#in fur coats all smug

[commanders-sole-braincell]

Loving the new wife anet, so excited to go on the honeymoon to meet her family

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 ✿

characters: jing yuan, blade, dan heng, welt yang, yanqing, sampo, gepard, luocha x nb!reader

warnings: tooth rutting fluff, advised for u to read while sitting down or in private bc u might have a heart attack from how cute and chaotic this shit is, some angst might be sprinkled in just bc✨✨

notes: that moment when you have a super bad baby fever except the fever is towards cat rather than babies. genshin impact ver can be read here! part 2 with penacony men!

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

oh fuck

look at that floof

that absolute big soft floofball peacefully sleeping on top of your favorite black shirt. your shirt is ruined, massive amount of white fur stuck to the fabric and you’re late for work but at least you have a happily napping away cat

a siberian cat, me thinks. with that amount of fur and that large body, he’s gotta be a siberian cat

spoiled, smug peace of shit and he knows it. revels in that title even

dubbed as ‘the handsome cat’ by your friends, co-workers and neighbors alike, meow yuan is surprisingly and not so surprisingly incredibly popular amongst the ladies. whether it be because of his fur, his adorable meows, the red ribbon you tied around his neck as a makeshift collar or his way of charming the ladies with a gentle pawing to their hand and a smug “meowww”, you will never know

the biggest out of the cats. but is it his body that’s big or is it the rapunzel like long fur that he has. the world will sadly never know and neither will you

surprisingly chatty at times. but worryingly very eepy. an adult cat should sleep about 12-16 hours a day and yet you’re pretty sure meow yuan spends 25 hours of the day sleeping away under the sunlight

closest to little nyanqing. seems to think of the youngest kitten as his own as he’s seen grooming or simply looking out for the young kitten at times. also seems to be a bit closer to nyan heng and meowade but the latter tends to spend his time alone

an absolute smug spoiled prince and he owns to it. whether it be feigning hurt, crying out for your attention or downright plopping himself down on your keyboard, deleting your entire progress of work, the little shit knows how to be a headache

but it’s okay, you always forgive him because he allows you to smush your face into the fur of his belly when you’re stressed or squish his soft toe beans. meow yuan is let off the hook yet again…

occasionally, meow yuan reminds you of a lion. it maybe weird and completely out of the blue but with the way he grooms others, his fur, the absolute motor like loud purrs he emits or the sheer massive size and weight of him — yeah, you get the point

one time, you decided to spoil him by carrying him around in your arms like how you do with the other cats. the loud crack! noise and the fact that you couldn’t get up the next day should prove just how damn big he is

meow yuan was a worry wart the whole day. constantly meowing in your ears, purring softly, nuzzling your side. it almost seemed like he was trying to apologize for being this big. to which you easily let him off the hook of course. how could anyone ever say no to that big adorable yellow eyes?

art credit to cocoink🍁 on twt

a bit of a worrying case, meowade is

he doesn’t like socializing, the other cats nor does he get along with you either. the only ones he seem to at least tolerate were meow yuan and nyan heng alongside you

likes to spend his time all alone, cooped up inside some small confined space, above the cupboard or inside his own small room in the cat tree. also enjoys spending time in your room as well but only if the other cats aren’t there

flinches or freezes up whenever you touch him which is incredibly worrying and gut-wrenching. makes you hate however was his previous owner to have caused meowade to despise touches and affections

the first time you found him, bleeding and wet on the side of the road and tried to wrap your coat around him to take him to the vet, the little scraggly cat hissed and clawed and bit at you with great amount of hate despite literally bleeding out. thankfully, he seemed to understand you were no threat as he went limp in your coat, allowing you to get him to the vet

due to whatever his past experiences were, meowade hates being close to anyone. but at least he was slowly but surely opening up to the others and you

the first time the poor scraggly cat decided to bump his head to your hand, asking for pets, you cried tears of joy and relief. at least, you can offer him healing and comfort as you and the other cats stay there for him on his journey

the second biggest cat, bested by meow yuan himself. not as big as him but damn can this cat scare others. whether it be other cats, your friends who decided to visit or some random dog that you passed by as you take meowade out for a walk

seriously, the amount of times this cat wrestled against dogs bigger than himself gives you heart attacks. it’s a real wonder and a miracle you aren’t dead yet

british shorthair, me thinks. but the ones that grow to be a bit bigger than the others

has a bad habit of just… staring off into space, unblinking with those big round eyes at times. literally no thoughts in his brain. head empty, as he just… stares off into space

“oh, having another existential crisis again? mind if i join you today, meowade?”

“…”

“… meow”

and so, this weird ritual of the two of you sitting side by side, staring off into the distance, unblinking as the cup of coffee in your hand goes cold has become something special in you two’s bonding moment. oneself that meowade looks forward to each day

sometimes, he tends to chase after nyan heng around the house for whatever the reason. it leaves poor nyan heng shaking and hissing as the small black cat comes to you for help

not the chattiest of cats nor is he the most pickiest. quite docile despite his killer stare at times and you would even daresay, shy when it comes to affection

overall, a cute cat. the cute pathetic ones that you just can’t help but adore and love

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

another docile cat!! perhaps even the most docile one!!!

at first, you were worried when taking him in because holy shit, where is his tail?! only after taking him to the vets did you finally managed to breathe a sigh of relief because nyan heng was a black manx breed of cat

lean, on the smaller side, an amazing hunter and a dutiful bug hunter in the house, nyan heng is a cute black manx who has a pretty green/grey eyes

an absolute sweetheart, always hoping to please you or help you out around the house as he helps to keep the other cats in line. except for meowade. he always finds himself having a hissing match with the black british shorthair or getting teased by the eepy meow yuan

closest to nyelt, as you had found the two cats together when you decided to take him in. almost seem to see nyelt as some sort of a father figure with how the little black manx constantly goes to the older one for advice or simply some help in grooming

has a cute simple, thread like thin black tie with a few charms around himself as a makeshift collar. he seems to like it despite the thread being a little bit too thin for cats’ comfort

seriously, what’s up with your cats and their desire to wear makeshift collars? makes you really consider if they are cats…

that aside, nyen heng also tends to be more active during nighttime. not the type that would take down things, destroy objects or cause ruckus and cause you jump out of the warm comfort of your bed. no, he just simply quietly trudges around the house, searching if he had truly hunted down every bugs and insects in the house

especially that spider

nyen heng hates to see you so scared over that cursed spider. so he makes it his life mission to rid the house of insects, more specifically, spiders!!

and damn is he absolutely devoted to his job because ever since you cried to your friend over the phone about the spider that you saw in your room, you never saw another spider ever again!

not the most chattiest nor is the most affectionate. he’s a mix of both but only when in privacy of you two or when he’s feeling particularly lonely

don’t get him wrong, the other cats are an amazing company but he just tends to seek out your attention and affection more y’know? there’s just something soothing about being by your side

seems to have some history with meow yuan and meowade. whether that be good with how friendly meow yuan is with nyan heng. or bad, with how meowade seems to want to take their play fighting to a whole next level

surprisingly, doesn’t like sunlight that much

most of the cats would follow the sunlight and it’s warmth and spend some time outside or on the window sill. but you can find the little black minx just chilling in one of the rooms of the cat tree of beside you, observing the other cats

nyen heng is an absolute sweetheart. the quiet type of sweetheart

the type of sweetheart that follows you around, hoping to help you out or simply offer a comforting presence. it’s the least he can do for you

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

another sweetheart of a cat except nyelt makes himself and his presence known unlike nyan heng

possibly a havana brown breed with just how damn calm, peaceful, loving and loyal he is. especially with you. havana browns tend to attach themselves to only one person during their span of life, which sometimes can feel like nyelt is just a biiitttt clingy with you

was there with nyan heng when you took the two cats in and often times acts like a father figure to the cats of the house which is a huge help to your mental state. except for nyanqing. nyanqing only has one father figure and that’s meow yuan

but that was completely fine since nyelt still looks after the little energetic kitten. often times looking after the cream munchkin as he carries nyanqing around by his scruff

to which, nyan heng comes to you for affection and attention. if his father figure won’t give it, then you surely will!

likes to wear the black mini scarf like collar around his neck. often times seen curled up inside the mini scarf as he sleeps the day away like most cats do

can come of as quite chatty at times with how attentive and helpful nyelt is

oh your back feels stiff? he can sit on it and make biscuits (that cute moment when cats knead their paws?). meow yuan is out of option since he’s way too big and heavy and could potentially be the sole reason you break your back. literally

oh nyanqing is missing again? what do you mean he’s missing? he’s right there, hiding inside one of the rooms of the cat tree

nyan heng is being bullied by meowade again? you know nothing of the weight behind this powe—

yeah, you get it. kinda reminds you of a grandpa with how attentive he is and how he has a single streak of grey atop his head fur. which is absolutely adorable and one place that you adore smothering with kisses

nyelt doesn’t seem to mind the affection too as he simply sits there, purring away and basking in your affection. a very pliant cat

sometimes, something seems to weigh heavily on his and nyan heng’s minds with how they curl up together or look out the window, seemingly searching for something

at first when they did that, you thought some bird or a squirrel passed by the window. but if that was the case then every cats should by by the windowsill

yet only nyelt and nyan heng are

at first it worried you because what if they were having cat depression?! are you absolutely sure that you’re being a good cat owner, [name]?!

yeah, you had a lot of self doubt and depressive episodes due to the two cats

however you finally figured out the case when one day, one of your co-workers suggested a play date with her own cats. saying that sometimes, cats need to see new faces to experience some relief from their everyday tasks or ways of living

the date was agreed upon and your co-worker decided to bring over a few of her cats

the immediate second the pretty red furred maine coon, pink-ish scottish fold and the grey striped scottish fold stepped out of the cat bag, nyelt and nyan heng seem to brighten immediately as they fucking dash towards the three cats

turns out the five of them seemed to have been close before they got separated and the two male cats found their way in your home

at least your cats were happy yet again. which made you happy in turn too

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

awwwwwww

everyone's reactions when you first introduce them to nyanqing. and honestly, you can't blame them because look at that cute little cream munchkin pitter pattering his way over here!!!

as stated above, a cute little cream colored munchkin

super adorable

tiny

a tiny baby

"hang on, i'm gonna have an abnormal increase in my sugar intake simply because nyanqing is just too damn adorable to not to do that" - you on a daily basis while calling your best friend and honestly? your bestie's starting to get a bit sick of your constant fawning over your cats

that is until you bestie decides to come over for a visit to drop off some meds for you (during the infamous 'trying to lift meow yuan and almost breaking your spinal cord' day), your bestie dropped down to the floor, unresponsive the moment you called over nyanqing to introduce him to your bestie

yeah... since then the two of you constantly fawn over the little munchkin while trying not to die of a cuteness overload

but it's completely fine and understandable even as you two get the nth heart attack this day simply because nyanqing was... well, nyanqing himself!

an adorable little pliant baby who loves nothing more than sleeping, playing around with meow yuan, you and sprinkles of mischief sometimes

is the closest to meow yuan and can be found with the large siberian cat whenever you can't find him. often times, you would have to move meow yuan over to check each and every nook and cranny around the large siberian cat just so you can get a glimpse of the small munchkin and let out a sigh of relief

at times, the eepy meow yuan tends to curl up with the tiny nyanqing buttttt due to how much of a heavy sleeper the larger cat is, nyanqing almost gets crushed under the much larger cat

yet he somehow is still alive and well and completely okay???? like what????????

still doesn't relieve your heart no matter how many times you find the tiny munchkin under the large siberian cat

is a little bit mischievous at times with how he lovingly bothers nyan heng. trailing after the black minx all the while meowing his ears off about something. the same can be applied to nyelt as well but nyelt tends to patiently converse with the small munchkin unlike nyan heng who wishes to avoid him at most times, preferring his lone and private time

seem to have some sort of an ongoing hidden agenda against meowade and luonya. the former black can cat be found bullying the small munchkin until either the other cats step in or you. as for the latter? no one knows. somehow, nyanqing always ends up getting into a defensive position whenever luonya comes into his field of vision

one time you even found nyanqing hisses at meowade with meow yuan behind the tiny kitten's back. you had to put the three of them into time out and give meowade a scolding

what about scolding nyanqing you say? well

“this is the last time i’ll let you off the hook, nyan-nyan. if i find you stirring up trouble again”

yeah… when are you ever going to stop letting your cats off of the hook [name]?

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

…

“you sure this is a cat and not a fox or a vixen undercover?”

“yes, it is indeed a cat and not a fox or a vixen undercover. i’m guessing it’s a somali cat though it could be mixed breed with another different cat breed as well”

“you sure…?”

“please get out, and allow the others to show their pets”

yeah… the local vet is familiar with you and your many different cats. not to mention the amount of times you asked if meowpo was truly a cat and not a fox undercover because damn, is this cat fucking mischievous

an absolute fucking menace and i cannot stress this enough, god

the type of cat who would keep a straight eye contact with you as his soft squishy paw slowly pushes a cup full of your coffee towards the edge of the surface all the while keeping the :3 face

oh you thought meow yuan was bad and mischievous? you immediately took back your words the second you adopted meowpo

that’s how damn bad this little cat is

you know those moments that you have like,,, a cute aggression? but instead of smothering the cat with kisses and hugs and cuddles, you end up lovingly bullying the cat? yeah. that’s your eternal cycle with meowpo

“you stupid—“ kiss “—fucking” kiss “—cat!” kiss “when the fuck—“ kiss “—and where the fuck” kiss “—did you came from” kiss “—to make me suffer, huh?”

a never ending cycle and meowpo fucking revels in the sheer amount of times he can make you have lovingly bullying cute aggression moments

seems to have some sort of a rivalry with nyepard and surprisingly meow yuan

nyepard was completely understood and truthfully, you saw it coming. nyepard is a rule follower and an enforcer through and through meanwhile meowpo is a rule breaker

so imagine your surprise when you come back home one day to see meow yuan glaring at meowpo from his windowsill

“meow yuan, what’s gotten into you? why are you bullying meowpo?”

“mrreow!” oh meow yuan sounded a bit angry. which only served to double your shock since meow yuan is a very gentle cat despite his large size. gentle, affectionate, chatty, friendly and a bit mischievous at times but never hostile or mean

“mrreeeooww!” meowpo seems to complain as he makes his way over to hide behind your leg. he seems to be shaking or even afraid of the larger cat

to which, you immediately coddled and soothed meowpo over and scolded meow yuan afterwards. all the while meowpo gives meow yuan a knowing smug look

yeaaahhh… these idiots are fighting for your attention and affection

if meowpo isn’t somewhere inside the house, creating chaos and getting scolded by the other cats then you can definitely find him by asking a help from nyepard. nyeppie would dutifully carry out his duties and rat meowpo out in record time

but he isn’t always so mean or mischievous. the times where you fall sick and is having a hard time trying to breathe through your nostrils, meowpo is the one who takes care of the other cats’ bowls of food and water

it was a way of him hoping to help you out the tiniest bit as you lay bedridden

art credit to Toma超想吃番茄 on yt!

nyepard, the most… dog-like cat you would ever meet. but also a cheetah-like as well????

it’s hard to explain since nyeppie has spotted fur and the black smokey eye that cheetahs have and not to mention his large yet lean physique as well

the second largest. whereas meowade is also the second biggest due to his length, neppie is the second biggest due to being a bit on the… buffer? side

seriously, you were worried for a few days when nyepard kept growing and growing, showing absolutely no sign of stopping his growth spurt

thankfully, he isn’t as big as meow yuan

you don’t wanna live with the embarrassment of getting dragged down the street by another big ass cat chasing after a random pretty leaf they saw. nope. you can’t deal with the embarrassment and shame

and yes, you did dragged down the street when taking meow yuan out on a walk before but that is a story and second hand embarrassment for another time

another sweetheart despite his size

very doting, gentle, very shy when it comes to affections but still asks for them anyways because it’s you

the first time you took nyepard for his vet vaccinations, the veterinarian looked at you dead in the eyes as if saying “bestie, what the fuck?”

of course you would get weird stares whenever you take the big cat out for a walk. he’s as big as a doberman dog and the dotted furs of his doesn’t exactly help to direct attention away from yourself

but the sheer amount of power you feel when walking down the street with both meow yuan and nyepard by your two sides is fucking addicting

one cat that closely resembles a lion and another that looks like a cheetah. at least you sleep peacefully at night knowing that you have two scary cats privilege

scary dog privilege? [name] only knows and experiences scary cats privilege. at times it's adorable but also threatening as well because your bestie and some close co-workers know just how devoted and loyal your cats are towards you

nyeppie is the most loyal of them all. or at least, one who is willing to show it at each minute of the day with how dutifully he chases after insects with nyan heng, scolds meowpo or just is there to be your emotional support

by being your emotional support, nyeppie meant being there sitting beside your computer as you diligently types away at a work report and not to be your cuddle victim!!!! no, no no no, no no, you're not squishing his paws as you take him away in your arms to cuddle on the bed!! you always end up falling asleep!!!! what do you mean by it's completely fine that you have saved up the progress and the deadline isn't close yet?! the deadline is before midnight!!!

sigh...

if only cats could sigh heavily and smack his face with his palm as he watches you scamper about, trying to wake yourself up as you realize that you did ended up napping the day away with nyeppie in your arms

well, at least you managed to send the report in at time. by 'at time' you and him both meant at least 2 minutes before the deadline closed up

nyepard guesses you can cuddle with him this time since you managed to finish the report within a record time of 47 minutes

art credit to mm_mako22 on danbooru!

luonya is probably the most weirdest cat you ever had the pleasure of adopting. and that was saying something because you're pretty sure you live with a long lost lion and a cheetah and a fox cats!!!!

and he's just a simple, silly, lovely cream colored turkish angora!!!!!

ah, whatever. you guess its just life's way of dealing you karma by making you live with a bit quirky 8 cats

jokes and a lot of conspiracy theories pushed aside for now, time to focus on the present AKA 'the pretty cat'

oh yes, while meow yuan was getting dubbed as 'the handsome cat' by almost everyone who meets him, luonya was rightfully dubbed as 'the pretty cat'

at this point, you're damn sure that your friends and co-workers come around only to coo over your cats and to spoil them rather than spending time with you... understandable, because you too would do the same without a single ounce of shame and you absolutely mean every damn word

one time, just for shits and giggles and a bunch of pictures to take of your latest cat, you signed him up for a cat beauty pageant

it was only for shits and giggles and a reason to snap pictures of luonya in a pretty cat costumes and stuff, you swear!! so imagine your surprise and how far down your jaw went slack when the host announced your cat, luonya as the cat beauty pageant winner!!!

yeah...

it was a chaotic thing to happen truly and the small glares and backhanded compliments the other cat parents were giving you was making you break out in cold sweat. at least, you have your pretty cat with you to soothe yourself a bit

and a nice whopping 300K dollars as the victor money!!!! damn, you're rich as shit now

not for too long since that money is gonna fly away in the wind due to the fact that you adopted a literal 7 cats and a kitten

worth it, you cry internally as you pay for the 50 kilograms of cat food all the while luonya gently meows at you as in a way of saying "hurry up, dear. we still have to pick up the wet food and the snacks too"

hhhh yeah

this cream colored turkish angora of yours is absolutely drop dead gorgeous yet at the same time he also has a very large secretive look on his face. there's just something about the way that luonya just acts, always sitting atop a high place in the house, as he just stares into the souls of everyone within the room

weirdly smells like either flowers or of medicine and pills and there's absolutely no in between. it's either giving lilies or pills but either way, your cat is a girlboss and he seems to know it as well

not entirely affectionate like meow yuan or meowpo but he is also not too talkative either. a bit of something in between along the lines

is affectionate and talkative at times but prefer it if you would be asleep or when its just you two when he finally decides to curl up on your lap

overall, luonya is a very gentle yet also a very suspicious cat but is oki, he girlboss and he knows what he wants and needs with how he sometimes fakes choking noises to make you get up in light speed

[fairysluna]

Canon era Cregan Stark + being a softie with his Targ wife in the Godswood, just him and her playing in the snow type vibes

-🦊

how i looove cregan x targ!reader, so im just gonna add this little drabble to my among wolves and dragons series, though it can obviously be read as a standalone!! thank you foxy for this cute request!! ily🤍

tags — just fluff and domestic cregan for my cregan girlies out there.

Your hysterical laugh would make his heart burst with joy — contagious enough to make him giggle like a boy as he chased you down the Godswood. You heard his fastened breathing and the cracking of the leaves behind you, knowing he was about to catch you; you tried to run faster, but your long dress and heavy fur coat made it impossible for you to move quickly through the sticks and snow. It was no surprise when your husband finally put his arms around your waist, holding you against his chest as he let out some breathy chuckles against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Got you,” he whispered in your ear, causing shivers all over your body. You shrink in your position, his breathing tickling you and making you giggle. “Got to pay me now, right?” he mentioned before turning your body around in order to face you. Involuntarily, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes to get closer to him. He closed his eyes and pouted his lips, asking you for a simple kiss. You contemplated his beauty for a second, using your fingertips to trace his manly features before you cupped his face — his stubble brushing against your palm as you motioned him down, closer to you.

You brushed your nose against his, humming when his grip around your body tightened; his touch so possessive, yet so gentle. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed as his expression softened, quickly turning into a puddle between your arms. He leaned forward, blindly and instinctively searching for your lips. He was growing impatient, but complying to his wishes was not in your plans.

Before touching his lips with yours, you took him by surprise and pushed him into the soft, cold snow. You attempted to run away from there, thinking that your silly game would continue; however, before you stepped any further, you heard Cregan starting to groan almost as if he was in pain. Your eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and guilt as you quickly reached his side again, kneeling and trying to see where he was hurting. His name became almost a chant from your lips as you desperately tried to see what was wrong, until he suddenly trapped you with his big arms once again and pressed you down the snow.

You squealed, hearing him laughing victorious. “You're such a fool! You scared me!” You tried to push him in the chest but his large hands grabbed yours and placed them above your head. He then leans towards you with that smug grin that would make your knees weak, and he kissed you so fervently that a soft moan left your lips. His touch was possessive, a bit rough and brutish, but it did not fail to make you see stars behind your eyelids. You sighed enamored once he pulled back.

“I'm just claiming my price, my love,” he softly said, giving soft kisses all over your face as you tried your hardest to look mad.

“I shall feed you to my dragon if you do this to me again!” you threatened, receiving a low chuckle from him.

“I'll take the risk.”

follow @by-fairysluna for updates!

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[slut4monsterz]

Yan!wolfdog hcs ᰔ

yan!wolfdog that practically towers over you, a big burly guy with a thick coat of black fur and huge fluffy ears.

yan!wolfdog that you picked up from your local shelter life was getting kinda boring so why not foster a hybrid?

The shelter informs you that yan!wolfdog probably wouldn't be the best choice. Something about not liking men and having aggression problems...but if you didn't take him who would? The thought of leaving him there all alone made you a bit sad, so even with the staff trying their best to advise you to pick one of the softer, smaller hybrid you walked out with him in hopes of finding him a forever home.

yan!wolfdog who has no intention of ever leaving you once he sets his eyes on you. he decides that day that you're his and he's yours. no human has ever been this nice to him before :(( he basically struts into your house like he owns the place and makes himself comfortable.

yan!wolfdog that refuses to sleep in the very expensive bed you bought him. he just likes yours better. the first few nights you let it slide..but then it becomes a problem. he basically takes up the whole bed!! so you start locking your door at night, he does not like that one bit. he scratches, barks, and whines at the door all night. for days. has a smug little look on his face when you finally give up and open the door, now contemplating buying a bigger bed.

yan!wolfdog that doesn't believe in personal space. he will he snuggled up to you 24/7, def makes you late for work all the time bc he likes to just flop on top of you and refuse to get up

yan!wolfdog that you tried to get used to men, but he absolutely hated it. every time you brought another man over he would bare his teeth and bark like a madman, but then they would leave, and his demeanor would completely flip and he'd be your sweet boy again.

yan!wolfdog that loves going for walks w you = scary dog privileges. people usually avoid you at all costs when you're out in public with him especially because you don't leash him (more like he refuses to wear one and you don't have enough strength to wrestle it on him)

yan!wolfdog who's just the biggest sweetheart ever!! how can you ever get rid of him now?

this turned out to b more fluffy then i wanted might write smth else later :3

[dobbysnotsureaboutthis]

Alastor x Reader - A very long mating season (doctor's appointment gone wrong)

Masterlist

Link to pt.2

WC: 9,698

Description:

Alastor’s been acting weird for a while now, and Angel Dust calls in a friend of his, you - the only doctor in the whole pride ring - to have you take a look at him. Despite Alastor’s insistence that it’s only a bad headache, you swear on your doctor’s oath that something more is going on… (fem reader)

Warnings:

SEX, NOT scientifically accurate, me NOT a doctor, reader and Alastor boing their groins a few times so yk do what you will with that info, rut, heat, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, blood (not that much), porn with plot, not edited

“Say, what do ya think is goin’ on with Smiles these days?” Angel Dust reclines his elbows on Husk’s bar, sipping at his drink while waiting for Charlie’s response.

“Alastor? Oh no, do you think something’s wrong with him?”

Angel tries not to roll his eyes at the princess. The poor girl, going around managing hell with a heart of gold and… seemingly zero observation skills. “Yeah Alastor! He’s been acting all weird lately. Hidin’ away at his radio tower most of the day, in his room when he’s here, never comin’ down anymore to make breakfast, not responding to my pranks! Ugh, I’ve been bored as fuck here without his crazy reactions.” 

Husk chuckles at that, pausing his cleaning. “Are you sure you miss that last part? I remember a certain someone almost getting killed several times over a joke.” 

Angel groans at the smug grin of his companion. If the damned cat wasn’t so cute he definitely wouldn’t let him get away with all his complacent remarks. 

Nifty darts out from under the bar, joining in on their discussion. Nobody bats an eye, as they were all used to the little demonness’s mannerisms by now. “Ooooh is this about Alastor? I saw him walking around and pulling at his own head earlier. He looked like he was in pain!” She giggles impishly. “Wonder what that’s all about!”

Charlie looked close to tears in worry, and without Vaggie around to help, Angel sighs, awkwardly trying to solve the tension he brought up. “Hey don’t worry ‘bout it, if you’re all noticing and it’s not just me, I know a doctor we can call up.” 

“There are doctors in hell?”

Angel snorts. “Fuck, even the princess of hell herself doesn’t know it! Yea there are doctors, or at least there’s one doctor I know of for sure. I guess most of the caretakers on earth ended up in heaven.” He twiddles with the soft tufts of milky fur on his chest. “She used to patch me up after… ya know, my work with Val and all. Not sure if she’s got experience with patients like him, but I could call her up and give it a shot.” Charlie darts into a standing position, squeezing Angel in a tight hug. He pats her shoulder hesitantly, still not used to how loving the princess was. “Yes! That’s just it Angel.” Then her sparkly eyes widened even more, sparkling brightly at a vision only she could see. “Oh Angel! Helping a friend out of the kindness in your heart! You’re already getting so close to redemption, I can feel it!” She pulls away just as quickly as she leaned in, shooting two thumbs up in his direction. “I’m counting on you for this one!”

“Yea, yea.”

Angel fumbles with the smooth buttons on his phone screen, finding her number in recents - he’d just called her a few days ago when Val worked him for 2 days straight, filling his body with his sick drugs and leaving him untreated, lying cold on the studio floor. 

“Hey toots? Yea, this is Angel calling.” 

There’s unintelligible mumbling. 

“No, it’s not for me. It’s for a… friend.”

_____________________________________________________________

You’re in your office wiping down the scarce collection of medical equipment you’ve garnered in hell. Hell’s sky casts a pomegranate glow on your figure, inflecting off the pleats in your skirt and button-up shirt. You had forgone a traditional white coat, as there was no such clothing around here. 

When you first landed in hell, you quickly realized that the social hierarchy similarly mirrored that of earths. There were the wealthy and powerful sins, celebrities - flashy, big overlords - and finally, the common people, average sinners. 

In the beginning, your optimism led you to think you could maybe become someone important. Why not try? You had an eternity in hell after all. Yet it didn’t take you long to realize that you didn’t have what it takes to be known. You weren’t a serial killer or a twisted psychopath in life. You didn’t have it in you to climb the social ladder like a cold-hearted politician.

You were a good-natured doctor who saved lives, who thrived on knowing you were the reason your patients could live comfortably. Your only flaw? You could say that curiosity was what killed the cat, or in this case, deer. You giggled, playing with the little bush of a tail you had. It was what guided you to persist through the long years of medical school despite the imposing student debts, unsympathetic parents and all. It was also what drove you to murder. 

One, just one time.

You remember the day with crystal clarity. Your boyfriend, who had tied you up and bound you to his car, which he steered off the edge of a cliff. The hot slickness of crimson liquid coating his hairline where the windshield smashed him, the horrified pried open state of his jaw, his eyes wide and searching for nothing in particular as they stung with the salt of his blood. 

The fall had miraculously loosened your ropes enough for you to wiggle out of them, hauling your scraped wrists out of the scratchy material. He begged you to help. He, who had betrayed you and planned to smuggle you away from the life you built for yourself. There was still time to call the police. His heart was beating steady and strong. You thought his body would be of better use to your research than alive.

Someone who dedicated their whole soul to saving lives, ended up in hell for taking one.

But that cruelty was a one time occurrence, and you still opted to play the good doctor in hell. You snort at the irony as you wipe down the stethoscope in your hand, then promptly set it down on the counter as your phone interrupts your reminiscent thoughts with a sudden ring. 

“Hello?”

Ah, it was Angel, a regular patient. You were fond of the spider demon. He’s saying something about a friend needing help. “Of course, could you get your friend on the phone so that I can schedule an appointment?”

Nervous laughter rings on the other side of the conversation. “Uh, here’s the thing. He doesn’t know that I’m makin’ this appointment.” 

“Oh?” Now you’re surprised.

“Listen this is gonna be a lot to ask for, and I already ask for too much outta you-.”

“Angel, you could never ask too much from me.”

You hear a shaky sigh. Then a pause. “A-Alright then, would it be ok if ya come over to the hotel and check him out there? He’s in some weird sorta pain, but he’s not the type to tell us.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. When should I come over?” “It’s not emergent, as this has been goin’ on for a while and he’s still up and movin.’ How ‘bout tomorrow mornin’ 8:00 am? It’s gettin’ late and I’ve seen him like once today. I’m thinkin’ we should have the best luck tryna catch him after breakfast, when Charlie has him do a few tasks around the hotel.”

“Sounds good to me. Could I get a patient name?”

“Yea, Alastor.”

“Alriiiight.” You stretch out the word as you quickly jot down his name and time of the appointment. “And demon type?”

Angel snorts as though it was a funny question. You smile from the contagious sound of his entertainment, despite having no idea what was so hilarious. “...Demon type?”

“Sorry toots, I wasn’t laughin’ at ya. He’s a deer.”

“Oooh, a deer demon? Like me…” You jot that down too. “Take care, Angel. Let me know if you want me to give that ugly moth a sedative overdose!” 

Angel laughs, and you end the call on a gleeful note despite knowing that neither of you could really do anything to the overlords. Or… perhaps you could, perhaps they were made of the same perishable flesh as any other, perhaps you were letting their status outshine their mortality. Though that’s a thought for another time.

You perch yourself on top of your working chair, clicking through your VoxTek computer to file the appointment in your weekly schedule. 

Alastor. The syllables taste rich and familiar on your tongue. You swear that you’ve heard it somewhere before.

_____________________________________________________________

Alastor as in the radio demon Alastor? 

It took you a second to recognize him, as you’ve only seen him a handful of times, but once you do, you’re suddenly not so confident about today’s appointment. 

It takes everything in your power to sculpt your expression into a neutral one. You scan your eyes over your surroundings. Darkened green walls encapsulated a small bar that looked reminiscent of a casino slot machine. Angel Dust, your spider friend, and a sour-faced gray cat demon sat chatting at the bar, nervously glancing between one another and the tall man in red. Then there was the princess of hell, Charlie, and a white haired vertically challenged woman crowding the deer demon, waving their hands exaggeratedly as though they were trying to prove a point to him. 

Their heads swing in almost unison at your arrival, and you instantly realize that they must’ve been distracting him from your arrival. Right. He didn’t even know you were coming. You swallow your nerves and make your way to the bar, skin sizzling with the phantom touch of his crimson eyes on your figure. His twisted sharp grin blurred through your peripheral vision as you focused on maintaining eye contact. 

“Hey, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to-.”

“Eek! You’re here!” Before you could even offer your hand for a shake, Charlie all but sprints at you, interrupting you with a tight hug. You blink away the strands of her hair that caught in your eyes from the swirl of the motion. 

“Hello, Princess Charlie.” You wave politely. This was your first time meeting any sort of royalty in hell, although she wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the strawberry-haired demon situated behind her.

“I’m so so excited to have you here and oh! Are you by chance interested in joining our hotel? My hope is for sinners to be redeemed-.”

“Charlie.” The short white-haired girl lays her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s not forget what she’s here to do, babe.” She must be her girlfriend.

White-hair shortie directs her attention to you. “Vaggie, nice to meet you.” She keeps her introduction short and sweet, gently pushing at Charlie once again, reminding her to inform you of the situation.

“Right, right. So, you’re here, the best and only doctor in the entire pride ring to help our friend who’s been struggling a bit.” You keep a cordial smile plastered on your cheeks as she talks. In the back of the room, you see Angel now working at distracting Alastor from leaving. Impatience begins to tug at your heartstrings, pleading the princess to keep it short. You didn’t want to fail so soon.  “...And we’re just really worried! He’s been having pains apparently, in his head. Headaches.”

You turn to look at said demon, who was still sitting atop the same bar stool, perched so stiffly that you could feel the secondhand pain of his muscles that must be aching. There’s a slight swishing of his tail, and he clutches what appeared to be his radio stick tightly with one clawed hand. Was he nervous? Your eyes sweep over the sweat beading under swept bangs, and the clenching of his teeth. Ah. It must be his “condition.” 

“Alright, Princess. I can tell you all really care for your friend. Just leave the rest to me.” You squeeze her shoulder warmly, guessing that she must be fond of physical affection. She grins delightedly at you.

“Great! This is so so so good. Thank the devil! I’ll leave you to that then! Best of luck! Not that you’ll need it or anything.” You keep waving at the princess until she disappears beyond the door, watching as she spun around several times to match your waves. 

You were equal parts burning with the need to get things started, and dreadful of approaching the menacing demon, who had resigned his attempts of fleeing. You walk carefully, tiptoeing as though you were advancing toward a frightened animal. Angel Dust - and the grumpy cat - look at one another, and finally dash away, after making what you assumed to be some sort of excuse to Alastor. 

He doesn’t look at you at all, instead choosing to stare straight ahead with that abnormally wide strained smile of his - if not for the slight twitching of his ears, you would think he’s not even aware of your presence. 

You clear your throat nervously, flexing your forearm to prevent it from trembling before holding it out for a handshake. If the rumors were correct, and you had no doubt they were, you certainly didn’t want to lose the radio demon’s respect; especially not in the first meeting. 

“Hello, you’re Alastor, the radio demon aren’t you? I-It’s nice to finally meet you!” Well, you were never that good at first impressions anyway.

For a moment you think you hear him sigh, a static-filled gravely sound. Nearly imperceptible. Then he’s turning to you, reluctantly reaching his hand to yours at a snail-like pace. You try not to feel too rejected. Or feel too mocked by the seemingly ever-present grin on his face, and the clear scrutiny in his eyes. 

“Likewise, my dear. It’s always a pleasant surprise to meet another deer demon in hell, given their supposed rarity. ”

You had an impression this was far from pleasant for him. Maybe he doesn’t want competition? You snort, brushing that thought away. As though a low-level sinner like you could be a threat. “Ah, right.” You playfully flick the fur of an ear, trying to lower the tension. His darkened eyes follow the motion of your hand. “I barely remember that I am a deer demon sometimes! Everything is the same as when I was human, except for the addition of some ears and a tail.”

His grin turns sharper, with the cutting flavor of something uncomfortable. “I assure you dear, you are very much not human. I can tell.” 

“...Right.” You close your eyes briefly, willing yourself into a more business mindset so as to ignore how awkward the whole situation felt. “So, could I get a description of your symptoms? I know Charlie told me, but I want to hear it straight from the source.”

You smile encouragingly at him, as you often did with difficult patients while alive. And you had a feeling Alastor was every bit of that - a difficult patient.

He straightens up, losing the slight hint of ease he’d started to gain. “Well, it is like I said. I seem to be experiencing pains in my… head.” He winces a little - likely due to said head pains, you note.

“And how long have you been experiencing these pains?” You lean against the edge of the stool next to him, not quite sitting on it but not standing either. 

Your ears twitch at the subtle creak in his stool. He’s shifting around again. “...Around three months.”

Your eyes widen, pushing yourself off the stool. “Three months! Why didn’t you say anything…?” You quickly shut yourself up before you could cross any boundaries, silently scolding yourself for the overt reaction.

“The pain wasn’t that bad.”

He’s lying. You narrow your eyes to warn him, you can tell.

He tries again. “...I assumed the pain would go away on its own.” 

“And not get worse?” 

He gives an affirmative nod. You ask him several questions after that, trying to get a quick history of his health complications during his time in hell. With each question he answers, you find yourself only getting farther from any sort of possible conclusion. 

As soon as you started working as a solo doctor in hell, you learned really quickly that demons rarely suffered from the same ailments as people did above on earth, and if they did their symptoms were different. Your mind rushes through illnesses other demons had visited you for - a snake demon who couldn’t get his skin to shed properly, a cyclops demon who grew an extra eye that blocked the vision of her original eye, a volcanic demon whose lava had leaked to his internal organs and started burning him from the inside…

What about deer demons? Little was known about them, to the point where you were even unsure of your own biology.

You bring a finger to your lips, chewing on your nail while thinking of your next steps. The curiosity within you begged to think of a conclusion, or even just a premise. Nothing. You finally pull your finger away from your lips, remembering where you are. Right. There’s no need to overthink things. You haven’t even done a physical examination yet. Speaking of which…

You gesture for him to stand up, regretting the motion immediately as his gaze turns displeased; likely at your attempt to order him. “Alastor, would you lead the way to a more private space?” His ears straightened, and he looked at you defensively. Why did your words never come out right? You blush and wave your hands back and forth in denial. “N-no, not - I meant for your physical examination.” 

Thankfully, he ignores your blunder. Nothing about his steady grin and lidded scarlet eyes revealed what he thought. “Right this way then.” 

You timidly follow after him.

Have you gotten so rusty during your time in hell that you couldn’t even talk to a patient without turning into a blubbering mess? You’ve only been here for a decade… or two… three decades. In that time, you’ve met with all sorts of patients, from lowly sinners to more powerful overlords. He’s tall, you observe. Very tall - almost 7 feet? Over? It shouldn’t intimidate you, he was far from the tallest demon you’ve encountered. 

But they didn’t tower over you. They didn’t have his same opposing presence, which unfairly dominated the entire room with its sheer power, and they certainly didn’t have… they didn’t have his… 

…scent.

Your knees go soft at the same moment he comes to a sudden halt, causing you to bump your body into his. Your forehead bumps into the hard bone of his scapula, startled hands reaching out to steady yourself by gripping onto his suit. He twists his head acutely to look at you, and you flinch, preparing yourself for his notorious anger, but you are only met with discomfort in his eyes. You hurriedly distance yourself from the demon. 

His jaw clenches and unclenches, and he’s looking at you as though he’s holding back from killing you right then and there. A strange, almost pleasant shiver runs through your body. You blink. What a strange response to potential danger.

Before you had time to apologize - for what, you don’t know you just feel like you’ve wronged him somehow - he masks his irritation with the same cheeriness in his smile. “And we’re here! Will my bedroom be a good enough space for your physical examination, dear?”

You swallow back the ever-growing weird feeling inside you. “Yeah, of course.” 

He hums an old-fashioned tune as he walks into his room, sharp clacks of his shoes dulling down on the red carpet that covered his bedroom floor. Your curious eyes catch two red armchairs, several deer skulls hanging ominously on the walls, a large maroon bed that was so neatly made it looked to be a mere display, and the soft glow of a swamp surrounded by forest trees in the distance. 

You unpack the equipment you carried with you - stethoscope, thermometer, gloves, examination light, cotton balls. You left your less earthly conventional items back in your office, as you had absolutely no idea whether they would be of use. Each new patient meant you had to study and adapt to their unique anatomical features and curses, on top of your prior anatomical knowledge. 

Alastor stays silent the entire time you rummage through your materials, except for the occasional thump of his tail on the bed sheets and the consistent hum of jazz and radio static, which was periodically interrupted by sharp pops. You smile internally at the flattening of his ears; he must be really annoyed by that hyperactive tail of his huh? Personally, you were quite fond of your own. But you could see why a man like Alastor would be bothered by this. 

You pull on your gloves, starting to settle into a comfortable pace. All is going well, you reassure yourself. All except for the weird musky smell from him that kept tugging unexpectedly at your insides. Better not breathe all that in. He could be contagious.

You pull out a thermometer. “Alright, I’m going to take your temperature ok…?"

He simply nods. So quiet today, especially for a man who never seemed to shut up on his infamous radio broadcast. 

Just when you think he couldn’t get any rigid, you see him stop dead at your hand cupping his chin. “Open your mouth for me…” His claws tear into the bed sheets beneath, and you pat his shoulder, trying to get him to relax. His tail furiously thumps against the sheets. Oh. He doesn’t want you to touch him. 

You remove your hand from his chin and manage to take his temperature, dipping the oral thermometer beneath his tongue. You could practically feel the heat emanating off his skin onto your hand. It would be surprising if he didn’t have a fever. “Since demons all have varying levels of body heat, I can only measure fevers by comparing them to your baseline temperature. I’d say you definitely have one based on your appearance alone…” You pull out your notepad. “...But I still need to record the results for future reference.” 

You might as well be talking to yourself. You didn’t mind it though, given that you were trying to ignore his overbearing presence. “Now, I’m going to examine your eyes and ears.” You take out your light and gently gesture for him to look upward. At least he was complying now. Eyes seem normal, just as evil and red as a demon’s eyes should be. You move to his ears, which you didn’t even dare to touch based on the sudden cautioning glare he was shooting at you. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything.” You smile non threateningly before shining the light at his ears, humming as you peeped inside. They quiver, the fur slightly brushing against the head of your examination light. 

“Hmm, nothing there either…” You rummage through your bag, pulling out your stethoscope. He narrows his already lidded eyes in distaste. “I’m going to have to make some contact with it… but I’ll be fast I promise. Just tell me if you want me to pull away.”

He grits his smiling teeth, finally speaking up for the first time during the whole appointment. “You will not be coming near me with that… thing.” You’re taken aback as he suddenly stands up, brushing off his coat. A single droplet of sweat runs down his clenched jawline. “I did not require such a ridiculous examination in the first place.” He’s trying desperately to keep up his usual buoyant facade. But his frustration, at something, kept breaking through the surface. “I’ll be perfectly swell in due time! Tell the princess that these pains are nothing and it will resolve itself.” 

You panic, reaching out to grasp at his lapels before you could even think about it. You’ve never had a patient leave untreated. “Wait! Alastor, I can’t just let you go like that. As a doctor, at least let me try to help!” The second you make contact with him, you watch in horror as his face twists into something truly terrifying. Crack! There’s a breaking sound, then his form twists, joints lengthening asymmetrically with frightening speed until he dwarfed you by at least an additional 3 feet. He leans down to stare you in the eye. You’re unable to look away from the morbidly glitching radio dials. “You can’t help me. Nothing you do will ever be of use to my situation. It would help me more, in fact, if you left this very instant.”

…What did he say? 

Nothing you do will ever be of use to my situation.

Nothing you do will ever be good enough.

Just like they told you when you started medical school all those decades ago. 

You don’t even notice that you’re crying until you’ve been standing there wordless for so long that his demonic form has slowly, inch by inch shrunken to his original self. You don’t even notice that your vision is blurry. All you felt was defeat. Humiliation, rather. Who were you to think that you could help an overlord in any way? You weren’t even qualified to be a doctor down here in hell. No one is. You just thought you’d try. That’s all.

The ball at the pit of your throat tightens until you can barely breathe from concentrating on stopping the traitorous tears salting your cheeks. Distantly, through the muffled ringing in your ears and erratic static engulfing the room, you hear a low exhale. 

Could you get any more pathetic? You hold your breath when you feel a single clawed finger wiping at the stabbing fluids running down your face, each one hot and heavy with shame. You blink to clear your teary vision, and you see him looking down on you with an unreadable expression.

Apologetic? No, why would a man like him say sorry? Besides, he had nothing to be sorry for. He was correct in his reaction, you really couldn’t do anything to help. You just had to go and cry about it afterwards. Fuck. You sniffle pathetically, 

He speaks softly, the dense static lessening in volume. “There’s no need to shed tears over something that is not your fault.”

It doesn’t help. You didn’t cry often, but once the tears started it was difficult to stop. He lets his hand drop to his side and moves back to his previous position on the edge of his bed. 

“This isn’t something you can help me with, my dear. It’s an unpleasant condition I’ve had to suffer every year since I landed in hell, and nothing but waiting it out would help. This year just happens to be… more difficult than the others.” 

“Y-You’ve… had to go through this every year?” You picture the pain he must go through, and the empathy within you instantly felt for his hardships. What type of horrible things did he do on earth to deserve this? You snort with your trembling voice at your ridiculous question. You’re in hell, dumbass. What do you think?

“Every year.”

“Well, m-maybe I can help and we just don’t know it yet. Let me try, at least?” Hope dares to grace your mind, and the tears, although still running down your face, slow to a trickle.

He hesitates. He’s going to say no, isn’t he? That’s alright, you’ll do everything in your power to research deer demon biology on your own time. “You may try.” 

You blink in surprise, and your lips slowly twitch upward into a forming smile, despite the liquid sorrow still lining your eyes. In contrast to his uneasy expression, his tail thumps lightly at your grin. You find it… cute how closely the movements of his tail matched his feelings.

You pull out your stethoscope once again, attaching the tips of the headset to your ears. You glance at him for permission one more time, and he tilts his head with a disconcertingly wide grin as though to feign nonchalance. His flattened ears and tight fists however, told another story. Nonetheless, he compliantly unbuttons the top of his shirt and looks to the side, lying on his back. You smile apologetically and gently press the stethoscope to the skin of his chest.

Heartbeat… was sound. Slightly quick, likely due to current discomfort. You move the stethoscope around his chest, and you hear what sounded suspiciously like a breathy gasp. Focusing on your work, you dismiss it as a background noise. Lungs seem normal. 

Your own heartbeat is starting to quicken, for a reason other than the sniffles that had dulled to an occasional disturbance during your examination. His scent. Your eyes nearly tear up again from the effort not to breathe him in from your proximity. You feel the gummy walls lining your mouth salivate, the sticky fluid pooling in the crevices of your teeth. Was this possibly a symptom? Perhaps he was contagious after all, and the illness was an airborne one. You think back to a time when you had to treat a cloud-like demon who was overly condensed with liquids; and the very next day, you found that you’ve contracted a similar ailment yourself, your entire face bloated with an excess of fluid.

Perhaps that was Alastor’s case as well?

You should’ve brought a face mask. You move the stethoscope lower to his abdomen. Digestive track… you press the diaphragm tighter against his lower abs to get a better read. 

This time, the low noise that escaped his throat was almost impossible to miss. The strange feeling inside you squirms at the sound, but you clear your head of any dirty images, knowing that the radio demon was famed for not being interested in anything of that matter. Right. He’s most likely just in pain. Stay professional. You shift the stethoscope around, searching for a sound. Don’t make this moment any longer than it already is, you pray to no entity in particular.   

You move further down, still not hearing a sound from his digestive tract. Was that the issue here? He’s been having a rough time because there’s issues with his digestion? Well, that would certainly explain his reluctance to admit his illness. 

You’re so focused on listening that you don’t notice the gasps through gritted teeth rising in volume, relentless shifting of the demon beneath you, or the way your head, leaning ever so close to his skin in an unconscious effort to move closer to the stethoscope, was fastly approaching a forbidden area. Not even the heated gentle graze of suit fabric brushing against your chin interrupted your concentration. Neither did a strangled static-filled noise piercing the air. 

It was only when you felt the sudden assault of rough cloth, covering something pulsing warm and hard, colliding into your cheek did you finally blink in surprise, dropping the bottom half of your stethoscope in your haste. 

You stand up in a flurry, fluttering your lashes in disbelief as Alastor, the infamous feared radio demon overlord you only just met today, laid on his bed beneath you bucking his hips shallowly into the air where your face was a moment prior. His teeth are clenched so hard crimson black liquid drizzles over his gums and soaks the lapels of his suit. His eyes twitch along with his flattened ears, flickering and crazed, while his claws have shredded what was left of his bed sheets at this point.

“A-Alastor…?” 

His voice turns into something inhuman, growls layered with the eerie buzz of static. Before you could fully process the situation, he encircles a hand around your wrist, gripping you with bruising force to land on top of him. His arms encircle you, sinking his claws into your hips. Fuck, that hurt. But… you let yourself breath in his scent at last, having let your guard down with the suddenness of his movement. The effect was immediate. It felt as though you’ve given yourself a tranquilizer, with the way your muscles seemed to suddenly fail you and you melt submissively like butter into his hold. 

He tosses you onto all fours, and your elbows knock into one another as you strain to hold yourself upright. The dizzying, all-consuming fog of heat building within you and permeating each of your senses with its presence was all too foreign for you. Your mind scrambles, losing all progress of diagnostic thoughts. You wanted to pull away, to get him to calm down so you… could… talk…

That was the last of your conscious thoughts as you feel yourself slip into some sort of hypnotic bliss. He pulls your skirt to the side swiftly, pressing his hips to yours, the movement coarse and sloppy. The noise he lets out at the contact is depraved. 

“Darling… I’m just going to stay here for a bit… ngh - just for a bit.”

For a moment, he simply stays still, staticky gasps breathing hot on the back of your ears. He played with your tail, which was shaking back and forth with a mind of its own. You arch your back needily, pressing into him and prompting him to growl and finally hump into your heat. 

Was he saying something? You couldn’t tell with the way your brain had gone soft. An internal, animalistic voice told you to not think. Just part your legs and let the buck behind you have his way, it says. You whimper, the soft sounds slightly muffled by Alastor’s pillow - his pillow, which smells deeply, intoxicatingly, irrevocably like him. You’ve only met him today, but he was safe. The voice tells you that he’s yours, he’s going to protect you, he’s going to mate you.

He snarls into your ear at your needy whimpers, roughly jerking his hips into yours repeatedly. You whine, feeling the heat inside your abdomen crescendo into a sudden pain. You need him. You need more of him.

“A..Al…astor…hah… p-lease I need mo-re…” Your words fall apart with each thrust of his clothed cock over your soaked pussy, eyes starting to water with the frustration of not having his cock fill your aching hole.

In your heat-ridden mind, there was nothing you could think of but the insatiable need to be fucked dumb until you were filled by something. You cried in disappointment at not knowing what to ask. You try, you really do, but you can’t remember what the two of you were doing before this for the life of you. You gather enough strength in your ragdoll limbs to twist your neck at him, hand clumsily reaching for his pants. 

Then he stops.

He fucking stops.

Like a spell being broken, Alastor’s movements stutter to a halt the second your finger touches his zipper. He tears himself away from you, breaths shaky as he steps backward. It takes your dumbed-down consciousness a few moments to register what was happening. Your eyelids, which have begun to stick together from the adhesive of your dried tears, pry open ungracefully.

No. No, no, no, no, no! The fire in your abdomen twisted and turned, threatening to consume you whole with its intensity. He can’t leave now. No! You whine in protest, but he’s avoiding all eye contact with you. The bare skin on your hips were damp, and you realize it must be from the sweat you now see dripping off his skin in torrents. His mouth is twisted irregularly wide, even for him, as though he were pouring his all into maintaining his composure.

“My dear, I’m afraid I lost control of myself there. I do apologize, but right now you need to leave.”

You whimper, still stupidly reaching for him. Why would you leave? He’s right there. You need him, and you can smell, with a frightening accuracy you’ve never previously noticed in yourself, the desperation rolling off him. You climb toward him needily, pawing for his well-endowed girth, still twitching and hard under the offensive cloth, begging to be freed. 

“LEAVE.”

He didn’t take so kindly to your advances this time. With a single blink of an eye, you were torn away from your potential release and thrusted into the hallway, where you landed on your bottom, legs folded under one another and ears pressed against your head, staring at Alastor’s shut door with dazed eyes and unfulfilled burning in your womb.

Shit. As your mind clears and you tune into your surroundings - the red, flickering lights of the hallway and coarse texture of the rug beneath you - you think of the diagnosis that’s been right under your nose (literally) this whole time. You’ve dealt with animal patients before.

Yearly pains, usually lasting several months. Signs of fever. Changing behavior. Your heated reaction to his condition, the supposed contagiousness of it all. You’ve been blind as a deer in headlights. 

Alastor was in a rut.

_____________________________________________________________

Alastor thought that he'd gotten used to his ruts. That he would be able to handle his issues himself for the rest of eternity. 

It’s been nearly a century since he’s landed in hell, nearly a century since the torture began.

The first time the feeling hit him, it had been a complete shock. The feeling was foreign and intrusive; and while he had gotten used to his new height, physical animal features and sudden craving for cannibalism rather quickly, this cursed feeling was an entirely different field of issues altogether. 

He’s never been interested in sexual intercourse with another. Of course he knew what desire meant, but his own sense of desire had been so low throughout his life he barely needed to even touch himself. The small, infrequent bouts of want he experienced as a human was nothing like the searing hot whip of desperation that would haunt him in hell. He found it amusing, in an unpleasant sickening way; the way he thought himself to be entirely fearless, unaffected by what usually frightened others, yet the higher ups still ended up finding the one thing that bothered him and used it to punish his dead soul. 

He maintains the same grin and duties he had to attend to normally, albeit with a stiffer posture and less patient remarks. He didn’t touch himself. He had found out the hard way, during his first year, that touching himself would only increase the desire to an unbearable point and draw out the rut that much longer.

So he’d suffer through day by day, ignoring the itching in his antlers and the yearning confined in his slacks. 

Unfortunately, he’s come to the realization that each year without a mate, the duration of his rut would last longer than the previous. This year had been the longest yet, and given how fast time seemed to pass when he was not in a rut, it felt as though barely any weeks had passed since his last rut. If he were being honest, perhaps five months would be a better guess than three. Still, he followed the same rule he always did: do not give into the urges by having another, or make it worse by touching himself. It was his way of maintaining some semblance of control down in the depths of hell, where he found himself chained to not only a master but these unfavorable urges of his.

Though it was easier said than done. Many times he’s found himself unable to keep his composure, excusing himself from breakfast with the others, locking himself in his radio tower for days working on scripts, killing any scum who walked his way, doing anything to distract himself from the treacherous burning in his crotch. Anything to stop the inevitable bucking of his hips into nothing as his lower half takes on a mind of its own, wretchedly trying to catch a surface, any surface, to grind on.

Just when he finally got himself under enough control to sit at the bar for a drink, his hotel friends join him. Usually this was not a disturbance, yet the way they all seemed interested only in talking to him did strike his suspicion. People never initiated conversations with him, unless it was to foolishly challenge him to a fight. Not even his supposed friends, who had grown cordial enough with him over time but still maintained a comfortable distance.

Yet here they were, taking turns talking to him as though they’ve been doing the same congenial routine since he got here. Suspicious indeed!

He smelled her before he saw her. A sweet, tantalizing scent which wriggled into his throat and squeezed, causing him to stiffen his muscles and lid his eyes. She’s a doe. He realizes this all too late as he finds her standing in the doorway, bathing in the mouth-watering scent. The sudden flash of pain in his pupils alerts his companions, but not before they too, notice the girl.

He wanted to leave then, and really he could do so if he wished. Vaggie and Angel Dust couldn’t defeat him, and Husk was under his control anyway. But the traitorous need to get more of that delectable scent wafting off her body in waves was too strong for him to ignore. He’d only stay a few minutes more, he promises himself that. 

A few minutes turn into 10, and suddenly he’s all alone with her. 

A doctor. How ironic! She claims to hold the cure to his miseries, all the while not knowing that she had become part of the cause. Her presence was nearly unbearable to him who’d been in a rut for so long without a mate, and Alastor had to physically force himself to sit still by digging a claw into the meat of his thigh. She doesn’t notice his dilemma, nor does she notice the subtle crossing of his legs to hide the bulge of his painfully erect member, that had started leaking profusely into his slacks.

He plays the part of a gentleman the best he could, warning her with his eyes to maintain her distance. The poor girl was nervous and self-conscious, he could feel that. Normally he’d never care, but the damned hormones that influenced his thinking during his rut told him to soothe her, to assure her that everything would be ok, as tears quiver down her face. It was disgusting, the feeling of wanting to protect another. Disgusting, but also oh so right.

He held back when she accidentally touched him in the hallway. He held back, when she leaned in uncomfortably close, checking his temperature. He held back when she turned around, revealing her twitching tail and skirt that would be so easy for him to tear away and have his way with her. 

Yet he knew the unavoidable situation that would occur as soon as she had him lay down on his back, stethoscope in hand. He couldn’t help it. Each touch of her cool, gloved fingers pressing against his too-heated skin felt like the bitter promise of heaven for a soul deep in the trenches of hell. 

When her face is that close to the throbbing, aching part of his lower half, there was nothing he could do as a sharp sting of pleasure shot through his brain. He bucks his hips upward, body spasming and entirely fatigued from the many decades of having denied himself his biology. 

Why was he doing this again? At this point, who was he fighting against? Was he proving a point to the higher ups, letting them witness his impressive self control? Or was he torturing himself, making himself a fool by adding to the pain they already gave him? 

In the midst of his dilemma, he hadn’t noticed the way he grabbed her body and threw her onto the bed, nearly humping his hips into hers. He had been pent up for so long that he couldn’t even feel the pleasure initially, because his body was so used to him denying it. But when she turns her head to him, reaching out to touch him, looking at him with hazy, needy eyes…

Yes, that snaps him out of his thoughts. He must be out of his mind. After surviving a whole century of this torture, now he was letting go of himself all because he was put in front of another deer demon? 

He forgoes being courteous and removes her from his room as fast as he could, not giving the animal part of his brain a single second to change its mind. 

As soon as she was out, and he made sure his door was locked, he let out a pained growl, nearly crawling away from the door. His antlers lengthened, form twisted, the more animalistic part of him cries out in anger. Anger at himself, for throwing out his only chance at relief. His cock feels nearly numb with pain, growing in need from the narrow encounter a few moments prior. Resigning to his fate, he shakily unbuckles his pants, refusing to rip them off like he truly wanted to, for the sake of the little dignity left inside him. Rationally, he knew he was about to make things worse, but his instincts fed lies to him, telling him that this would make it all better.

Before he could even begin touching his leaking cock, he heard her. More specifically, he could hear her broken whimpers through the wooden material of his door, echoing needily through his head. Her scent had grown even stronger if possible. It was mind-numbingly sweet, despite the intensity being anything but so. He must’ve sent her into a heat, he realizes. 

This was going to… complicate things. Although Alastor could take care of himself, and was prepared to do so for the rest of his time in hell, he couldn’t let her - his doe - suffer from something he caused. Especially not with his current state of mind, where every molecule of his being told him to protect her. His mate. 

Then he hears the unmistakable slick sound of small fingers thrusting into something wet, and his ears stand pin straight as they turn to the door. 

He decides that the devil has tested him enough.

_____________________________________________________________

You’re leaning on the shut door of Alastor’s bedroom, sweat pooling in the thin threads of your clothing. Through the door, your head was clear enough to think; but that didn’t stop the incessant heat pooling between your thighs, attempting to suction all your attention toward one thing and one thing only.

Was this the type of pain Alastor has been in this whole time? You whimper, rubbing yourself depravedly against the rough carpet beneath you. 

There was nowhere to go. You were in no state to ask Charlie and the others for a room of your own, and you wouldn’t be able to tear yourself away from the scent of him if you tried. You mewl as you ground yourself in just the right spot - but the usual satisfaction didn’t come. Frustrated, you try grinding yourself harder into the carpet, ears alert for any noises you might catch from beyond his door. You hear the unzipping of his pants, and you cry, feeling almost betrayed at the sound of him. Shakily, you tuck your fingers beneath your skirt and plunge your fingers into your entrance, letting your fingers fill the gushing cavity.

You moan at the glimmer of relief, then immediately sigh in frustration as your fingers did absolutely nothing to quell the ache. 

The door rips open. 

“Alastor?” You blink wearily up at the disheveled demon, all seven feet of him glaring down at you. It doesn’t even register you to feel embarrassed at this point, with your hand still stuffed under your skirt in an obvious act of self-pleasuring. 

In a blink, the ground beneath you disappeared. Black smoke claws at your lungs and you squeal, finding yourself reappearing into existence on a plush crimson mattress. He materializes in front of you, breathing inconsistent and ragged, the radio static heavy in his voice. 

“Darling…” He encircles your wet thighs with his damp gloves, leaning over your so closely you could feel his sweat drip onto you. He leans his forehead on yours, the flush on both your faces matching in color. “I need-.”

You pull him down by his hair before he could speak, tiring of the whole waiting game. You didn’t want to hear a whole speech, all you wanted was to have him rail you so deeply into the bed you’d forget who was who. His lips crash onto yours, and you kiss him furiously, the heated passion arising from natural biological need stronger than anything you’ve ever felt with a human man.

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs with his knees, and slots his cock desperately into your soaked pussy. This time, you don’t give him enough time to pull away before you hurriedly work at the zipper. The moment your hands wrap around his member, hotter than the rest of him even, he lets out the most depraved noise you’ve ever heard another make. To think that you would’ve heard such a thing from the radio demon seemed nearly incomprehensible just a few hours ago. 

He takes control again then, flipping you haphazardly into the four-legged position you had assumed earlier. There was no need to prepare anything - the both of you were leaking so much that you were sure he could slip in without any pain, despite his impressive size - but still he hesitates, pausing with his tip at your entrance. It twitches against your slick.

He must be thinking again, you realize. Thinking dangerous thoughts, that would take away your relief. You weren’t going to let him stop this time, especially knowing now how badly he needed it.

“Alastor if you don’t put it in right now-.” 

He growls, each rivet of the sound layered with radio static. Without another word, he thrusts his whole length in. Or at least you thought it was the whole thing. But when he doesn’t move, and you peek curiously at the junction between you two, you realize with fascinated horror that he was only halfway in. 

You keep your neck in that twisted position, wanting to watch his face while he waits for your walls to loosen enough to take the rest of him. Instead of looking away, like he’d done so while trying to hide his condition, he stares straight into your eyes with his piercing blackened gaze. Between his dark eyes, the slightly lowered grin, lengthened antlers and bloody drool slipping down his chin, he almost felt more animal than person. Especially given the complete silence, aside from his staticky heavy panting. Like he was incapable of speaking at the moment.

The enchanting stare-off between the two of you was interrupted by a sudden sharp thrust from him, causing your head to tilt back as you ground out another whimper. There’s a loud smack as his balls hit the base of your pussy. Something wet drips on your bare shoulder blades, where his claws had torn off the top of your shirt. It’s from his mouth, you realize. His hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, and without warning, you feel the entire top row of his teeth sinking into your skin followed closely by a guttural moan. You half scream, half moan at that, and you feel the lips on your neck curl into a grin.

He starts moving his hips; back and forth, back and forth. Little white specks dot your vision, which was blackened as your eyelids reflexively shut from the overwhelming pleasure. Your brain shuts off, the only things you could feel being the throbbing yet fulfilling sensation of his teeth digging into your neck, the warm rivulets of your own blood running down your sides, his claws shredding into your hips, and of course the maddening gratification of his cock repeatedly drilling into your hole.

This heat thing- no, he was turning you into a hedonist. You feel his teeth momentarily pull out of your skin to lick at the blood trickling from your wound, your heartbeat helping gush the red fluid out in erratic waves. There’s a gulp; he’s swallowing, drinking the blood out of your body as he never stops thrusting. 

He pulls his teeth out and suddenly flips you around, cock still thrusted deep into your womb. You get a good look of his face, his eyes half-lidded, pupils an endless reddish black void, smile dripping with a mix of his natural darkened bloody spit and the fresh, vibrant red of your blood. He leans in, pressing the salty iron on his lips to yours. You, in all your heat-dazed mind and curiosity, let him thrust his tongue into the cavern of your mouth, invading your tastebuds with something musky and bitter, mixed well with  a pulsing sweet irony taste. 

You’re tasting him on your tongue. Him and you, together. You must really be fucked dumb because that’s the thought that brings you over the edge, body stilling as a cry rips from your throat, choking on the blood that had started to clot in your throat. Your walls spasm wildly around his length, causing him to thrust faster.

He fucks into your limp body on the bed, a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to overcome a century of not having orgasmed. He cums without any warning, face frozen into the same smile he always wore. He doesn’t want you to see him come undone. 

Your breaths begin to steady as he clings onto your hips, spurting endless amounts of sperm into your body. It never seemed to end. Each time you thought he was done, his hips would convulse and you’d feel another bout of liquid fill your womb. You reach a shaky hand to pet the bulge that filled your lower abdomen, your innards being stretched uncomfortably full from the girth of his knot and endless cum. He glances at you then, almost sheepishly. Almost apologetically, like he’s doing something wrong. You caress his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

You speak up. “That was… not what I expected when I arranged this appointment.” 

He stares at you in what looks like amusement.

It’s only now, in the aftermath of your session, that you notice how much of your blood was coating your skin, forming a thin, sticky layer. Yet he showed no signs of stopping, the same deranged grin gracing his face as the one that was there when you first started speaking. 

“I apologize dear, but it seems that we are far from done.”

He digs his teeth into your abdomen now, savoring the taste of iron on his tongue. You hiss in pain, twisting your body on the sheets as though to avoid his assault. But he maintains a firm grip on your sides, and you give in, letting the pleasure of being under his control overtake the pain. He sinks his teeth deeper, and there’s a weird tingling sensation where he bites. You wiggle a bit, realizing that the tingle was coming from the strange sensation of his teeth hitting muscle. 

“N-not done…?” Your own heat felt like it was fading, returning you to your normal state of mind.

“I’m not sure how long this will last, given the amount of time I’ve been putting off the whole ordeal.” He pulls your thighs around him and situates you in his lap. You blush, feeling shy all of a sudden at his unexpected display of affection. “Once it deflates enough to pull you off…” He nibbles at your earlobe, threatening to bite into the soft flesh. “We’ll be here for quite a while darling.”

You hum contemplatively, resting your head on his sweating chest. A long time… you weren’t looking forward to explaining all the missed appointments to your patients.

And you certainly weren’t looking forward to facing Charlie and the others. 

_____________________________________________________________

Two weeks later, Alastor finally let you leave his room for the first time. 

You limp to the door, wondering how you were going to explain the fact that you spent two weeks straight fucking the cum out of your supposed patient. Well, he was still a patient. And you had treated him. Just with a more hands-on method than you originally thought. 

You had cleaned up to the best of your ability in Alastor’s bathroom, where he took you one last time over the sink. Luckily, your shirt covered any wounds he left on your upper body. Unfortunately, given how short your skirt was, there was no way you could hide the deep bite marks from your thighs to your ankles. 

“So… you found out that his ‘illness’ was contagious because you contracted it, then locked yourself in his room essentially to quarantine from the rest of us?” Angel asks speculatively. It was clear he doubted the words coming from your mouth.

“That’s the most kind, pure-hearted thing I’ve ever seen a sinner do!” Charlie on the other hand, instantly bought into your lie. She holds your hands excitedly, a million thoughts racing through her head at what she could do with this information.

“Then what about those marks on your legs? Looks like you got mauled by an animal.” Husk is quick to point out the evidence, but you laugh, covering it up with another excuse you thought up.

“Oh that’s from when I went exploring alone in the swamp. Alastor didn’t tell me there were dangerous animals in there. Now I’ve learned my lesson!”

“Riiiight then why didn’t either of ya respond when we came checkin’ up on you all those times? We were worried, ya know?”

Alastor enters the bar, a grin brightly plastered on his face and clothing as polished as ever. “We were busy!” 

He’s already decided that you wouldn’t be leaving his side after you saw him in such a vulnerable state. That, and the strange alteration the rut left on his hormones has led him to form an… unexpected connection to you. After a few back and forths, you excuse yourself, standing up from the bar stool and heading back upstairs with the excuse of forgetting something in Alastor’s room.

On the way up, you feel the burning of several suspicious stares, as well as a strangely possessive and loving one. Your phone dings.

It’s a message. From Angel.

Just admit ya’ll fucked up there

.

.

.

A/N:  I’m not a big fan of writing “he growled” buuuuut my other options according to Google are “he snarled, barked, yapped, bayed(?)” and I wasn’t about to fucking write about how he bayed at the sight of your pussy. Maybe I should’ve just gone all in on making him a little bitch and only wrote “he whimpered pathetically” but alas the fic is over

[dear-tortured-adam]

" 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐲 𝐦𝐞 "

— "your defiance only adds to your allure" ft. lucifer x gn!mc | somewhat suggestive, repost! | i actually heavily don't really like this piece until now, but, I am not putting this one to waste so... yeahh ; wc: around 1.3k!

Your pride was taunting; he hated it.

Lucifer felt himself earn another wrinkle watching you mingle once more with Mammon’s antics. Sat in the dim lit candlelight of his study, his hand whisking the dram of blood-red liquid sitting idly at the bottom of the glass.

He could've just asked for a more subservient exchange student had he known this was how you’d care for him and his brothers. Frankly, he’d swore to banish you off in front of everyone before Diavolo even welcomed you in the Devildom. You were an annoyance: a red herring added to his workload.

His fur trimmed coat had hung to the wooden armrest of the lush velvet seat. With a sigh, he took a sip.

For your schemes were admirable to the point that they were terrifying.

Lucifer spat out his drink, slamming the glass atop his desk while he wiped the residue off his lips. The distinct 'clang' echoed through the room, slicing through the heavy silence that had settled like a thick fog.

Breaking his chain of thought was whatever random concoction replaced his most expensive set: sour with a bitter aftertaste that hadn't left his tongue.

“That human…” was all he could muster, swiftly taking and clutching his fist around the glass. 

The liquid inside appeared normal, catching the light with the same glistening shimmer as always. But as he lifted the it up to his nose, he recoiled. What should have been a fruity aroma was reeking off a rancid odor of a burnt mix of spices, diluted in burgundy and million's grimm worth of demonus.

It was not amusing in the slightest.

He stood there, cursing himself for being foolish enough to fall for a stupid prank. The sound of slow, deliberate clapping filled the room, each clap a taunt. A provocation. His bloodshot eyes snapped to the source, his rage intensifying at the sight.

There, sitting on his velvet chair with the stance of an unamused audience member, sat you. A subtle grin spread across your face, fully taking in the satisfaction of yet another prank. You remind yourself to tally this off to show the others — your ideas were simply astonishing, after all.

“You should’ve smelled it before drinking it,” you spoke nonchalantly. Popping a cherry grape into your mouth.

Lucifer could only look in your eyes as  your expressions got more smug. "Do you find this entertaining?" he hissed, cursing himself.

"Favoritism is not a good look, hm?"

The avatar lowers his taking, stepping closer towards you. "And you hate my preferences?"

"I've hated you," you shrugged, eating another grape. "Past tense."

You really were annoying; worse that your words never made an ounce of sense. He supposed it's with how his own pride was wounded in the process, as he watches you lack even a hint of remorse for your actions.

"You're despicable."

With a hum, you bat your eyes at him. "Do tell."

Truly, 'despised' isn't a proper word to describe this situation. Whatever happened during the discourse instead shifted into a more compromising position.

You looked back at him, mockingly expressing your disdain for his discipline turned sultry remarks. Even if he pretends not to be so, it is certain how he plays favourites with his human. 

If anyone were to make this plan, they would've never lived to tell the tale.

You smirked, sarcastically saying, “You, sir, will not taunt me any longer!”

No one could deny the taunting tinge of royal blue that swirled within your irises. It's adorable how you took pride in your actions even if you were trapped between him and the velvet chair, though you couldn't deny that it wasn't from a stroke of ego.

Your words were stubborn, but the face you focused solely on him with a half-lidded gaze as you took note of his features. Dark hair framing a sculpted face and deep, red eyes that beckon you into giving in to his sin.

As Lucifer caught sight of your longing gaze with an enchanting expression of love, a rush of warmth coursed through his veins.

Flustered.

He couldn't help but curl up a smile, mirroring the affection that danced within his heart. The depth of the human’s gaze had enraptured his attention, a meek challenge if it came from anyone else. He couldn’t resist the small yet tender laugh, whispering his voice softly for his darling to hear. He rarely ever does that, only saving it for more special moments. 

"For someone with a lack of discipline…" He trailed off just a bit as he smirked. "You… your being makes me feel like the luckiest man alive."

“I thought you liked being the one in control?”

He finds your comment amusing, trailing his finger along your jaw. His gloved hand feels as soft as leather can get. Lucifer’s red eyes locked into yours, he stood at an intimidating height. A hand resting on an armchair, leaning closer towards his precious human. 

"Ah, my dear," he spoke, his hand lowering from your face, taking the grape from your hand and eating it.

How sweet — as sweet as what any fermented liquor aspires to be. After that, he tries to mask his ever growing admiration, but his words couldn't suffice for the ever growing blush that adorned his cheeks.

"Don't be such a fool.” Lucifer’s words had an edge to them. As the authoritative man he is, the way he spoke in an assertively gentle tone felt softer. This was no longer an act of hatred nor, authority, slowly shifting to an act of newfound adoration for this human.

You looked at him with a puzzled expression, only able to tilt your head as he barricaded all forms of movement. The human was stuck in his grasp, at his very mercy. Though while your gaze held a lovestruck pool of hearts, it stayed strong. Determined.

Not once faltering your authority. Lucifer finds it endearing how such a little human could greatly embody his sin.

“Though I must say,” the fallen angel leaned closer as he had you trapped between him and his velvet chair. You looked so enticing, feeling small under his intimidating stature.

To him, you were simply enchanting. Your recklessness was a nag to his schedule but your presence wasn't unwanted.

Never unwanted. 

For in his eyes, blue suits you best. He admires how his sin started to waiver as your gaze gets flooded with stars. Lucifer only wishes to savor the moment, softly kissing the corner of your lips.

"Your defiance only adds to your allure.”

For all pathetic moments, you showed him more than typical kindness. You've felt his gentle caresses like soft butterfly kisses, a finger gently running across your jaw. The kiss felt feverish, swirling his tongue in the cage of your mouth.

His other hand settled on your waist as he leaned towards you — inching his body closer, knee deep between your legs. Lucifer couldn't help but deepen the kiss. It was ecstatic. He’s had many experiences with kisses in the past yet none can ever compare to the soft feeling of your lips against his.

Lucifer lets go of the kiss with a small pant. He never thought a mere human would be the one pulling his heart strings. Granted, you were his and his only; but ever the lovestruck demon, he was willing to flip the script.

To bow under servitude for you. That smile is something no amount of control can ever muster.

Your pride felt electrifying — he loved it.

check out my masterlist! | divider by toadtoru [<3]

[yandere-daydreams]

oh daydreams, please bless us with your opinion of what kind of Hybrid the JJK men would be

my takes are hot and controversial. y'all will never know how much self-restraint it took not to pull an 'oops all catboys' and actually give this list a little genome variety.

gojo satoru would be a gyrfalcon. he's an absolutely huge, constantly looming bird of prey with grey-speckled feathers and a wings so long, it only takes one to wrap around you entirely. most hybrids hybrids are at least a little stand-offish, but he's laid across your lap nearly every night, clicking happily while you preen him. if it wasn't for his wings, his piercing eyes, you'd think he was a canine-hybrid - just based on how unwilling he is to ever leave your side.

geto suguru would be a black panther. graceful, elegant, stronger than he has any right to be - ironically, the only things that don't add to his air of mystique are the rounded, twitching ears on top of his head and the sleek, black tail that's almost always brushing against your legs. he's not as clingy as gojo, but if you ask politely, he might let you comb your fingers through his hair (you're dead if you ever try to call it 'petting') as he purrs and kneads at your chest. there's a good chance you'll be left with more than a house-cat's worth of scratches after your informal grooming session, but don't worry, he'll be more than happy do run his rough tongue over your injuries and pretend he doesn't notice that his pointed teeth are just making the damage worse </3

fushiguro toji would be a grizzly bear. his coat is much darker than that of the standard bear hybrid, but once he stands to his full height and throws you over his shoulder with all the effort it would've taken to lift an empty cardboard box, your doubts are miraculously cleared away. he's got hands that can wrap around your head and a jaw that can bite through through steel and he's going to take every possible opportunity to drape himself over you and wonder allowed just how good you'd taste if he ever decided to take a bite. his bark is worse than his bite, though. scratch his adorable ears for a few seconds, and he'll be roughly five-hundred pounds of putty in your hands.

nanami kento would be a spotted jaguar. he'd prefer to be something plainer, like a panther or a cougar, but he wears his spots well. jaguars are largely solitary animals with little need for socialization or companionship, but with enough pestering, he might let you hover around him and fawn over his vibrant coat and extremely kissable pink nose. he's more reserved than most of the other hybrids on this lips, but he'll show his affection through the occasional grooming session and, if you're lucky, the occasional slab of (store bought, thankfully) meat left where he knows you'll find it. he says he prefers to be alone, and yet, he's stilled curled around you every night, purring happily and nuzzling into your neck. he's just a big softie, at heart.

sukuna would be a red fox. it's not enough for him to be a predator - he has to be the one predator known for its intelligence. he's got an ever-present kitsune's smile, his white-tipped tail constantly curling and swaying as he flaunts his strength, and he's got no shame when it comes to unabashedly proclaiming himself your superior while you comb out his thick fur for the nth time that day. he's cockier than gojo (somehow) and obsessed with the idea of proving himself as a mate (without ever admitting he'd want a worthless human as his mate, of course), which means you're going to have a very jealous, very smug fox at your side at all times, no matter how difficult that might make your daily, probably not extremely fox-centric life. try not to hold it against him, he's just trying to impress his future mate <3

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

[reddesires]

I stumbled upon your blog and love your Noa fics especially the bathing one and your most recent courting ones! I love your characterisation of him 💕

Can I please request Caesar courting fic pls! Desperately need more of him on your blog! Thank you🩷

Caesar Courting Headcanons [Caesar x Human!Reader]

Caesar x Human Reader

Fandom: Planet Of The Apes

Rating: No Warnings.

A/N: I really think that Caesar is an Acts Of Service king. He shows his love best that way, but you can sprinkle in some words of affirmation here and there since he knows that humans often need assurance of love vocally. I know this isn't a full fic but I had these headcanons written out already, I promise in the near future I'll make it into a whole fic ❤️

•First off, if you think that you'll maintain personal space whilst in the presence of Caesar, you'd be dead wrong. You can guarantee that he'll practically be breathing down your neck making sure that your by all means in top condition, you could be doing daily tasks and sure enough your favorite ape man is somewhere nearby watching.

•He's gonna want your input for things that should be generally for his advisors, but your opinion on things holds a special place for him. Essentially, you'll be his right-hand woman, and no one will convince him that isn't the right choice, starting as right-hand woman to wife after all.

•Your gonna have a chauffeur if you're not within the colony. If he's held up by responsibilities and unable to accompany you, then he's send Rocket or even Blue Eyes to go with you. He'd rather take no risks when it comes to your safety.

• 👏PROVIDING👏 he's determined to make sure that you are as comfortable and fulfilled as possible, as your potential mate (in his mind, you're already his mate sooo) he has to display his resourcefulness. He's aware of most human customs and how difficult life can be when without the luxury of certain necessities that you were used to having before the colony so he's more than willing on being on the hunt for it in the abandoned human locations.

•Whatever free time he has is time spent with you. it's a no-brainer that he's an avid quality time type of guy. All the stress of looking after the colony and constantly being dragged into various meetings and such, you put him at ease with your presence. The usual scowl that resides within his expression softens as he looks at you when you quietly speak to him about whatever crosses your mind.

•Sharing meals with Caesar and his boys up in top nest, you were taken aback the first time he requested it but now it's a given since Caesar figures since you'll soon be joining his family as his mate you minus well share meals with them (your unware of his train of thought on this pfffttt). As soon as meal time is announced, you're off to top nest with an expecting Caesar awaiting your arrival.

•Can you guess who attended to the making of your hut and your comfy nest? You can guarantee that you'll be in possession of the finest pelts and the most structurally sound nest possible, your hut is honestly your sanctuary during the winter months since Caesar ensured that it was as warm enough for you to be comfortable after all you don't have the fur coat to protect you from the freezing temperatures.

•He gifts you with very specific adornments for you to wear, he's almost smug he notices that it's every day that you'll have the custom pieces on your person.

•Caesar is aware that you perceive his actions as him being gracious to you, but he has all the intentions of you becoming his mate. He understands humans have a more casual and outright dating culture, and he plans on speaking more plainly on his aim of becoming your mate. He just enjoys the chase.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Would Koba have an lataction kink?(you know… because of his mommy issues…since his mother died when he was very young)👀

Poor reader breasts during the pregnancy… Koba need to leave some milk for the baby LOL

I live in my own world and as a consequence you gets are getting this are you happy to bring out NASTY EM ARE YOU HAPPY

Below are HEAVILY NFSW HEADCANONS. ( 18+ ) READ AT YOUR OWN RISK THANKS!

Caesar:

Oral fixation ( Giving, not as much receiving. The king of giving head, can spend the entire time doing it with no problem as long as long as it brings you pleasure. Finds incredible satisfaction in getting you worked up with just his tongue and will delve in futher by pressing his teeth against you. Makes your entire body flush with want. )

Praise Kink. ( Give this Ape a good compliment in the middle of it? He IS ALL OVER YOU and will urge you to continue. Caesar likes to hear those things from you, they truly do make him feel confident. The more you give, the faster Caesar will be to mount you and take what he wants. )

Orgasm Control. ( Likes to have the power over you and will keep that power by controlling when you cum. Very disappointed if you do unravel before Caesar allots it but it's okay, he'll just start over again, this time even slower to teach you a lesson. )

Noa:

Size Kink. ( You can pry this out of my little hands that he does not enjoy BEING SO MUCH BIGGER AND MORE MUSCULAR THAN YOU. Really comes into play with positions if he's on top and he's able to literally crush you with his weight. Noa is signed up and will commander your entire body if you let him. )

Consensual Voyeruism. ( Oh my god Noa loves to watch you, it's so fascinating to see what Echo like. You fingering yourself for him? Holy sh--- Hats off when he tries it for himself and he's only able to get one of his larger fingers ( PLAYING INTO SIZE KINK HERE ) inside of you where as you were able to fit two, maybe three if you stretched yourself. )

Sensation Kink. ( More aimed towards you, he knows how much you love to feel his fur against you and will intentionally withdraw it at times just to get you to BEG. And boy, will you beg, arms outstretching while he's right out of reach, a rather smug smile on his face as he brings himself down JUST ENOUGH to let the tips of his fur linger against you. )

Blue Eyes:

Breeding Kink. ( WE'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS WE'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS. )

Edging. ( something that more or less is your thing, but Blue Eyes has learned to take it as it comes when your mouth pops off his cock, now coated with your saliva. The longer you edge him, the more of his seed he has for you. Really does go hand in hand with the breeding. )

The most straight forward Pregnancy Kink. ( I have no explanation for this don't come at me okay. Just LOVES the way pregnancy suits his mate. The way your body fills out. The boobies, the heightened emotions, sex drive, all of it. He EATS IT UP. )

Koba:

( You did this to me fuck ) Lactation Kink / Breasts in general. ( Ohhhh dear god when you have a baby, good luck for those bad boys. He will willingly help you unclug a duct if you get what I mean. Also, a lot of you riding. Get those in front of his face as often as possible, will lap up if you leak against him, not to mention?? Milk on his fur?? Your scent on him so undiluted and uncontrolled? Boing. )

Bondage. ( Koba is good at hunting. Koba is good at tying up his catches. You don't think he wouldn't do the same to you and have his way with you? BAH. He would, and you would enjoy every. single. moment. Seeing you struggle against the nest with your entire body latched up? Sign the Bonobo up, and even more credit if he just listens to you whimper as you try to free yourself. )

Anal. ( DON'T LOOK AT ME. Causes you pain? Loves it, you're his little play human and he'll tear into you if he has to in order to make himself feel good. And hey, in the long run, it makes you feel good too so win/win. Genuinely finds it disgustingly fascinating how the human body is able to stretch like that and it started as a morbid curiousity. )

[yandere-sins]

The Enemy’s Embrace

a/n: This doesn’t really has any big background. I saw a book quote on TikTok and thought that the scene would fit so well in a yandere scenario. So I wrote it! Hope you guys enjoy it :3

Warnings: Yandere, Mention of Stalking, Mention of unconsenting actions, Mention of Killing, Soft Yandere

»»———————— ♡ ————————««        

A shuddering sigh escaped your shivering lips as your gaze fell from the lattice above your head to the cell bars keeping you locked inside the cell.

There were so many things wrong with you being thrown in the dungeon. You didn't commit the crimes you were accused of and never fought the guards to deserve the resentment they've harbored. They had been downright glad to deliver you into the outdoor cell despite the early-winter cold setting in already, telling you you 'deserved' it.

Why did this happen?

Even after days, you lamented the questions of why and how, but the realization—a realization that made you angry beyond measure, furious and wild—had long set in. No matter how much you tried to ignore it for the sake of your own sanity, it wouldn't let you forget the reason you were here.

Not least because the reason kept talking to you with an awfully smug grin on his face as he waited for you to break.

"I don't mind sharing, you know?"

"I know," you mumbled, turning your back towards your cellmate and hitting your head against the cold stone to remain composed. You knew. You knew so well. The man wouldn't stop talking, belittling you with every word he uttered. And you knew he didn't mind sharing at the cost of you giving in to him.

It was driving you mad.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you watched your arch nemesis, the man you hated most in the entire world, flap his beautiful fur coat into the air, exposing the free space he had underneath to spare for you. That was if you could lose your dignity and sit between his legs, allowing this awful man to envelop you in a warm embrace.

He was grinning, as always, when he caught your eyes. Smugly. Challenging. Aware. Aware that you were slowly freezing to death in just your clothes while he had cozily bundled up in luxury unbefitting of a prisoner. He had been here longer than you, thrown into this dungeon for his crimes before they even came to get you. Someone took pity on the man who presented himself oh-so-dramatic and charming when he wasn't an insane villain. He just had to wail to and flirt with some of the noble ladies passing by the lattice until one of them decided to drop the poor man such a fine fur coat to survive the cold. 

It wasn't like he could come near you or hurt you again from his position, bound by chains around his wrists that weren't short enough to immobilize him but not long enough to walk away from his spot. But even after all this time, he still enjoyed the torment of your suffering; every breath you blew against your icy fingers sending a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Sadly, no one thought of gagging him as would be appropriate for a notorious liar. Though the court believed you initially when you told them about his misbehavior—the following, the touches, the murders all in your name—somehow, he convinced them that you weren't an innocent part in all of this. There was nothing you could have done to convince them of your innocence after he charmed his way into the hearts of the jury with fake reasoning and pleading for justice. He opened his mouth, and everyone played his game—except you.

For these reasons, you hated him. And for your rejection, he loved you.

He could have had anyone, even a noble knight or the princess of the kingdom. But he wanted you, specifically, and preferably on your knees, begging for him. His taunting invitation to a warm huddling under the fur was just another way to torment you. He simply wanted to have you just because he decided you belonged to him, and crush your mind to fill it with the same insanity as his.

You had fought him for years. You barely escaped him on so many occasions. But while it had felt like victory to see him being dragged off by guards to his new home, the outdoor cell you hope he'd never escape from, in the end, it had all been in vain. And as you stood in the cell, facing the grey stone wall, this realization was the hardest to accept in all your life.

Because you were really fucking cold.

Even if you had thought about the possibility of yourself dying while getting rid of this lunatic, the thought still pained you. Things had gone wrong many times, but you always made it. You wanted to live. You fought so hard for your freedom and to survive. How could you possibly just throw it out now and allow him to lure you into his grasp?

"What must I do to make you come here and stop being so wary of me? When have I ever done something for you to hate me so?"

Even when he let out a defeated sigh before he spoke, his voice was nothing but mockery. He once again played the role of a savior. A gentleman, a soft-hearted soul in a cruel world. He was right that the world was a cruel place, especially for a genuine and kind person like you. But if you needed saving, you didn't want it to be from an actor who played the role of the selfless hero while grinning at the blood on his own hands.

"I'm good," you replied coldly, much like you were feeling. Hugging your body, you sunk to the ground, rocking yourself back and forth while trying to ignore the annoying villain on the other side of the cell. Closing your eyes, you tried to imagine the summer sun shining down, warming your skin instead of the cold winter breeze ramming into you. Things would have been much easier if he had stopped talking.

"Not to unnerve you, but despite always being stunningly beautiful, the color of your lips is slowly making me nervous, too. We both know you are freezing."

He just wouldn't shut up.

"I. Don't. Want. You. Near. Me," you repeated the same phrase you've been telling him from day one. A phrase he usually liked to ignore and keep sputtering. However, not this time, and suspicion forced you to open one eye to see what he was doing as he didn't reply.

He was simply staring at you. Blankly, unnervingly. You had to look away because his unblinking eyes were unsettling to look into, wide like those of cats staring at an object of desire but void of the empathy of a human.

"Frankly, I don't care what you want," he muttered quietly, barely audible over the howling of the wind. "But if I beg you to come here and let me warm you, will that help? Would you stop torturing me with that pitiful sight of you if I pleaded and said 'please' and 'pretty please'? If I could, I would already be by your side regardless of if you'd let me, but don't you have pity on me, too? Pity on the man who has to watch the love of his life slowly freeze to death while he can't do anything to save you?"

You were so tired of his tirades. The endless amount of garbage he spoke as easily and freely as a bard sang of overdramatized adventures of heros without flinching about their lies. "Please," he breathed. "Please let me warm you."

Another shiver ran through you—from the cold or the desperation in his voice, you weren't sure—but you didn't move from your seat. Didn't give him the gratification of acknowledging him even if your body began to burn from the cold. You heard the rustling of chains, and when you finally looked up, you could see him twist and turn his wrists in the cuffs, trying to loosen them somehow. Only when he noticed your gaze on him did he change from fighting the restraint to giving in.

Letting his hands sink to the ground as far as the chains allowed, he kneeled on all fours before reaching up one hand, ignoring how the cuff cut off the blood flow to his hand. He could never reach you, but he was still trying. No matter what, he never ceased to pursue you, even in the most impossible situations. It made you shiver even more to know the person that selfishly claimed you as his, had the determination of a starving lion to get what he wanted even when he was chained and immobilized.

"I'm begging you," your enemy emphasized. "I'm begging you to let me help you. Let me hold you, so we can survive this together—or die trying. Together. Don't die so far away from me where I can't reach you. Can't even follow you... I can't even hold your hand. Please don't leave me like this. Please just... forgive me. Have mercy on my unworthy, oppressed heart."

Your eyelids were growing weary from the cold, and your mind even more so from his words. But as your movements slowly stilled, conflicting, old thoughts came to mind. Thoughts that you had chugged into the deepest drawer of your mind after he had been imprisoned. Thoughts you hoped never to have to resurface.

I'll survive this. I can escape him no matter what happens. This is not the end.

Slowly, weakly, your arm stretched out. The realization turned your enemy's expression into a surprised one, then he lept forward, ignoring any restraint and the impact on his body as he reached for your hand. His fingers barely grazed yours, but as you collapsed forward, he managed to snatch your wrist, keeping your face from hitting the dirty ground you two were seated on.

And before you knew it, you were enveloped in warmth.

He shifted all around you for a while until your feet were tugged in and under his legs, body covered by the fur and his—probably hurting—arms, one hand holding the coat closed around you so no draft could touch you, while the other one pressed your head into his chest, his chin resting on top of your hair. Completely absorbing you into the little warm orb that was the world he lived in.

"Finally," he sighed, turning his face downwards to nuzzle it into your hair, ignoring the grime that must have built for days. As if nothing about you could scare him off. He didn't seem bothered by anything as long as it concerned you, but you ignored anything he did for once, letting out a long sigh as the warmth slowly thawed you.

"You're not getting out of this one," he mumbled, planting a reverent kiss on your head, filled with the fulfillment of his longing for you, drawing it out as long as possible. Hand reaching up, he cupped your face and warmed your cold cheek with his palm while his thumb caressed you as if you were the most precious object he ever held in his grasp. "I finally have you," he muttered, and you couldn't help a weak huff as the words ever so softly reached you.

"You can't escape me now. You're all mine. Finally. I waited so long for the day you'd finally give in to me. I'll get us out of here, and you'll never have to want for anything, I promise. I'd do anything for you. You know that."

You simply let him keep brabbling while he kept you warm. Fearing that if you refused him now, he too would reject you. That this really would be the end despite all the hardships you had overcome up to this point. You felt nothing of the worship he felt for you, for him, but if this was the only way to stay alive, you'd bite your tongue and let him confess a million more of his crimes to your ears only. You'd overcome this all the same.

You'd survive this, too.

But for now, you'd be warm, cradled in your enemy's embrace.

[buckyshoneybunny]

The White Wolf (Part 3)

Wolf/Alpha!Bucky + Wildlifephotographer!curvy!reader   

W.C- 1082 

Warnings- Almost smut, cursing.  18+!!

A/N- Thank you for all the love!! I made an AO3 account, the link is on my pinned post, still working on making a masterlist. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series, I promise the next part will be the long-awaited smut lol.  Sorry it took so long. Anyway, hope you enjoy! P.S.- I have some juicy ideas for other stories I'm going to start outlining, I really hope you guys like them.

Taglist-   @blackbirdwitch22 @lesleurs @nelachu2423 @shadowzena43 @calwitch @laughterafter

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 4, Part 5 Masterlist Series Masterlist

Bucky couldn’t believe he found his mate. He’d been drinking the fresh lake water when he’d smelled the most delicious scent he’d ever smelled, granted he couldn’t smell much, only what helped him survive. Werewolf senses were weird. He’d heard the sound of a twig snapping, that’s when he saw you, he felt a rush of desire and heat go through him, causing him to growl and scare you.  

His response to that? Chase you, which ended with him getting a nasty cut on his leg. When you tripped and hit your head, he had dragged you to his cabin, thrown a blanket over you and went to his bedroom, laying on the big dog bed in the corner. 

He’d been so wrapped up in trying to get the stinging pain to go away he didn’t notice you’d woken up, and when you took care of his wound? He was done for. He snuggled close to you the whole time Steve was there, he could see the knowing look in Steve’s eyes. 

When you agreed to stay, to say he was over the moon was an understatement. He laid down close to the edge of the woods and had fallen asleep while he waited for you to get back.  

(Present) 

Bucky wakes up with a pounding head, his white fur coated with dirt. When he looks around, he sees he’s in a cage. He growls. Another wolf growls, Bucky turns his head to see a wild haired wolf, chipped teeth, and crazy eyes. Walker. 

The fuck is this? He growls. 

This is me claiming the forest for my pack, I see you have a beauty now, might have to check her out in person myself. Bucky could hear the smugness in Walker’s voice. 

You lay a hand on her and I’ll rip your fucking head off. He was seething. 

No need to be rude, James.  

Don’t start that shit with me, Walker, let me go. 

Hmm, no.  

You’ll regret this. 

I don’t think I will. With that Walker walks off, to where, Bucky doesn’t know or care. Walker must’ve forgotten what a feral alpha in rut is capable of, especially one trying to get back to his mate.  

With his head pounding he decides to take a nap, Walker must’ve hit him harder than he thought. A couple of hours later he’s roused from his nap by the sound of someone calling his name.  

“Bucky!” Steve whisper-yells for the hundredth time. Buck lifts his head and blinks.  

Steve? What are you doing here?  

“We’ve come to get you out,” Clint says. Bucky shakes his head.  

I may be an alpha, and all of us together may cause hell but there’s no way we’d get past them. I have a plan. The first day of my rut and last day in my wolf form is when I’ll be unstoppable and I’ll break out. No one would dare mess with me.  

Steve nods. “We’ll work on a plan to get a key, you sure this will work?” 

It'll work, I’m sure. How’s Y/N? Is she okay? 

“She’s fine, she’s with the girls.” Sam speaks up.  

Tell her to go to my cabin and wait for me, I want the whole place to smell like her. 

Steve nods and the boy's leave. The next time he sees Walker, he has a sparkle in his eye, he just hopes Walker doesn’t try anything on his babydoll, he’d kill him.  

The next couple of days are pure torture for Bucky, the memory of your scent and the early signs that his rut is starting soon drove him crazy. He couldn't wait until he could shift back and bury himself balls deep inside you, yes you may be a complete stranger, but you were his mate and he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with you. 

Once he’d fucked you, the wolf part of his brain calming down, he’d be able to properly talk about the future with you. But until then he needed to fuck you.  

Time seemed to go on forever, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, days-you get the point-until the moment finally arrived, turns out Steve didn’t need to get the key, Walker's dumbass was moving Bucky to a different spot at the perfect time. 

Bucky let his muscles relax, his pupils dilated, he let out the most bone chilling growl Walker had ever heard.  

Walker's eyes widen.  You little- 

See, any alpha is strong and powerful, but a feral alpha in rut? Wanting his mate? Is nearly unstoppable, the only person capable of controlling the feral alpha is their mate. Bucky pounced and his men followed. They effectively took down the wolves, establishing Bucky’s dominance, that he is not to be fucked with like this ever again.  

He ran as fast as he could all the way back to his cabin, he could smell Walker had been there, his blood boiled. When he entered the cabin, he was punched in the face with your scent. A shudder went through him. He followed the scent to where it was strongest and found you, in his bed, wearing his shirt.  

He growled. When he saw you wake up and see him, he shifted. Once the big, fluffy white wolf, now stood a 6’5, muscular man, nice golden tan, brown locks that framed his face perfectly, the same piercing blue eyes, and a shiny silver metal arm.  

You could see the scares that littered his left shoulder where metal met flesh, but it only served to make him even more beautiful. Last, but not least in the bit, standing proudly, at least nine inches, girth making him wider than what you could wrap your hand around, his cock red and throbbing.  

Bucky inhales deeply when he sees your pupils dilate, smelling your arousal. 

“God damn babydoll,” he mutters in a husky, lust filled voice. “You’re in my bed, wearing my shirt, smelling like a fucking dream?” He groans, cock twitching.  

He slowly crawls up your body, taking the shirt with him, leaving you in nothing but a flimsy pair of black panties that are thoroughly soaked through with your arousal.  

He brushes his lips against yours, but doesn’t kiss you yet. He drags his nose down the collum of your neck, through the valley of your breasts, pausing to nuzzle your, soft, pudgy stomach, He continues till he reaches your pussy, he takes a deep breath and moans. 

“You ready, babydoll?” 

[juniefruit]

☆ Burn the Breeze ☆

☆ cowboy! chan x gn! reader

☆ notes: as a midwestern resident I feel it's my due diligence to write this...

☆ summary: Life on the ranch was business as usual. It only takes one runaway calf to bring you to Chan, head rancher of the neighboring property. You've gotten used to the summer storms that pass through the area, but this one caught you off guard...

☆ warnings: NO SMUT!!! Safe for the kiddos!! jk. just a few horny thoughts by both Chan and y/n. petnames-doll, sweetheart, getting soaked (by the rain...), western attire, cow wrangling & horse riding

☆ word count: 4.6k

Rays of bright summer sunlight beat down upon the grounds of the countryside. The tall, dry grasses hiss in the breeze, and the ranch horses whinny in their pasture. The sun was unforgiving this summer, the heat hitting you in waves until you seek the shade from one of the sparse trees on the grounds. You huff out a sigh and wipe your brow at the thought of finally ending the day and leaping into bed. The mountains gleam with golden sunlight, creating a picture-perfect view you never got tired of. This ranch was your family’s pride and joy. Your cowboy hat casted a shadow above your tired eyes, and your boots shuffled against the dusty gravel in front of the barn. The worn-out radio strewn with cobwebs inside the barn was playing muffled country songs, barely detectable. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the chickens shuffling about in their coop. And even farther, against the backdrop of the mountains, horses whinnied beyond your property; you wondered who they belonged to.  The few moments of tranquility were almost concerning. It didn’t last long, though. The panicked shriek that you recognized as one of the mother cows brought you back to earth. With a sharp turn of your body, you sprinted to their pasture. Hopping the fence with a step and a jump, you sought after the sound of concern. The mother cow was all black except for a white spot on the top of her head and her hooves. You realized, her calf is nowhere to be seen. Spinning around and looking through the surrounding herd, you don’t see the tiny black fluff ball anywhere. You immediately assume the worst. Wolves did come through the area once in a while, but nightly patrols and electric fences seem to do the trick. 

“Don’t worry mama, I’ll find your baby.” You pat her head with a sigh before making your way to the stables, where your horse, Haven, was. She had a beige coat, with a mane of the richest caramel brown. Quickly saddling up, you head out into the acres and acres of land that neighbored the ranch, searching for the missing calf. The searching went on until you reached the fence of the neighboring ranch. You didn’t know them too well, only from the few times you had spotted a few young cowboys wrangling their herd of cattle in the distance, too far away to see any distinct features. As you walked along the property line, sudden commotion to your left caught your attention. 

“C’mere, you lil’ rascal!” A man shouted, on top of a horse with a coat of fur as dark as night. Lasso in hand, he was trying to catch something. Squinting your eyes, you recognized the baby cow. It had the same coloring as its mother. The calf was yelping in distress, clearly scared from being in an unfamiliar environment all by itself. You watched, stunned. He was exceptionally handsome, shirt hugging his broad shoulders just right, and black cowboy hat framing his features. 

“Ha! Gotcha now.” He spoke as the lasso caught onto the calf to stop its frantic running. His muscles in his back and arms rippled as he held the rope steady. The huff of your horse alerted him of your presence, his eyes landing on you near the fence. A smug smile grew on his face.

“This one yours?” He spoke loudly to cover the distance. His voice was firm but not threatening, and smooth as molasses. In your dazed state, it took you a few beats of silence before your brain processed his question. 

“Uh? Oh, yeah. Thanks for rescuing him-” You stated.

“Ah, no big deal. Happens all the time.” He brushed it off with a shake of his head, as if wrangling a spooked calf was as easy as breathing. You stuttered, no coherent words available. 

“So, you’re from the next ranch over?” He asked with a tilt to his head, a playful expression as his eyes peered into yours.  

“Y- Yeah, he must’ve seen something and ran off and couldn’t find his way back,” you gesture to the baby cow, still tugging on the lasso. The man shifted on his horse, stepping closer. He loved eye contact, apparently, because his eyes, like sculpted marble, pierced your gaze. He chuckled at the calf’s curiosity.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call my ranch. We’re always happy to help.” He was close enough to reach over and hand you a business card from his back pocket. The proximity wasn’t helping your nerves. It felt like you couldn’t breathe; he was dripping with suave confidence. “Or just call me,” he winks with a smirk. “Number’s on the back. And I’m Chris, but you can call me Chan.” 

“O- Okay. Thanks.” Sure enough, when you flipped over the card, his number was writted neatly in blue ink. “I’m y/n. I live… over there.” You pointed behind you, and immediately regretted opening your mouth. He stifled a chuckle and his eyes crinkled with his smile. 

“I would hope so, sweetheart.” His subtle accent tainted his voice, smooth and sensual. He hands you the lasso, the calf running to your side beneath your saddle. “I’ll see you around, yeah? Get this little guy home before it gets dark.” He said. With a determined nod and a goodbye, you set off with Haven and the calf. Once back, you loosened the rope and reunited the herd. Crap, you realized, you had Chan’s rope. You’d text him about it later. The thought brought heat to your face and you’re lucky that no one was around to see you blushing. The late afternoon setback had put a pause on your nightly relaxation, but now was finally the time. You were asleep before you knew it, the rising sun and the call of a rooster disrupting your peace. 

During your entire morning routine, you were drafting messages to Chan in your mind. Too desperate, too formal, too casual. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Until you finally settled on something you deemed decent-

8:41a.m:

You: Hi Chan! It’s y/n from yesterday. Thanks so much for your help! I have your lasso, when do you want it back?

8:43a.m

Chan: Hey, sweetheart. My boys are making dinner tonight, why don’t you join us? 

You froze. My boys? Does he have kids? You barely know this guy! You didn’t have any plans tonight though… And he seemed nice… Whispered the little voice in the back of your head. 

8:55a.m

You: That sounds great, see you at 6?

8:56a.m

Chan: Sure, doll. Just come through the front door.

And it’s settled. As the rising sun shone through the blinds in your living room, another day on the ranch began. The anticipation was killing you; but most of the ranch animals didn’t seem to mind your distracted state. A thought struck you like a bolt of lightning; you’d bring a housewarming gift to Chan and his… boys. But what, though? You mulled it over until you finished lunch, and through the afternoon while tending to the chickens. Every grueling minute that went by, the knot in your stomach tightened, just like the lasso you had a death-grip on in your left hand. You opted to drive the distance, lasso and a basket of eggs settled neatly in the passenger seat. Walking up the white wooden steps, your feet fidgeted in your cowboy boots, and you fixed your hat for the thousandth time already. You hit the doorbell with your elbow, shuffling to the side so you wouldn’t drop anything. When you opened the door, You couldn’t believe your eyes.

________________________

“Hey, you made it!” Chan, as smiley as ever, was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. But behind him… those were not boys. Those were men. Very loud, chaotic ones. Three of them were arguing over something on the TV, the tallest holding the remote over his head. One of them was out cold on the couch; one was eating... Is that cheesecake? And the last two were casually playing on a nintendo switch. Snapping out of it, you realized that Chan was still looking at you with a certain sparkle in his eye that you couldn’t discern. 

“I did! Uh-” You look down, lasso in one hand, basket in the other. “Here’s your lasso. And I also brought these, as a gift!” You lift up the basket of eggs to show them off. 

“Aw, ya didn’t have to, doll,” He stepped closer, “But thank you. The boys will probaby go through these in a day or two.” He loosed a faux sigh at the sheer thought of how much food they use. His voice was saccharine sweet with an australian lilt to his voice that had the power to instantly draw you in like a spider’s web. 

“You mean, them?” You pointed behind him curiously. He looked behind his shoulder instinctually. 

“Yeah, why dont I introduce you to them? Don’t get all shy now, they won’t bite.” He smirked, shuffling to the side to let you in. Your boots came off by the door, placed neatly next to the pile of men’s boots of varying colors. As you passed him, Chan’s scent was woodsy but clean; pleasant to be around. You were pleasantly surprised at the state of their home; pristine walls spotted with tasteful decor for a ranch house, dark hardwood floors smooth beneath your feet. 

“Ahem!” Chan faked a cough to get everyone’s attention. They turned their heads simultaneously, alarmed at the sudden sound. Those on the ground scrambled to their feet, one of them shoving the sleeping one awake. “Boys, I want to introduce you to y/n. She lives on the next ranch over on the left side,” Chan smiles at you with a sincere look on his face, not matching his usual rugged and cool demeanor. You smile with pursed lips, waving. Chan points as he names each of them. “Here we have Hyunjin, Minho, Changbin; then Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin and Jisung.” 

“Okay… I think I got it.” You say, repeating their names in your head with a furrow in your brow.

“Ah, don’t sweat it y/n. Why don’t we start dinner?” At Chan’s words, the boys cheer, making their way to the large dining table and attached kitchen. 

Sitting to Chan’s right, he had rolled up his sleeves to his strong forearms, showing off a beautiful tan. Veins ran alongside them, stopping at his hands that were bony yet built, secure in the way they gripped the cutlery. Safe to say, dinner was entertaining. Your presence gave Minho just the right dosage of an ego boost when you complimented his cooking, a sly smirk gracing his features. The boys behaved like it was any other dinner, managing only a few stern looks from Chan when things got too heated. They’d tease him about wanting to make a good impression on you later. And when all was said and done, Chan walked you out the door, with that dimpled smile that made you feel dizzy, until you were sat in your ranch’s truck and driving down the gravel driveway, a blush as red as the sweetest cherries on your cheeks that Chan wished he could’ve seen.

That dimpled smile, those broad shoulders. His playful jokes and mannerisms. If you could superglue yourself to him, you would. Every time he spoke, you took in every word like a sermon. You’d listen to him talk for hours if you could, and gawk at him like he was the world’s most beautiful creation for even longer. But you couldn’t voice your true feelings. It was such a deep and vulnerable part of you, you just couldn’t. Not when Chan would be so nice about his rejection, letting you down so softly that you couldn’t even argue. He’d probably even try to set you up with someone else from his ranch, which you’d have to politely decline because you only want him. Him, always him: ‘What’s Chan doing right now?’ ‘He should take a nap, he looked tired yesterday.’ ‘I wonder if he would like this dress.’ You couldn’t get enough of him.

Chan took it upon himself to start patrolling the property line between you two, “coincidentally” at the same time you were. Sometimes, you’d talk until the sun went down, and the crickets started chirping, until your horse stomped her feet and you had to pull yourself away to finish your duties. Even your horses got to know each other, huffing and sniffing like good horse friends, you assume. 

Chan also wished that you could just read his mind. You were perfect to him, crossing his mind at all times of day and night. Ever since he first laid eyes on you, he was a goner. He shunned himself for not introducing himself sooner, had he known about the cute rancher down the street. That’s the hardest part, even though it’s quite simple: he thinks about you, and he blushes until his mind overheats and he can’t focus. How could he tell you that? He’d probably stutter and mumble until he melted into a puddle of embarrassment. Oh the duality. He imagines he’d get lost in your curious eyes, so patient as you wait for him to finally spit it out. You care about him and his boys, and it makes his heart swell with something he’s never felt before. 

Tonight was no different. You were laughing at something Chan said, the dim lamp-post on the property line illuminated your features, until a boom of thunder surrounded the area. You were so lost in eachother, you must have missed the storm clouds rolling in. The horses whined, and then you felt the drizzle of rain. Chan chuckled at the scene, and a droplet slid down the slope of his nose. 

“I should get going,” You mused, but not sounding too enthusiastic about it. 

“Aw, you scared of a little rain?” Chan teased, dimples on full display. You huffed out a laugh. 

“What? No way. I just-” A crack of thunder and lightning so bright your eyes hurt. The rain got heavier. Your horse got restless. Chan frowned at the weather. “Really, I need to go check on everyone. This could be bad.” You squinted up at the sky, the color of a thunderstorm. 

“Yeah, I’ll do the same. The boys are probably already working on it.” With a determined nod, you both set off in opposite directions. Once you were back, all the ranch animals already sought cover. Going through your mental checklist, everything looked good. Just one last place to check: the cow pen. And the gate was wide open, creaking with the force of the wind. You outwardly groaned, stepping into the pen to take a headcount. The wind howled past your ears, and the rain thudded against the sodden ground. Squinting, something felt off. Counting again, something felt like it was missing. The calf. Of course. Rain was running down your face at this point, fishing a flashlight out of your satchel and turning it onto the highest setting. You flipped around and darted for the wooded area at the property border. It was your best guess, if you had anything to learn from the last time this happened. You were honestly kind of glad, because Chan would’ve stayed a stranger otherwise. As you reached the fence, you heard the shouts and orders from the boys across the way. They were working hard to make sure everything was sealed and shut before the storm got worse. Your frantic heart was bettering in your chest, eyes scanning every barn and pen you could see. Before you could react, an old and gnarly tree branch was smacking you straight in the arm. Yelping in surprise and a flash of pain, you don’t have time to deal with it right now. Horse jogging along the fence, a few moments pass and, you hear it- the baby. Tying Haven up under a tree so she stayed moderately dry, you gave her a peck on her cheek before hopping the fence and following the noise. Through the haze of the rain, there was the calf, stuck under a pile of logs that had fallen. The ground was muddy and slippery so it couldn’t stand up, hooves covered in muck. 

“Oh my god, baby!” You gasp in surprise. You really should give the calf a name. What you didn’t see, though, was Chan, who also heard the calf in distress. The rain was so loud you didn’t even hear the stomping of his boots in the mud. His eyes widened in shock. Pet names already? Not that he was complaining. When you completely disregard him and go straight to the calf, he almost facepalms. Of course, the calf. The baby. As you kneeled next to the poor thing to try and help, Chan kneeled beside you. You noticed him for the first time when his muscled arm reached for a log to toss it off the calf. 

“This guy just can’t stay out of trouble, huh?” He says, voice strained over the rain and thunder. You huff out a laugh at the situation, reaching for a log. 

“Y/n. What is this?” Chan grips your forearm, as if it wasn’t hard for you to breathe already. You glance down, and it’s not mud covering your arm, but blood. A sizable amount of it. Chan’s eyes flit to yours, eyebrows laced with concern. You lock eyes. 

“I must’ve hit it or something, I- I don’t know!” You say defensively, breath hitching. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright. Let me-” He tapers off, shoulders rolling under his soaked shirt. His deft fingers untie the bandana looped around his belt. Grabbing your arm, he ties the bandana around the wound firmly to slow the bleeding, eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Does that hurt?” He runs a hand against yours, comforting you. His touch was blazing against your skin, soothing against the cold rain. You relished in the touch, wishing you could feel his skin on yours forever. 

“No…” 

“Good. Just stay there while I get these logs off.”

You didn’t obey his orders. Your mind was running so rampant, you didn’t even register that he was trying to be protective. As if he could just let you run around with an open wound; he wouldn’t be having that. Or, so he thought.

“Hah, as if. Move over.” Against your better judgement, you get up with your good hand, kicking and shoving the waterlogged wood away and into the mud. Chan watched, mouth agape, as you did your own thing. If he didn’t like you before, he definitely loves you now. The furrow in your brow when you focused, and the little huffs of air when you kicked a log to the side. Chan couldn’t help but care for you, but that didn’t mean he thought you needed it. The fact that you, despite your wound, were helping this calf proved to Chan everything he needed to know. The sleepless nights thinking about you, or the hot summer days when he daydreamed about you, wondering if you were taking a well-deserved break. Truth is, he needed you like oxygen. And he hoped you needed him too. He would scream his confession from the tallest mountain if it meant you’d be his. He’d wrangle the meanest bull, clean the entire barn. Anything for you. If only someone had the guts. 

The calf was squirming, not helpful at all. It squirmed and whined until the last log was lifted off its hind leg, shakily standing up. Sure enough, the calf ran off. Chan practically leaped over to where you stood, now clutching your arm. His palms engulfed your shoulders, now shivering slightly from the cold, wet shirt. 

“Let’s get you inside, yeah?” You only nodded weakly in response.

Chan didn’t leave your side until he barged into one of the barns, big wooden door groaning in response. He ushered you inside, guiding you to a chair, leaning over your shivering form. His eyes, wide and worried, scanned you for damage. He couldn’t even think about how he could see the silhouette of your body through your soaked shirt, not now at least. 

“My horse…” You said, eyes closing in exhaustion. He reached up to a top shelf to grab a blanket, wrapping it around you. If you weren’t so cold, you would have jumped from the close proximity.

“Don’t worry about a thing right now doll, I got it.” He took out his phone from his back pocket, dialing Jisung. A few rings passed.

“YEAH?” Jisung yelled through the pouring rain.

“Do me a favor, run and grab y/n’s horse from the property fence. It’s…” Chan turned his head towards you, silently asking.

“By the big old oak tree and the creek.” Chan relayed the information to Jisung. 

“Oh and, if you see a runaway calf, just hold on to it for me,” He added.

“On it, Chan. I think we already found it- Minho! Be gentle with that calf!” Jisung trailed off, and Chan loosed a small smile and hung up. You couldn’t help but smile too. 

“How are you feeling, doll?” Chan leaned in close again, holding himself up with an arm against your chair.

“I’m fine, Chan. Stop worrying so much,” You complained. It really did bother you that Chan was so caring, it messed with your head. Chan looked down, at nothing in particular, then back up.

“Sorry doll, can’t do that. You’re too precious to me.” You said nothing, just stared into his rich, brown and inviting eyes. The silence made his heart race. As much as Chan likes to be in control, you were something he couldn’t tame. Not even when you reached up to wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. His breath hitched. His brain short-circuited. He felt like he was going to fall into you, but by some higher power, his arm on the chair held up. His eyes were wide with shock before he realized his face was in your neck, the smell of rain still lingering on your semi-wet hair. Then it hit him: he wasn’t hugging you back. He felt you break away just the slightest bit before he abruptly pulled you back in. As if he would ever let you go now. His arms splayed across your back, rubbing up and down in soothing motions. 

“What would I do without you, Chan?” You asked, not fully knowing how Chan was gonna answer. He nuzzled a bit closer, nose and lips brushing against your nape. 

“You don’t even have to worry our pretty head about somethin’ like that, cause I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me.” He spoke into your neck, the vibrations sending a bolt of electricity down your spine. You hummed in acknowledgement, attempting to bring him impossibly closer. 

“I’m cold.” Chan huffed out a chuckle. Could you be any cuter?

Reluctantly, you both pulled away, chan inspecting your bandana-clad arm. The blood had soaked through a bit. 

“Let me see if this barn has somethin’ for your arm,” he mumbled to himself, walking over to the rustic cabinets in the corner. The rain pitter-pattered against the roof high above you. He opened each and every one, brows furrowed in concentration. In the lowest cabinet, he kneeled down and reached all the way inside to take out a first-aid kit, covered in dust and cobwebs. He blew the dust off and, of course, it went right into his face. He coughed, and your lips hurt from trying to keep a grin from breaking free. In another cabinet, he must’ve found one of the boy’s old t-shirts, because it was faded and stretched out, but clean nonetheless. Walking back over to you, he pried open the kit and took out some cotton pads and gauze. Gingerly taking your arm in his outstretched palm, his eyes cearched yours for permission. You gave it without a second thought. He made quick work of taking the bandana off and wrapping your wound in something clean. Satisfied with his work, He leaned down and pressed his lips to the gauze. 

“A kiss makes everything better, don’t ya think?” There he goes with that teasing grin. You hum in response.

“Couldn’t agree more.” You spoke as he lifted himself up, but before he could, you grabbed him by the shoulders and redirected him to your lips. Chan hummed in delight when your hands slid up to his neck, resting right under his jawline. His lips were pillowy soft, just like you imagined. 

Personally, Chan was convinced he was dreaming. It was only when you shivered against him did he come back to reality, grasping the old shirt in his off hand. When you ran out of breath, he spoke.

“Go change into this, doll. Promise you’ll feel a lot warmer.” His gaze didn’t waver, and this time, you listened. 

“But where? I don’t see a bathroom.” You stood up, and he couldn’t resist a quick kiss before he answered with a nod to the left. 

“There in the corner, unless you wanna strip right here,” He teased, but his eyes were lidded and you swear his gaze darkened like he wasn’t joking. 

“Sure, Chan.” Your tone was laced with sarcasm before walking over. When you walked out, Chan was arranging the blanket and some old pillows on a faded couch that had seen better days, but it served its purpose. He changed into something else too, because his soggy work shirt was in a lump on the coffee table. Yours joined the pile too. Chan’s heart almost burst at the sight of you in that tee. The bright red tint to his ears blew his cover. You giggled at his speechless state, tossing yourself onto the couch alongside him. Chan outstretched an arm across your part of the couch, a classic move. It was nearly midnight now, the adrenaline had worn off, and you were tired. The throbbing pain in your arm is disregarded when you have Chan's body emanating such warmth, you couldn’t help but shuffle a little closer and lean against his firm shoulder. 

“Thank you, for all your help,” You spoke softly. At those words, Chan left a kiss at the top of your head.

“Anything you need, I’m here.” After that, if he said anything, you didn’t hear it, because your eyelids felt heavy and the soft tap-tap-tap of the rain lulled you to sleep. When you awoke, there was a strong set of arms wrapped around you, and only after a mini panic attack did you remember. Quietly turning your head, the morning sun shone graciously onto Chan’s face, void of any frowns or scowls. Just… serenity. His cowboy hat was on the ground, somewhere, but you couldn’t care when you took a strand of his hair and twirled it through your fingers. Your ears twitched when you heard the creak of the barn door opening, a head poking through and then standing in the doorway. This was Jisung, you think. 

“Oh- Sorry guys-” He whispered. But behind him, the click of a camera sounded. 

“Just got us some new blackmail,” Minho grinned, poking his head though the barn where his arm was outstretched, holding his phone. 

“Get out before Chan gets mad! For your own good!” Your voice was a hushed and hurried whisper. Speaking of the devil, his arms shuffled around your waist. 

“Who’s good?” Chan was still groggy when he lifted his head, but ended up dropping it onto your shoulder anyways. 

Minho and Jisung booked it out of the barn. 

Thanks for reading! Check my masterlist for more!

Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[atinycafe]

warning: suggestive

"come on baby, just get on the bike, i won't go fast, pretty, i promise you," you gaze at your elder brother's closest friend, biker!seonghwa, who sits confidently on his motorbike, extending a gloved hand toward you.

"where's yeosang? i called him," you put emphasis on the last word. you shudder at a sudden rush of cold wind, and your bare thighs press together to supress the shivers. you miss how seonghwa's eyes rake over your body, eyebrows furrowed in a mix of worry and need. "what a tease," he thinks as his jaw clenches tight.

"yeosang's drunk," he states plainly, running a hand through his hair. "pretty, do you really wanna argue with me right now, you're on the verge of freezing, and i doubt you'll have the chance to utter the final word."

with your arms crossed before you, your glossy bottom lip protrudes slightly and you roll your eyes. it frustrates you to no end when things don't go according to your desires. you specifically dialed yeosang's number because you wanted him here. why does it always have to be seonghwa instead?

it's not that you feel uncomfortable around the man; it's just that he's the only one who refuses to indulge your every whim. he has a knack for hiding his true intentions beneath charming words, leaving your somewhat slow thought process in a state of bewilderment.

"it's okay 'm not cold," you lie, even though the chilly autumn breeze penetrates through your delicate baby pink dress, offering little protection. your petite white fur coat could offer more warmth if you were to fasten it, but that would obscure the view of your alluring cleavage and the exquisite necklace adorning your neck.

"c'me here," he commands, and you find yourself compelled to approach him with a slow stride. he removes one of his leather gloves and places it gently at the nape of your neck, just beneath your blonde extensions. drawing you closer, you can actually sense his gaze upon your face, despite the dark glasses he wears to shield himself from the wind while riding his bike., "what did i tell you about lies, huh? pretty girls don't use their pretty mouths to lie, do they now?" as his fingers exert a bit more pressure on the sides of your neck, a blush creeps onto your cheeks, accentuating the heavy blush on them, and you nod in response.

"words, pretty, i wanna hear your voice," he finally releases his grip, his hands shifting to secure your petite white vest, zipping it all the way to the top. his thumbs and index fingers rest on the zipper, while your attention remains captivated by the slight caress of his other fingers as they glide along your body while raising the zipper. the warmth of his touch sends tingles through your skin as his fingers delicately reach your breasts.

as you part your lips to respond, the words become lodged in your throat, leaving you feeling momentarily trapped beneath his penetrating gaze. a smirk graces his lips, as if he possesses the ability to decipher every notion swirling within your mind, amplifying the sensation of vulnerability in your thoughts.

"what's wrong, can't find your voice, my dumb girl?" as you feel a stirring sensation between your thighs, it becomes evident that this time it has nothing to do with the chilly weather when you squeeze your thighs together.

overwhelmed by the situation, you instinctively push him aside to reach for the helmet resting on his lap. determined to join him on the bike, you attempt to mount it from behind. however, you quickly realize it's not as simple as you anticipated. the heels you're wearing make it increasingly difficult, and the seat of the bike sits too high above the ground for you to easily get on.

"pretty girl needs a hand?" his voice carries a smug undertone that you can't help but notice. biting the inside of your cheek, you silently yearn for yeosang's presence, wishing he were there instead.

he gracefully dismounts the bike, showcasing his expertise, and even you can't deny the allure he exudes. as he approaches you, he firmly grasps your waist, effortlessly lifting you up and placing you on the bike. in response, a high-pitched squeal escapes your lips, causing you to instinctively hold your dress to prevent it from riding up too much. seonghwa chuckles at the sight, finding amusement in your reaction. climbing up behind you, he assists in securely fastening the helmet onto your head. the large, black helmet creates a somewhat comical contrast against your feminine attire.

he guides your hands, placing them on the bike's handles, while his touch smoothes over your cold thighs, eliciting goosebumps along your skin. he chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. his hands venture a little higher, playfully squeezing your buttocks, causing you to jolt in your seat, which only widens his smile. finally, he repositions his hands to firmly grasp the handles beside yours, taking a moment to observe the disparity between your wrists. his own wrists are enveloped by his leather jacket, while yours adorn a multitude of shiny bracelets.

"be a good girl for me and hold on tightly, pretty."

masterlist

[shxnigxmi]

[𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓!𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄] [ᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable—

c/w: pining/getting together, kissing, fluff, vulgar language, violence, inserting an utterly useless side character to move the story along

a/n: not entirely proud of the second half of this, it’s eh… but imma post this anyway—

—

Why? Why did Price have to be such a meddling asshole?

This assignment would surely be the death of you, it wasn’t going to be by a bullet sent your way from an enemy’s gun but rather the Lieutenant you were paired with for the undercover operation.

The Lieutenant who you had a massive crush on.

And Price knew that, the smug bastard, the grin he sent your way when he had made the assignments telling enough of his unspoken intentions. Finally getting you together with the man you’d been pining for since joining up with the team two years ago.

He’d saved your ass in Las Almas and since then you’ve been madly in love with him.

What you didn’t know is that he had been equally —if not much more— in love with you. The stirrings of those familiar warm feelings in his chest erupting when you were first introduced. And you didn’t shy away from him or treat him like some kind of super soldier or powerful machine. When you spoke to him as a person.

He tried— really he did, to quell those feelings. Press them down until they were gone but he couldn’t, and his yearning only grew the more time you spent with him. Wether it was on assignments together, or just smoking with him at night whenever you found you couldn’t sleep. Talking the night away as you gazed at the stars above in the deep blue canvas the night sky cast.

It was oddly unintentionally romantic, and you continued to fall harder and harder for him— and he you, as time passed. Fuck he was in trouble. And it was on one of such nights when he’d felt you were close enough to finally open up to you about what he had endured. When you acknowledged his pain and reassured him he was more than his trauma he was sunk.

And he’d strangle his Captain for the position he’d put him in tonight. Posing as your bodyguard as you took the cover of a multimillionaire interested in purchasing things more on the unconventional side. Weapons and people alike— the latter of the two making you shrivel internally as a bolt of disgust and rage lanced down your back at the thought.

These people were easily the absolute scum of the Earth, and you’d relish in putting a bullet in the heads of some of the most prolific political figure heads here. All of them unbothered and seemingly thoroughly elated at the thought of purchasing other human beings.

And you could guffaw at their ignorance, detached and out of touch to the world outside of their circles. Circles of people with money and power. And ignorant to their killer —you— as you shook hands and spoke terms of agreements on joining some of their underground drug and trafficking rings and cartels.

Fucking morons.

“Visual on the target.”

You acknowledged Gaz in your earpiece and made sure you were subtle as you visually swept the gala hall. And sure enough, there she was.

Selena Hardy.

An American politician that sat comfortably as the head of the senate board. And a serial arsonist with connections to criminal organizations and terrorists collectives all over the globe.

She was the one you and Ghost were here for. A capture mission that would go down flawlessly so long as neither of you were compromised and the intel Laswell provided regarding the woman was air-tight.

Selena was entering the building in a sleek black dress, a slit up her thigh and a white fur coat over her shoulders. She appeared unapproachable and looked deadly. An image she no doubt put together with the intention to appear powerful and important.

It was your job, posing as a rich business investor, to proposition her with a deal to make trade in armory and weapons. And you had all the firepower about her personal life, of which involved a clueless husband and two daughters, to wield against her.

You and Ghost agreed to let her intake a bit of alcohol first, hoping the buzz of the liquor would be enough to loosen her lips enough to get her to slip. Even if a small one you’d be able to use to your advantage.

Your patience was well-rewarded as you approached her and were able to strike up a conversation she entertained because of the liquid poison traveling through her blood.

When you off-handedly mentioned that you were seeking a new and darker business opportunity she took the bait and opened the conversation to other topics. But, she wouldn’t divulge anything further regarding her personal connections and such. So, you encouraged her to talk by playing your trump card. Threatening her family, with precise locations of their exact whereabouts at that exact moment and that there was a bullet awaiting them if she resisted any further.

Reluctantly and peeved beyond measure she complied, and you told her to follow you upstairs. Where you both could “continue your conversation”. Not willing to risk the lives of her family she followed easily, and ordered her guard post themselves at the bottom of the stairs.

When she stepped into the office you were quick to grab her around her shoulders. Despite her furious thrashing you were able to jab her in the neck with a sedative, ensuring the needle caught a vein and pushing the plunger down to drain the liquid directly into her blood. The location of the prick being so close to her brain made the chemical work far quicker than normal and she was out like a light.

But the sound of your struggle had attracted the attention of her guards, and they were quickly climbing the stairs. You looked to Ghost from your position at the door, he’d just finished tightening the zip ties around her wrists when you had turned to him.

“Incoming. And fast.”

“Bloody hell.” He grunted, his roughened voice laced with annoyance that was tainted with a firmer tone. He was irritated your covers have possibly just been blown but he was ready for anything that barged through that door. He stood before he bent down to grab the target by under her armpits and drag her to hide her behind the desk in the office. Then, he was at your side just as the voices reached the other side of the door.

You panicked when the doorknob twisted and turned to Ghost, pulling the black mask covering the lower half of his face down just as the door swung open.

“What are you—”

Ghost’s question was abruptly cut short when you connected your lips to his.

Honestly, you couldn’t help the way your tongue swiped across the seam of his lips as you relished in the warm pleasure that pooled in your chest and stomach at finally being able to kiss him. Finally feeling what it was like to have his lips on your own.

And fuck it was amazing.

Simon accepted your kiss, and felt the same roar of fire in his blood when he opened his mouth and your tongue met his. He eagerly followed your lead as you made out, swinging your arms up to wrap around his neck.

You wanted this kiss to last forever, locked in each other’s embrace as you finally met his lips after two long years of wishing for nothing more. But you remembered your mission. And you pulled your mouth off of his in feigned shock at being caught as the man in front awkwardly cleared his throat.

Simon was quick to pull his mask back up to hide the aroused flush of his cheeks as he straightened behind you when you turned to face the men. Tall and intimidating in all his beastly glory as he flicked the switch instantly back to cold and dark bodyguard.

“Oh I’m sorry! We were just looking for a little privacy,” you explained as you willed an embarrassed red hue to your cheeks. Once again expertly feigning an emotion you were not feeling in the slightest.

“Where’s our boss?!” The man roared and you didn’t waste a single second before you were lunging forward and grabbing the barrel of his pistol to redirect where the firearm was pointing. You swung a hard lunch directly to his temple with your opposite hand and he dropped. You held the gun tightly, wrenching it out of his hand as he fell to the ground unconscious.

The others jumped in immediately and Simon was there to defend you, fighting together like a well-oiled machined it wasn’t hard to dispatch the rest of them.

Once you dropped the last guard Simon paced over to you and pushed you roughly against the wall before he pulled his mask down to attach his lips to your own once again. You moaned into his mouth as he engaged the tongue play this time, encouraging you to make out with him by furiously licking into your mouth.

“Si,” you whined as he growled into the kiss. Prolonging it for just a minute longer before he was pulling away with a sharp bite to your bottom lip.

And you looked into his rich brown eyes as he leaned his head down to press his forehead to your own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I met you.”

Struck dumb and utterly shocked by his confession you gaped at him, wanting to ask him when exactly it was he fell for you. Wanting to tell him that you’d been in love with him for the longest time— but you didn’t want to reveal that quite yet. Not without knowing why it took him so long to make a move. “Then why didn’t you?” You asked instead.

He swallowed and you watched as he shut his eyes to take a deep inhale, exhaling the breath raggedly as he opened his eyes to gain eye contact with you once again.

“I was afraid, afraid you’d reject me. And I would never have the chance to love you like I so desperately want to.” He spoke in a quote voice, explaining to you why he had waited so long in an odd moment of vulnerability. Odd coming from him. So you decided to meet his courageous display of openness and honesty.

“If it’s any consolation, I fell in love with you in Las Almas.”

He chuckled deeply, and you would’ve loved to hear it always and forever from this moment forward as it tumbled warmly in his chest. Then, he was leaning down once again and you met his lips in a delicate and tender kiss. Drastically different from the wolf display of yearning moments ago.

“About time you damn muppets.”

“Aye, get it L.T!”

“Finally bagged the babe, eh Ghost?”

Right. The dumb, childish assholes that made up the rest of your team.

Simon pulled away from you and dropped his head to your chest with an irritated growl, and you laughed as you cradled him, carding your fingers through his hair.

Okay, maybe Price meddling wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—

a/n: gaz is up next! <3

[fafnir19]

Horse Love

"Ugh, I can't believe my parents are making me work on this remote horse stable," I grumbled to myself as I dragged my suitcase down the dirt road. "They claim I'm going to just 'gammel around' all summer if they don't find me something to do. And of all things, they want me to endure endless mockery from my sister and her obsession with horses. So here I am, stuck on a horse farm until my college life begins."

As soon as I arrived at the stable, I spotted a man approaching me with his nose held high, strutting with an air of undeserved confidence. This must be Damon. I couldn't stand him already. "Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence," Damon sneered, extending his hand for a handshake. "Isn't it ironic that your name, Faris, means 'rider,' and yet you can't stand horses?" I reluctantly shook Damon's hand, trying my best to suppress my annoyance. "Yeah, hilarious coincidence there. So, what delightful tasks do you have planned for me on my first day of horse-ridden misery?" Damon smirked and said, "Oh, don't you worry. I'll convert you into the biggest horse lover by the time you head off to college. But first, let's see if you can get into the equine mindset." According to him, I just needed to see things from a horse's perspective. He led me into a horse stall and handed me a halter. I stared at the halter in disbelief. "Wait, let me get this straight. You want me to put this on? Are you kidding me?" As I stood in the horse stall, reluctantly donning the horse halter, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. This was all Damon's idea to make me love horses? I thought it was utterly ridiculous, but I didn't want to cause a scene on my very first day. So, with a sigh, I begrudgingly fastened the halter around my head. To my shock, as soon as the halter was secured, a sensation rippled through my body. I watched in horror as my limbs elongated, my skin sprouted a thick coat of fur, and a pair of powerful hooves replaced my hands and feet. I had transformed into a muscular, fiery stallion. Panic surged through me as I whinnied in protest. Damon, however, seemed to think it was all quite amusing. Damon chuckled wickedly. "Congratulations, Prince. From now on, that's what you'll be called," he declared, relishing in my discomfort. "Well, well, Prince," he jeered, reveling in the irony, "it seems you're finally beginning to understand the beauty of horses, whether you like it or not." I tried to object, to scream at him that I didn't want any part in this absurd transformation, but all that escaped my mouth were desperate, desperate neighs. I kicked at the ground in frustration, but the only response I received from Damon was a smug smile.

Over the next few days, Damon relentlessly attempted to tame me and mold me into a docile horse. But I fought him every step of the way. I refused to be broken, refused to accept this new equine form as my own. One thing that particularly bothered me was the name Damon had given me - Prince. Every time he called me by that name, it felt like a chunk of my humanity was being chipped away. Prince was such a clichéd and predictable name for a horse. I longed to reclaim my own identity, to be addressed as Faris once again. I bucked, reared, and snorted in defiance, making it clear that I would not be easily conquered. Damon became increasingly frustrated with my resistance. He tried every technique in the book, from whispers of soothing words to brusque tugs on the reins, but I remained steadfast. I refused to be controlled, to be stripped of my humanity. I refused to be treated like a horse and resisted his efforts. One fateful day, Damon led a mare in heat to my stall. As the mare in heat entered the stall, a surge of instinctual desires coursed through my equine body. My senses heightened, and my muscles tensed with anticipation. The scent of her female pheromones filled the air, intoxicating my senses as I felt an undeniable attraction towards her. My heart pounded in my equine chest as I neared the mare, feeling an electric energy between us. The sight of her sleek coat, glossy and inviting, played with my primal urges. My nostrils flared as I took in her scent, my own blood rushing hotly through my veins. Every fiber of my being screamed to mate, to fulfill the primal desire woven into the deepest depths of my horse DNA. I could feel the tension building within me, a burning need that consumed my thoughts and compelled my every action. Damon, amused by the turmoil within me, watched with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction. He knew that this encounter would either break my spirit or ignite a newfound passion for horses within me. As I neared the mare, my vibrant stallion coat brushed against her, sending shivers down my equine spine. I could almost feel the crackling of electricity between us, a magnetic pull that defied explanation. Every instinct pushed me closer, urging me to fulfill this undeniable urge. Yet, Damon's intervention prevented our union. Instead of allowing me to mate with the mare, he redirected me towards a breeding phantom horse, a apparation crafted to collect my equine cum. Confusion mixed with frustration rippled through me, but an inexplicable obedience urged me to mount the phantom. As I mounted the phantom, my body melded seamlessly with this apparation. After the physical release I sought materialized, a peculiar sense of release washed over me, leaving me simultaneously exhausted and content. In that moment, I had, in an way, fulfilled my primal urge. Damon's laughter filled the air as he revelled in his triumphant transformation of my perspective. His eyes shimmered with an unsettling mixture of mischief and accomplishment as he showed me a vial with my horse cum and declared that my transformation was complete, that I had indeed fallen in love with horses, albeit in the most primal manner. After "breeding" the phantom, I felt exhausted and relaxed, allowing Damon to train me on the lunge without resistance. Every time I acted up, Damon repeated the process with the mare. After a few more encounters, I became permanently tame and obedient, following Damon's every command. Damon began riding me and training me as a show jumper.

We started with simple jumps, gradually increasing the height and difficulty. I stumbled and faltered, hardheaded as I was, but with each fall, I grew more resilient—more willing to embrace my potential. Damon pushed me to my limits, urging me to jump higher, always believing in my abilities. He showed me the art of timing, the importance of rhythm, and the satisfaction of a perfectly executed leap. And slowly, oh so slowly, I began to improve. Days turned into weeks. Progress came in small victories, but they added up to a profound transformation. Under his guidance, I transformed into an exceptional horse, renowned in the equestrian world. When the summer came to an end, Damon changed me back into my human form. However, thanks to my horse training, I was now muscular and fit. I remained obedient to Damon, just like when I was a horse. I stood there, butt naked, desperately covering myself up while Damon grabbed a set of preppy equestrian clothes. "Uh, I really don't want to wear this," I protested weakly. Damon stared at me with a commanding gaze. "Put it on," he growled softly. And so I did. I transformed from a casual slacker into a preppy equestrian.

Surprisingly I couldn't help but love the feeling of donning the tailored riding attire that Damon had given me. The crisp jacket, pristine boots, and elegant riding breeches made me feel like I belonged in the saddle. Though initially hesitant, the moment I stepped into the role of a proper equestrian, something just clicked. The riding hat perched upon my head felt like a crown, and the polished boots hugged my feet with a sense of purpose. I embraced the well-groomed appearance and embraced the lifestyle of a preppy rider wholeheartedly. Each day, as I rode with Damon, my love for being a preppy equestrian grew stronger. The rhythm of hoofbeats resonated within me, syncing perfectly with my own heartbeat. The harmonious partnership I formed with my majestic equine companions filled me with admiration and awe for these incredible animals. Riding became more than just a hobby; it became a passion that consumed me. The thrill of jumping over intricate obstacles, the elegance of dressage moves, and the exhilaration of galloping across open fields all captivated me in a way I had never imagined. And so, as the months passed, Damon's guidance transformed me not only externally but internally as well. I relished in the refined equestrian lifestyle, immersing myself in the traditions, etiquette, and camaraderie of the equestrian community. From the precise grooming routines to the timeless elegance of dressage exhibitions, I found a new sense of purpose and fulfillment in being a preppy equestrian. Damon took it upon himself to train me as a riding instructor and a heartthrob. Though I tried to resist him now and then, Damon always emerged victorious. In the end, I couldn't help but love what Damon had made of me. Faris, now the epitome of every rider's dream, worked as a riding instructor alongside his studies. With his charm and good looks, he attracted girls eager to learn from him. "So, Faris," Damon asked, with a sly grin. "How does it feel to have once made fun of girls who love horses and now turn girls into horse enthusiasts yourself?" "Well, Damon," I replied with a smirk, "I suppose it's karma coming full circle. Who knew my summer at the stud farm would transform me in more ways than one?" With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, Damon patted my back. "Well, Faris, you've turned into quite the stud, both as a rider and with the ladies. Who would've thought?" I laughed, embracing the absurdity of it all. "Yeah, Damon, life is full of surprises. And hey, if it means sharing the joy of horses with others, who am I to complain?"

Together, we walked toward the stables, ready to embark on this unexpected adventure as trainer and protege, all thanks to an unforgettable summer on a remote horse stable.