in AEIWAM? Is there a Kido-based ritual to break things down into Reishi? Are there Tech Repair Shops?

Sewage in Soul Society works really well but very dangerously because those fucking idiots built the city directly on top of an active supervolcano.

Let me back up:

There isn't a good consensus on how big the Seireitei is (Yoruichi says it takes 10 days to walk 1/4th of the way around the circumference, but whether that's her speed, the average person's or how long a patrol group takes is unclear), Or any real maps of the place, but it's generally agreed that

the city is LARGE. Yoruichi says it would take her and the kids ten days to walk to the next gate 1/4th of the way around the city. Maybe that's 8 hours average human walking speed minus 'trying to herd a bunch of teenagers' but that's still a long trip!

Even before the Seki-Seki stone wall was put up, the city was pretty much circular.

Unlike pretty much every real city, there's no river running through it. Where are they getting their water?

There is a Small but substantial and TOTALLY ISOLATED mountain in the middle of the city made of apparently hard-to-mine rock. A Lonely Mountain, one might even say.

The only visible natural sources of water I've seen evidence of are hot springs in both the Yoruichi/Urahara Super Secret Training Ground/Love Nest and the first division grounds.

Soul Society is run by jackasses and if there's a stupid way to do things, that's the way they're doing them.

In fact, the Soul Society as a whole is almost suspiciously Amestris-shaped, but instead of nefarious alchemy, it's negligent civil engineering

...all this leads me to believe that Seireitei is built DIRECTLY ON TOP OF the caldera of an enormous supervolcano. The city gets it's water from the aquifer of rainwater that's collected in the underground cracks and fissures of the Caldera, and the seki-seki stone wall is set up around the really convenient geographic barrier made by the rim of the caldera.

"Hey!" I hear some of you nerds objecting "Aren't calderas usually concave? Seireitei is convex, if anything!"

You're right! Most Calderas are concave! But they will absolutely fill in with sand and dirt over the true floor of the caldera over time and develop Mounts like the thing at the central part of the city and start to rise WHEN THEY'RE ON THE VERGE OF A CATASTROPHIC ERUPTION.

So yeah! The Gotei-13 has an almost infinite supply of hot water, and probably less than a century to figure out what to do before The Big Kaboom.

Anyway, back at sewage:

There's been a city where the Seireitei is since time immemorial, and even though it's done the istanbul-not-constantinopple shuffle a few times, very little of the actual infrastructure has changed. Empires rise and fall but the desire paths stay the same.

This is especially true in Seireitei, because unlike very nearly every major IRL Municipality, it doesn't have a river running through it, something that usually necessitates Sewer updates By Force. But compared to a river which is constantly moving around in it's bed, a volcanic aquifer doesn't move much until it moves a whole fucking lot real fast, so the undercity of the Seireitei has really had time to... Develop isn't quite the right word.

"Ferment" is closer.

Above-ground waste management is the provenance of the actual local city government- yes, there is a Mayor of the Seireitei that the Gotei-13 has to pay property taxes to. Yamamoto maintains a lot of goodwill with the Mayor by dint of sentencing ill-behaved shinigami to shore up the municipal labor pool, and by knowing the mayor's family for the last millennium. So you'll see Shinigami doing things like trash collection and street-sweeping, but they're just there on probation.

-But nobody wanted to deal with the undercity. It's got a soul of it's own. Washington DC, which is less than 500 years old as a city and on top of a swamp, has an undercity that goes down over half a mile. Imagine how deep the sunken buildings, abandoned secret tunnels, and sewer system of a city that's millenia old, not sitting on actual mud and constantly subjected to high levels of magical background radiation might develop.

An Appetite, for one thing.

The 11th likes to talk a big game, but the reason the 4th is in charge of sewer maintenance is because the only people with the guts for it were people who got degrees rummaging in the guts of living people. Sewer maintenance really is a lot like abdominal surgery, if you were able to walk around inside the patient.

It was Retsu Unohana's idea, actually. Chigiri was a battle medic and aged rapidly for a shinigami. She was old when the court guard finally went from "Yamamoto and his gang of assholes" to "A for-real governing body". Her successor, Kirinji was more interested in traumatic injury recovery than preventative medicine, for obvious reasons- his triage was constantly full of combat casualties and early kido experiment victims Blood Loss was still his #1 Killer.

But Retsu had been reincarnated in and spent her youth in South 80, in the utterly undeveloped conditions there, and held deep, personal grudges with Dysentery and Cholera. For all his talk of healing waters, Kirinji had no sense of the importance of water sanitation, and it was a continuous point of contention between them for her apprenticeship.

"FINE!" He shouted one day after a particularly nasty row. "IF IT'S SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT TO YOU, YOU HANDLE IT! FORM NOW ON, YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF SEWAGE, SLUDGE QUEEN!"

She made her first descent the next morning.

She did not return for six weeks, and Kirinji almost thought he'd resloved that particular problem when she reappeared from the depths, a changed woman. That long in the darkness, alongside the buried secrets and skeletons of the city, with the horrors that did not dare brave the sunlight- it would change anyone, and most would come up looking at least mildly haunted.

Retsu Unohana is not most.

She looks radiant, almost like The Kenpachi again, covered in the horrors of the underground as she used to be covered in blood. She thrives on a challenge, and excels at the art of purification, and now, she has been given the single greatest challenge of purification in history. There is something beautiful and terrible in her eyes as she explains that it does down at least five miles, look at this, she thinks it's from the neolithic era, and there are incredible boneyards of thousands of skeletons, and fungi the likes of which she's never seen before- She is ecstatic- a creature kept in captivity, finally released into it's natural habitat.

It's hardly a surprise, if you consider Minazuki. Stingrays are benthic creatures, right at the bottom of the river, deep in the muck and decay.

It's been a little over eight hundred years into her tenure as a medic, and she has tamed much of the beast. The upper levels are well-mapped and have been made clean and well-lit, enough that even the civilian sanitation forces of the city can regularly enter and work in them without any particular unease. Infant and preventable disease mortality has dropped astronomically. Nobody's had cholera since the 1800's . While they have other jobs, all members of the 4th division are required to take at least one tour in the depths of the undercity.

Horrors still lurk in the depths.

They're pretty sure they lost Tokagero Kenpachi chasing one of those, shortly before Unohana became captain, and she's been reluctant to let other divisions assist since then. The Fourth Division's Fourth Seat, rumored to be the unluckiest post in the entire Gotei-13, is permanently stationed underground, and she loves it that way.

It's only recently that the 11th has been allowed to come along on descents, after Zaraki vanished for two days and then emerged victorious from a manhole in the 5th division with a tentacled horror she'd been tracking for decades that lived at least three miles down. He apologized- he had meant to come up in the 4th to present it's corpse to her directly, but well, you know what his sense of direction is like. Anyway, I saw it scuttling around in the rain aquifers and we don't need it tracking literal shit into the water supply so I went after is and d'ya think maybe I can take the lads down sometime? They' get lazy between deployments and you have a triage up here to manage.

Charmed, she agreed.

---

Hm. I just re-read that ask and it's actually about dry waste managment.

Sorry. I got very excited about the sewers.

I am now about to get worse about trash.

I don't think they have plastic in soul society- given how bug-themed the 12th division is, I'm pretty sure the casing on Rukia's soul pager is made of Chitin, and if you break it, it bleeds. Also it makes people with shellfish allergies break out in hives.

Since pretty much all the waste in Soul Society is either recyclable or organic matter, I think those trash pits Yumichika and Ganju were fooling around with are really more like Kido-enhanced composting centers. All waste goes into them and the bottom of the pit is pulled out in a tray, like with a vermiculture tower, if the worms were eighteen and a half feet long and hungry enough to swallow anything that falls in the pit, because Mayuri is incapable of making anything that is not at least slightly awful.

The compost is then shaken out for any spare glass or metal that made it into the compost and that's sent off to the 12th division forges to be recycled. it's baked to kill any dangerous pathogens and Giant Garbage Worm Eggs so they don't breach containment, and measured for nitrogen, phosphorus and other important plant nutrient content. Based on it's composition, it's then shipped out to farmers in the upper districts of the rukongai because "Free, A+ grade fertilizer if y'all don't start revolutions, pay your taxes and give us first dibs on crops" is an amazing incentive for rural farmers to not start backing the local warlords.

It was 12th division founder Uhin Zenjohji who came up wth the scheme- he remembered the lengths upper-district farmers were willing to go through to make sure their land remained fertile, what kind of demand Nitrogen was in, and the ravages of phosphorous runnoff, so he could kill two birds with one clod of shit by supplying farmers with 'free' fertilizer that kept them loyal to the court and was tailored to that area's nutritional needs and watershed capacity.

The fact that it kept a lot of swamp and waterway areas pristine so he could indulge his birdwatching hobby was a nice benefit too :).

NORMALLY, those pits are covered, clearly marked, and usually the site of a major traffic jam because that's the local collection point, but when Ichigo and friends arrived, Aizen had whipped everyone into believing they were being invaded by an elite force of super-assassins and not like. 4 high schoolers and a furry. All the street signs and markings came down, civilians shuttered themselves inside, and generally made the Seireitei as difficult to navigate as possible.

I wonder how much Zaraki's rotten sense of direction was exacerbated by that.

ANYWAY! That's my thoughts on trash! Deep undercity horrors and giant compost worms over an active volcano!

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hiii it's me again 💙💙

Sooo I'm tipsy and not being doted on by peepaw nihil which is a hate crime imo. If you don't mind, could you write something really cute with old nihil and his slightly drunk so? All sfw 💙💙

I love your writing btw😭😭❤️ you deserve an award for giving the peepaw simps all the simp material they need 😭😭😭❤️

Fun fact, I almost finished it, but then Tumblr crashed on me and I had to re-write the whole thing, but more poetically. Don't ask why that's how I dealt with the frustration - Jez

Old Papa Nihil with a tipsy s/o

He had no need for alcohol. It was enough if you were around. Seeing you, your smile, it was all he needed. If he fell, he fell hard, and he fell for you completely, with all he had. Your smile lights up not only the room, but the whole world in his eyes. He can hear the love songs when you giggle, all of them playing in a perfect harmony with each sound, each word you said.

He was a fool if he thought he knew how much he loved you. Because right now, seeing you tipsy from a few wine glasses you both drank on your little date (what was the occasion again? Do occasions even matter anymore, if he gets to see your smile?), seeing you cling to his shoulder, lost in your little fit of laughter after you made another bad pun with the lyrics of one of his songs, it would seem he discovered his own paradise.

You were a true blessing from the Dark Lord. He was sure of that. The way you clinged to him, the way you would always smile at him, even the worried look you had on your face when he had trouble breathing... It was like his own sweet little sin, a secret hiding in plain sight, yet only his to know. Something only he got to enjoy. Only he got to feel.

"Paaaapaaaa~" you called out in a sing-song voice, laying your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. Your lips held a small smile covered by his face paint. Some of it got on you when a wave of drunk need to give affection hit you and you kissed his cheeks more times than he bothered counting. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He chuckled at your voice when you asked your question. You sounded like a small child telling their parent something they didn't want anyone else knowing. A little conspiracy for the two of you, shared with nobody else, only him. It gave him a sense of pride, honestly. That he was your confidant.

"Of course." He lowered his voice to match your tone, leaning in closer as you straightened yourself on the couch, your arms still loosely around his shoulders. "What's the secret?"

You giggled, delighted that he played along with your little scheme. You watched you, a grin on his face. A love-struck, foolish grin only a man completely lost in the moment could have. A smitten, warm smile that only a man lost in his own feelings for his beloved one could have.

"Well, you see, Paaapaaa..." Oh, how his heart went out to you when you sang out his title once more. If he could, he'd rip out the organ and present it to you with a vow that it could only still beat because of you and that if he was to ever stop loving you, he'd wish his heart your stop beating and rot immediately, how he desired to show you his love...

"Yes, my dear?" He urged you, growing impatient. He wasn't irritated, oh no, he could never be irritated when it came to you. But he ached to know your secrets. He yearned to hear every word, every whisper, every sound that came out of your lips. He craved you, you gave meaning to his life. Who cares if he had lived over a century by now? A century, a millennium... It was nothing, compared to a second with you.

You giggled again, allowing him to experience the sound of your joy once more, before you leaned in just a little bit closer. Just close enough for him to smell the aroma of the wine you to had, mixing in with your perfume. He knew very little about flowers, he had no idea what the smell was supposed to be, but he loved it, associating it with your scent.

"My secret is that..." You kissed his cheek. Then his other cheek, the tip of his nose, his forehead and chin, before leaning in even closer, your lips nearly touching. "I love you."

You whispered the last three words in an almost painfully genuine tone, your love for him falling out like a waterfall, like a river that stole him with it's current and drowned him in delight as you gave him a sweet kiss on the lips, stroking his cheek with your thumb affectionately.

"And what a secret it is..." He hummed playfully, grinning at you. "Perhaps I should tell you a secret of mine, as well?"

"What's your secret, Papa?" You looked at him curiously, your eyes sparkling brighter than the starry sky at night.

"I love you too, my dearest."

[vibinmonarch]

The Messages

Every single day that Wasp was in prison Monarch would leave a message of how things were going. 

Wasp didn't get any of these while he was in prison because they blocked comm communications. When he escaped, he got all 276,392 messages at once saved in his comms.

He would listen to them occasionally to make himself feel better while he was on the run, listening to a new one each time in chronological order. After all, someone believed him! One bot believed him! More than that he could live vicariously through Monarch and not have to think about the hell he'd been through in prison or the constant struggle of being on the run. Silence was torture so he filled it with their voice. 

It started off as "The date is XX/XX/XXXX, your first day in prison. I figure I'll help you keep track because . . . I've heard it's not so pleasant there . . . Anyway! I hope this will keep your spirits up while you're stuck in there! I am certain you are innocent my friend and I will do everything in my power to get you out! Don't you worry!'" then continued with how their life was going with records of exciting activities, battles, the good, the bad,  everything. 

Then one day, "The date is XX/XX/XXXX, your 145th day in prison. They have barred me from speaking of you. I am sorry. I can only convince them if I have evidence of who truly is the Decepticon traitor. I will continue my investigation in secret and fill you in on all I find. I miss you and I can't wait until you're free!" Then talked about day-to-day activities as well as updates about their search for the true traitor and it was going super well for the next few centuries! Progress was slow, but they are always moving forward.

He started to wonder if he'd only been in prison for a little over 750 years, it had felt longer, closer to millennium (which was much more accurate). However, he was sure that Monarch wouldn't just randomly stop. And why wasn't he getting any new messages? He started to near the end of the messages. They started to become more and more optimistic of Wasp's release and the real Decepticon being brought to justice. That worried Wasp.

Then he listened to the final message. Monarch was in hysterics very clearly trying to keep their voice steady, "The date is XX/XX/XXXX, your- your 276,392nd day in prison. My- my friend. I have very bad news. Primus I'm so sorry! I- I- I have been chosen for- for an experiment. They are going to attempt to turn me into a triple changer!" They sobbed, "Bots- they say I should be honored, but I'm just scared! I don't want to I- It is a completely unnecessary and experimental procedure! I- I could very well die and- I'm sorry I'm so so sorry! I don't know if I'll be able to help you anymore! A-as I told you I've been able to narrow it down to someone in the intelligence division and I need to keep going or-" another sob, then a sharp inhale and silence, "They're trying to get rid of me, aren't they? Whoever the- Decepticon is- they knew I was looking-" despair starts creeping over them, "What am I going to do? What am I going to do? Wasp I-" the voice mail was cut off followed by the message, "Your comm mailbox is full! You can no longer receive new messages! We strongly suggest clearing out space to allow for new ones! Have a lovely day! Beep"

[acemapleeh]

A Rough Timeline and Guide of the British Isles

In my findings for history week, I sort of compiled some headcanons as to when each of the countries that make up the Isles came to be, including the Ancients they descended from. This is by no means a historically accurate guide, a lot going off of myths and legends. I, personally, like combining myth into my works and dates are rough to pin down. Take it all with a grain of salt, I’m no historian. I also use the terms BCE (before common era) and CE (common era) instead of BC and AD respectively.

Hibernia/ Ériu (Arrived alongside the mythical Tuatha Dé Danann, and though the fifth and second to last group of people to settle in Ireland, they made up the pantheon of Celtic gods and goddesses; “child” of Danu (mother goddess and credited as being the land), roughly 1897 BCE with the first of their ruling kings; other legends say he arrived with the Milesians (sometime in the 1st millennium BCE), who represent the actual people and are considered to be the ancestors of the Celts and the true fathers of the Irish people; they were the last to settle of the mythic founding. They agreed with the Tuatha Dé Danann to divide the land between the Heavens and Earth before they fought, sending the Gods underground. Hibernia represents more Pre-Christian Ireland so I’m keener on him arriving alongside the pantheon of gods, representing nature, magic, and life. His health began to decline as Christianity overtook the country and the culture began to shift, beginning the path for modern Ireland)

Caledonia/ Celt (keep in mind there was little to no recorded history of Scotland until the arrival of the Roman Empire in the 1st century CE; the creator of the land, Callieach, made the first and ancient rock of Caledonia which is said to be the island of Iona; she created every ascept of the country including its islands, mountains, lakes, and streams; her alter ego, Bride, was the goddess of spring and created the flowers and grass everywhere she walked; Cailleach, who was said to be the hag of winter, was infuriated and imprisoned Bride; Angus Og, the prince of eternal youth and green from Tír na nÓg, sees in a dream what is happening and sets out to find Bride; not long after Cailleach washed her plaid and draped it over the mountains (covering the land in ice and darkness), the prince arrived and battle ensued portraying the eternal struggle of life and death; Cailleach is defeated and driven back to Iona; Bride now free takes the hand of Angus Og and walk into the living Earth; Caledonia is said to have been born after these events, a mixture of the Earth and eternal youth and magic; timeline wise, arrived after Hibernia)

Britannia (historically speaking, she likely shouldn’t exist but I put her here for fiction’s sake; Britain before the Roman occupation mainly consisted of a diverse number of tribes that were collectively referred to as Britons; 'Britain' was just a geographical entity, and had no political meaning, and no single cultural identity; in the early days of the human population of the island not many dates stand out as of significance for Britain’s history; Britannia may have emerged with the first people to which we can give a name, the Beaker folk from the Low Countries and the middle Rhine who turned up in Britain in the Bronze Age (roughly 2,300 BCE); also could theorize she emerged during the British Iron Age (earliest dating to begin 800 BCE) which came with mass migrations of people to the southern half of Briton; Iron Age British tribes were not considered to be Celtic; Britain’s many regional cultures grew out of the preceding local Bronze Age, and did not derive from waves of continental 'Celtic' invaders; a lot of their language and tools resembled closer to mainland Europe’s Celtic (Gaul) rather than Insular Celtic; regardless, during this time was a great emergence of culture and identity and population increase; this one got off track a bit)

Ireland- Érie- Morgan O’Neill (Make them really old to be the one who arrived with the Milesians in the 1st century BCE (Ireland’s last name is O'Neill on account of the descendants of the Milesians include 'Niall of the Nine Hostages' where the O’Neill’s are descended from; fun fact side note, in the mid-1500s, Sean O’Neill, the Earl of Tyrone, was causing so many problems for the English crown that Elizabeth I banned the name O’Neill, on the punishment of death and forfeiture of property so you bet Morgan kept their name to piss Arthur off); you can say the Christian influence shifted Irish culture in about 431 with the first recorded account of the ordination of Pope Celestine I of Palladius as the first bishop to Irish Christians and they grew out of childhood with the changes growing in the country; regardless, they are the oldest of the siblings; they were a patchwork of kingdoms as Gaelic Ireland until the Lordship of Ireland (or Norman Ireland) in 1117, then the Kingdom of Ireland in 1542)

Scotland- Alba- Alistair Cunnynghame (Also said to have descended from the Milesians Gaels though he emerged after the migration from Ireland to Scotland; the Scots Gaels derive from the kingdom of Dál Riata which eventually became associated with the Gaelic Kingdom of Alba; though Scotland was alive before the emergence of this kingdom, it was at its height in the 6th and 7th century where he began to transition from child to teen; from the 5th to 10th centuries, early Scotland was home not only to the Gaels of Dál Riata but also the Picts, the Britons, Angles and lastly the Vikings; the Kingdom of Alba/ Scotland was said to be founded as a successor kingdom to Dál Riata and Pictland in 843)

Wales- Cymru- Dylan Llewellyn (410 emergences of Welsh Kingdoms and Roman garrison withdrawn from Britain (383 was the effective end of Roman rule in Wales) Kingdom of Gwynedd founded in 450; Principality of Wales founded in 1216)

England- Albion- Arthur Kirkland (appeared in 450 along the first emergence of Anglo-Saxon settlements; 927 the Kingdom of England emerged from unified Anglo-Saxon kingdoms)

Northern Ireland- Tuaisceart Éireann/ Norlin Airlann- Seán Donnelly (created in 1921 when Ireland was partitioned by the Government of Ireland Act 1920, creating a devolved government for the six northeastern counties; honestly I’m uncertain why Hima depicts him being around the same age as Ireland and older than England; he’s the baby brother; the oldest I could put him would be in the 1880′s with the rising resistance to the Home Rule, desire for Irish autonomy in internal affairs without breaking up the United Kingdom, and by 1912, the Ulster Covenant pledged for the county of Ulster to be excluded from Home Rule, WWI would delay the process of Home Rule)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Fluff prompt #38? "Are you alright?" "I will be."

Well, this one certainly went in an unexpected direction! The quote winds up a bit altered, but I think it fits the spirit of the thing.

I’m working off this prompt list - send me an ask or @ me with your request!

--

The Bentley rolled to a stop in front of the bookshop just as the all-clear signaled the end of the night’s bombing. They hadn’t been in any danger during the drive; exhausted as he was, Crowley still had the strength to make sure of that. Probably.

Crowley only had to keep it together for another minute, maybe two. His feet ached from the burns, stinging like a sunburn as high as his knees, flaring every time he shifted his feet on the pedals. But he’d made it this far. He was fine, and he could continue to be fine until Aziraphale was in the shop.

He pressed his lips together, kept his hands on the wheel, and resisted the urge to fidget.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, still clutching his bag of books as if it was a life raft. “That was certainly a thrilling experience.” He frowned tartly at the dashboard, making his true feelings for the Bentley abundantly clear.

“Nh. Got you home, didn’t it?” Crowley glared out the window at the shop, shifting his feet between the pedals as inconspicuously as possible.

“Yes, and the fact that we’re still in one piece is clearly the most incredible miracle of the night.”

“You really haven’t changed, have you?”

“I should think not. I am an angel, and the nature of my being is incorruptible, eternal, and unaffected by the comings and goings of mortal beings—”

“Meaning you’re just as much a smug bastard as ever.”

Well. That hadn’t taken long to fall apart.

Really, the entire evening had been one disaster after another. His intelligence had revealed a team of Nazi spies was meeting with a contact at an old townhouse in Soho, so Crowley had settled in to wait it out. He had his fingers in everything these days, from British Counterintelligence to street gangs, and the opportunities for a bit of chaos during the Blitz were never ending.

Then he’d received word that the drop had been changed. And that the contact was a certain local and well-established bookseller. Meaning that the idiot being duped by the Nazis was his idiot. He’d barely been updated on the new location in time, and of course Aziraphale had picked a church, of all the places in the city, a church to meet his bloody spies, and Crowley had to charge in, no plan, no preparation, and now he hurt and Aziraphale seemed determined to make this as miserable as he possibly could, and really was it any surprise after the last time—

Crowley didn’t want to part angry, not again, but his feet hurt and he didn’t know how to stop himself.

In the silence, Aziraphale shifted in his seat, looking at the door but not opening it. “I…Crowley, I am…very glad…that you were there tonight.”

“Don’t thank me,” Crowley blurted, mostly out of habit. “Just. Be safe. Be smart.” One quick glance to the side, then glaring at the windscreen again. “And stay away from Nazis, it can’t be that hard.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I just thought…ah, well.” He opened the door, but didn’t try to leave.

“So,” Crowley started.

“So,” Aziraphale agreed.

Deep breath. “Guess I’ll see you next century—”

But at the same moment, from Aziraphale, “Do you want to come in?”

More than anything.

Aziraphale still didn’t face him, and his stiff shoulders gave no hint of his emotions, but Crowley wasn’t going to let this – whatever this was – pass him by.

“I mean…I could…I can…” His hand fumbled for the door latch, popping it open, almost leaping out onto the pavement before the invitation could be withdrawn. In his urgency, he entirely forgot about the pain in his feet.

Until he put his weight on them.

“AAAH!” With a strangled gasp, Crowley collapsed like felled tree.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was beside him, impossibly quickly, hands fluttering over his face and chest. “Oh, my word. What – what happened? What’s wrong? Oh, Lord, is it—”

“Calm down, Angel.” His voice still sounded tight, but there wasn’t much Crowley could do about that. “Told you. Hallowed ground.” With some effort, he managed to sit up, one hand braced on the floor of the Bentley.

“I thought – you said – ‘being on the beach in bare feet’ – this isn’t—!”

“S’nothing.” Crowley eyed the distance to the driver’s seat. He could probably get himself in, but it wouldn’t be dignified. Well. Any and all dignity had long since gone out the window. “Just need to…”

He pulled his legs in and tried to stand – the pain hit him halfway up – and with another cry of “NrrrrrrAAAH!” he toppled over, slamming his head against the street.

“Oh, oh, Crowley!” His eyes blinked open, and behind the flashing supernovae that filled his vision loomed Aziraphale’s concerned face. “My dear fellow, are you alright?”

“Told you. S’nothing.” He’d need another minute or two before trying to sit up. “Be fine in the morning.”

“Yes, I’ll see to that.” Before Crowley could ask what that even meant, Aziraphale scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other across his back, cradling him like a child.

“What? Angel – stop – you – Ngk!”

“Would you rather lay in the street all night?” He nudged the Bentley door shut with his foot. “Let’s get you inside.”

“But—”

“Hush.” He held Crowley a little closer, the demon’s head against his shoulder, and started walking. “Do hold on to my neck if you need balance, and try to relax.”

There was no chance of relaxing, not when his entire body was pressed into the warm curve of Aziraphale’s stomach, not when his vision was filled with that soft face, jaw hardened in determination. Especially not once he realized he could feel the angel’s heartbeat, steady and calm. His own was racing erratically, and every nerve in his body was raw, on edge.

As Aziraphale stepped past the Bentley into the street proper, Crowley’s heels taped lightly against his side, and sharp pain shot up to his knees. Crowley flinched, just slightly, but immediately Aziraphale stopped to shift his arms, making sure Crowley’s legs wouldn’t swing as much.

“Better?”

“Nh. Yuh.” Not knowing what else to do, Crowley slipped his arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure it was any more comfortable, but he liked it.

Only when they reached the steps to the shop did Crowley realize something was missing. “Your books!”

“Still in that horrid vehicle.”

“But…” Aziraphale loved his books. Especially the prophecy books. He’d carried some of them around the world for the better part of a millennium. Crowley knew that, it was why he’d made sure to protect them from the bomb blast.

But, counter to all logic, Aziraphale just shook his head, as if they didn’t matter at all. “They’ll keep for an hour or two.” He nudged the door with his shoulder. “I have more important matters to attend to first.”

And he stepped across the threshold into the brightly lit shop.

--

It hadn’t changed. Eighty years since his last visit, and everything was still the same.

Oh, there were a few more tacky figurines and baroque sculptures scattered around; the books were piled even taller, suggesting Aziraphale had acquired far more than he’d sold in that time, and cloth bindings seemed to be giving way to leather again. The lights were electric now, but the gas fixtures clearly hadn’t been replaced, merely altered. The shelves, the columns, the furniture – everything was just as Crowley remembered.

He sat on the sofa now, feet soaking in a basin of hot water. Aziraphale knelt beside it, carefully applying angelic healing a little at a time. Crowley’s body couldn’t take much more holy energy without breaking.

His feet were much worse than he’d thought. Bright pink and deep red in patches, covered with angry swollen blisters that started between his toes and wrapped back around his ankles. When he’d rolled up his trouser legs, he’d found smaller burn patches all up his shins, as if the hallowed ground had somehow splashed him almost to his knees.

“Does this usually happen when a demon walks onto hallowed ground?” Aziraphale ran a dampened cloth across Crowley’s leg, gently wiping away a burn.

“Dunno, I’m the only one stupid enough to try it.”

“Crowley,” he murmured, somewhere between warning and exasperation.

“Sssss.” He slumped a little further on the sofa, wiggling his aching toes. “I’ve seen a few demons get close to holy ground or objects. Burns and blisters, yeah, that’s normal. But I’ve never seen it this bad.” Aziraphale’s fingers ran down his ankle, setting off more sparks of pain. “Mmmmph. Should heal though. Almost everything heals eventually.”

Demonic self-healing took time, of course, and hurt all the while.

“They’re coming along,” Aziraphale commented, gently lifting Crowley’s left foot out of the water. His hand on the back of the ankle was as gentle as possible, but still made Crowley squirm.

“Nnnnnnnrk. Why did you have to meet them in a bloody church?”

“I…” Aziraphale carefully brushed the cloth across Crowley’s foot. It tingled – not entirely pleasantly – but the skin left behind was less burned, and the blisters a little smaller. “I’m not really sure.”

“C’mon, Angel.” Crowley shifted again, fingers curling into the sofa cushion. “I know you changed the spot at the last minute. And don’t tell me that was their idea.”

“No…” For a long moment, Aziraphale didn’t say anything further, just continued to wash Crowley’s foot with slow, gentle motions. When he’d cleared the left foot as much as he could, he lowered it back into the water and started on the right. “I just…I was so flattered. To be asked to help. To trap spies and book thieves! To…be part of a team.” The cloth slowed to a stop. “I just…I suppose some part of me hoped that Heaven would look down and, and see…”

You wanted them to be proud of you. Not that he could say it. Aziraphale’s feelings towards his superiors were as complicated as ever.

“Well.” Aziraphale started into his task again, perhaps a bit too briskly. “Good thing no one did look, considering how it all turned out.”

“Angel…” Crowley pushed himself up a little, to better watch the white curly head bent over his feet. “Are you alright?”

“What? Don’t – that’s absurd – you’re the one who’s – why wouldn’t I be—?”

“You trusted her. That woman. And she pointed a gun to your head.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale quickly lowered Crowley’s foot into the water, but not fast enough for him to miss how the angel’s fingers trembled. He gripped the sides of the basin. “Do you…do you think me very foolish? To fall for…such an obvious trick?”

“Not at all.” But Aziraphale didn’t look up, didn’t move from his spot. “This…isn’t the first time it’s happened, is it?”

He shook his head. “Never this bad, but…I always throw my lot in with the worst sort of people, don’t I? Or if I do find decent types, I just – just drive them away. I never learn my lesson. Good lord, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Of course there isn’t.” Crowley wished Aziraphale would meet his eyes.

“And it was so obvious! If I’d just stopped to think for five minutes…”

“You can’t blame yourself for humans being—”

“Why? Am I so desperate for approval, I just – just throw my lot in with whoever comes by? Why do I keep—”

“Because you’re lonely!”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say it, never mind with such feeling. He wanted to take it back, but Aziraphale’s head jerked up, finally met his eyes – oh, yes. He could see how right he was.

Eighty years, with no one but humans for company. Crowley could remember how awful that was. How much worse, when you knew there was another way? When you understood what you were missing?

“Angel…I’m…” The word stuck in his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have come back sooner, instead of just…just sleeping it off.”

“And I could have gone to you,” Aziraphale said softly. “I wanted to, you know. So many times, I just…”

Crouched beside the basin, Aziraphale slid his arm around Crowley’s legs, leaned forward to rest his head against the demon’s knees. Crowley laid his hand on the angel’s head, fingers burrowing into soft, feathery curls.

They didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, not with words at least.

After a time, Aziraphale whispered, “Do you think – is it – are we…alright?”

Crowley stroked his hair one more time. “We will be.”

[herstarburststories]

Make Me Yours

Day 4 of Kinktober: Body Ownership

Day 4 of Suptober: Branded

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader

Summary: Michael wants you to be his.

A/N: I swear I'm not that pornography on daily basis I'm even more, but branding is very kinky here. I also strongly support you listening to False God while reading. @itsangelpie @deanmonandnegansbitch, this is the Michael one I was talking about xD

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v, bit of power play, marking, brief fingering, grace

CATCH UP KINKTOBER & SUPTOBER

Michael enjoyed leaving a trace behind like any other powerful celestial.

Once, the loyal son convinced himself that it was because he wanted, not only humans, but his siblings, father, and any other being to know that he could be a savior like he was built to be. No matter what, he was a righteous warrior who would do anything his beloved father wanted him to. He was a perfect soldier, earning nothing but pride and all the head pats possible. 

At least, that was before. It was back when Michael thought that God truly loved him and that he had a bigger purpose than gaining adoration from his fragile humans to overthrow Lucifer — his little brother, the archangel that was thrown away like a rough draft. Now, Michael couldn't care less about living up to his goody two shoes reputation. He didn't care about his brothers and sisters either, much less the humans. The archangel wouldn't say that he hated them like Lucifer foolishly did. His brother was wrapped in a bubble of jealousy that was almost embarrassing. No, breakable things didn't deserve attention. Michael just didn't care about them or their little world. All of his heaven-made goals had melted into one thing to look forward to — getting Chuck back to kill him.

So what if he had to burn a couple of dimensions and their human inhabitants? That was just an unfortunate side effect of Chuck’s little creations being the only thing that could catch his attention.

Burn a book? Get the author’s fury.

Michael was more than satisfied with the idea of leaving a trace of calamitous fire behind. It was such a beautiful legacy that would put fear into the atmosphere of the universe, and Michael would be God. He would be better one — the evolved version of what he’d always been as an archangel.

The torn holes of vulnerability inside of him had only grown wider, gaping into an open wound when his father left him as though Michael were as useless as a broken toy. That wicked, selfish side said it was because he wanted everyone to know how terrible he can be — fear him so no one will ever be close enough to hurt him again. 

Terror had worked better than adoration for millenniums. 

The archangel is good with that. Unlike his father, Michael's ego is as big as the amount of blood in his hands, not the people on their knees or the number of démodé cathedrals to worship him in the name of a bible that he never wrote. He doesn't need humanity’s adoration.

You bit your bottom lip to contain a smile, glancing at him. Michael could read from your mind and erratic heartbeat that you were both excited and curious about what was going to happen. Yet, he didn't need to. He knew your body — that perfect body — very well by himself with no help of his powers.

Correction: he needs one human's worship.

As mentioned beforehand, powerful beings like to leave a trace behind for multiple reasons: marking their territory like a big dog, making a point to gain respect through terror, or boosting their self-confidence. 

“Get on all fours, little one.”

For the first time, Michael wanted to make someone a living reminder of him. He wanted to mark a human for being his: you.

You were obedient, quickly moving to the position that he had asked. You can hear Michael humming in satisfaction, moving in such a quiet way that you almost feel surprised when he placed his hand on your back.

Michael watched your body with care, his fingers dancing with tenderness on your skin. He used to believe that a vessel was everything a human body was worth. Sex was a foreign concept, nothing but an earthling’s attempt not to feel alone — if they weren't fighting, they were fucking. It got boring after the first few centuries.

And then, you happened.

“So marvelous, little one.” His words were laced with gruffness, startling a whimper out of you. “All of this…” He held your waist and pulled you back swiftly. You gasped, feeling his hardness against your ass. Michael didn't slide in, but he kept rubbing himself on you. “All of you…” One of his hands slid down your body, making way for his fingers to catch your sweet spot. You were so warm and wet: there was nothing on Heaven, Earth, or Hell as splendid your needy cunt. “Who do you belong to, Y/N?”

“To you, Michael. I belong to you. Please.” You should be ashamed of begging so early, but how could you judge yourself? Michael's hard cock behind you, making your ass dirty with precum along with two fingers inside your pussy and his possessive words stewing inside your head — you were still just a human, after all. “I need you.”

It was blissful, to have someone he was enchanted by to worship him as the Sabaeans did to the stars.

“Patience is a virtue, little one.” The archangel wore a proud smirk, adding another finger into your wet mess. You groaned in response, pressing your hips to his pelvis in an obvious attempt for more.

Michael's cock welcomed the growing arousal, dropping more precum than before and twitching. It was difficult not to give himself any relief, but he had to teach you a lesson before taking you again. Religion came with strict rules.

He pulled away from you, grabbing your neck from behind only to push your head on the bed. Your cheek to the mattress made it was painfully easy for reality to sink in: the archangel’s fingers on your bare skin, his fingers that were inside you. There was something uniquely blasphemous about sinning like this.

“You take what I give you, and you're grateful for that. Understood?” He howled, tightening his hold on you. “I picked you.”

“Yes, master.” The two words fought to leave your mouth before ultimately escaping. You know you should be afraid, but your soul refuses to welcome any feeling other than excitement. Michael didn't even use his grace yet. He wouldn't hurt you: at least, not enough for you to suffer. Everything he did to your body was a blessing.

“Good.” He exhaled, letting go of your neck. The archangel had been way too patient, and you waited long enough. You dared turn your head to look at him, and Michael was divine. His gorgeous body was crouched with his knees on the bed while he patiently observed you. His length was large and rock hard against your leg. You just wanted to give him release. “Like what you see?”

You gulped, nodding furiously. The archangel chortled before he slid his cock inside you without any other warning.

You let out a shamefully loud scream. What else could you do? His cock was fucking its way inside you, cleansing your body with the prayer of being everything you could ever need or want: to feel holy, to feel full. Michael grunted, grabbing your hips to pull you closer, and you moved back and forth in sync with him. Soon, the bed was the one clamoring with noise. Both of you became hollow when you were like this — hungry, craving for something to fill up your empty pieces.

Michael was the right hand of God, the protector — whatever treasures he chose to deify would be eternal because he could make it happen. And for Heaven, he adored you.

His cock found your G-spot, and his grace flooded into your veins as if it was meant to be there. Your walls were tighter and tighter around him, and you couldn't wait to feel his load inside you, marking you from inside. There was a wash of glowing pleasure in your body. You had never felt so light before. This felt like the precipice of your glorified religion, and God, you could make a church out of this.

“That's it, my love.” Michael moaned, his eyes bright blue as he fucked himself into you. You bit the pillow to keep another scream down. He squeezed your waist. There was something burning in your bones with a painful pleasure as his hand glowed. He was branding you as his, writing his symbol all over your soul, bones, and heart. And you were enjoying every single ache of it. “Cum for me. I want to hear you coming for me.”

He may be a false god, but he certainly brought you to heaven.

Your lips parted into a moan as your juice came all over his pulsating cock, and Michael came inside you in a rush. Everything hurt as if he had rearranged your bones, but it was as comfortable as if they were all snapped back together in the right places. You fell on the bed out of exhaustion, wondering if you'd live to see another day. All of you seemed to be on fire, much more than the other times. Your pussy was pulsing, and you could smell him all over your skin. He had made your body his. You were his.

Michael pulled away from you, a lopsided grin on his lips as he glanced at his possession. The archangel laid down, pulling your tired body to him. You clung to Michael while trying to breathe properly. What had just happened?

“Wh — What was that?”

“I marked you, little one.” Michael gave you a devilish grin while his eyes shone a dazzling blue. He was the apocalypse of your soul, and you couldn't wait for the sweet destruction. “Now, everyone will know that you are mine. Your pussy, all your body, and your soul. You belong to me, Y/N.” He had everything now. The world and you. He was ethereal. “I'm your god now.”

You made an altar out of him, and you'd always be a loyalist to this love, no matter the sacrifices you'd have to do for this. 

Leave a comment and reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my day 1,2&3 of kinktober & day 3 of suptober, and my masterlist ♡

Dean's sweethearts: @akshi8278 @hardcoresupernatural

Hunters: @demonhunterbarbie @bi-danvers0 @emilyshurley @desimarie12

Kinktober taglist: @psych0crybaby

WANNA BE TAGGED? SEND ME AN ASK OR DM.

[certifiedceraunophile]

DISCLAIMER :

SMUT SMUT SMUT and FLUFF. (NSFW)

It’s basically a 5k porn smut-shot about dimples and dick. Mostly dimples but there’s gratuitous dicking too, because of course my brain saw a gif set of Mr. Klaus Forbes flashing his dimples and thought PORN.

ALSO,

Nominated for Best Smut Oneshot in the 2020 KC awards

(I mean I have been called an excellent homoerotic muse so I shoulda seen this coming)

Tags:

D/s undertones,

Dominant Caroline

somewhat bregrudgingly submissive Klaus.

——————————————————————————

TREAT AT MY BEHEST

The conversation was flowing smoothly, a little too smoothly, it truly was a sight to behold,

She doesn't find awkward bumps that the participants uncomfortably had to step over stilling the flow, no problematic cracks people either ignored or tried to tear open with their teeth, no blunt blows to the back off the head, or venom tipped words sharper than the fangs the Mikaelson family sported, Hell, even Kol kept his sexual innuendos count to an all time low of two per sentence, and it wasn’t tedious either, it was sunny honest conversation one that flowed and ebbed in tranquil warmth enveloping all those who took part in it.

But of course, the insufferable bastard she’s been calling her husband for the last handful of decades, and her last love for two centuries now, decides he’ll singlehandedly throw all progress out the backdoor.

Her husband, and his freaking audacity to flash those dimples, in that exact way, throw all progress out the backdoor if she’s being more accurate.

God he’ll be the end of her.

It’s no grand truth, that she’s very very closely acquainted with his dimples, and she means, ‘lick a sweet path from dimple to lip as per her wish’ closely acquainted, those perfect indents on his cheeks, make no mistake, they are hers for the taking,

But she admits, she has her preferences, she’s a bit finicky with her interests,

She’s not too fond of his shit eating ‘Yet again I’ve bested you, my love.’ dimples, or any other variant of that he flashes in the rare case he has the upper hand between the two of them.

She’s quite partial to the one sided dimpling the evil villain smirk has to offer, one she’s privy to during their hunts, or the ‘Ive got one word for you: run.’ smirk he displays before transforming into a walking talking guillotine, those are quite entertaining to watch bloom, and the customary thorough debauching of her body that follows any such murder work out is nothing dismissible.

Now the almost bashful and youthfully eager ones he shows her when he talks about his place in the world as an artist, when for once his hand can create instead of destroy, those are entirely just for her, that sit there pretty on his cheeks in the privacy of his studio, where they continue to relive a thousand different times in a thousand different places including Rome, Paris and Tokyo, that one day, when he thanked her for the first of many things he feels gratitude for, her honesty,

He still remembers it as the day he allowed the truth to be something he didn't particularly like for the first time in a long time, she however still remembers the day by the absolute fishing he did, standing there in his studio as he introduced his passions to her, patiently waiting in silent humility for her to notice these paintings were his and compliment him.

He still doesn't allow this truth to remain, she of course always knows better.

Then again she also loves the shy soft little ones he offers her and only her, the ones he gently picks from the buried bounded depths of his heart and places in her hand with such care, as he sweetly leans into her palm, moist plump lips pressed against her pulse. When he is so beautifully hers that the hybrid gold of his eyes is the sun and when directed at her is as warm and sweet as golden honey. Or when he nuzzles his nose into the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast, half laying on top of her, when he gathers her close pauses and then closer, as if he finds the flesh separating them offending, as though his very existence is meant to directly infect her soul unimpeded by skin and bone, as if he means to exist in her and through her, and live only within her.

He’s a bit pretentious with his love.

But she’s told him

‘Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.’

His simple response was to pull her to him and offer his neck,

“Drink.”

She’s never brought it up again,

His devotion for her, his raw thirst for her, it unnerved her at first when she finally decided after

The numerous ‘Sweetheart, they were not bloody staged’ run-ins in every continent she dared to set foot on,

The two times she needed his blood in the century she spent on her own,

The one night she needed his arms and scent to engulf her and his dead heartbeat to soothe her when Elizabeth Forbes passed at age ninety four,

The one time when she realised somewhere along the way between the sporadic meets and witch hunts, the werewolf venom and death counts, the art and music and culture their souls burgeoned to connect, the great cities they carved into their own stars, the languid conversation as they winded through both cobblestones and pink sands, underneath both fluttering snow of and steady stars, the silent moments of equal awe they both shared between the most downtrodden godforsaken places of hunger and poverty and the most lavish heavens, between all the beauty and filth in the world when they only had eyes for each other, amongst the scent of both death and life when they only inhaled a shared breath so sacred they locked it in and never let it out, when seas and continents and words couldn’t keep them apart, when neither his ego nor her stubbornness could count for any importance in the face of each other, when the one time she realised immortality for her wasn't the ungodly number of years she’s left behind still apple cheeked and smooth as milk, but was the ungodly amount of years still ahead of her that somehow always evinced his hand in hers,

When she finally, one balmy faultless Sunday afternoon, in the thick of Thanjavur’s humidity in India, sitting barefoot as per the town’s religious customs on the ground, sprawled carefully in the warm green grass that precedes the entrance of the glorious Brihadeeswarar Temple, that is almost as old as the man occupying her thoughts,

She finally finds her deviously elusive,

Oh.  

moment, proceeded by the

Oh fuck.

Moment,

Realisation hits her with the weight of immortality and her acceptance that there was no other possibility but this, that this has been inevitable for the better half of the last century, carries the weight forward into her heart and fills it with such indisputable finality, that Klaus’s place is by her side and hers alone.

And after that, well, what else was there to do?

After all of that, it’s one knock on his door, and,

“Alright, apparently However long it takes only lasted a total of 113 years, 6 months and 25 days. I thought I’d last longer, but I’m not as stubborn as I wished I was.”

That night was the first time she realised it wasn’t the first time they’ve made love, slow and sweet and beautiful, But it was the first time Klaus with all the vulnerability of a little boy back in Mygradrir who wore a sterling around his neck tight as a noose because his mother loved him so much, asked, mouth against her skin, face hidden in her neck, a whisper that shook in the middle and dissipated at the edges,

“You’ll stay, not just tomorrow, but after?”

“Yes, yes I will.”

That was about two centuries ago, and apparently after did not mean the day after tomorrow.

But she hasn't had too many complaints, she admits the novelty of him has worn off, he’s a bit grating on the edges, the sides and the middle, he’s entirely too insufferable to put up with for an extended period of time, definitely is only enjoyable in moderation and bite sized doses,

But she did let him put a ring on her finger, and also stood there holding his hand as they were bound by a witch in supernatural matrimony, so she can’t really tell it’s wholly his fault, but she apparently likes him too, in addition to loving him, so she’ll stay.

But she digressed a whole lot,

Where was she again?

Yes, his dimples.

Correction, her dimples

Their appearances are continual and each unique situation had one kind assigned to it, but that does not mean they are repetitive, Klaus is many things but least of all predictable, So he presents her with new ones every now and then, dimples she’d like to kiss till they imprint on her lips,

She knows that even if she goes on to live twice the millennium Her husband experienced, and even if every glittering rarity becomes a hackneyed iteration, and every resounding wave of novelty is a mere echo she’s experienced a thousand times, even if there is nothing new as she leads time through this carousel world as the closest thing to omniscient, then she’ll at least know her husband’s smile will always catch her a tiny bit off guard. That she will always take a second to touch it and see it widen even further when she does.

But there was this one single type of smile he flashed from time to time, a rarity in its own right, that one smile basically threw all progress out the backdoor,

The smile is always characterised by the fact that it’s not for her, or for his siblings, or his enemies, it’s for the world, it’s a smile that he never intended to give but slipped out of his hand anyway, and somehow ends up smiling with his entire body, but he’s done that countless times for her, smile with his whole being, she’d say at least twice everyday, usually more, but when he does it for the world, she’s a bit unprepared,

She knows his hostility against the way of the world all too well, it’s why he’s so adamant on dictating it, she knows the millennium of undead life under Mikael’s hatred left him with a tight grip on the world but only because he was hanging on to the edge of it with both hands, his legs dangling, but he doesn’t show it that way, instead phrases it as ‘I had the world at my finger tips, Now I have it beneath my feet.’

He’s a bit flashy with his pretty words, that total honesty to this man is as difficult as love will never surprise her, but the fact that this same honesty sometimes slips out so easily, unfettered and ensconced in peace and content, that does surprise her, like for instance, right now, He’s sitting there ankle over knee, occupying an entire settee with the way he’s sprawled because of course he has to be the biggest being in the room, he needs to know his ego easily accomplishes that for him, holding in his hand one of the thousand sketchpads he’s still kept after paper was no more the norm nor necessity but became a relic of bygone ages for centuries now, and as he sits there sketching god knows what, in the same room as his siblings, their chatter as perfectly idle as a family’s,

He’s smiling, not at her, not to his siblings, hell not even at his drawing, she knows he’s not listening to the conversation, so it’s not something Kol said or Rebekah whined, he’s perfectly uninterrupted in his smile that just bloomed on his face with no given reason, and there as he bows his head a little closer to the page, not because he wants to hide the smile but because he simply wants to see the sketch closer, she knows he doesn't even know he’s smiling, but he is.

So wide and beautiful and honest, and just because, a smile directed at the world, and to think he doesn’t even notice, to know that it’s so whole and full, that there isn’t a place left in his heart or mind to remind him to restrain it.

She knows she’s smiling just as wide too.

God, the things this man does to her heart,

And not just her heart, apparently her body too if the heady arousal that rushed straight to her clit as if a phantom hand rubbed it is anything to go by, because of course, she’s never so aroused by him as she is when he dimples.

TO CONTINUE READING

AO3

ff.net

If you find this plotless 5k smutshot of my infernal sub Klaus fantasies doing things to you that are best not done in a church parking lot, please feel free to vote for it in the upcoming KCAWARDS under the BEST SMUT ONESHOT category.

Much love and peace

XX

Srishti🤍

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Sweater | The Mikaelson Boys

Hey Lovelies! Hope you're all doing well in this time of uncertainty, I know it can be tough. Never fear though, as always the Mikaelson boys are here to the rescue. I almost wrote another smut, like I had to put my laptop down and walk away, but alas I kept the tale on track. Kind of. None of my stories ever stay on track. Oh well, here you go loves, happy April 1st! Also, stay tuned for a master list that I will be posting sometime in the coming days!

Description: The Mikaelson household is a household that shares everything, something that Y/n finds out when she unassumingly picks up a sweater and puts in on without a care.

Pairing: The Mikaelson boys x Fem!Reader, definitely leaned this in Elijah's favour though

Warnings: None? Sharing? Is that a warning? They share Y/n there, I said it, you've been "warned"

Word count: 3798

Tags: FLUFF, very light smut, like not even just a heavy make-out scene,

(Photos do not belong to me but the mood bard does :) )

Life at the Mikaelson compound is, by no means, an ordinary one. It’s a lot of loud conversations, a lot of even louder fights, and a delirious amount of laughter. The kind of laughter that immobilizes people. It’s a life of never being alone, even when you want to be. Someone’s always around; chewing loudly when you want to read, sitting on your bed while you pick your clothes in the morning, hell even hanging outside the bathroom while you shower. It’s a life of love, the kind that fully consumes you.

Above all, though, life at the Mikaelson compound is a life of sharing. Food, books, beds, you name it. This house coined the phrase “what’s mine is yours”, literally. After two centuries of life with the Mikaelson siblings nothing surprises you anymore. Clothes are the main culprit. You don’t bat an eye these days when Rebekah strolls out of your room in a newly purchased dress or pair of pumps. You simply couldn’t care less. That’s just how things are.

That’s why it doesn’t cross your mind when you pick up a hoodie that someone had lazily draped over the back of a dining room chair. You were freezing and it was there. It’s probably Kol’s. Holding it up, it’s massive. You shake your head. Definitely not Kol’s. There’s a chance it’s Bekah’s but it doesn’t strike you as something she would wear. It's a cream white color with a Cambridge logo. Someone must be feeling sentimental. You settle on it being Klaus, the temperamental artist, pulling the hoodie over your head without a second thought.

You continue on your way to the den, padding barefoot in a pair of lounge shorts and your newly aquired hoodie. It has a familiar scent, one that riles your senses in the most delicious way, but you still can’t place it. Pine and nutmeg. You would think that a surplus of two hundred years with the same people would make you better at this but it hasn’t.

It’s unusually quiet. Considering you didn’t wake up cuddled next to Bekah, you’re already a little off centred. You haven’t woken up alone in years. By now you should have encountered at least two of the brothers and maybe a sister. Kol is usually up early. It’s kind of suspicious. You hear the slightest hum of noise as you get closer to your destination. Nothing crazy, but it’s there.

Entering the den, your questions are answered. Almost everyone is piled in, draped across the couches, sprawled on the floor, curled in armchairs. That’s more like it. Only one person is missing. Elijah. He’s been gone for a few days now. Your heart hammers at the thought of him. His smile flashes through your mind. Your veins sing. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s calling out to him. You seriously need to get that in check.

“Something on your mind, love?” Kol’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

Of course he heard your heartbeat pick up, he’s a millennium of trained vampire hearing, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

You walk over to the couch he’s stretched over, tucking yourself under the book he’s holding and into his chest. Cuddles are a big part of the Mikaelson household, just as much as sharing. He smells heavenly too, but different from the sweater. Sweeter, not as earthy. It’s just as lovely. Your mind falls from Eli as Kol places a kiss to your forehead. His arms are cool and you try and keep your pulse in check this time. This whole family has had you enamoured from the moment you first met them.

He nuzzles his chin against your hair, “that’s what we do, hun.”

“I know,” you murmur, your heart slowing back to normal as you pull a comforter from the back of the couch onto your legs. You’re still chilly, he’s not helping much with that.

“Hey, no fair,” Rebekah whines from the floor, “I want cuddles.”

You giggle from Kol’s hold, “guess you should have waited for me this morning then, huh?”

She pouts from her own pile of blankets, giving you puppy eyes. Bekah has perfected that look for centuries. Her blonde hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, a few strands trickling down around her face. She’s wearing one of your t-shirts, the blue one you got at the New York Zoo a few years back. She makes it look like a ballgown.

“Don’t pout, sister, it's not becoming,” Klaus calls from the armchair he’s sat in, his bare chest on display for your viewing pleasure, “besides, I do believe that it’s my turn.”

Klaus is no exception to the Mikaelson charm. He's mischievous and playful. Yes, he can be ruthless and, yes, he did have a reputation for boxing his family members when you first met him, but now he’s different. He cares recklessly, a page he must have taken from Rebekah’s playbook.

Not to mention he’s undeniably gorgeous and he makes your chest flutter every time his blue eyes sear into yours. You are in way too deep.

Kol grumbles, tightening his arms around you before whispering, “can’t I ever have you for five minutes before the wolves descend?”

Naturally, everyone hears his complaints.

“Vampires, Kol, vampires,” Klaus chimes in, a devilish smirk on his lips, “now hand over the girl, brother.”

“Y/n, babes, cuddles please,” Bekah intensifies her pouting and you giggle again.

They’re in an all out war for your attention, but what else is new. Your eyes dart between Bekah and her pile of blankets and Klaus’ outstretched arms. You hate to say it, but the choice is a pretty obvious one.

You rest your head against Kol’s chest, breathing his intoxicating scent one last time, “I promise I’m all yours next time.”

He gives you a tight squeeze in return, “whatever you say, love.”

You wobble slightly as you stand up, readjusting your sweater and pulling it down where it had ridden up. The chilly air nips at your exposed legs as you stumble over to Rebekah, whose arms are now open and waiting. There's a blanket around her shoulders ready to engulf you. You’re more than ready to jump into her little nest.

Klaus’ words stop you though, “that’s a nice sweater, doll, where'd you get it?”

Wait, what?

“It was in the dining room, I figured it was yours,” you more than figured; you had been certain.

His laugh sends tingles flying up your spine, “unfortunately no, love, but I’ll never turn down the opportunity to get you in my clothes.”

“Or out of them,” Kol chirps from the couch, his nose turned into his book without a care in the world about who heard him.

Your cheeks flush at his suggestive words. Not because you aren't used to them, though. Comments like these were quite usual in the Mikaelson household. It wasn’t a normal day if at least one of them didn’t make you want to squeeze your thighs together and jump one, or maybe all, of them. No, you blush because it's been two hundred years of not one of them having actually followed through on anything and it pushes you closer to doing it for them everyday. Especially lately.

His words made your legs tremble but you continued with the topic at hand, “Kol, is it yours?”

He pulls his head from his book, his eyes dark with something you can’t say you haven’t seen before, “I wish.”

The sigh that leaves your lips is not of your own volition. His brown eyes burn into yours, daring you to turn away. You do. Sorry Kol, now is not the time for a staring competition. You cross your legs desperately and put your hands on your hips, looking to Rebekah for relief.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that’s not my sweater.”

You run a frustrated hand through your hair. You don’t know why this is bugging you so much. Your whole body feels like it's being pulled in every direction by every Mikaelson. Except Elijah, who’s not here. His name in your mind alone, though, is enough to add him to the rest. He doesn’t need to be here for you to feel his pull. Everyone of your senses is on fire right now. The earthy scent hits your nose again and you close your eyes, trying to soak up every last drop. It's driving you mad and you can swear it’s getting stronger, but it’s probably just your sanity wearing thin.

You can hear the flimsy distress in your voice, “then who, pray tell, does it belong to?”

“Me, love,” your head goes fuzzy at the sound of his voice.

You spin around on clumsy legs, practically falling into Elijah, “Eli!”

He catches you easily, pulling you against his hard chest. You don’t hesitate to throw your arms around him, standing on your toes to get closer to him. Even through his suit jacket you can feel how strong he is. You hadn’t heard him come in, too distracted by the other three Mikaelsons in the room. He smells exactly like the sweater, which makes sense now.

He laughs into your hair, squeezing his arms tighter around you, “I missed you too, baby.”

His words make you breathless. They’re so unlike Elijah. Well, not the ‘I miss you’ part. It would be unusual if he didn’t say that. But baby? That’s very much not a word he frequents often.

“Elijah,” his name is a whisper coming from your lips.

Your heart pounds furiously in your chest. Being so close to him makes you delirious. You struggle to keep from pressing your legs together. You know he can read it all over you, they all can, his lazy smirk giving it away. Your face flushes again for what feels like the millionth time today. His eyes darken, the same way Kol’s had, and drag all the way down and back up your body.

He takes your face in one of his hands keeping the other arm hooked around your back, drawing his words out slowly, “you look ravishing in my clothes, baby.”

“Eli, what-”

You’re cut off by a pair of warm lips colliding with your own. His arms wrap once more around you fully, pulling you closer to his hungry mouth. You kiss him back like you haven't been kissed in years, and you haven’t, lacing your fingers through his hair and feverishly pulling his lips harder against yours. It takes everything in you not to moan against his mouth in the middle of the den.

“Awe, no fair Elijah,” you pull back, shocked and breathless, at the sound of Kol’s whiny voice, “I wanted to be the first one.”

He glances over your shoulder, past your wide eyes, at his brother, “too bad, little brother. I gave you two hundred years. You had plenty of time.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if I’m not the second.”

In the blink of an eye you’re in Kol’s arms, being dipped theatrically as he places his own lips where Elijah’s had just been. He tastes different, like berries and honey, whereas Elijah’s lips were peppermint. You kiss him back just as strongly, twisting your fists in his tee and pulling him as close to you as possible. All your senses are consumed by Kol, just as they were Elijah.

When he pulls away, your head is swimming, “I’ve been waiting for that for an eternity, hun.”

His eyes are shining, a huge grin on his pink lips. You haven’t been kissed this much in as long as you can remember. You feel lightheaded, like you’re walking on a cloud. When you peer up at Elijah, he doesn’t look upset. He probably should. You feel guilty for reeling at the new kind of attention.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you're pulled into a new pair of arms that scoops you into a firm chest.

“My turn, love.”

Klaus’ lips taste like chocolate. Kissing him is, again, different than both his brothers. Playful. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently. You sigh into his mouth, your hands on his face. He spins you around, laughing against your lips. Your heart soars once more. All you can see is Klaus.

When he sets you down, you break away from the three of them, at a loss for both words and air. Your whole body is on fire. Somehow, you can taste all three of them on your lips at once. You can hear your heartbeat furious in your ears. Your eyes dart between them, like a deer in the headlights. Your hand finds your lips. Swollen. But what did you expect? Your legs start shaking again but less out of pleasure and more out of shame. The room feels like it’s shrinking. You wish it would just swallow you already.

You whip your head around to meet Rebekah’s eyes, who looks as shocked as you feel. She sends you a small smile, though, nodding her head. She doesn't seem disappointed, but, then again, you could go on a killing spree and she would still look at you with kind eyes. You grasp at your chest, trying to slow your pulse even slightly. You can’t breathe. Your eyes dart to the door and then back to her eyes. She nods again. Then you bolt.

The Mikaelson boys are fast, they're a thousand years old after all, but you’re determined, and that makes you faster. You just barely close your bedroom door before there's a knock.

“Y/n, it’s Elijah,” his accent flows like honey through the door right to your ears, sending traitorous warmth to your core, “please open the door baby.”

“Why, are you all going to kiss me again?” Your voice is shakey.

You can hear him try to stifle a laugh, “I can if you want me too.”

You huff, frustrated, “I am serious, Eli.”

“It’s just me, love. Let me in?”

That makes you feel the slightest bit better. At least you only have to face one right now. You debate just leaving him out there but he’d probably bust the door down. Elijah is a gentleman but when he wants to talk nothing can get in his way. You run a hand through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable, less wanton. You pull the sleeves of the sweater over your hands, trying to hide the shaking.

Opening the door, you come face to face with a half worried Elijah. There’s a small smile on his lips but also a tinge of hesitance in his eyes. You step aside, letting him in before shutting it once more. He grabs your hand leading you towards your bed where he sits on the edge, drawing you to stand between his legs. His hands move to settle on your hips, settling under the hoodie and tracing small circles with his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?”

Your laugh is humourless. What are you thinking about? He can’t be serious. Each of the Mikaelson boys just kissed you, one after the other, all in front of each other, and he wants to know what you're thinking about. The weather Elijah, you’re thinking about the weather. God, you feel so dirty, which you know wasn't their intention but you can’t help it. You feel something for each of them. Something you definitely shouldn't feel. Something you had pushed down for a very long time. It’s hot and throbbing and you don’t think you could bear it if you had to choose between them.

You can’t look him in the eyes, “what do you think I'm thinking about?”

You don’t realize that you’re crying until you open your mouth, your words choppy and broken. As soon as you do, though, it’s like the floodgates have opened. You start sobbing heart wrenching cries, hands over your face, blocking out the now very concerned man. At the thought of losing any of them your lungs constrict. For someone who’s pretty indestructible, you feel like you’re suffocating. You barely register the curse that flies from his mouth before he has you tucked into his arms, his hands sliding over your hair and rubbing your back. Really, doing anything he can to get you to calm down even a little bit.

“Baby, shhh,” he’s frantic, trying to calm you down, “it’s okay love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

“Eli,” you hiccup into his chest, “what happened out there?”

He holds you tighter against him, “you happened, Y/n. From the moment you walked through our door that’s been it.”

You pull back slightly, finally looking into his eyes, “what are you talking about?”

“We want you. All of us. Kol, Klaus, myself. Hell, even Rebekah is enamoured by you,” he picks you up before sitting back down, still holding you, “Am I too forward in assuming you feel the same?”

Your cheeks flame, the familiar heat returning to your thighs, which are straddling Elijah’s lap, a position you weren’t aware of until now. You wish you were still clueless, though. You positively ache for him, let alone the rest of his brothers.

“I shouldn’t Elijah, it’s not normal,” your hands rest on his shoulders, bringing you to his eye level for once.

He laughs quietly, leaning in close to your face, his breath hot on your lips, “baby, we aren’t normal.”

“How are you okay with this? You should think I’m easy. A tramp,” you cast your eyes downward, landing on his red tie.

He grabs your chin with his hand, forcing you to look at him again, “I would never, could never, see you that way. Love, you’ve been with us for two centuries and haven’t touched us once. You are anything but easy. I have loved you for two hundred years. So have they. If sharing you means I finally get to have you then I am ok with that.”

Your lips are on him the instant the last syllable leaves his lips, your hands curled around his tie pulling his mouth to yours for the second time today. It’s not like you to make any sort of move but if ever there was a time it’s now. He groans into your mouth sending electricity dancing down your spine. You squeeze your thighs hard around him, reveling in the feeling of his hips bucking up to meet your own. His hands slide up underneath his sweater, grasping at your skin desperately. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it on the floor without a care before attaching his lips to your neck.

“That's what made me cave, baby, seeing you in my clothes,” he mumbles into your skin, hands under your tank top, roaming up your sides.

“Mmph, Elijah,” you can’t stop the moans from flowing freely from your mouth, you don’t want to. You’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity.

Your hands tug on his tie, practically ripping it off his neck before starting on his shirt, pulling it open without a care for the buttons popping off around you. He leans back on his elbows, looking up at you with dark eyes. His hair is a mess, falling into his face in a very un-Elijah fashion. His shirt is wide open, putting his toned stomach on display for you. His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly with the air. He looks positively disheveled. Undone just for you. Sexy.

You slam your lips to his once more, pulling the shirt off his body before dropping it on the steadily growing pile of clothes. You wrap your arms around his bare shoulders, trying to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your fingers claw at the bulging muscles of his back, pulling a moan from him. The sound is music to your ears. You wish you could listen to it on a loop all day, every day.

His hands pull at your tank top, bringing it over your head and leaving you in nothing but a pink bralette and your shorts. His eyes devour every inch of bare skin, soaking up every curve and dip of your body on his. He looks exquisite. He looks hungry, his eyes pitch black and wanting. Elijah looks like a god.

His mouth attacks your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin at the base of your throat. Your hands land in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. You never knew he had this side to him. This dominant, hungry side. It makes the ache between your thighs grow. Two hundred years of pent up energy threatens to spill over now and you don’t want to stop it.

So, of course, now is when someone decides to knock on the door, “Surrender the girl, Elijah, you already got the first kiss. Time to share, brother.”

Make that ‘someones’; Kol chuckles at his brother’s antics from behind the door. Klaus’ voice is playful but you can hear the serious note at the end. It makes your already lust-clouded mind even foggier. You know you have to go out there.

You pull Elijah in for one last kiss, sighing into his parted lips, “that’s my cue I think.”

He presses a kiss to your lips reluctantly, “I suppose it is.”

You stand, separating from him for the first time since he walked into your room. You dig his hoodie from the pile of clothes, reveling in the way his eyes, which had only recently gone back to their usual brown, turn black again when you pull it over your head. That will never get old. You toss him a knowing wink before reaching for the door. When your hand hits the knob he spins you back into his arms in a dizzying kiss. Your head twirls from all the times his lips have been on yours today.

With a slight growl, he pushes you out the door, “hurry back.”

You stumble into the hallway, giddy and full of life, right into Klaus’ waiting arms. He doesn’t waste any time throwing you over his shoulder, giving you the perfect view of his gloriously sculpted backside. You can't help the giggles that fall freely from your lips.

“Finally,” he starts jogging down the hall, towards his room, “now, about that sweater, Love.”

You look over his shoulder at Kol who shakes his head but smiles nonetheless. You barely make out the ‘me next’ he mouths at you before Klaus kicks the door closed and tosses you on his bed. The last thing you think before his mouth descends on yours is that you should have picked up that sweater one hundred years ago.

[1derspark]

Hello, i see you're taking fic prompts. Could u write a Joe x Nicky spooning sex scene? Amazing how we got two of them in the movie and we don't have any fics about it!! Please and thank u!

Hello! Thanks for the prompt, the lack of spoon sex is a travesty I agree. Smut is not my go-to but I did my best, and I actually enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy it!

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read it on ao3! 

”https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796257”

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Their house in Cuba has no air conditioning, only a small rickety plastic fan stuck permanently on low, and the humidity clinging stubbornly to their skin.

Joe wakes, as usual, plastered to the long lean line of Nicky’s back, only now they are bare on the mattress, naked, and having kicked all of the sheets away from their bodies in the night.

Joe is hot and sweaty and he most certainly needs a shower of some kind but he doesn’t care when the pale stretch of Nicky’s neck is just below his nose. He’s unable to resist, he leans in, snuggles into the soft skin there. Places one wet kiss, two, until Nicky hums into the waking world.

Lucky for them Andy’s taken Nile out on some horseback riding adventure out in the Rockies somewhere. Last time Joe had seen them was at a worn-down airport in South Africa where Nile had given them a skeptical and slightly terrified look as Andy dragged her onto the plane, going on about horses being the best mode of transportation, no matter the century.

Joe basks in their isolation, away from training, away from the world, just him and Nicky hidden away on an island. Eyes closed, he nuzzles his way blindly to Nicky’s lips, who opens to him like a blossom in spring, slow and languid and just this side of sour from sleep. But Allah as his witness, he couldn't care less.

“Joe,” Nicky breathes into his mouth, voice low and rough with his waking.

His kissing has become deeper, needier. When Joe smoothes a hand down the tautness of Nicky’s stomach to his cock Joe finds it already hard and aching.

“Do you want—”

“Yes, Yusuf, please—”

“Hold on habibi, hold on.” 

Joe reaches down the crack between the bed and the wall fumbling for the lost tube of lube they’d tossed down there last night in their haste. Already he’s almost out of breath with Nicky’s hand in his hair, tugging, his lips latched to the hard plane of his jaw mouthing at the sensitive skin. 

When he finds it he surges back into position, meets Nicky halfway in a rough clash of skin and teeth and tongue until they are as they were in sleep, only Joe has one hand on Nicky’s cock and is hooking Nicky’s leg over his thigh with the other.

With the lube spread on two of his fingers, he teases them at the furl of Nicky’s opening, until he’s worked them inside, all heat and slickness. 

Nicky’s hand tightens in his hair and he pushes back against Joe’s chest, grinding down onto Joe’s fingers in short, little, abraded thrusts. Nicky makes soft noises in the back of his throat with every movement and it goes right to Joe’s cock. 

He can’t help but grind it into the small of Nicky’s back, desperate for some friction, for anything. But he won’t fall into that yet. Not when it’s so satisfying to have Nicky positioned here, spooned up to his front as close as they can ever be or want, panting and writhing on his fingers. It’s torture, sweet torture, but Yusuf would not give it up for anything.

He gets in a third finger, rubs at that spot that makes Nicky groan like he’s been punched. It’s then when Nicky begs, switches to Italian, the old dialect too, a millennium old, he has no control anymore.

“Hurry Yusuf,” he says. “You’re so good my love. I need you, need you everywhere. God please—”

Joe pulls out his fingers with less grace than he’d like to admit but he’s so hard he can’t breathe. He slicks his cock and pulls Nicky closer, somehow closer, until he pushes in and he’s flush to the curve of Nicky’s backside, Then they’re nothing but a panting, trembling mess of desire in the Cuban sunlight.

Joe fucks him, slow, with a single-minded purpose to make it last. It’s been far too long since he’s been allowed to do this, keep his focus on the single-minded goal of bringing Nicky pleasure, bringing them both to the top of that crest and making it stretch onwards into a hazy light.

He buries his face in Nicky’s neck, sucks love marks into the skin there with sharp nicks of his teeth with every thrust. He moves his hand down so that it circles just around the head of Nicky’s cock, brushing against the crown when he moves. 

Nicky whines with it but doesn’t move for Joe’s hand. He wants this to last too, he’s just as desperate as Joe is and how amazing is that? More than nine hundred years of loving one another and every time they come together, with their mouths, their hands, the toe-curling pleasure of their cocks, it’s just as good as the last time.

Joe hits that treasured spot straight on and Nicky hisses, clenches down, his mouth gritted tight. 

“There,” he pants out. “There, Yusuf, again. I’m close. So close, your cock right there, I need—”

He’s babbling which means he’s on the edge, and Joe’s not far behind. It’s too good, too much after so long of settling for hurried quiet handjobs under the blankets while Andy and Nile slept just a room over. 

“Come, my love, that’s it,” Joe says, his mouth hovering right next to Nicky’s ear, taking a nip at the lobe. “For me, come for me. You’re so gorgeous, so good.”

Joe wraps his hand around his lover’s cock, strokes him to finish, swallows down Nicky’s cry in a craned over kiss. It creates a crook in his neck, but it’s so worth it to have Nicky murmuring filthy things into his mouth when he comes. Thrusting in once more and letting out a choked groan as he shakes, spills and spills, while Nicky rubs a tender thumb up and down his cheek.

They come down together and kiss until their lips are red with it, like pomegranate seeds. When they separate finally, just enough to look at each other in the eye, Joe taps that gorgeous mouth, that flushed cupid’s bow, with his pointer finger. Watches Nicky’s eyes sparkle a gray-green, like precious stones.

“Good morning Nicolo,” he says.

Nicky grins, satisfied and more in love than ever. “Well, it is now.”

[halcyon-scripts]

SCARLET BOUND- A Jerza one-shot

_________________________________________

Jellal's eyes slowly blinked open as he swallowed his surroundings in. Something was different, the ground felt hard against his back, but familiar. He sat up, shaking off his sleep and tried to move. His hands felt heavy, a familiar weight on his wrists and his head moved swiftly to look down at them in horror.

He was in the tower.

He was back in the tower of heaven.

The palms of his hands dampened at his realisation as he struggled to breathe, hands reaching for the his head as he tugged on the hair there.

It was impossible

The tower was destroyed in his fight with Natsu.

But why did the shackles around his wrist and ankles feel so real? Why did the cool metal hurt him? He tried desperately to remember what he was doing before, where he was, but his brain refused to focus on anything else but the metal he was bound by.

Where am I ? Could it be the tower? It can't. It can't.

Getting on his knees, he looked around, at the stone wall behind him and the bars in front of him, the moss growing at the edge of the cell and the strangely white background in front of the bars.

His senses sharpened as he noticed a body, softly breathing in one corner of the cell, chest tightening as he saw a dash of red.

He got up almost immediately, running towards the figure huddled in the corner, running towards her, to grab her, hold her, protect her from the wretched place.

He ran as fast as he could, trying to reach the form only to have more distance put between them with every step he took. He couldn't get closer to her.

He felt a hand reach out to her, when without warning, the chain that bound his wrist  tugged back, pulling him harshly till he felt his back hit the wall and a metallic taste fill his mouth.

His teeth clenched at the impact, but he paid no heed to the radiating pain on his back.

Erza

He had to save her.

At that thought, he heard a loud clatter against the bars of his cell, eyes shot up to look at the body thrown against it, now outside his cell.

His eyes widened and tears filled his eyes to the brim, his body leaping forward to hold the girl, hindered by the shackles now digging into his joints.

"Erza?", He whispered, trying to get her to answer him, when to figures made their way to the girl. Jellal recognised them as the guards who were in charge of their cell, remembering their faces from the nightmares he'd had before.

One of them made a move towards the girl, reaching out to grab her long red hair, while Jellal's eyes widened with horror.

"What are you doing? Stop. Don't touch her."

The guards, who were strangely unaware of his presence, yanked her up by the hair, laughing maniacally, while she whimpered at the force of her body being dragged by her hair.

"I'LL KILL YOU! DON'T TOUCH HER!"

"Jellal...", She said, making a feeble attempt at calling for him, letting out a strangled cry when the guards began to drag her to the white background by her hair .

"STOP. LET HER GO", his voice wasn't loud enough as he struggled against his restraints, tears rolling down his face.

"ERZA! DON'T TOUCH HER! ERZA!"

The figures moved slowly, disappearing into the white shadows, leaving a trail of blood , with screams being the only thing left in the hollow space.

"Jellal? It's not real, you hear me? wake up!! Jellal??", Erza cried frantically, trying to shake his trembling form awake, both hands on his shoulders as his face scrunched up and whimpering.

He shot up, hair damp on his forehead, sticking to it, as he felt a bead of sweat roll down the tattoo on his cheek and cool palms pressed against his clothed shoulder. His line of sight followed the arms on his shoulders, traveling up the expanse of the person's neck before resting on her face.

"Jellal? Oh thank Mavis, you were screaming in your sleep! And I tried to wake up but-"

It took him a millisecond to reach out to her, arms wrapping around her form, resting on her back, his head burrowed deep into her neck as he breathed in, struggling with reality. She responded immediately, cocooning his shaking form, dragging her palms lightly across his back to comfort him, to shelter him form whatever was causing him pain.

He let out an agonizing breath, feeling tears fall from his face to her shoulder and neck, she didn't flinch in his grasp, whispering comforting words into his real with her cheek rested on his shoulder as his back shook with his sobs.

His hand slowly reached up to her head, touching the hair there , fingers gliding slowly along the soft silk, tangling there. It was only moments ago that her hair-her very own self were dragged along the ground.

Away from him.

Away from them.

He inhaled once more, breathing in her magic scent, which already began working it's wayh into his mind and  his heart, soothing his trembling till he felt his body calm down and his shoulders relax, the arm on her back loosening while she waited patiently for him to calm down.

A few minutes later, she felt him relax completely as she stroked his hair, releasing himself from their embrace, a hand still gently holding the hair near chin as she looked at him, unable to hide the worry that marred her features.

His hand gripped the ground beneath him as he looked at his palm in surprise when he felt dirt. They were on a mission, he remembered, looking down at the sleeping bag he was in and the unoccupied sleeping bag past Erza's shoulder. They were on a mission, together. They weren't at the tower.

"What did you dream of ?"

He sucked in a breath, her question snapping him out of his daze He knew he had to tell her or it would eat him out and destroy him, he hesitated a little, not wanting to share too much, feeling confident when a hand wrapped around his free one, intertwining their fingers.

"You", he paused , as she waited for him to continue.

"And the tower"

She gasped subconsciously, having had nightmares of that place for a good quarter of her life, knowing very well why he was so distressed.

"Jellal", she said, wiping a few years from his cheek, tracing the tattoo under his bloodshot eyes, not being able to find words that could reassure him.

"It's over, we're not prisoners anymore." She cupped his cheek, bringing him to make eye contact with her. "You're safe. We're safe. That place...ruined any hope I had of having a normal life, until I met you, Sho and the others.", She said, feeling tears of her own form in her eyes.

" I hated that place so much, and I know it's cruel of me to say this, but Jellal, if we weren't there, I wouldn't have met you, and I don't want that."

Jellal looked up in surprise, not expecting her confession, his hand moving to smooth the hair over the back of her head, still unable to believe that she was here with him, next to him. At that moment he knew , he didn't want anything more, he wanted to spend the next century, the next millennium by her side. He wanted to paint his world scarlet, he wanted to cover himself in her and never let go.

"What did I do to deserve you?" , He sighed, letting go of her hair to hold her shoulder, tracing her collarbone.

"You gave me a name, gave me purpose, and I won't let go of it"

Jellal didn't know what to say, how to react, so he did the first thing that came to his mind, something he shouldv have done ever since he'd seen her at the Tower of Heaven.

He cupped her face in his hands and pressed their lips together, almost laughing at the way she squeaked in surprise, but returned his kiss nonetheless, wrapping her hands around his neck.

She pulled away slowly, smiling at him, looking at the blush on his face and laughing softly as he tried to cover it, before leaning into him and hugging him once again.

"I love you"

His arms shot faster than ever, gliding across her back and pulling her closer, unable to believe what she had just said.

"I love you" , he resonated, pulling her back down with him, not letting her go, her head resting against his chest, her eyes closed to the sound of his thundering heart as he placed a tiny kiss on top of her head, before closing his eyes once more.

He dreamt of a future he never thought he might have that night.

He dreamt of scarlet.

________________________________________

Note:Hey guys I'm an author on A03!! My A03 handle is Nerdydeercomputer, where I post most of my works. I thought it'll be fun to post one-shots on Tumblr and maybe tale requests from you all as well!

[being-multishiper-be-like]

1) Midam week- Firsts

Word count: 1,8k

Tags: angst, apologizing, arguing, declaration of love, hurt/comfort, 

@midam-week

At first, there was loneliness, it was just him and his father in the universe. Some could think, that it was perfect for developing at least a decent father-son relationship, but his dad was never there. Not really. Then suddenly he had had a lot of younger siblings, so he unwillingly had to put himself aside, his siblings came first. Then the Fall happened. He’s lost two of his dearest brothers. Dealing with it took a lot of time and unfortunately also a lot of his personality. To numb the pain he had to lock it up, including the parts of himself that were linked to it. Since then he’s been acting particularly cold. For a long time loving something meant getting hurt for him. It actually still does...

And then Lucifer broke free. When he found out, he immediately did the only sane thing he could, he picked up the only vessel from the Winchester bloodline, that was willing to say yes to him- Adam Milligan, John Winchester’s youngest son. Although he did everything he could, he knew, more trouble is about to come. But ending up in the Cage himself was beyond his definition of trouble. If he was allowed to do so he would say it all fucked up. But he couldn’t. He was always the good son and saying such a bad word would mean he’s lost his faith, it would mean he’s as much traitor as Lucifer is. So he couldn’t do it, because his faith was the only thing that was keeping him at least partly sane.

Before all of this mess, Adam lived in a small town in Minnesota. He had a normal life, or at least as normal as a child who sees his dad once every few years can have. He didn’t even consider him his dad, it was just a stranger who would show up every now and then and talking shit that didn’t make sense. So although they couldn’t be more different, they somehow had a lot in common even before Adam was born.

And then Adam died and got into heaven. It was an awesome and peaceful few months. It all changed, when he said yes. That’s how he became Michael’s vessel and ended up in the Cage.

***

“How could I be so stupid? How could I thought you’d be enough?! This is all your fault!” Once again was Michael screaming at Adam for things that weren’t his fault. He started to get used to it. At least he thought so after every Michael’s lashing out. But when a new one came, he always stood there petrified. He, deep down, knew the archangel wasn’t actually angry at him, he was angry at Lucifer but mainly at himself. It wasn’t because of Adam. It was because he wanted revenge.

Adam never responded. What should he even say, when the oldest archangel was blaming him for his utter incompetence to fight in a war, that wasn’t meant for humans. He even sometimes thought of how he wanted to switch places with Sam. Because the pain he got, what he didn’t understand was Michael. He was confused (read: terrified) of him.

But that also wasn’t the worst. The worst came after Michael was done yelling at him. He would draw him closer, wrap his wings around him, and with a face buried in his hair whisper how everything will be okay, how they’ll get out. In those moments Adam desperately wanted out of his reach, but the only alternative was the Devil himself. He felt he’d sooner or later snap. It mortified him because he could imagine the consequences it would have. But the centuries of emotional abuse started to show. So he wasn’t even surprised when it happened.

***

“I hate you! If it wasn’t for you I could be in heaven and not in this prison! I could-”

“Enough! You know, I too would be in heaven right now if it wasn’t for you and your inability to sort your family stuff! Look, all family has something! But it doesn’t give you the right to push your problems onto other people!” Michael was as petrified as Adam before the roles switched. He had no idea what to say. And when, after what felt like a couple of millennia, he rediscovered his voice, he said just one sentence.

“You have no idea what are you talking about...” It barely found its way through his trembling lips.

“Oh, enlighten me then. My mother was just a fling for John. When he found out he got her pregnant he didn’t even bother to show up in person, just sent a stupid message of how he’ll take care of us. I first saw him when I was twelve, though. And after two days he disappeared for another two years. He may have been my father, but he was never my dad. He gives a shit about me!” After that there was silence. Both of them processed what the other one said and what it meant for them. Suddenly Michael’s mental walls begun to give up. Those feelings he locked up all those years ago flooded on the surface and showed the real him.

“You think you’re the only one?! Although I’m the firstborn, the rightful heir of the throne, I was never my dad’s favorite. Lucifer was. Even after the Fall! Anything I did was never good enough! When I fought for his attention, he started ignoring me and the more he ignored me the more I tried until he punished me. And when I ignored him, I was ungrateful. Either way, the only thing he saw was me trying to destroy Heaven. Although all of it I never misbehaved, never betrayed him. Because I’m a good son. And this is what I got?! He left us! He left me! And I tried to rule the kingdom of Heaven instead of my father, but I didn’t know how, because he never told me how. Everyday things have gotten worse. And then there’s you, a weak pathetic human being who only knows how to whine and complain! If you haven’t noticed I have my own problems and I don’t have time for disrespectful kids! Now-”

“I. Said. Enough! You think the Sun shines outta your ass?! Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it doesn’t. I know you’re angry and you hate me but-”

“I don’t hate you,” whispered Michael almost inaudibly, but it still was able to make Adam go silent for a moment. It didn’t take him long to recover, though.

“I beg your pardon? If you do this to a person you don’t hate, I don’t want to know how you act with people you love. Sometimes I just wish you’d kill me, so I don’t have to spend another millennium fearing you, sometimes I think you’re even better torturer than Lucifer could ever be. And now you dare to tell me you don’t fucking hate me?! Honestly if you’d kill me, you’d do us both a favor...” Adam turned around so Michael wouldn’t see his tears. He promised himself Michael won’t make him cry again approximately two centuries ago and now he’s breaking his promise, which led to even more tears. Before he knew it he was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe.

“It wasn’t meant like this, I’m so sorry Adam, please, I’m sorry. I never realize how much was I hurting you. But I can make things better, please let me make everything right.” He gave Adam time to calm himself, not stepping closer, afraid, he could make it even worse.

“Don’t you see it? There’s no making it better, it’s too late. At first, I thought we could get along, but then you started treating me like a rag doll.” said Adam, still with his back turned to the archangel. Suddenly he felt soft touch creep around his arms and torso. Before he could understand what’s happening, Michael was hugging him from behind. “I made a lot of mistakes, and now it seems I can’t bear the consequences,” whispered Michael to his right ear. Adam shivered and tried to get himself out of his grip, but there was no point in it. Michael was too strong.

“C- can you explain one thing?” Asked Adam and continued without waiting for a response. “Why did you act every time so differently? It was like being here with two Michaels. The first one was gentle and caring, and the second one scared the crap outta me. Why Michael?” The archangel stiffened, but it seemed as if he was actually thinking of a reply.

“Why, you ask. Because I’m a coward.” They fell into silence for a moment. Adam was grateful for it because it gave him a little time to at least try to send that one word to his brain to comprehend. Coward. He didn’t think an archangel can be so self-conscious. “I was so afraid of getting close to another living being, that I tried to scare you away, but the more I did, the more I, well, craved. I sometimes tried to do everything to make this place at least slightly better for you. And that I got angry for allowing myself such a weakness, so I started screaming at you. You did nothing bad I just didn’t know how to handle my feelings.” Michael's speech, or more like a confession, made Adam turn in his arms and look straightly into his eyes.

“Wait for a second, You were acting like a dick for centuries just because you couldn’t handle your own feelings?! Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me?! And now you don’t even have the audacity to say you love me. Well, that’s awesome, fucking awesome. And now you expect what? That I’m gonna tell you that I love you too, that I forgive you, that you’re the one? It doesn’t work like this. Sorry. Now let me go, would you?” Michael let go of him as if his words burned him. Well, maybe they did. He looks sheepish as if he didn’t know whether to go or defend himself. He almost turned around, when- “And if I’d say I love you, would that make it any different? If yes, then, Adam Milligan, I love you very much and I apologize for how I treated you. Now I think it would be better for both of us if I let you some space.” Then he turned around for the second time, and, just like the first time, he never finished the movement because Adam caught his hand and spun him to his arms. He didn’t even need to say something, the gesture was more than enough...

[nicnacsnonsense]

22 for the headcanon thing?

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Since you didn’t specify a pairing, I’m going to make a bold assumption and go with Ineffable Husbands.

Neither of them could remember their first kiss. There had been so many different kisses for so many different reasons across 6000 years; it wasn’t the sort of thing that one could keep track of. One could hardly step foot in France without exchanging at least half a dozen cheek kisses, and Aziraphale was so fond of his crepes.

Then there had been that five year period during the Regency era. Aziraphale had been female presenting for the first time in a millennium if not two, and Crowley had absolutely delighted in playing the cad and doing everything possible to make her flush. This included an inordinate amount of hand kisses.

Crowley’s century long nap was far from the first time Aziraphale had caught Crowley sleeping, but it was the occasion that stood out the most vividly for obvious reasons. Crowley didn’t look more vunerable when he was asleep, not really, not to Aziraphale, but there was something so heart-rending about it all the same. Aziraphale always placed a kiss on his forehead, not a blessing exactly, but a wish. Rest well. Stay safe.

Mouth kisses too. In Rome for certain, kisses for every occasion in Rome, including mouth kisses. A greeting between friends, and they were friends by then. By oysters at the very latest. Or all the times the Black Knight and Sir Aziraphale has faced off. They always exchanged a kiss of peace before battle. And if those friendly kisses, those kisses bound by custom lasted just a little longer than customary, if they melted into them a little more than was friendly, well...

The closest thing to their first kiss had been on the day of Warlock’s birthday party. They sat together in the Bentley in the Dowling’s drive. Neither of them dared to get out. If they got out then it was real. If they got out then in just a few hours the Antichrist would recieve his hell hound and the world will well and truly begin ending. Aziraphale was nervously fiddling with his hands and Crowley was watching him. He’d always been watching Aziraphale since the very beginning and now it seemed like he’d be watching him to the fast approaching end. Without letting himself think about it, Crowley leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. Afterwards Aziraphale looked at him wide-eyed and Crowley lost all his nerve. “For luck,” he said, and then quickly fumbled his way out of the car.

The truth is neither of them could remember their first kiss. But if you asked them, if you asked them...

When they first walked into the Ritz, that Sunday after the world didn’t end, the two of them were still giddy with triumph. But as the afternoon grew golden and hazy, so did they. A warm glow of contentment grew between them, a feeling they’d only known in brief fits and snatches before. They walked back to the bookshop side by side, exactly as they had many times before, but completely new and different now.

When they reached the bookshop there was no pause at the threshold. There was no need to extend an invitation, to ask for permission. They went in together like it was completely natural, like things had always been the way they ought to be.

Aziraphale began heading toward the back room, but Crowley stopped him. He took Aziraphale’s hand and, maintaining eye contact the entire time, pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s knuckles. “I love you, you know,” he said.

Azirphale smiled, soft and bright. “Oh my darling. I do love you so.” He stepped in closer so he could place a kiss on Crowley’s forehead. Then one on each cheek. Then two more on either eyelid. Then one on the tip of his nose.

Crowley barked out a laugh. “How did I fall in love with someone with someone so ridiculous?” His arms had come to encircle Azirphale’s waist, pulling them closer together. Aziraphale’s hands had slipped from their perch on Crowley’s shoulders and now were gently playing with the fine hairs at the nape of Crowley’s neck.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aziraphale’s voice was prim, but there was a twitch of amusement to his lips and a glint of laughter in his eyes.

“You utter bastard,” Crowley said, laughing again. There was far too much joy here, now, in this moment for one person to hold alone. So he placed a hand on Aziraphale’s jaw and guided them in their first real kiss.

[writtenbyvenus]

What We Do In The Shadows

Chapter 3: I Love You, I Love You Not

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they carry too much baggage. 

( Warning, this is in RP format, but has been edited and proof read for grammar/flow. A change between writers and/or perspective with both characters is symbolized by a bold first letter. )

‘The life of an immortal is lonely, you suffer as the entire world changes while you stay stagnate. Unable to do the most natural thing all humans do: change.’

But Alfred didn’t want to suffer anymore. 

Perhaps he would branch out. He didn’t want to have one night stands forever, it hurt his soul to say goodbye to someone he could see spending an eternity with. And the man was too scared to turn someone into a wolf, he felt like it was a curse he couldn’t bear turning someone he loved into it. It weighed too heavy, that choice. Sighing, he kept his eyes closed, enjoying every touch offered by Ivan. The man was right, he was cocky and proud. Even if he partly hated being a werewolf, there was still a piece of pride in it. He thought it was semi-cute that Ivan offered to lick up his wounds, but he was unsure if he’d take Ivan up on that offer. While adorable, weirdly, seemed too risky. What if he couldn’t control himself? Then he’d have to fight Ivan and was the last thing on his mind. He chuckled hearing how Ivan got his meals, it was just funny. But he was happy the man found a non-lethal way to get his blood. He would rather have him steal people’s blood and keep them alive. Humming, he grinned when he got a kiss on his forehead. Was he winning him over? “Okay. I’ll come over. Next time you work, I’ll be there. Better have snacks for me.” He teased, nuzzling his cheek into his lap again. “If you are bloodthirsty, we could hunt right now....” Alfred offered, but understanding if he said no. 

Ivan was a reclusive individual so there wasn't much he had to cope with when he was forced to keep out of the sunshine or risk burning his skin. There wasn't much sun to fight against where he first turned anyway. Even New York was a frosty, shady place that kept him frozen. He could feel the chill, the heat. It was almost painful. With Alfred curled up on his lap, he was warmed up thoroughly. He just wished to keep the puppy for a moment longer, scratch his head, and squeeze him tight. With the number of nights he's seen the man stay out, he didn't dare pursue him. He didn't enjoy awkward moments between his neighbors if there was a miscommunication on their relationship. Over the hundreds of years, he had plenty of money to help him sit pretty so he could jump up and leave at any time. Bad endings hardly were ever a reason to flee, but after all the information he just admitted to Alfred. There may be a problem. As he sits and plays with Alfred's hair, he'd take the moment for what it was and love on his neighbor. Friendly, but not too friendly. "You asked me- no, you begged me to come over and watch a show with you and your eyes have been more closed than open the entire time I'm here." Teasing the other and his persistence, he carefully wedged Alfred up from his lap for a moment to readjust his legs. The blood in his body wasn't his own. It was a liquid patchwork gushing through his body and cutting off at his legs. Even the wolf's cute puppy eyes couldn't take away the uncomfortable amount of weight on his thighs.

He mentally rejoiced when he heard Alfred finally accept his offer. His fangs prodded and extended out of his gums just thinking about the blood slithering through the tube and out of Alfred's arm. He pulled a hand quickly over his mouth as he tried to calm his appetite. He was giddy over a simple dribble, it was near lustful and he despised the feeling because it distracted him when he was out in public. A small whiff of blood would send him prowling around someone like they were just prey to him. It was instinctive and it infected his code, but he's trained himself to control it significantly better. Living, breathing people, that's what he's killed and it hung over his head. Most of the people he stalked down, he had no idea if they were innocent or immoral. He tried not to mull over it too heavily. Thankful he had a new outlet to take the burden off his shoulders. Given the opportunity to turn back to the meat of it all and nestle his teeth onto some rapist's neck, he might have to give in and spend time with Alfred. It certainly sounded fun to him at the very least. "That depends on what you mean by hunting... You don't-" Letting go of his now presentable mouth, Ivan gestured, with his hands, a set of teeth opening and closing. "eat humans, right?" He questioned because deer blood was downright nasty to him. If prepared right, it was tolerable. "I always thought werewolves ate small animals."

Alfred snickered when he was made fun of for closing his eyes. It was easy to do it around Ivan, his soothing voice made him relaxed. No need to stare at the T.V. when Ivan was the entertainment he needed. Getting pushed off Ivan’s legs, he sat up lazily, missing his body. Sitting up straight, he let the man adjust his legs as he wondered how Ivan would feel on his lap.... His thighs were squishy, did the back feel the same way? Dirty thoughts, but he was only an animal inside. Humming, he saw in the corner of his eyes how excited Ivan got. Wow- so the man did want his blood? He wasn’t sure if it was a turn on or off, either way, it interested him. Ivan could get a small taste if it meant if he’d get more hang out time with Ivan. He was a tad bit mean, so he might only give Ivan a small thing of blood. Use the rest as bribery. With a thirsty vampire-like Ivan, he could probably convince the man to do a few things. “Yeah, I’ll stop by. If I’ll donate blood, we’ll see. Depends on my mood.” He teased, not letting Ivan know if he’d really hand over his arm and let him be drained. Teasing was all in good fun, wasn’t it? Raising a brow, Alfred shook his head at the question of eating humans. “Nope, only animals. Do... vampires, do you guys like animal blood? Can y’all live off of it?” He asked, wondering if it was similar to Twilight. Vegetarian vampires were an interesting concept.

Missing the contact he had with Ivan, he decided to be bold. Being bold was the only thing he could do now. He liked Ivan, and they were getting closer. Wanting to let the man know he liked the vampire, he decided to tease back about his first comment. “You know, you are right. We should pay more attention to the T.V....” Grabbing Ivan’s waist, he brought the man down with him as he laid back. It caused Ivan to lay across his chest. Holding the man tight, he enjoyed locking Ivan in his arms, keeping his head on top of his chest. Kissing the top of his forehead, he faced the T.V. His fingers played with the vampire's hair, taking pleasure how soft it felt in his fingertips. Ivan felt softer than he thought... he always imagined vampires were rock hard, tense, and dead. But Ivan was still alive, in some weird way. Just like him...

Ivan's excitement faded at the change of heart. It would require more reeling in before he could get what he wanted from Alfred. Two cups are all he could wish for and just a little bit of the man's time. Letting the talk of donating go, he shrugged his shoulders. The blood type wasn't hard to acquire, one in three people had O-positive so he wasn't going to jump on Alfred about it. Even if it was Alfred's blood. Something about the fact made it ten times more unattainable and sought after to him. He drummed his fingers across the couch when the other voice piped up. There were dozens of animals he hasn't sampled yet, so he couldn't judge the palette completely, but by the number of deer and bears he has tried, he found that animal blood wasn't for him. His body rejected it and wouldn't cooperate with it as if he was only designed to cater to his own lost species. He envied Alfred and his ability to not cannibalize the people around him, werewolves didn't have the problem of accidentally eyeing down someone too long to the point where they're uncomfortable. "Technically... yes. I can survive off animal blood, but it's grainy and almost stale- it makes me sick." He explained, distracting himself with the television

There wasn't much between him and ending Alfred with his big sweet smiling eyes when he was cradled down into his arms. At first, he considered snapping at the abrupt and out of line action, but he wasn't hurt by it so he didn't see the use in upsetting Alfred. Allowing himself the luxury, he rested his head against the chest and ran his fingers through Alfred's hair once more. Doing his best to ignore the flashing intimacy on the screen, he closed his eyes. "You're coming on a little strong, Alfred." Tugging slightly at the strands between his fingers as a warning, he turned his nose away from the awaiting pulses he could hear in the werewolf's neck. He couldn't tell if Alfred was ignorant or if he was asking for trouble. Steadying his heart, his thumbs brushed along the American's eyebrows. With a near millennium of experience under his belt, he didn't hold back his tongue when he was uncomfortable. Passionate moments were even more difficult to have him swooning over, but he still had fun playing with someone. He's learned his lesson in giving cold rejections. However, he was pleased to feel warm hands wrapped around him and a burning chest against his cheek. Alfred was someone he wanted to trust, someone he didn't want to bite, but still someone he wanted to taste. "Do you get this close to every vampire you meet?... I might have to keep my family away from you if that's the case." Poking fun, he relaxed and smiled at the strokes to his head while giving his share back to Alfred's. "Do you have family or friends other than Allen?"

Alfred was blessed that Ivan didn’t react negatively. Instead of biting or pulling away, Ivan laid on his chest. The wolf was a cuddly man, he adored nothing more than to snuggle up close to someone. Wrap his arms and legs around them, nuzzle his face into their neck, and fall asleep. His hot body always kept someone warm. And with Ivan’s colder temperature, it was a great balance. Closing his eyes too, he smiled when his eyebrows and hair were played with. He knew he was coming off strong, but he was an alpha puppy at heart. He knew what he wanted, and would put effort into getting it. Ivan was the untouchable prize; he’d fight for it. “Mm.... No, I don’t. Don’t sweat it, I won’t try to talk to your sisters. I only got room for one vampire right now.” He teased, meaning it. One of his hands went to Ivan’s lower back, stroking it back and forth. He attempted to be relaxing and soothing, letting the man untangle in his arms. He didn’t want Ivan to tense up and panic, that was the last thing. The more at peace Ivan was, the better. He wanted to see if he could convince the vampire to a sleepover. He wasn’t asking for sex, just a night of cuddling and watching T.V., but he’d have to find a way to propose this to Ivan without coming off as a slime ball. He just wanted to cuddle.... sure, if more happened, he wouldn’t complain, but he wasn’t going to try anything. Simple cuddling under his handmade silver fox blanket. Resting his chin on Ivan’s head, he started to think about his pack members. “My parents are dead, my brother is alive though. And so are his wife and kids. I only talk to my brother, his wife and kids think I died a long time ago. He’s the only person who knows the truth. I follow his kids on Instagram and stuff to keep up with them since they are my nieces and nephews... But I stay at a distance. It sucks, but it has to be like that...”

Ivan wouldn’t be able to see the hurt in his eyes, but he’d be able to hear it in his voice. It hurt Alfred not to be involved with his own family. He wanted to be the uncle everyone loved, that came around and spent time with the kids. Took them out for trips, shopping, helped them with homework, and gave life advice. In all honesty, he wanted that life for himself with his own children, but that would never happen. It was all taken away. That was the curse of immortality in Alfred’s eyes, the purpose of life was to create more, and he couldn’t. Alfred would always be... idling in life, never getting old but never growing, always at a plato. “My pack members... There’s a lot of them. They are all guys, for some reason I swear other werewolves only want to scratch dudes. Or maybe girls are immune to it... I’ve heard some werewolves say that most females are- but anyway. There’s a lot of us, but I would rather not say the names. It’s their secret, not my right to share it. I shouldn’t have mentioned Allen’s name anyway.” He didn’t feel comfortable naming all his pack members. Privacy and their oath to it was an important virtue in their culture, and he wouldn’t risk it to swoon over an alluring vampire. Only if they got really closer. “I already know who’s a vampire in this town. I can smell them. So you don’t have to tell me about your vampire sisters. I know. It’s just something us dogs can sniff out.” He joked, kissing Ivan’s forehead softly again.

Letting out a sigh, Alfred reviewed the interactions between him and Ivan in the past hour. The fact that the pair went from making slight threats to each other to now getting cozy on his sofa was a mixture of odd and not. The past two months of bonding doing chores grew a feeling of attraction, plus a yearning for trust. The pair wanted to get close, but fears of each other's powers and species kept them from opening up. Then again, Alfred is the type to move relationships and intimacy fast, it was usual for him. However, his vampire crush appeared to be more cautious and closed off; so he questioned Ivan’s acceptance of the change in their dynamic. “So, how did we go from not mentioning that we are immortals, to cuddling on my couch? Not complaining, by the way…” he asked, his voice calm but friendly. 

Ivan snorted, agreeing with the oddness of the situation. He stayed quiet for a moment as he contemplated his behavior. Living so many lifetimes, he became used to the usual formula of getting close to someone. However, those were nearly all humans. Finding a fellow immortal that he found attractive and worthwhile to keep around made him want to cling and never let go. Jumping with both feet, as one would say. The reality that he could be making a mistake did stay in the back of his mind, but he wanted to keep it there. “I believe… us both opening up helped… You answered many questions I have been thinking about since we first met, and I could probably say the same for you…” He took a deep breath, one that matched Alfred’s. The relaxation from Alfred’s touches was foreign, it has had been a while since someone’s fingers had such an effect on him. “I’ve been attracted to you since I met you…” 

Ivan never considered being close with someone a part feral dog. With his hands still cradling Alfred's head, it was uncouth behavior for himself. There was no result he had to lead the werewolf into a state of vulnerability and break that trust. It was never as if he pulled that trick often, but he could already feel the relationship ending terribly. So far, Alfred had been good to him and he wanted to keep that light in the puppy's heart. He figured that Alfred had a few years to explore his identity and form bonds with others of his kind, but something about locking Alfred down didn't feel humane to him. With every inch of Alfred's personality, he could read it. While there would be some tug and pull over whether he was right, he knew that Alfred didn't know what he wanted. The man was alone and deeply aching and he smelt it. 

Seeing as Alfred was desperate for comfort and affection, he'd be softer on him. There wouldn't be any nail digging when he deemed a reach to be lower than standard. Instead, he patted the dirty blond hair and stretched out one of his legs to situate the hand higher up on his back. Their hips weren't overlapping so could relax without any potentially fatal movements when he got comfortable. Alfred wasn't much of his to hold onto, but those sorts of displays of affection restricted to particular facets of platonic and romantic love weren't his to decide. He was having a pleasant time, so he'd worry about his real emotions later. As for the moment, he was more concerned with Alfred's own feelings in his unsteady words. Attempting some consolation, he straightened up the head of hair in slow-paced layers. "Not everyone can be as lucky as me, but I understand and I really do hate how pitiful you sound over it-... Watching someone you love to grow old without you is hurtful, isn't it?" He sympathized, plenty of the same scenarios rattled off from family friends and even lovers.

After mindlessly opening his eyes to watch the show and rub more gentle touches through the stiff strands, he decided to ask. "Have you turned anyone into a werewolf?... I bet you never even attacked anyone, have you? You don't have the heart for it." He wasn't mocking or teasing Alfred about his tenderness veiled by aggressive bluffs; it was something he admired. Something about werewolves always led them to be huffy or extremely playful and friendly. The fact that struck him interesting was the exclusion of females. Now that he considered it, he didn't encounter very many female werewolves. Vampires were more diverse, a blended mix of all demographics. They were a hidden subhuman society of subhuman that bred and carried on wreaking havoc across the globe. He, in particular, wasn't knit in with community life. His friends were few and far between. It had been a few years since he's spoken to his old close friend, the distance made it hard to keep in contact and it didn't help that he had a falling out with the now German vampire. Gilbert was one of the first vampires he met; he could never forget the distinctive odor the pale man carried, pungent. Alfred's fluffy puppy smell was much more pleasant, the blood perfumed, and blended with the werewolf olfactory calling card. He could nuzzle even closer to Alfred and take in more of it, but rushing that along wasn't a priority of his. "Do all werewolf names start with Al?... It might explain the lack of women if you ask me." Joking along, Ivan sat up and settled back into his seat. Taking Alfred's feet into his lap, he began running the tips of his fingers up the soles. "You seem tired. Maybe you should turn this off and lay down?"

Alfred didn’t want to spend to much time on the topic of romance and mortality. Staying young as the other grew old, it was a painful reminder that he was different. Unchanging, forever, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. There was no cute to this curse, and Alfred was stuck being like this until the day someone buried his body. Keeping his eyes closed, he relished in each touch and careful act by the man. Ivan displayed a human side to him, one that was gentle and loving. Alfred took interest in that, locking it away in his brain and saving it for a time to give back to Ivan. Hearing the man bring up the painful topic of mortality, he nodded as he squeezed him tighter. “Yeah... It is.” He said, his voice low, lacking the usual gusto and life. Someone had sucked the joy out of it. Gulping, he squeezed Ivan again as his fingers rubbed circles on his back. Slow, gentle circles, his way of being non threatening and relaxing to his vampy crush. He mocked the loving behavior Ivan displayed when he got his hair pulled, showing that he did care about Ivan’s comfort. “No... I never have. Never will. I don’t want to give anyone the power of immortality, good person or not. I think someone might abuse it. And I don’t want to be that cause...” he confessed, sighing as he thought about the men who he'd killed. Many weren’t men who deserved to be alive, let alone given the chance of immortality. The chance of harming people, and getting away with it! They didn’t deserve that pleasure, and Alfred would never be responsible for it. He’d never bite or scratch a man who he did not want to kill. End of story. He didn’t play games, if he attacked a human, it was a good reason. He saved his human-hunting for the vilest of men, and those shouldn’t get the opportunity to have more victims.

He’d come to whine when Ivan pulled away and sat up. He found pleasure in having the vampire lay down on him. He was even getting used to the smell. He was quite smart with how they cuddled, letting his neck and shoulders rub all over it. That was the point, as his main scenting glands were there. The more he rubbed on Ivan from those spots; the harder and harder his scent was to remove. He did want Ivan reeking like a werewolf covered vampire all day? Yes. That’s how people would know to stay back, that’s Alfred’s. Due to being ticklish, he pulled his feet out of Ivan’s lap. He opened his arms, stretching them out as he cracked his back. “Yeah... I should lay down. You’ll stay over the night... right? My room is always really hot, and you cool me down. It’s super comfortable... Please?” Alfred asked, in the most begging, sugary sweet voice. His eyes even matched, begging with his voice. He sat up, his face going near Ivan’s own, working a pout. He wanted a cuddle buddy, the puppy was lonely and needy. And the vampire’s squishy, but cold body, was the perfect match for the needy, but a burning werewolf. Alfred was going to be good of course, keep his hands in the right place. No touching anything below the belt; only back rubs and cheek kisses.

The welcoming tightness was given a few tender scratches back to the blond locks. Ivan could sense the troubled and uneasy flex to Alfred's tongue. Something about the werewolf made him less pressured around him, he could rip himself away if he had to. The chipper American seemed to be a more even match, but he was sure if something terrible were to happen, he could slip off without a chunk of wood in his heart. He didn't want to square off with his close friend and end up hurt. If Alfred was specist and wanted to kill a vampire for sport, he knew that he would have been long snapped at and buried by now. There was no reason for him to feel unsound- he wasn't, but he didn't wish Alfred to see his serenity. Being hooked on a werewolf-like Alfred was a stab to his own ego. Ivan had time to sleep around, touch on a few mortals and immortals. Yet, he didn't seek out a good time like Alfred. It wasn't as if he was shallow or hardheaded, he just didn't find satisfaction in giving someone what they wanted so easily. He liked shows, he enjoyed watching Alfred bend over backward, but he knew it wasn't a one-sided attention endeavor. A whining pup wasn't a happy one; he liked earning a smile and getting to smile. He adored being touched, but he was sure that the pleasure was universal. With how open and clingy Alfred laid himself out to be, he assumed the feeling was nothing but mutual. He planned to pull and smooch on Alfred until his fur even had bruise marks where his lips have been.

His mouth sneered as he regretted pulling away so soon. He didn't even have Alfred's warm feet in his lap to keep him company. Hearing that he could stay for the night, he practically got scratched by a werewolf himself and grew a wagging tail. It didn't show significantly on his calm appearance that he was doing small cheers in his mind, but it was clear that he was content with the question. The begging and desperate pouts did have a way of convincing him and putting a faint smile on his face after all. Watching the American stretch, he rubbed a thumb to his chin and leaned back into the couch. "You want me to sleep in your bed?... Aren't you a little too old for sleepovers?" Fond of having someone to tease, he closed his eyes. Alfred was special to him, an experiment of sorts, a wandering curiosity that he could have fulfilled, but mostly a fuzzy sweet boy he found warm inside and out. If he was able to wrap himself around him without ending up a walking werewolf cologne bottle, he would. Cracking open his eyes, he gradually sat up from his spot. A few lingering puppy rubs to his skin would be alright with him. He closed the gap between him and Alfred, ghosting his lips over the other pair. "You're really lucky that you're so cute... I guess the puppy dog eyes are just a bonus feature that makes you harder to crush." Pulling away, he stood up from the couch and dragged Alfred up by his wrists along with him. Knowing the same layout of his apartment, he walked with Alfred over to his room. "Maybe you can go ahead and take off your clothes so I can see if you were bluffing?... I don't believe that you can change into a wolf at will." He just wanted an excuse to watch Alfred strip and blush before him. It was a pleasant atmosphere, but he wasn't surprised to note the pelts scattered across a werewolf's bed.

Alfred could feel his face getting red once Ivan closed in the space between their faces and agreed to spend the night. Pleased to see that his begging worked, he smirked, still rocking a cocky grin with red cheeks. Standing up with Ivan, he let the man lead him, even if it was his own house. “So you are finally admitting that I’m cute? Thank god, you have standards.” He teased, taking the chance to check out Ivan from behind. He seemed to check the boxes in Alfred’s departments of what he looked for in a man. Even if Ivan was a vampire, he could see himself spending a long period with the man. He just has to get over the smell... But he was already starting to forget about it. Once in the room, Alfred went with Ivan’s request to see him take off his clothes. He wasn’t shy, not at all. “I usually sleep naked, but since I have company, I’ll keep on my boxers.” He commented, throwing his shirt on the floor and kicking off his sweatpants. Mostly muscular, with a slight sun-kissed tan, his body had a few scar marks, the most noticeable over his heart. A deep slash was there, a symbol of what made him turn every full moon. To anyone who asked, Alfred made up some story about being attacked by a bear one-night hunting, and that wasn’t far from the truth. He was attacked by something, just a creature more dangerous and horrible than an average bear.

Hoping into the bed, he half covered himself with the silver fox blanket, letting his chest be exposed. Tapping the area next to him, he attempted to convince Ivan to get undressed. “Since I’m only in my underwear, don’t you think it’s only fair for you to be too? Don’t worry, I’m not a creep. I won’t grope you.” He teased, taking the remote and turning on the T.V., he let The Office playing in the background, thinking the comedy would be good background noise to let Ivan relax. Then he could put on something more romantic, put on a classic, something sexy but still, heartfelt. Alfred wasn’t fully a creep, he did and would respect Ivan’s boundaries. He was mainly looking for someone to cuddle and nuzzle against during the night. Only cuddles, rubs, and if he’s lucky, a few smooches. 

"I should start calling you Narcissus because I've never seen such a short little man have so much ego." Ivan wasn't blind, he knew Alfred had some height, but he couldn't let people shorter than he forget about their sheer petiteness. A wicked grin jumped to his face when he caught Alfred with a red tint. There was no doubt in his mind that werewolves had the same blood that they were born with, but he wasn't positive if Alfred could show surprise. Catching someone blush was always gratifying; he found that it beat having to watch someone be sucked of any color.

In many ways, Alfred fits his outer crust. With the attention to the physique, he saw that the man truly cared about himself. His measly golf tee sized scars on his neck, they fell in comparison to the gash across Alfred's chest. Between puncture wounds with a burning aftertaste and a deep tissue scratch, he wasn't entirely sure which one he'd rather have to endure. That hadn't been his decision and it was a complaint, but he was used to his powers by now. Laughing at Alfred for neglecting the whole point of wanting him to strip, he pushed off his loafers. "Do you have short term memory loss or did you just stop listening to me when I told you to take off your clothes?" He ignored the request to follow in the other's footsteps and simply observed how Alfred prepared to lay down. It disappointed him when he didn't get to see Alfred pace around in circles and flop down. From the way it was described to him, he shouldn't worry too much if he spots a wolf walking around the apartment complex. It was simply Alfred, but a puppy edition. "Oh? Or is it that you were just talking earlier? You really can't change at will... too proud to take back what you said, I see." Slipping into bed away from Alfred, he shot a disturbing glare to the flashing television. There was a reason why bats were heavily associated with his kind. Dark, cold, and even damp environments were the most familiar ways for him to sleep. Sometimes he'd hang upside down if he felt so inclined. He wondered if Alfred curled up into a little compact ball and twitched when he had nightmares. Smiling upon the mangy yapper, he slipped his fingers behind Alfred's ear and gently scratched at the patch of skin and hair.

He eventually gave in to what was comfortable and unbuckled himself before shrugging off his pants beneath the covers. Sleeping with furs wasn't entirely foreign to him, but he forgot how outrageously warm they made him. He noticed that even Alfred wouldn't completely wrap himself up in the pelt. Tossing his turtleneck down along with his pants to the floor in a pile, he shuffled a short centimeter toward the blond. "Just so you know, I'm not asking for you to grope me." Warning the other, he stretched out his legs and adjusted his pillow. His fingers found the fur between them, pinching and petting the lifeless edges. He wasn't the biggest fan of hunting for sport, but he figured that it wasn't much sport to an animal and in a way, Alfred was an abounding pup. First keeping his distance for a moment, he ultimately moved closer to Alfred and squeezed his frame into his hold. "Ah... we forgot our clothes downstairs. Should we go get them before we become too comfortable?" He reminded and questioned himself even if he had no intent on leaving Alfred's side.

“Hey, I’m not short. You are just... freakishly tall!” He joked, not taking offense to his humor. Even though he was five-eleven himself, standing next to Ivan did make him seem smaller than he was. Seeing Ivan lose some clothes as well kept the grin on his face. He didn’t think vampires could be so... sexy, and his over sugar smell was starting to turn good. He couldn’t describe how, but Ivan went from smelling like burnt, over-processed sugar, to honey and flowers. Perhaps it was all in Alfred’s head, his crush on Ivan made his senses turn something gross into something good. Or maybe, due to him being a vampire, he subconsciously thought they all smelled bad, even if they didn’t. Whatever reason, he became more comfortable breathing through his nose around Ivan, as his scent didn’t bother him. He wished he could lean in to sniff him more, a wolf habit he had gained. He laughed again about the comment with his clothes, as he had no modesty, and he’d strip nude if asked. “I mean... I can take off the underwear if you want. I don’t mind being naked. But you gotta get naked too, only fair...” He teased, grabbing Ivan’s thigh and wrapping it around his waist. His hands stroked the man’s thigh, taking advantage of the free skin. It was cold, but soft at the same time. He imagined vampires being cold and hard, but Ivan wasn’t. He was squishy, had fat on his body. He did squeeze the thigh a few times, his hands enjoying the sensation of cold, yet soft. With Alfred’s body temperature being a few degrees hotter than the average human, cooler temperatures were soothing. Ivan’s body was like a nice fan on a hot summer day, cooling down the burning hot man.

“You being cold feels pretty nice…” He yawned, his face going into Ivan’s neck. While he wanted to kiss it, he kept to his promise and only nuzzled it. He purred when Ivan scratched his head, pleading with the sensations. “I can change on will, I just rather do it another time. Don’t want to scare you... and if the T.V. is bothering you, I can turn it off.” He mentioned, noticing how Ivan gave the light a dirty look. He pulled Ivan a tad bit closer, loving the cold Ivan provided. “Just forget about it, I’ll get them in the morning. This bed and you are comfortable... I’m not letting go anytime soon...” He said, giving in and placing one single peck on Ivan’s cheek. Only one, and then he returned to nuzzling his neck. The puppy was needy for the affection of any kind. Sweet words, rubs, kisses, his hands kept stroking back and forth on Ivan’s thigh. It wrapped around his waist made him more comfortable and feel safe. Having someone around you was the best way to sleep in Alfred’s eyes. Especially if the said person checked every box in appearances, and was starting to in personality. He was funny, flirtatious, but still held his ground. Alfred pulled towards strong personalities, it was who he was. So it was what he wanted.

The heat produced by Alfred drew Ivan in. He felt as if he was already holding onto some sort of animal, the fur blanket creating the illusion. It was like he was wrapped up in a fresh clean blanket from the dryer. Not as harsh as the sun that cooked into him, but the pleasant warmth of a cat curled up on his stomach. It made it difficult for him to keep his distance and his hands to himself. Assuming the rule would be the same for Alfred, he would respect the other body just as much as he wanted to be left without groping. Even if he wanted to run a finger over Alfred's scar and squeeze at his chest, he wouldn't go that far. He had to play it smart, he didn't want to give Alfred the wrong idea. The smell didn't have to emit off of the werewolf for him to understand that he wasn't his to keep. It wasn't clear to him whether his neighbor was taken or was someone who didn't like to be tied down to someone else. Either way, he knew better than to give in to his own desires and royally destroy the pleasant conversations he had with Alfred. To keep up the act and hold himself captive in the relationship he already had with the American, he didn't let his thumb linger too long over the smirking lips on Alfred's face. His eyes rolled at the comment, still not entirely sure if he was being teased. "I'd like it much more if you kept your boxers on... It will take a pint or more for you to convince me to lay naked with you." It was part joke and part genuine offer. A few times over, he has led bothersome individuals to an old cheap hotel room and bit into them. It wasn't his proudest way of maintaining himself, but it wasn't the bitterest thing he's gone through with. He was just happy to have some leverage on his kill count these days. In truth, he might have turned Alfred into a meal if he wasn't a hunting machine. If the man had been more of an intolerable creep, he would have considered it, but Alfred was sweet. It would be a tragedy for him to kill someone so beautiful.

"For someone who promises not to touch me too heavily... you're sure grabbing me a lot." He teased, not entirely upset. There were parts of him that still craved to be held, but he knew not to beg Alfred about it because the answer wouldn't be no. He adored Alfred, he wanted to play with his hair and kiss love into his ear, but he was patient. His rubs to Alfred's locks and down behind his neck were slow, dragging. "You don't have to sleep with it on, do you? I can just go back to my own bed and lay down instead. It's okay." He assured, avoiding the flash of the screen by taking his hand off of Alfred and shielding his eyes. "And- for your information, I've seen werewolves before. I'm not scared of them." Laughing, his fangs slipped down as he flashed his own grin at Alfred. "They should be scared of me." Referencing the conversation they had earlier, he nudged his forehead against Alfred's and gently grabbed at his side, bringing the body closer. Drawing his teeth up, he gave the small kiss back into his cheek. "Not you though, you shouldn't be scared of me... you're too much of a good puppy for me to hurt." He hummed, going back to pet at Alfred's hair. Everything about the werewolf was peculiar, he didn't understand his attraction to him, but it broke his heart to even consider hurting him. He wanted to keep Alfred safe.

Alfred took the remote and turned off the T.V., as he didn’t want any reason for the vampire to go up and leave. If that meant the room as to be dark and quiet, so be it. He opened his eyes and laughed when Ivan showed off his fangs, only going to squeeze his upper thigh. “You’re cute, even when you try to be scary...” More focusing on Ivan’s body and presence. Alfred took the chance and started to rub his neck on Ivan’s face, spreading his scent on the man. His hands and wrist were already doing work on Ivan’s legs currently. Scent marking was a big thing with werewolf’s, it was a great way to tell other wolves that someone was theirs and that they should stay away if they were smart. Werewolves in their human and wolf form had scent glands on their neck and wrist, as rubbing would brush their smell on the mate. It would only last a couple of days, but there was one way to make the scent-marking last weeks. Peeing or coming on a person, there was something about semen and urine that once on another person’s skin, would leave them smelling like the werewolf for weeks. Humans wouldn’t be able to detect it at all, their noses weren’t strong enough. But other werewolves would. All the werewolves would know not to touch Ivan, and to let him be. For now, he’d scent him more temporarily. He rubbed his neck on Ivan’s shoulder, his wrist going up to Ivan’s waist. Scenting his hips, he was happy with his work. He sniffed Ivan: Yup, he smelled like him! Grinning big and wide, he laid down with Ivan, placing the man’s head on his chest. Laying his head back in the pillow, he closed his eyes. “Wow. All I have to do is give blood for you to get naked for me? Noted... I’ll see you tomorrow then..” He teased, thinking that Ivan might be more willing to be playful back if he had an O-positive snack.

Feeling the cylinder of airways and muscle jump and bounce down his face, Ivan grunted. Heavy petting was generally fine with him, but having a neck smother his face was odd. He's seen and experienced some eccentric preferences, but being rubbed like that was new. It may have been that he read Alfred wrong and he wasn't some feverish little go-getter like he thought he was. Cuddling up with Alfred was a lot more unique and nearly awkward than he imagined. The idea of masking his own scent didn't even come to strike him, he just assumed that Alfred was unusual. He was at least grateful to be given peaceful darkness, bright lights irritated him to no end. His vision was catered to cutting through and seeing things when it was pitch black, but he could feel Alfred more than he could see him. He didn't fight back against the skin covering his body, instead, he leaned into the touches and soaked up the affection. His own fingers rubbed up and down Alfred's back and gingerly scratched at his chin. With his head pressed to the chest, he was tempted to lean in and kiss along the nasty gash across his heart. He knew it may be taken as a threat; if the was a faster way to suck someone dry than a neck, it would be the heart. It wouldn't take him but two seconds to kill Alfred off that way, but the werewolf would surely fight back. That's why necks were more optimal. They closed off the air supply. It took him a while to catch onto what Alfred was doing. The strange sniffing pointed in his direction being a key piece to bring the strange mannerisms together. "Who said I was yours to claim?" He would give the near slumbering pup a hard time about it because he had some fun hearing nervous excuses. There were enough werewolves in the area for him to awkwardly make eye contact with while the clingy mutt rubbed up on someone that was their lover. He even got growled at by some cretin for staring too long. It was hard not to stare at PDA when it was so obnoxious.

A glare burned into his closed eyes when he felt another teasing grab at his thigh laced with pleasing words. It was a guilty pleasure of his, to be fondled and groped, but he liked taking his time with Alfred for now. "You rub up on me as if you know me so well... and squeeze on me when I asked you not too." He hummed sarcastically, a faint smile leftover from Alfred's comment on donating. "That's fine." His lips guided themselves along the divide of the chest and up to Alfred's collarbone. Attempting to keep the werewolf calm and at peace, he continued to alternate between big and small circles being rubbed into his back. He was quite tired himself, his movements becoming slower as he put a kiss closer to Alfred's neck. The warmth was too soothing and beckoning. He wondered if Alfred was warmer as a sweet cuddly wolf. It was something he'd have to wait to pry out of his neighbor. A glimpse was all he asked for. Finally letting his arm lazily hook around Alfred's waist, he eventually joined him in slumber. He didn't move very much in his sleep, it was as if he was lifeless. It took a whole parade of a racket to stir him awake or else he would stay in a state of short hibernation and wake up a few days later. He was built to look and feel dead.

A

lfred knew that Ivan was going to give him a hard time about scent marking him, but Alfred just shrugged it off. “Mm... Me, that’s who...” He said in a tired voice. The man smelled like him, that was all that mattered. He smiled, snuggling up to him more when he was called a puppy. He was a puppy, indeed. He loved to cuddle, play fight, and scent whoever he adored. After scent-marking Ivan, perhaps in the morning he might pin Ivan down and play fight with him. It was fun to wrestle! To roll around in bedsheets, and see who was the strongest. He believed he could pin Ivan down easily and make him beg to be let go, and that it would be easily done. Then later they could cuddle, and Alfred could rub his scent glands on Ivan more. “My big alpha wolf inside of me sometimes is just a playful puppy. I think the same can be said about you... You seem like you can be somewhat innocent when you want to be...” He teased, giving a peck to Ivan’s forehead. “You smell good....” he said, yawning as he started to doze off.

His mind got hazy, especially with Ivan’s soothing rubbing. A lazy smile grew on Alfred’s face, wishing he could pinch Ivan to tease him for the backtalk. He knew not to take Ivan so seriously, as the man attempted to keep him calm and relaxed as well. He wasn’t pulling away or leaving the bed, so he mustn’t hate it that much. Whispering a few taunts back, he joined Ivan in falling fast asleep. Like Ivan, he was a deep sleeper too, who’s loud alarm was the only thing that would wake him up. With him always working the night shift, he usually slept all morning and into the afternoon. He did shift a couple of times but always seemed to pull Ivan close. He was a clingy sleeper, no matter what time it was, he’d find a way to touch whoever was cuddling him. There was one point at night where he had Ivan locked in his hold on top of him. But towards the morning, he was spooning Ivan, his arm and leg wrapped around him. His face in Ivan’s neck, he snoozed away, not wanting to wake up any time soon. He only got up sometime in the morning to pee, making an annoying sound as he pulled away from Ivan to use the toilet. Once he was finished, he flushed and returned to his warm bed and cold crush. He pulled Ivan close, laying on his back as he made Ivan lay on his chest. Enjoying the sensation of the Russian’s head on his chest, he let the man rest there, his hand stroking the leg wrapped around him. He felt safe like this, with someone wrapped around him. The cooling comfort of Ivan made it all worthwhile, and thoughts of donating some blood to see if his crush would loosen up a bit.

Ivan used to be a morning person, but his issues sleeping seemed to vanish once he was infected so he couldn't hate being a vampire if he could get his rest. Hardly did he toss and turn until his main source of warmth was stripped away from him. His fingers coiled and grabbed the sheets repetitively until he found Alfred again. He was in pure unbothered bliss. The only thing to take him away from his sinfully cozy spot around Alfred was the outrageously loud beeping of his phone. His eyes slowly drifted open as he assessed the situation. Jolting up from beneath the covers, he scrambled away from the heater of a body. If he lost his current job, he would lose his ability to provide for his sisters and himself. Unfortunately for him, blood banks opened early, but at least they were easy pickings. As cliche as it was, he used his time to gather a few degrees here and there. So, he was a certified nurse just so he could secure a position sticking a needle into some poor soul's arm. He adored his job and planned on keeping it. Getting to the floor, he searched his pants for his phone and quickly shut down his alarm. He religiously used multiple sounds to go off at once and he was, frankly, shocked to find his single alarm stirred him awake. Feeling bad for exposing Alfred to such a loud dominating ring, he dragged his pants over to the bed and tucked Alfred in. "I know it's loud, I'm sorry." His voice was low as he brushed a few complimentary strokes into the dirty blond hair. "I'm heading off to work, okay?... Will do me a big favor-" He sugarcoated his words, leaning closer to his face as he scratched behind Alfred's ear. "and bring my clothes up? You don't have to get up right now, but just make sure someone doesn't throw them away." It was something he was willing to do for a neighbor and he hoped Alfred wasn't too far gone to not be able to hear him. Shrugging on a pant leg, he put a kiss to each of Alfred's cheeks.

As he made his way towards the door, he pulled his pants over his hips and buttoned them up. He'd have to change into his scrubs once he made it back to his own apartment, but he wasn't going to risk walking out without any clothes on. At the doorway, he pulled his sweater over his head and turned to smile at Alfred. Out of habit, he chirped out what he usually left his sisters with. "I love you-" His mouth instantly snapped shut before quickly barking back open to try and correct himself. "No, I don't." Feeling as if he couldn't have said anything worse, he gave a simple wave to his crush. A mortified look staining his face as he stepped out of the room. A complete Freudian slip that had the potential to destroy his whole relationship with Alfred spat out of his mouth in one split second, of course, he was blushing with humiliation. He liked Alfred and he wanted to get closer to him, but he knew it was way too early to say anything close to I love you. It was too personal and he just said it out loud as if he was dating Alfred. He was burning again. Making it out of the apartment, he took a moment to hold his heart and get over himself. It wasn't long until he perked back up and hurried along to his own door to get ready with the awkward moment replaying in his head.

[ Link to Ao3, thank you if you read ! ]

[kittae]

Spray Away

pairing: Hoseok x reader

genre: crack, comedy, fluff, reader POV

word count: 2296

prompt: Genie!reader + 15. “Please put your penis away.”

⟶ Halloween prompts masterlist

If anyone would ask? Then no, your life hasn’t been all that great since you’d been banished from the Spirit World and into a stupid perfume bottle, roughly a millennium ago. Granted, no one ever asked that question. They asked plenty of other questions, though. They asked for money, true love, to go back in time, more money, to bring back a dead loved one, and most of all: money. You may still be a supernatural entity with cosmic powers, there were limits to what you could do. Well, legal limits only. Apparently, just because you could, doesn’t mean you should. Messing with the balance between life and death, choice and destiny, was exactly what got you into this situation.

You were young, naive, hell-bent on helping those powerless humans. You couldn’t just stand there, watching them cry and go mad in despair when there was so much you could do for them. It was too late when you learned why they were not granted the gifts of your kind. You’re still paying for their mistakes.

Lucky for you, people these days didn’t fancy the looks of your physical prison. You’ve travelled all over the world, from one flea market to the other. Sometimes, you get picked up by a collector or someone who likes old things. They have a name for it now: ‘Vintage’. How stupid. Most of the time, though, years pass where you just lay in a drawer somewhere. Peacefully, unbothered, especially now there’s this awesome thing called Netflix! It certainly makes for much better entertainment than constantly replaying the same memories in your head. This era is truly not that bad, allowing you to sit out your sentence without any complications or devastating boredom.

See, to summon you, one has to squeeze the bulb three times, spraying the perfume in one sequence. Most people test the scent out once, decide they don’t like it, then put the bottle away for undefined periods of time until they get rid of it again. Lately, a few actually managed to do it right, but fainted when you appeared. Since your imprisonment, you’ve never actually granted any wish to those who didn’t faint. Well, not in the way they’d hoped for, at least. Not even a thousand years are enough to forget the way those humans betrayed you. It seems only fair to betray them right back.

And now? Right now, you’re meeting an old friend of yours: the dirty, dusty blanket splayed out on the ground where other old artifacts will join you. It’s flea market season again, it seems. The girl who picked up your perfume bottle at the previous one only needed a unique and old looking –sorry, vintage– thing to pose with during her boudoir photoshoot. Now she has no use for it anymore, you’re back in this familiar setting.

It’s so annoying. People pick you up and turn you around in their hands all the time. Can’t they just keep their dirty fingers off of you if they’re not gonna take you?!

“Hey! How much for that cool perfume bottle?” You hear a voice call out to the girl, sounding very chipper.

“Oh, you can just make me an offer! Any small change will do.” She responds.

Really? You’re not even worth a decent amount of money anymore? You’re a thousand years old, hello! That’s, like, antique times ten. You’re probably worth a fortune. What an Idiot.

“Hmm, then…” The boy thinks aloud, scrambling for change, “I just bought this pouch so I don’t have much left… Is this enough?”

“It’s yours!” The girl receives the change –you don’t even want to know how little it is– and another hand picks you up to take you to your new destination. You’ve lost count of the number of places you’ve been. Or rather, you’d stopped counting a long time ago.

“Ooh, there’s still perfume left!” He exclaims in excitement to no one in particular and you inwardly roll your eyes. Yeah, this one is gonna test you out for sure. Great.

Nothing really special happens after that. It doesn’t take too long to reach his home, where he places you in a bathroom cabinet before he takes a shower. He’s a good singer, though, you have to give him that. So this is it, huh? You wonder how many years you’ll spend in here before you’ll get ditched again.

To your surprise, you feel his hand curling around your bottle again. So soon? This is a first.

He sprays some perfume on his wrist and the action makes you feel all tingly and shivery. It relieves you, in a way. A natural thing that happens when someone tries to summon you.

Bringing his wrist to his nose, he takes a whiff. You expect him to be disgusted, like everyone that came before him, but he surprises you again by making a delighted kind of...noise? Oh, my god. It’s happening. He’s gonna do it.

You brace yourself, equal parts anticipating and dreading the reveal. You never know what reaction you’ll get in advance.

What you haven’t been considering, however, is your own reaction when the bulb gets squeezed three times in a row and you’re met with not a face, but something else entirely.

“OH– FUCK, NO!!” You stagger and thrash around to escape from underneath your liberator’s towel, grabbing and stealing it right off his hips.

Both of your screams are in sync when he throws himself on the bathroom floor, pointing at you like he’s seen a ghost. Well, he’s not entirely wrong in this case. Although if you could, you would personally decapitate anyone who would ever insult you by calling you a mere ghost.

“WHAAAaaaat the h-hell a-are you?!” He stammers, wide-eyed and seemingly forgetting he’s still butt-naked as you try to avoid the sight of him by covering your eyes.

“I- Here! Put this on first!” You squeak as you throw the towel back, somewhere in his general direction.

He doesn’t, though. He keeps whining and shaking, rubbing his eyes over and over again in the hope this isn’t real. “This isn’t happening! Not happening!”

“WHY WOULD YOU SPRAY PERFUME ON YOUR– YOUR–” You splutter, embarrassed beyond belief. Hey, it’s been a while, okay?!

“WHERE DID YOU COME FROM?” He yells back equally distressed. “I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”

“Let me explain, I– for fuck’s sake, please, put your penis away.” You groan, reaching for another towel hanging from the rack to throw it at his head. Thank goodness he finally gets it and wraps it around his hips again, the red sheen of embarrassment tinting his cheeks and ears.

“This is happening. Like, in real life. You’re not going insane and you’re not dreaming.” You finally feel comfortable enough to look at him and drone off the words you’ve said time and time again, in the past. Humans aren’t exactly the most intelligent creatures, so you know you have to break it down for them every single time. “I am ___, a genie. You summoned me by...spraying perfume...on your- your dick...uh...”

He looks extremely dumb, with his mouth agape and hair wet and tousled, but also kind of cute. You curse yourself to an additional century of damnation upon realising your weak spot for humans still hasn’t died down completely.

“Seriously, who does that?” You ask, genuinely curious...or concerned. Maybe both.

“I-” He starts, closing his mouth to gulp loudly, “I-I have a date later…”

You nod, still not seeing how this could be a thing. Humans remain to puzzle you. “And your name?”

“M-my name?” He pokes a finger in his chest, “It’s Hoseok.”

It’s silent for a few awkward seconds until he speaks again. “Am I really not going insane? This is… Too crazy.”

“I know, right,” You mumble, more to yourself than to him. “But I can assure you, Hoseok, you’re fine. I’m really here, in your bathroom. Traumatized, but here.”

“Was it really that bad?” he murmurs under his breath, a pout on his lips as he finally remembers how his muscles work and stands up.

“I know you must be really freaked out by suddenly summoning a genie without knowing you were, but imagine how I’m feeling right now. That’s the first thing I saw after centuries of being locked up.”

“Centuries of being locked up?” Hoseok’s brows furrow. “That’s terrible.”

You scoff. “Oh yeah? Try a whole millennium!”

Hoseok looks genuinely horrified. It makes you feel uneasy. You’ve never had this reaction before.

“That’s- wow. Who did this to you?” He asks, carefully stepping closer. You know you’re in your human form, to minimize the shock factor, but you’ve never experienced this amount of compassion from a human before. You’ve only seen them do it to each other. Not you, their magical wish machine.

Right! That’s probably why! You haven’t told him about the wishes yet.

“So, here’s the thing,” You sigh. This is your least favourite part. You know, aside from being imprisoned. “I have to grant you three wishes. There are some limitations to what I’m allowed to do, though, so. Other than those, ask and you shall receive, I guess.”

“Limitations? What kind of limitations?” He asks, looking utterly confused.

Ah shit, here we go.

You shrug. “Let’s see, I can’t make people fall in love with you, can’t bring people back from the dead, or kill anyone for you. That’s pretty much it.”

You could practically see the little gears spinning in his head and you roll your eyes, predicting one of the three will most likely be money again. Going off of his tiny apartment, at least. And the fact he barely had enough money to buy an ugly pouch and your perfume bottle. Also, people just really love money.

“So I can ask for anything, right? Anything outside of those three limitations?” The words leave his lips slowly, as if he’s heavily contemplating something.

“Yup. ‘S what I said.” You knew it. The second you’d talk about the wishes, all supposed concern about you would suddenly disappear.

“Okay!” Hoseok beams, looking like the sun itself. “How about your freedom? I can do that, right?”

“You- what?!”

You must look so incredibly stupid right now, considering the dumbfounded expression on your face, yet it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. “You said I could wish for anything except for those three things you mentioned. You never said I couldn’t wish for your freedom, so there.”

You shake your head in disbelief, “Why would– why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, eyebrows frowned in curiosity.

“Because...Because!” You raise your voice now, heated, almost angry for a reason you couldn’t put your finger on, “It’s not how humans are wired! You’re supposed to only think about yourselves! Why aren’t you asking for money or to get revenge on someone like a normal person?!”

Hoseok scoffs. “Wow, sorry to disappoint? By the way you were talking, it sounded like you hate being confined and imprisoned. My bad for misunderstanding.”

Great, now he had you feeling bad about it. You still couldn’t process how he just went and wished for your freedom.

“Even if you’re really crazy enough to waste a wish on my freedom… Why make it your first one? You could still have two wishes left for yourself.” You counter, not knowing whether he’s just overly kind, or plain stupid. Probably the latter. “Once I’m free, I won’t be inclined to fulfill any wishes.”

He shrugs, smiling. “Because the only thing I could think about when you told me your story, was how terrified you must’ve been all this time. How awful you must feel. I know I’d go crazy in there if I were you.” He nods at the perfume bottle.

“But, still,” You murmur, unsure. He sounds so genuine, it’s getting harder to convince yourself of how he must be inherently evil, like you’ve thought all humans are up until...well, now. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m doing okay, you know?” He laughs, the sound ringing beautifully in your ears, “I got a job I enjoy. I know it doesn’t pay much, but that’s okay! I love doing what I do. I have a house that feels like a home… A dog who loves me. My family is still alive and also loves me.”

You’re not going to tear up, damn it. You’re over a thousand years old! Crying is overrated!

“Honestly, there’s just nothing I can think about that I want and don’t have already. But you wanna know something?” He asks, taking a step forward, really looking at you, “I still don’t know if maybe I ate something wrong earlier that makes me hallucinate, but even if I am… I just want to help.”

Well, so much for trying not to cry. Genies need emotional relief too. You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes while tears spilled from yours.

“You look like you’ve lost faith in humans and frankly, I can’t blame you… We’re a mess,” He chuckles, hesitantly raising his arm to take your hand in his. You let him. “But I hope, by doing this, you could let go of your anger and give yourself a chance to start over. With yourself, with us. If I’m given the opportunity to give you that freedom, I’m taking it with both hands and I hope you can forgive us. I hope you can be happy again.”

You feel like you could die, from happiness, from relief. For the longest time it’s what you wished for. One genuinely pure human makes you want to live harder than ever before, when you hear him speak the words to change your life forever.

“I wish for your freedom, ___.”

[obsessedwithbbandsuju]

In The Night

“Jungsoo.” Her voice was a whisper. It was nice, comforting, to be saying his name like this. No honorifics, no stage names, no need for formalities. Honestly, she was a little bit envious that the other members of Super Junior could say his given name so easily, so without a care, because no one would bat an eye at that.

Pairing: Park Jungsoo/Son Taeyeon

Warnings: Possessiveness, maybe slightly creepy?

___

oppa: a term used by a female to refer to a male, older than her, that she is close to

___

Jungsoo-oppa was fast asleep. Taeyeon could hear his soft breaths and feel the warm puffs of air against the skin of her neck in tandem with the steady rise and fall of his chest. He murmured something that she couldn’t hear, something that maybe wasn’t even words, and grasped blindly at her in his sleep. She carefully readjusted her hold on him, threading her fingers through the soft strands of his hair, so she could pull him even closer, not wanting the slightest space between their bodies.

He didn’t usually fall asleep so fast, as he had trouble clearing his mind enough to let himself relax, but tonight it had barely taken him twenty minutes. Taeyeon let herself take pride in the fact that her being with him like this helped him get the rest he deserved. Jungsoo-oppa was usually too tense and had too many worries to be able to get a full, proper night’s sleep. As long as she was here, though, she was going to make damn sure that he did.

She had been just lying here holding him for hours after he’d fallen asleep; it was probably sometime around two a.m. currently, but Taeyeon didn’t see any sleep for her in sight. It wasn’t like she was unhappy about it, because she was definitely more than content, lying with Jungsoo-oppa like this. It was a rare moment when she could savor and relish the fact that there were absolutely no worries on his mind, at least for these few hours. For these few hours, he was completely carefree, and to her it was a beautiful fact.  

Taeyeon curled her fingers further into Jungsoo-oppa’s hair, lowering her head so she could press her lips to the crown of his head, breathing in deeply. For that moment, everything she felt for this man swamped over her, and it was utterly impossible to express in any words of any language how much he meant to her.

“Jungsoo.” Her voice was a whisper. It was nice, comforting, to be saying his name like this. No honorifics, no stage names, no need for formalities. Honestly, she was a little bit envious that the other members of Super Junior could say his given name so easily, so without a care, because no one would bat an eye at that. But if she called Jungsoo-oppa by his given name as often as she wanted to, there would certainly be rumors about them. Why was she, his junior, not a member of Super Junior, not even an artist under the same company, calling his name so casually? People would speculate. They’d be suspicious. They couldn’t have that happen, so Taeyeon limited her use of his real name. But right now, in the dark of night, there was nothing and no one that could hear her.

“Jungsoo.” She savored the way the name felt on her mouth, starting in her larynx and rolling off her tongue and then falling through her lips. It wasn’t as often as she liked that she got to feel it, but that made it all the more pleasing when she did have the opportunity.

“Jungsoo.” If anyone ever hurt him, she would make sure they regretted it with every bit of their being. No one was allowed to hurt him, no one was allowed to slap their insensitive labels and patronizing nicknames on him without bothering to learn about what a kind, caring, good man that he was. No one was allowed to make him feel bad about himself in any shape or form, because she’d beat away all and any and every bad thing that anyone and everyone – even Jungsoo-oppa himself – had to say or think about him. No one was allowed to judge him, and if they did then they could keep their blind ignorance to their goddamn selves.

“Jungsoo.” If anyone ever made things hard for him then she would destroy them. She wasn’t above it. People who met her for the first time always commented on how calm and composed she was in her day-to-day life as opposed to her stage persona, people who worked with her always mentioned that she was warm-hearted and down-to-earth and humorous, people who were close to her always talked about how patient she was and how unfailing her self-control was, but the truth was that if anyone did anything wrong to Jungsoo, all of it was down the drain. She didn’t care what she did. Demolish them verbally, pick apart their life and all its details and every bit of who they were until she found a weak point that she could exploit and attack, and everything and anything in between – she would do it all, to make them regret hurting Jungsoo. Her Jungsoo.

“You’re mine,” she whispered into the strands of his hair, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply again. His familiar scent flooded her nose, and she again felt that powerful urge to meld with him, to mesh their bodies and minds and their beings together into one so that she could always be with him, to comfort him, to protect him, to love him. “All mine.” She doubted she’d ever be truly satisfied with anything less than becoming one with him completely. But that was impossible, they were two separate people in two separate bodies, so she’d just have to content herself with spending as much of their time on this earth together.

She loved him, and she would love him tomorrow, the day after that, the day after that, and the day after that. The year after today, she would love him. The decade after that, she would love him. The century after that, she would love him. The millennium after that, still. She’d love him even if he was crippled and broken and in pieces, she’d love him even when they were dead, when their bones were all that was left of them, and she’d love him after that, when even their bones had dissolved into dust and that dust was scattered all across the entire world.

Jungsoo-oppa stirred in his sleep, raising his chin so that she could make out faint details of his face even in the dark of the room. She pressed her mouth to his forehead, let her hands run over his face, his cheeks, her thumbs brushing the skin under his eye and across his lips.

You’re mine. He was hers, and she’d love him forever and protect him from anything. That breathtaking smile, that adorable dimple, that altruistic caring, that neverending resilience, that strong will, that gentle gaze, that soft vulnerability, that easy kindness, that awkward humor, that potent emotion, that earnest sincerity, that subdued melancholy, that vehement diligence, the beautiful soul that they all came together to form – They’re mine. “You’re mine, Jungsoo.”

“All. Mine.”