#night blights au

[mikey12games]

Night Blights AU Protagonists

(They're here, after all this time they're finally here!!!! The protags of my Night Blights AU are all here!)

[ispridestillasin]

Darius: Your taste in partners is atrocious.

Alador, absentmindedly: If my taste is so bad then what does that say about you?

Darius, sputtering: WHY I-

Emira & Edric as they high five Alador: OOOOH BURN!

[fnaflover2024]

It been a while,but here its people.

Chapter 11!!!

[haystarlight]

Ok but, has anyone wondered about an AU where Amity successfully asked Luz out in the Grom episode back in Season 1??

[fandom-anthropology]

List of discussion topics I’m planning! I technically already did a post on The Owl House but there’s a lot of other stuff to discuss about that show!

[yardsards]

i had a dream about a strange and kinda angsty willumity au. kinda ooc, but that's to be expected from a literal dream. i found it very compelling nonetheless, so i wrote it down. (also put the events in order and omitted all the confusing Dream Nonsense and unrelated subplots, so that this would read like an interesting and coherent narrative, lol)

i think it took place around early to mid-s2, but like, none of the belos plot was happening

and it was ambiguous as to whether amity and luz had gotten together yet but i'm gonna say they weren't for the sake of narrative coherency. amity might've even still had her green hair?

luz had gone missing unexpectedly.

she was missing for months and there were no leads (they -especially eda and king- had searched pretty much everywhere and exhausted every possibility before giving up) and everybody had kinda started mourning

but amity was still super in the denial phase of grief and was still looking

and willow decided to help amity keep looking.

a bit because she saw that nobody's "it's time to move on" type of advice was helping amity, so maybe amity just needed someone with her while she worked through the denial phase. but a bit because she herself wasn't quite ready to give up the search either.

and willow commiserated with amity. told her that she kinda had a crush on luz too, though unlike amity, willow figured she'd never actually end up dating luz and had accepted that. she had just hoped luz and amity would get to be happy together

and amity was like "no, willow, honestly you deserve her more than i ever did"

and willow was like "nah, i'm not being hard on myself here. i just mean you two had pretty serious feelings about each other, and my crush on her was just a casual thing. i was perfectly happy to be platonic friends with her. i even kinda had a crush on someone else, too -though i knew those feelings won't go anywhere either" (and there were like, strong implications that willow was greyromantic?)

and amity was like "i don't know who that second person is but they'd be an idiot to turn down someone as beautiful and kind and strong and perfect as you"

and willow was like "hey, ams, you just called yourself an idiot"

and it took amity a minute to process before she realized. and there was an awkward silence before amity spoke up.

she said that when they were kids, she had a tiny crush on willow. it was never serious, of course, because things like that when you're that young never really are, but it was there. but she had to stomp out those feelings when she was forced to stop being willow's friend. and that lately she'd just been focused on her crush on luz (her first serious crush) and trying to just get her and willow's *friendship* back together. but, she said, in another world where things were just a little bit different, she knew she'd be in love with willow.

and they stayed there in near silence the rest of the night, searching for clues about where luz went, talking only when necessary

but at the end of the night willow pulled amity aside and said something like. "listen, i know it would probably be unhealthy long-term, but it might make us both feel better for now if we dated each other to try to fill that void. and then we can just break up if -no, *when*- we find luz, or if we're ready to move on or decide it's not helping us anymore,."

and amity actually agreed.

and then there was a series of scenes of their relationship and their search for luz and. their relationship was unexpectedly sweet for something whose original basis was "let's use each other to numb the pain while we search fruitlessly for our possibly dead mutual friend/crush"

it was a lot of comforting each other. holding each other while they cried. amity getting willow to open up when she tried to hide her pain and providing support. willow taking care of amity/convincing amity to take care of herself when she got too wrapped up in the search to tend to her basic needs

but they also made each other happy. there was handholding and soft smiles and sometimes even laughter.

at one point, willow gave amity the nickname "gooey" because she was frequently covered in abomination goo (taking after her father there, lol) because she didn't have it in her to take care of herself and keep clean (willow often ended up cleaning off amity's face and hands and brushing her hair)

and amity started using that nickname back at willow because "you're warm and soft and sweet like the gooey center of a fresh baked cookie"

and they built this little secret hideout to do their research in. the vibes were a weird mix of amity's secret library room, the fort amity and willow built on the beach as kids, phillip's cave, the night market, and that place where luz first met the catts. there might've been a little A+W flag on the outside like on their childhood fort

but as sweet as it all was, luz's absence was a constant tangible presence in their relationship. i mean, it was the original reason they got together. almost all their time was spent looking for luz, crying over luz, worrying about luz. they'd ask themselves "what would luz do?" or look over for a third opinion in their conversation to see that no one was there. a third chair sat empty at all times in their hideout. they spoke about how luz getting amity on the right track was what allowed any of their relationship to happen.

things seemed more and more hopeless the longer they looked, the more dead ends they ran into, and the less evidence they could find. but neither of them wanted to admit it. neither of them were ready to let go of luz. and they both knew the other wasn't ready either, and didn't wanna be the one to dash their partner's hopes by giving up.

and neither of them wanted to be the one to admit it, but they were both scared that looking for luz was the only thing keeping their relationship together, that the other would leave once they lost that shared goal. or that their relationship was still just a way to cope, and once they fully got over luz, they'd have to break up.

but of course that wasn't true. they'd both genuinely grown to love one another, to want to keep the relationship alive no matter what.

one night they were sitting in their hideout. looking closely through things they found in the woods where luz was last seen, through her belongings, through her journals. they were leaning close against each other, faces lit by a magic fire in the center of the room. this was not at all uncommon

but this time, willow spoke up. "i like what we've got going on here. it's nice, being here with you."

amity didn't quite get it. "yeah, i like our hideout too. i love how you made sure it wasn't too bright or too loud. it'll be nice for when we find luz, with how easily she gets overloaded by lights and sounds sometimes. well, how easily i get overloaded too. and i love how you always keep it warm just for me; you remembered how easily i get cold." she curled in closer to her girlfriend's warm arms and stretched her legs out towards the fire

"i like this place too, but that's not really what i meant," said willow. "i mean i'm glad i'm here with *you*. i love-" she wasn't ready to say i love you yet "-i love our relationship."

"oh." amity blushed. "i... i love us too. i didn't know if you felt the same way. i love having you here with me, having a girlfriend that remembers how easily i get overwhelmed and cold and makes sure to keep me comfortable and warm."

willow held amity close. "i know we agreed that we'd break up once we found luz. and then i figure the two of you would continue whatever it was that you had going on. but i don't want to break up if we find her anymore."

"willow, i don't want that either. i still have feelings for luz, but you're not a replacement for her. what we have here is real and i'm not going to throw it away. i won't date her unless it's all three of us. if that's okay with you."

"i'd like that."

amity continued looking at the evidence, jotting down notes, while willow stood up to tend to the fire. suddenly, amity put the last pieces together and jumped up.

the items they found scattered in the woods matched perfectly with luz's notes about what materials she'd need to build a portal. combined with the lack of remains and no sign of struggle, amity was certain; luz wasn't killed or kidnapped, she accidentally fell through a half-finshed portal. there was a chance she was still alive, somewhere. luz might be alive. amity and willow might actually get their friend and possibly-future-girlfriend back

[valorianknights]

Random thought: Hunchback of Notre Dame ( Broadway musical version) au? Or Atlantis: The Last Empire au?

My Brain: Hunchback go brrr...

Don't Worry, I'm changing things cause...

✨ fanfiction ✨

Huntlow, Lumity and Wittecouple aus for both tho.

Hunchback au Cast:

Frollo : Philip Wittebane

Jehan : Caleb Wittebane

Florika: Evelyn Clawthorne

Archdeacon: Dell Clawthorne

Quasimodo: Hunter

Esmeralda : Willow Park

Phoebus: Amity Blight

Clopin: Luz Noceda

So... In this I feel like the Wittebane brothers lore works really well for Frollo and Jehan's backstory. Instead of being deformed, the baby was Half a witch, so the eyes and ears were from Evelyn and in Philip's eyes this was evil, but then realized that this was his test from God and decided to raise the boy as his own.

To succeed in saving his nephew where he failed his brother. He decided to name the child after his profession: a witch HUNTER.

He kept Hunter isolated from the rest of the isles to ensure control and loyalty from the child.

I'm making Phoebus and Clopin happen because Lumity, I want Huntlow as well... But... I don't want Frollo to have a creepy infatuation with Esmeralda for obvious reasons, so instead he is obsessed with killing Willow because she is the embodiment of the very person he hates most:

Evelyn. The witch who bewitched his brother and led him a stray. Stole Caleb from his own family.

Now it's happening again with his nephew and he won't let it happen again.

So, he's more obsessed with the past and what he believes is right and wrong. Kind of like in the show.

[skullywullypully]

So in another alternative universe, instead of Eda and Luz, it's Lilith and Amity or Hunter. And their house protector.....Steve? House Protector Steve???

[bixels]

Sunset (& Shimmer) versus the Siren Sisters.

Finally got to designing the Dazzlings. First time doing monsters too, it was fun. I'll post a synopsis of Sunset's story for the AU below the cut.

Once upon a time, there lived a human in Canterlot simply named "Sunset." She was the prized pupil of the Sun Witch Celestia (aside from Celestia's adoptive daughter, Cadance) –– her "little solar flare." But Sunset desired more than status; she wanted power –– she wanted to be a Witch. For when she looked in the mirror, she no longer saw a lowly human, but the Fire Witch she was meant to be.

The more Celestia denied her desires, the stronger her animosity grew. One night, Sunset performed a dark, forbidden ritual to commune with the spirit world and grant her a Witch's body. But the ritual backfired when Celestia stormed in. In the ensuing chaos, a piece of Celestia was transferred into Sunset and three wicked spirits were released into the physical world: the Siren Sisters –– Aria, Sonata, and the most powerful, Adagio.

Despite her best efforts to contain the sirens, Celestia could not stop them from escaping to Earth where she could not reach. Distraught, betrayed, and heartbroken, Celestia banished an inconsolable Sunset to Earth. Only once she vanquishes the three spirit blights she brought upon this world will she be allowed to return home.

Today, Sunset wanders the American West with her trusty steed Shimmer in search of the final and eldest sister. She's known by many names to those who cross her path: the Dragon Killer, la Vaquera del Fuego, the Flame of the West. And through her years of traveling alone, her hatred burns hotter and hotter –– hatred of Celestia, hatred of the sirens, and hatred of herself.

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice. 

[mikey12games]

Sinking Feeling

Teddy - An older Blight who suffered during Arthur's father's reign His wife had starved and his child was slain. He is covered in self harm scars and suffers from severe depression.

His clothes are ripped from him clawing at himself. He spends most of his time in his wardrobe, though he tries to keep positive around others

(This Night Blights AU is a dark, gothic tale. The story and characters involve things that are not suitable for all ages and features sensitive content)

Speedpaint Link:

[ispridestillasin]

so all my brain can do rn is think of a single dad au where alador divorces odalia early and gets custody of the blight kids, and all i have in my brain are separate scenes in the timeline of this au and suddenly its doing a darius/alador and alador/adrian love triangle in there and its so funny bc u know alador would be into the toxicity that is adrian graye

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

warning: non/con, fem!reader, possessive/obsessive behavior, mentions of blood/violence, religious/fanatical behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, minor drug use, implied kidnapping, implied forced relationship, semi-public sex, unbalanced power dynamic, runeterra au

notes: sorry besties, he's a 10 but he's bat shit insane. (so an 11) also any mention of 'her' is the moon goddess, not alune. (we're leaving that sweet summer child out of this.) and for those who aren't aware, phel can speak when not under the influence of noctum, but unable to communicate with alune, which is uh...great in this case. (also not me wanting to write a second part like how why help?)

You never thought you’d stare into the pale visage of the Lunari man the village whispered about.

The one with a vacant face but deadly occupation. Your naïve belief in your own safe keeping was nothing more than an illusion. The sun always faded below the misted cliffs, only for the moon to take its place above the mountain’s highest peak. An endless cycle of hierarchical dominance that rinsed itself in blood and repeated in constant turmoil. Tonight would be no different.

“Don’t come any closer.”

A failed attempt to embolden your voice beyond a meek plea. You stiffened at the thunderous closing of the temple door. A clambering echo vibrated through the marble floor and pillars, past the rows of worship, up to where you stood at the crest of the ceremonial altar. The remaining resonance rattled and sang up your spine, shaking the candle light pinched between your fingertips. 

The figure sauntered forward, stepping into the drapes of moonshine filtering from the glass atrium above. Before you stood a deadly beauty; a handsome face rapt with enticing secrets. With a painted crescent that mocked your own solar marking of gold. His lips were a perfect horizontal line, and it was difficult to imagine the ability they possessed beyond lethal silence. His hallowed expression screamed danger—but there was no running away—not when the black abyss of his eyes invited you to stay.

 Not as a guest, but as his permanent resident.

“I’m warning you. Take one more step, and I’ll scream. The guards will come and they won’t hesitate to kill you—”

Your voice went taut inside your throat. Your breath sewn shut against your lungs. The weapon he carried listless at his side drenched itself in various hues of red. Fresh enough to steam in wisps around the sharpest point of the blade.

He stalked forward. The clack of his predetermined steps quickening the pace of your heart. When he stood at arms length, you felt the coldest touch of night. The veins layered beneath your skin pounded, flooding every inch of you with mortal dread. It was sickening to think the flush of your flesh would only make the spill of it all the better. The ‘Weapon of The Faithful’—titled by his own blasphemous people—spoke true. His name…you wished you could cleanse it from existence.

“Aphelios.” You damned the name like a plague upon all of Mount Targon. “Murderer. Blight. Heretic!” 

You jabbed and swung your candlelight in a pitiful attempt to create distance. His free hand quipped against it, sending it clambering to the ground, banishing the flame to the surrounding night. Creating a hazier veil of darkness where there was only one true light—his moon.

Out of sheer disdain, you attempted to slap his face in recoil. His unarmed hand caught you by the wrist, remaining still as you struggled to free yourself from his trained grasp. With force, he pried your hand open, palm exposed. He brought the skin of it to his stiff lips. Unmoving, he lingered there. His lashes fluttered closed; taking a moment of peace, a moment of prayer. 

A moment for sanctum. 

His eyes then winged opened, boring into you, through you. Body, bone and soul. And all you could do was tremble within them. Sinking without escape into those black depths of…nothing. 

In one swift motion, he brought the blade upwards, slicing through the thin linen of your garments. In a precise vertical line, your gown split into two equal halves. The insignificant barrier between you and him slipped to the ground, splaying like rags at your feet. Your head pounded for you to scream, but your own voice felt lost to you. Knowing it was all meaningless. 

No one would hear you. 

No one would save you.

Weakened by the surmounting despair of it all, if he hadn’t already had a hold on you, your legs would have given to the earth.

“No—“ you choked out, eyes brimming with tears. It must’ve looked pathetic; the way you placed your only free arm across your exposed breasts. As if any decorum of modesty would spare you. “Please—just kill me. Do nothing else but that. I beg of you.”

Your final sob for mercy reached ears that may as well have been carved of stone. He stalked closer, forcing your lower back to meet the mantled altar behind you. He’d sheathed his weapon, and took both of your hands within one tight grasp, in case you had half a mind to oppose him. You dipped your chin, heaving through a prayer with mournful hics and sniffled utterances. His advancing weight forced your trembling legs to part, and slotting himself between, created a space where your faith could never exist. 

You didn’t want to look at him, or rather, you couldn’t. Tears scorched your vision and seared down the round of your cheeks. You flinched when he took your chin, raising your blurry gaze to meet his. In those darkest of pools, something gave. An insignificant speck of light gleaming into a faint existence. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Instead, you traced the words from the bow of his mouth.

‘Forgive me.’

Your heart clenched. Diluted blood spiked with fear drowned your consciousness. It left no room for thoughts to linger; whether or not you imagined even an ounce of sympathy reflected in those sedated eyes. Whether or not you imagined he said anything at all. 

The entire world scattered away when he brought your face closer, and kissed away the tears staining the corners of your eyes. You fought to pull away, but he held firm, both your chin and hands locked in the cage of his fingers. From your cheeks, he skimmed his ghostly lips to your mouth. He muffled your protestive moans by filling up your mouth with all of his tongue. 

He gave you the salt taste of your own tears. That, and the taste of something else. A saccharine flavor with notes of floral and bitter earth. 

A reaction flourished; a slight tingle of your lips at first. It made his tongue feel hotter against yours, as parts of your upper mouth went numb. A stream of lukewarm paralysis seeped past your soft palate, filling every nook and cranny of your mindscape. Yet, the secondary symptoms didn’t stop there. An opposite wave traversed down your throat to your stomach, spilling fire throughout every layer of nerves. You clenched your lashes tight, shuddering a gasp into his open mouth.

When the pain settled into a dull simmer, you wondered briefly, had he felt it too? Had he consumed such a substance by choice? If that was a taste, what pain did he endure if he drank it like an offering of wine?

You didn’t want to imagine the terrible effects it might’ve had on his person. Not if it gave you even a single drop of sympathy. It was revolting enough his saliva was poisoning your pure sense of self. The fog of it sullying your inhibitions, stripping away your layers of moral preservation. To the absolute vitriolic parts of yourself, it made you consider…

What would it be like to be touched?

It was too sick and cruel of a thing to do to you. Since birth, you’d devoted your body and soul to your divine Goddess; The Golden Sister. You wanted to be disgusted by allowing the gift of yourself to become tainted by some awful man. No—he was worse than that. Or any word you could craft and cut the corners of your mouth with. He was, by biblical history, a Lunari man born from the cataclysmic eclipse of two moons. A day that marked the day of reckoning of the Solari faith and your people.

Your clouded senses and busied mouth made you unaware that his hand left your face to trail the mounds and curves of your body. A light touch drifting to your inner thighs. You jolted when a finger graced the sensitive hood of your exposed clit. Your thighs squirmed at his side as you attempted to jerk your knees. It did nothing and stirred nothing from him. Except bolster his conviction, tempting a finger lower, teasing your folds already glistening.

Although light-headed, you ripped your mouth away and nipped at his lip. It sprang forth droplets of blood, enough to taste his iron on your tongue. A trivial satisfaction. 

“May you burn at dawn,” you condemned and spat at his lips.

Unflinching, he withdrew his hand and brushed over the blood mark you left. Sweeping it across his bottom lip, along with your saliva, he rolled the consistency between his fingers in private contemplation. Before he looked you dead in the eyes and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Sucking and licking till his fingers dripped. Watching sent a lightning strike coiling down your spine.

He loomed his weight forward until your back met the altar mantle. With your palms pinned above your head, and legs coaxed wider. His coated hand repositioned down to your entrance, and you writhed with any strength your body could lend. His hold wrapped around your wrists squeezed, gentle in its reprimand. He leaned down to brush his face at the side of your cheek.

“Please…for your own sake.” 

Your eyes widened at his frayed whispers stringing together. Breathing life into what seemed like an empty shell of a person. The frigid space between his mouth and your ear kindling with the slightest bit of warmth. It was what you feared the most. Forced to accept he was every bit human, with a horrid courtesy to use polite words and a pleasant, sickening tone. More insult to your injury. You wished he hadn’t spoken at all. Letting you believe in your mind that he was more aberration or phantom. Or anything else that carried not a single hint of a beating heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you…not anyone, really.” Again, comforting yet noxious. And it made whatever was inside you throb so terribly. As if he could sense it, he reached for it. His salivated finger split through your folds, sliding into the heat of your cunt. It elicited a drawn out whimper as you felt the sensual brush of it against a bed of tingling nerves. Gradually revealing a hidden desire you hadn’t wanted to gratify him with.

“But you…and your people…need to accept what can’t be denied any longer.” He punctuated his words with each thrust of his finger as it curved into that crescent shape you despised so much. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way it made your most feminine parts unravel at the seams. ”No matter how high your sun rises, my heavenly moon will always eclipse it. And fill the sun with Her beauty for all to see.“

A hitched whine fluttered past your lips as he easily slipped a second finger. While the heel of his palm pressed in circles, spreading your arousal and stimulating your plumping clit. Your cunt unashamedly sucked on his long fingers, encouraging him to mold and form you into what he needed you to be—a conduit for the undying affections of his faith.

“You might not see it, but the divine path has been shown to me. The one that’s led me to you. You can feel it at least, can’t you?” He flexed his digits and plunged a third finger. Deeper than the last, fuller than before. Your hips rolled forward on their own accord, craving every bit of attention from his touch.

With deliverance, you answered the question with a wail and arch of your back. Your whole body washed its nerves in a blinding heat. His fingers curled and flexed at your hungry walls clenching around him. It pushed a gush of sticky fluid from your twitching hole into his circling palm. Coming down from the spasms, you sobbed at the humiliating response of your body. 

“So you do feel it.” There was a hidden sentiment of relief in his otherwise placid delivery. As if he’d purged the last blot of doubt that restrained him. You swallowed a mouthful of whines as his probing fingers continued undulating inside you. “Your body…it’s begging to devour me in all its warmth. And mine, yearning to take all your bright stars and bathe you by moon glow alone. Wanting us—and only us—to become one.” 

Without warning, he emptied you of his fingers, a filthy squelch following with it. You sucked in a gasp at the crippling cold he left you with. But he wouldn’t abandon you for long. Shifting in the dark haze above you, he unsheathed his length from his garments and pressed himself against your sopping cunt. He dragged his fullness against your swollen and slicked folds. He wasn’t even inside you, yet you felt an agonizing cramp fisting in your stomach. 

“By Her orders, by Her design…” he spoke through tight whispers, strained by his own anticipation. Pressing his full weight down, he hovered mere inches above you, panting bouts of aroused breaths against your lips. “Let us Converge.”

You squirmed and bucked underneath him. “Nn…not with you…anyone but—!”

You broke off into a high-pitched cry as he stretched you open, filling you up till he bottomed out, and pressed up to the hilt of his hips. He silenced both of your newly coupled hymns with his mouth, and each lap of his tongue matched the tempo of his generous thrusts. The sharp, intrusive pinch died as quickly as it came—the insignificant remnants of toxin dulling bits and pieces of certain pain receptive nerves. A gift, perhaps, in this instance. He had also prepped you well enough to accept all of his adoration, as intended. Another gift, as someone of his ‘giving’ nature may phrase it.

Pulling away slowly, the tip of his head rubbed graciously against every ridge of your swelling walls, before languidly pushing back, going past where you seemed to end. Beyond your farthest points you hadn’t thought existed. Pressing and rubbing all your soft spots and cervix with careful deliberation.

Then again, and again, and again.

“Can you feel it…my devotion…” he groaned into your open-mouthed kisses, continuing to work himself inside you. You weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you, or through you to his false Goddess. 

His free hand found the round flesh of your breast, rolling your budded nipple delicately between the pad of his thumb and index. The other hand, squeezing at your captured wrists, but never tight enough to bruise. He had you lulling in a spellbinding rhythm underneath him, your hands fastened above your head, and hair spilling over the opposite side of the altar. When his mouth left your full lips, he possessed the nape of your neck, sucking the delicate skin above your life line. Your mewls, laced with the chasteless sounds of his base squelching at your entrance, leapt your pulse to an unreturnable pace.

“So warm,” he moaned low, staving off a growing need to revel in his own whines of ecstasy. “This pure sunlight of yours…I’m blessed to be the one who takes it. And you should be too. What an honor it is to be of service to my moon.”

You wanted to hate everything about it. The way he kissed you, the way he moved inside you—but you couldn’t. Every stiff and engorged part of him pressed almost lovingly against your most vulnerable parts; but that wasn’t the proper word for it. His affectionate caresses were zealous in origin. Not even for you. And boderlined a hedonistic doctrine you couldn’t describe. It would’ve been better if he were a man of barbaric qualities; rough and brutal. Not purposeful and diligent and—dared you admit it—tender. If he were the former, then your disgust could be justified, and your body would refuse him in its own rightful way. But it defied you, the lecherous thing. Insisting you melted beneath him and reduce to nothing but a drenched mess. Completely at the mercy of this Lunari man’s act of worship.

“Are you finally realizing it now? How generous my Goddess is compared to yours.” He abandoned the curve of your throat. Within the flush of his face, his eyes were suppled in absolute vindication at your shameless image. “How willing you are to accept me—to accept Her.”   

“N-No…I’m…not…I won’t,” you pried your tongue for words.

He drawled out a quivering whine from your mouth. His body picking up to an impassioned pace, rutting into your sweltering heat. Tethering on his own abandoned pleasure. Your legs pushed themselves wider, opening yourself up more for him, drawing him deeper to pound against the tender knot growing in your belly. 

Choked moans tightened in his throat. Your radiance gripped him with conviction, burning him so divinely from tip to base. Dragging him closer to your complete consummation. His fingers caught the contour of your face, tilting your head back. Your already swimming eyes rolled to follow, and watered at the sight of your Solari Goddess. Carved out from the temple wall, her sacred marbled gaze met your disgraceful expressions. 

“That’s…hn…alright. You can lie to me. I’ll—we’ll always forgive you. But can you say the same for your deity? As she watches her little sunlight being pleasured by the moon’s devoted weapon. I—ha…doubt it very much.” An airy laugh cut through his thick moans intertwined with yours. He continued, inhaling and exhaling his words, raspy and down right broken. “It’s—almost our time…as reverence…your insides…with all of my…”

You couldn’t refuse the vile implication of his words. Not when his thickened, throbbing cock lapped achingly against your muddled core. Your blood boiled, draining out from your collapsing bodily veins to well up inside your stomach. Applying a pressure that made you want to burst into unmendable fractals of yourself. And you did—that tight knot broke in an instant, dilating your insides in a blaze of heat. Flooding you so wholly, you almost forgot to breathe through your delirious sobs of release. 

When the smooth ridges of your walls clamped down, you heard it first as a moan of afflicted surrender on his part. Then, the cock buried inside you pulsed. A stream of white-hot fluid poured into you, shooting well past your cervix, bathing your womb with his warmth. But he didn’t stop there, continuing to indulge. He pumped and pushed the concoction of unified fluids till it poured past his base, and dripped in milky heaps from your hole. His pelvic and abdominal muscles shuddered as his hips rolled slowly but needingly, nursing himself through his over-stimulating climax.

From your tearful, half-lidded gaze, you witnessed a wet glisten in his own eyes. Whether induced by overwhelming pleasure or pained remorse, you would never know. You didn’t want to know.

It didn't matter.

They evaporated the moment he blinked again.

When the heaves and pants subsided, only the echoes of your whimpers remained. Unfastening his grasp from your wrists, his icy hands cupped your sulking face, idly running his thumbs across your soaked cheeks.

“I understand your pain. Believe me, I do. But no amount of tears will keep the celestial cycle from shifting in the moon’s favor. Like any phase, there will be a moment when you won’t hate me as you do now. You might even come to...love me.”

The way he paused made it seem he had no sense for the word. Or what the difference was between what was love and obsession. The look he possessed didn’t instill solace, either; his eyes mere slits of black against his porcelain face. Promising the moment you dared turn away from him, the back of your neck would bleed.

”I swear to you. From this night on, you’ll burn brightest by my reflection. And only my reflection. So long as there's breath and blood in this body, I’ll protect your sunlight from ever fading in the hands of anyone less deserving than mine. By cosmic fate, you’re my entire purpose, my entire existence...” he bent and kissed the solar marking painted on your forehead. “My orbit.” 

[fnaflover2024]

Yes! Finally luz makes her apperence!!How Much Fun!!!:DDDD

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Jungkook (Part 2)

I realised whilst compiling this library just how many Jungkook stories I've read and recced. It's probably because Jungkook stories are far and away the most prolific on my feed and also probably because the maknae looks and acts like he does. I hope you enjoy these, don't forget to show these writers some love.

A blight on the heart by @thatlongspringnight features Jungkook x f!reader set in a historical AU. Jungkook is stoic but petty, absurdly jealous and so so devoted, and reader is soft but strong. Sweet, smutty and beautifully written.

Cream and sugar by @gukslut has a fantastically written asshole barista Jungkook who reader meets again after a one-night stand. The banter is strong, Jungkook is irresistible and Yoongi also features. It's perfect.

Babydoll by @gimmethatagustd has a heartless fuckboy Jungkook who is equal parts infuriating and irresistible.

Lather, rinse, repeat by @btsrunmylife features Jungkook and noona! reader where Jungkook is in full bratty little shit mode and smutty shower shenanigans ensure.

Up all night by @moni-logues is a neighbours to lovers/?fuckers story with an unhinged, ridiculously confident menace of a next-door neighbour Jungkook and a hilarious ending.

Cursed hours by @whatifyoulivelikethat features boyfriend Jungkook being his perfect pouty, horny, sexy self and results in you both getting what you want.

Better than me? by @7deadlysinsfics involves fuckbuddies reader and Jungkook and takes a hilarious turn when Jungkook's competitive side is activated.

What if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime features single mum reader and sweet, caring neighbour Jungkook. Slowburn perfection.

Make it feel like Christmas by @yoongiphoria is a holiday story with best friends Jungkook and reader left stranded because of the snow. This couple is so sharp and witty and so so endearing, and there is a perfect description of Taehyung.

Photograph you in this light by @yoongiphoria is a bittersweet and lovely drabble that captures the sadness of impermanence perfectly.

How to make him cum 101 by @mimithings97 is set in a college AU and features a very sweet Jungkook. I love the writing style - casual and like it's spoken, and the smut is hot.

Pink carnations by @fizzydrink698 has a tattoo artist reader and a sweet smitten florist Jungkook.

Shades of red by @thatlongspringnight features whiny vampire Jungkook and a soft-bodied reader and is sexy, smutty goodness.

Idol hands by @bonvoyagenoona is a gorgeous story by one of my favourite writers featuring Jungkook in a love triangle with Namjoon and you. Heartfelt and lovely.

Ruin the friendship by @kpopfanfictrash is a best friends to lovers AU with a sweet fuckboy lite Jungkook that's fun and sexy.

Where do broken hearts go by @back2bluesidex is a series in progress with exes Jungkook and reader that I'm super intrigued by, and so endeared by reader and single dad Hoseok.

[naffeclipse]

The jttw au is so lovely! Three powerful beings falling for a mortal is always a classic.

I can imagine an argument breaking out between Sun and Eclipse because Sun proposed to Y/N that they should stay with him and rule his kingdom by his side as a fellow monarch. Meanwhile the eclipse prince declares that Y/N should rule with him instead. After all, he can provide more for the mortal than some monkies can. While those two argue about that, Moon steal y/n away for a star gazing date and they talk about constellations and stories and stuff. You snooze, you lose

The lunar demon is very opportunistic. Seeing the monkey king and demon prince arguing and leaving his darling mortal unattended is all he needs to sweep you away for a nice night alone. He has no royal titles or domains. The lunar demon is a moving blight, a rolling ball of chaos that bowls over whenever happens to be in his path, but with you, he pulls you into his lap and crafts stories of the stars. You share a few tales about working in a palace before setting out on your journey. If Moon's lucky, you might rest your head on his shoulder.

Sometime after Sun and Eclipse realize that Moon has their lovely little mortal, they wait for you to return to camp. Unfortunately, you return cradled in the lunar demon's arms, asleep. Eclipse glowers with his claws clenching and Sun stares down the lunar demon with a smile that is anything but pleased. Moon breezes past them, tucks you into bed, and, smugly grinning, wishes the monkey king and the eclipse prince good night.