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hotxcheeto · 1 year

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omgomgomg so i saw that u write for tess & when i tell u i never screamed louder!!1!1!!

can we pretty please get a toothrottingly fluffy smut where its readers first time & tess is just like gentle & sweet towards reader and making sure theyre comfy and stuff, sorry if this is kind of all over the place this is actually my first time requestin somethin 🫶🏽

━ 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Tess Servopoulos x Fem-bodied!Reader ( Written as game vers. Tess but can be read as both! )

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, smut, v fingering ( r receiving ), oral sex ( r receiving ), mentions of alcohol / getting drunk ( in passing ), super fluffy cause omg they're cute, top!tess, bottom!reader, ( let me know if I missed something with the gender I tried to be as gender neutral as possible )

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope ( it's been hours and it's 2am I'm tired )

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - I'm so happy that I was the first you requested for! I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK TO LONG IT'S BEEN A ROUGH TIME. BUT ILY!!!! I hope you enjoy!! <3

Game tess has no gifs unlike HBO Tess :( They're both equally hot they should have equal gifs !!!!!!

REBLOGS APPRECIATED AND NOTICED

The lightning flickered against your eyes every time it made it's appearance, it's partner, thunder, never far behind. The loud sounds feeling as though they shook the entire complex and everything around it, even the QZ walls shuddered. But you payed no mind, staring down at the guards in the road. Very few, but they were there.

They'd talk back and forth to forget about the rain, ignore the chill of the wind nipping their faces. Talk about before or pretend the past never happened.

Sometimes you could hear them, but tonight you couldn't. Not with the rain and the loud banging on the decrepit buildings. Sometimes you wondered whether or not the buildings in the QZ would last much longer with storms like this.

Instead though, on this night, you just watched them, then sometimes the rain droplets, imagining them as two cars racing one another down the glass. As if you were a kid in the back of your childhood van.

The door then suddenly opened up behind you, but you didn't turn around. Recognizing how specific her boots sounded against the wood flooring, how she cursed underneath her breath and threw her stuff onto the table with a thump.

You knew who it was without needing to turn around so you kept staring. Eyes droopy but you were wide awake.

"What's so entertaining?" You heard the slight sass in her voice, the tone that never left even when she was being deadly serious. It made you smile, turning your head to the side to look at her.

"Everything and nothing." You took in a breath of the cold air that crept passed the window seal. "Gotta make do in the apocalypse."

She stood at island counters, hands spread apart and leaning her weight on the tile. Staring at you with a stupid smirk on her face.

"What took you so long?" Tess knew the question was coming but that didn't mean she wanted to answer it. "Ran into some trouble-" "What?" "-but I got out of it. Just some assholes that thought they wanted to mess with Joel and I."

You hadn't seen Joel in a while, but you reckon he hadn't changed a teeny, tiny bit since the last time you had. You took to liking to the grumpy man, you trusted him to make sure Tess came back breathing.

Despite is unfavorable gaze and his harsh wording.

"Are you hurt?" You stood from the chair, taking fast strides towards her while she shook her head, still smiling. "No, didn't even bump a hair on my head. I promise." A bit of a white lie, but she didn't want to worry you.

"Swear?" Tess quietly nodded, looking at you run your eyes over and over her face while turning her head back and forth. Looking for any scratch or slightly discolored patch of skin that wasn't there that morning.

"Say it." She grabbed your hands from her cheeks and holding them in her own. "Swear."

You leaned forwards to kiss her, noticing her slightly chapped lips and the mostly soaked in lip oil you'd let her borrow while out and about. Wanting to hide one of your favorite parts of her away from the unforgiving wind.

It didn't take her a second to kiss back either, grabbing your hips to keep you there until she decided to pull back. Grabbing either side of your cheeks and tilting your head down to kiss your forehead. Resting her mouth against your hair as she thought.

"How 'bout you go get ready for bed, I'll get my shit put away, okay?" Pulling away from her you raised an eyebrow. "And what am I getting out of this?" "You ain't gonna get anything you keep asking questions."

You huffed but shuffled off, squeezing her hand as you did so .

Tess and you were never supposed to go this far. Roommates. Someone to get drunk with to forget or tell stories and be each other shoulder to maybe shed a tear on. Never go further than that.

But it did.

You weren't sure who fell first, you just knew you did and it was hard.

She felt as if she was too old for you, even though you weren't the youngest yourself. You did know that there were some things that she had experienced that you just hadn't because of the world's terrible timing. But you never felt too young for her.

Just perfect, actually.

You were barely friends back then, and yet, you trusted each other more than most married couples. But, once it did go further it also went unspoken.

You were hers, as she was yours. Corny, but so were you.

As Tess would say anyway.

You laid down to wait for her, looking at the closed curtains in your small shared room. Only fitting a tiny closet and a bed, not that you had much for the closet to hold.

"Scooch."

Tess appeared behind you, smiling while watching you scoot towards the other side of the bed to make room for her. Feeling her arms wrap around your middle and her breath against your neck send shivers down your spine.

"What about your day?" Tess muttered, kissing the nape of your neck. "Boring. I did some odd jobs all day but they didn't last long. Mostly waited on your slow ass." You felt her laugh against your skin, chuckling to herself while shaking her head.

"Slow, huh?" "Mhm. Too busy getting jumped to come home to me, right?" Her grip tightened when she let a sarcastic 'ha ha', sitting up and resting her head on her hand.

"C'mere." Tess lightly gripped your face, giving you a much hungrier kiss than she had earlier when you had initiated. No, this one had need behind it, want seeping from it.

"I missed you today." She whispered, kissing you again and letting herself taste the mint contraband you'd been chewing earlier. "I missed you too." You breathed, a nervous feeling pooling in your lower belly.

"Fuck I missed this." Tess hated leaving in the mornings, and the afternoons, especially the nights as well. Tess just hated leaving, but she knew she had to if you both wanted to survive.

Her hand crept down to your sleeping pants, running her fingers over the band that was low on your hips. The rough pads feathering over your sensitive skin. Caressing your inner thigh through the thin, withered fabric.

Inches away where you began to felt the need for her. A need you hadn't felt in a long, long time. One you'd never satisfied, and you sure never had someone else satisfy.

"Tess." You pulled back slightly, a bit taken aback by your reaction just as she was. "Shit, I'm sorry, fuck I should've-" "It's... it's not that."

Your expression spoke a thousand words, shamefully glancing away from her and at anything else in the room to distract yourself.

"You're.." It was deadly silent besides the rain banging against the glass panes. "Y/n, you didn't think to tell me?" "M'sorry I didn't.."

Her voice held no malice, only genuine confusion making you finally look at her. Seeing her more concerned you didn't feel comfortable enough to tell her, the thought of you hiding it maliciously never crossing her mind.

"I was so young... when the world went to shit.." You trailed off in a broken whisper, trying to explain yourself but you didn't have to.

Not to her. Never to her.

Not with something like this.

"Hey, hey look at me." And you did, meeting her darkened eyes only illuminated by the light coming from the sheer covered window.

"You don't have to do all that. Not with me. It's up to you."

"I want to." You spoke, so low and soft, your voice sounded like a drug to her. Nervous and ready for what was to come.

You trusted her.

Tess looked away from your eyes and down at the hem of your oversized shirt, unable to give her a view of your silhouette that she loved so much.

Her hand moved to pull it up and over your boobs, lightly brushing the very tips of her fingers against your nipples. Getting a few light whimpers to fall from your lips.

"Look at that." Tess moved over your body, kissing your collarbone and then your chest. Making her way all the way down to your sensitive bud, licking your tit to get a reaction from you.

And it worked, her mouth making your breath halt, feeling the warmth wrap around your entire boob. Then quickly feeling her move to the other, only kissing it before giving your belly a peck. Sitting up again.

Tess scanned your face, leaning down to kiss your lips.

"You tell me when it's too much, got it? You tell me when to stop."

"Okay. Okay I will."

Looping around your waistband, Tess pulled the pants from your legs. Making the pulse between your thighs even worse as the layer was stripped away. Even squeezing them together to be rid of the uncomfortable feeling.

"God, you're so... shit just look at you." You felt your face warm, invisible to her eye but to you, you were burning up. A fever created from her words mixed with her starved eyes raking over your body like she hadn't ate in decades.

"Spread your legs baby, c'mon." And you did, her arms hooking under your knees to bring you even closer to you. The woman grinning when you shrieked in surprise at her sudden tug.

"There you go, so good for me. To think no one else has gotten to see any of this. Some unlucky fucks."

"Lucky for you though." You giggled, her warm palms trailing your exposed hips. Hooking under the tiny elastic underwear band.

"You sure about this?" Her eyes flicked to yours again.

"Positive."

Tess than pulled them slowly from your legs, a string of slick following after them making her own cunt ache at the sight.

"God, Y/n." She tossed them aside to find another time. Leaning down between your thighs. "All for me." Tess kissed your inner thigh, again and again while inching towards your heat.

"Ready baby?" You nodded quickly, the pain of your own arousal becoming too much for you to handle all on your own. "Yes, please, please Tess."

Her mouth soon wrapped around your clit, tongue tracing an infinity sign over the sensitive bud over and over. Not stopping and not slowing, just again and again while watching your reactions.

Your legs felt like they went numb, head falling back in to the pillows while loud babbles tumbled from your lips. Wanting to praise her but you couldn't. The feeling was so alien and so much, you didn't know what to say. Until you did.

"Oh- oh my god.. please more Tess... please.." Your hands went to her hair, the other to your mouth to try it's best the muffle the sounds. But you weren't sure of well it would work when you couldn't keep it there, instead gripping the sheets when she pushed your leg further to the side getting an even better angle to fuck you in.

"I'm gonna do something, okay, you tell me if it's too much." You hummed, a bit lost in your cotton-stuffed mind feeling like you were lost in a fog and couldn't find yourself a way out.

Tess's finger appeared at your hole, very slowly pushing inside your body. A whine of discomfort filling her ears and she hated it, only wanting it to be over as soon as it could be. Wanting your body to stop tensing so hard.

"I know, I know, but it's gonna feel good I promise." The woman kissed your thigh again, then your clit, beginning her assault on your bundle of nerves to distract the rest of you away from the twinges of pain.

And it began to, not only her warm tongue sending so much pleasure through your lower half, now a curled finger ran along your walls. The rest of you beginning to relax as her movements sped up, but only the more you began to get used to it.

"Tess... more. I want more please." You looked down at her, never having felt what you were at the moment, and you couldn't get enough.

Tess added yet another finger and giving you another deliciously nice stretch, the woman sitting up a bit, the thumb of her other hand circling your clit.

"How's that, huh?" She watched you nod, looking down at your cunt while she kept you full. Moving in and out at a faster pace while keeping her thumb going in whatever motion she decided.

"G-good.." You responded, "reall-ly good." "That's it." Tess went faster, kissing your lips, muffling your loud moans that wouldn't stop even if you tried. "You're doing so good." "Tess.. oh fuck.. I-"

"Come Y/n. Let go. Let go for me baby." The high-pitched shriek was cute, she thought. Watching you come undone on her fingers.

Pleasure shooting through your entire body, but her movements never stopped. Only going faster, the circular motion on your clit making you joke and try and squeeze your thighs together.

It was too much.

You'd never felt something like that, something so strong and so pleasure-filled, not in a world like this.

Your mind went into a hazed mush while you mumbled and cried out things to her. Your hand scratching at her upper arm while she whispered sweet things to you, calming you down while a tear or two trickled down your hot cheeks.

"You did so good. You did so good, baby."

"Tess... oh fuck." You cried out.

"I know, I know."

And you did, the only thing auditory besides the now slowed rain. Tess kissing the space between your eyebrows and then your nose. Finally moving down to your lips.

"You did so good." Her fingers pulled away from you making you whimper. "I really liked that." You mumbled, Tess smiling and letting out a light chuckle. "Yeah?" You nodded in response.

"M'glad it was you." You then whispered, your blinking began to slow as the exhaustion followed the adrenaline crash. Tess flustered in the darkness, the woman was glad you couldn't see it.

"Get some rest, I'll clean you up, okay?" She kissed your neck, sitting up just as you rolled over, laying almost completely on her side of the bed.

"Okay. But you better come back." "Well you better be out of my spot."

You huffed, "But it's comfier."

a/N: 2:22

#tess x reader tlou #tess x reader #tess tlou #tess #tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x reader #tlou #the last of us series #the last of us #tlou hbo #hbo #hbo the last of us #nevy writes

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blossom-hwa · 4 months

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a yellow scarf in winter | w.jh

pairing: Jun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, angst, magical realism warnings: mentions of minor character death (offscreen) word count: 7.3k notes: this is a rewrite of something from maybe a year ago - it's gone through extensive edits and while the original premise is the same, it's changed a lot, so even if you read it before I hope you find something new :) When your grandmother passes, a spirit arrives on the sun and the snow, asking for a place to stay. As the years pass, you learn grief, love, and the complicated art of letting go.

Original Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist

When he arrives on your doorstep, hands cold from the snow and eyes warm as the sun, the moon has already been dim for a year.

The knock comes gentle against the worn wood of the old inn’s door—so gentle at first that once, twice it sounds before you truly hear it. By the time you’ve put down the pile of pale yellow wool turning into the beginnings of a scarf or a shirt or something in between, it has sounded a third time, and when you finally open the door, his hand is raised like he was bracing for a fourth.

You stare. He is the first to have approached your grandmother’s inn in the weeks since you moved in, and you do not recognize him from the town. Brown eyes stare back at yours, slanted almost mischievously at the tips yet deep and soft and sweet, while pale blond hair the color of your wool seems to sparkle like the sun on the snow outside. Light pink lips curve in an awkward smile, showing a hint of white teeth, and it’s not so much that he glows himself but that sunlight glints off the pale skin of his face, reflecting a soft sparkle around him that only makes it seem brighter. About your age, perhaps—late twenties, early thirties. Maybe a little younger. His eyes look like they have seen many more years than he seems, though.

It’s been too long, this silence, but still you have to look for a moment more. For it feels like you know him, even though you’ve never seen him before.

—Hello, you finally say, cautious, quiet.

—Hello, he replies, lowering the hand he had raised. The gesture, awkward and almost bashful, brings a curve to your own lips. Someone in town told me I could some here for a place to stay.

Words rise in your memory, unbidden. Never turn a stranger away from your door, child. A wink, with one wrinkle-lined eye. They just might be a god in disguise.

Your hand tightens around the worn doorknob. The inn has been closed since your grandmother left it to you, and locked inside you’ve kept the stories she told—of deities who once walked this plane, spirits who left remnants of magic in the earth beneath your feet. In the weeks since her death you didn’t allow yourself to remember, didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge the sparkles of magic that she used to point out to you day after day—the bright green laughing grass now covered by the snow, the howl of the wind whirling in the breeze.

You haven’t reopened. You’re still not sure you will, not when the ache of her absence continues to fill every room. Those of the town should know the news by now, but perhaps they thought this might still be all right.

Part of you urges to shake your head, give an apologetic smile, and close the door. He’s a strange man in a strange place, and where exactly could that go? But as a chilly wind whips through the tall stranger’s hair, his long fingers fidgeting quietly as fading sunlight catches on the single silver earring in his left ear, you wonder if, after all these years, a spirit has finally made its way to your grandmother’s inn once more.

Stories and legends, tales you could never tell were true or not. You fight back a tear as a thought surfaces—that your grandmother sent this spirit to you, to make sure you would be all right.

—Of course. What is your name?

When he smiles, it seems as though the rising moon regains a touch of its original shine.

—Thank you. My name is Jun.

. . . . .

And—that’s it. For a time. It’s all he tells you about himself anyway, just his name and nothing else. What you learn in passing comes from casual action and conversation, things he lets slip as he accompanies you on your wanderings through the many rooms of your grandmother’s old, empty inn. It’s not so much him letting things slip, though, as you noticing the way he simply falls into place like the last pieces of a puzzle you never realized was unfinished—the shyness of his laugh sparkling through the dust motes spinning through the air, his long fingers drawing back the heavy drapes that once covered the lobby windows. He takes the room across from yours on the first floor, and when you open the door the next morning to see him stumbling out of his, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it feels like you are only saying good morning to an old friend when you smile.

Which makes no sense, of course. Because you don’t know him. You’ve never seen this man once in your life before he showed up at the inn’s front door. What could you know about a man as enigmatic as the moon, who reflects all the light in the room and makes it brighter all on his own? But as the days go by, as you learn his shyness, his gentleness, the way his crescent smiles come soft and slow, a waxing and waning curve of his lips that reflects the sunlight streaming through the inn’s large windows and cuts through the dark chill that had seemed to fill the inn before, it doesn’t feel like you’re learning much at all. More like…remembering. Settling. Reacquainting yourself with the characteristics of a good friend you haven’t seen in ages. Somehow, though he is only one person sleeping in the same one room every night, the stately old place your grandmother left you doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it once did, not with his comfortable presence around.

He’s quiet. Calm. Prone to confusion when you use a phrase he doesn’t seem to know, and giggling fits when he sees something he deems cute or strange. He’s eager to help when you slowly rouse yourself to sweep the dust from the rooms, and he doesn’t ask when you pause in front of a larger door on the top floor, then turn away without a word. He has a lovely little laugh that sounds like the first spring flowers coming into bloom, bringing warmth to the silent hallways you’d long forgotten how to walk, and joy etches itself in the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that appear when he smiles. You find he has a special affinity for the cats that sometimes show up on the inn grounds and perhaps, you think, it’s because he’s a little like them himself—closed off and skittish at first, but soft, and sweet, and so, so warm when he finally turns to you with his truest smile.

In the cold remnants of winter, you learn his favorite tea, how he drinks it slow, sip by tiny sip. The long fingers that twist and fidget and eventually like to tangle with your own become still when he wraps them around his favorite mug of yours, white porcelain with the figures of three kittens playing around the edges. Those same fingers lift up the lid of the lobby grand piano one day, untouched since your grandmother last played, and begin to dance on their own across the yellowing keys, spinning starlit melodies into the air. His hands always seem to be cold, or at least take a while to warm up after being outside, but the tea helps. So does playing scales. And, eventually, holding your own hands that he always says are so much warmer than his.

When spring tints the air and flowers begin to bloom, you almost wonder if Jun’s warmth will fade, somewhat, in a season marked by the sun, by the blue sky, by the days that grow longer at the expense of the moon’s soft glow. It doesn’t, though—grows, even, as you walk with him through the soft grass on the outskirts of the town, his smile tossing sunlight kind, carefree, into the air around him. On walks like these you come to learn his favorite blossom, the pale jasmine he settles gently behind your ear, and how he never picks them, only gathers up the blooms that have already fallen on the ground to create lovely bouquets you set at the dining table later in the night. When summer hangs cheerful in the sky you begin to leave the lobby windows open, the heavy curtains brushed to the sides by Jun’s delicate hands, and you learn how far the cheer of his laugh can carry and how his voice accompanies the piano as he sings, melodic threads twining sweetly in the air. You show him midnight recipes—cold noodles, cookies, cool milk that you share with the cats milling about outside—and his hand in yours is always warm, but somehow, despite the heat of the sun on your skin, you can’t find it in yourself to pull away, not when he reflects the sun’s glow in his waxing and waning smiles, not when he squeezes your hand tighter and pulls you closer to him.

Finally, when the last dregs of autumn begin to pass and the first year winds to a close, you learn how Jun’s laugh softens with the fading sun, how, no matter the biting chill in the air, he still reflects the sun’s quiet glow until he seems to be the one who warms the room (and perhaps he is, with his moonlit melodies and starlit smile). Under the gentle rays of the sky’s fading light, the fast-growing chill of the billowing wind, the curve of Jun’s enigmatic crescent smile steadies you as dead leaves crunch beneath your feet. And as the first snows begin to swirl through the wind, mimicking the dust motes Jun helped you sweep away, you look outside at the moon that had faded, and you can’t help but think that perhaps, over the year, its smile has finally grown a little brighter.

. . . . .

And so the first year comes and goes, and when the chill of winter fully returns, you don’t worry as much about the empty rooms, the once-faded moon, the memories of your grandmother that still fill the air. There is Jun, and there is his warmth, and for now that is all you need.

But then he disappears. For a few hours, first. Then a few days. Until twice a month he leaves without notice, and with such irregularity that it slowly becomes regular.

He always returns, you learn. But the first morning you wake up and he doesn’t greet you with sleepy eyes smiling as he opens his door, you panic. Because what happened to him and where did he go and does he need help and what if he left, left you alone, left you in this empty house to cope again with the memories just like your grandmother did when she died—

—Where were you? you ask when he returns the next night and you can finally speak without wanting to cry? Where did you go? Why didn’t you let me know?

—I’m sorry, he replies, his long fingers fidgeting again. The dimness of the barely crescent moon outside casts dark shadows across his face, only a thin sliver of his cheek illuminated by starlight. I didn’t realize you would worry this much.

—How could I not?

—I don’t know. No one really has, before.

Candlelight flickering, silence hanging oppressive in the air.

—I was worried.

When he smiles, heavy and tragic, it is as though the moon’s darkness never left.

—I know.

(That night, when you crawl under the covers in a room too big for you and the questions you don’t have answers to, you remember where you live, where Jun came. And you remember something your grandmother told you when you were old enough to know, to understand.

No one stays forever at an inn.

No one.)

. . . . .

You think—hope—that might be the end of it. Or that, at least, he’ll tell you before he next goes. But despite his apologies, he still leaves a second time, and a third, and then a fourth and fifth, all without warning. And though you never truly grow used to the way each room echoes with a renewed emptiness in the hours and days he is gone, you force yourself to accept it. That his irregularity is his regularity. That he cannot—or will not—fight against what drives him to leave.

(Acceptance doesn’t stem the fear that someday he will go, and there will be no warning, and when that day comes, he will not return.)

So winter fades with its ice and snow, and spring comes, then summer, with their warmth and flowers. And on a night where Jun isn’t here, where the faded moon shines fully in the dark sky, you find yourself in front of a room on the top floor that you ignored when you two cleaned the inn the first time. The room where you stopped. Thought. Passed without a word, where Jun didn’t pry.

This time, you open the door.

Your grandmother’s presence folds around you like a warm cloak of boxes and drapes, warped wooden floorboards and old furniture sitting on top. Almost immediately your knees give out. You catch yourself on the floor, sending up a cloud of dust, but for all your watering eyes you don’t really notice because she is so strong here. So warm. So comfortable. As though you could reach out a hand to the air and she would materialize before you, her fingers clutching yours, her eyes already wrinkling into a mischievous smile.

For a long time, you only sit. Stare. Take in the things she amassed during life, the things she packed away that were never the inn’s but hers, and hers only. An old, moth-eaten armchair. A couple of trunks tied with dusty rope. Boxes with spidery handwriting on the sides labeling things you can’t quite read through the tears bubbling in your eyes, a few tarps draped over it all.

—Did you send him? you ask the dust swirling through the air.

(And if you did, why did you send someone who had to leave? Who couldn’t stay?)

She doesn’t answer, of course. But you sit there, waiting as though she will, until the gray light of dawn begins to peek through the folds of curtains you didn’t part, and you finally pick yourself up from the floor to return downstairs and wait for Jun to return.

. . . . .

He returns that evening amidst summer showers, rain glittering on his face like little diamonds pressed to his skin. You’re back in the room on the top floor, sitting, staring, and only when a soft knock sounds at the cusp of afternoon-evening do you find it in yourself to move again.

—Hi.

Jun’s eyes, deep brown and cratered wide. His graceful nose, his pale face, his thin lips, still covered with the thin diamond sheen of rain. You can hear droplets pattering against the window from where you still haven’t managed to push the drapes away.

—You’re shivering.

You hadn’t realized you were, but when he says it, you become aware of the slight tremble in your shoulders, at the vague chill in the air from the day’s confusion as to whether it is still summer, or if the winter will be coming soon. At the concern on his face you try to smile.

—I’m all right.

You don’t expect him to believe you. But you also don’t expect him to take a step closer and fold you into his arms.

He’s warm and cool at the same time—peaceful, a tiny respite from the overwhelming presence of your grandmother in all the boxes and drapes in this old room. His long fingers tap soft rhythms into your back, his breath quiet against your ear, and when you finally pull away, your eyes are wet not just with the remnants of rain but with tears again, too.

Jun smiles quietly. That little silver earring that has never left his ear glints in the evening darkness, a piece of light reflected in his eyes. Outside, you think the moon has begun to rise, faint light pooling right where he stands.

—Do you want help?

. . . . .

It takes several long days to bring the room to a semblance of cleanliness, dust swept from the corners until your nose no longer itches, the floor mopped until you no longer fear tracking grime into the halls when you and Jun leave. But one night, it is done. Mostly. The boxes remain unopened, the tarps not yet pushed away, but the floor is clean and you can breathe a little better.

Jun rubs his nose, which is red from sneezing. His eyes follow you as you kneel in front of one of the trunks, reaching for the knot in the rope tying it shut. For a moment you fumble with the tie. Then it falls away, and your hand grazes the edge of the lid. Ready to open. Not ready to open.

You pull the lid up.

A cloud of dust wafts up and you whip around, coughing into your arm as Jun laughs from a few feet away. When you stop choking you find that he has come to you, his eyes bright and cheerful, and for all you wanted to scowl at him when he started laughing, you find you can only smile.

—What’s all this?

You hold up a candle carefully, squinting into the trunk’s contents. Immediately you know, though you’ve never seen any of the books before.

Music.

Jun’s sharp intake of breath brings you back to earth. When you look at him his eyes are shining bright with wonder, and you think to his hands waltzing across the lobby piano’s yellow keys, drawing sounds from its depths the way only your grandmother had been able to, years before.

—Let’s take them. You pick up a few books of your own, their dusty paper covers rough against your skin as you smile. I want to hear you play.

He plays piece after piece that night, some that you recall from childhood, others you remember having learned yourself, even more you have never once heard in your life but that your grandmother must once have known, learned, and cherished when she lived. And after you see Jun to his room that night, you take the stairs softly up to the room again. Take in the sight of the dusty, empty trunk still sitting where you left it.

It feels a little easier to breathe.

. . . . .

As summer winds to a close, as the slight chill of fall begins to take to the air, you slowly empty the boxes and trunks in the old storage room, airing out their dust, unearthing the bits and pieces of your grandmother that she left behind for you to find. Pictures of her and your grandfather, who died before you were born. Small trinkets from travels she told you about when you were little. Financial papers yellowed with age, letters bound in ribbon that you can’t find it in yourself to read, novels with worn covers and crinkled pages. And music. Not quite as much as the stacks of books you found in the first trunk, but sheets scattered here and there that Jun happily picks up, adding to the miniature concerts he plays for you in the evening to ward away the chill.

He helps you through it all—works at the knots in the ropes with you, folds up the tarps you lift away, sweeps up the dust that falls from newly opened boxes and trunks, holds you when the memories overwhelm and you find it hard to breathe. And in those moments when he is there, you almost forget that this is an inn, and that he must leave. But he always does. New moon. Full moon. New moon. Full moon. And as the moon grows brighter when he is gone, like it is happier without you, you begin closing your window against the light that still permeates your room anyway.

The words slip out on a night when it is more fall than summer, after the remnants of dinner have been cleared away and only the stars are awake to hear you speak. Bravery or stupidity, courage or fear, you don’t know—a desperate bid for something, anything to hang on to when Jun next leaves and you’re left to cope with the memories, music haunting your ears, ghosts tracing the walls.

—Where do you go when you’re gone?

He pauses at the piano, long, pale fingers stopping between the turning pages of his music. Silence reigns for a while, long enough for you to nearly backtrack and say never mind, never mind, despite the need to know curdling in your veins.

—I go to a place I once called home.

Your throat threatens to close, but you get the next words out, somehow.

—Do you not still call it home?

In response, he takes a single sheet of music from the piano, one he just played—a soft melody that barely lasted two minutes, but that resonated through the room, deep, heavy nostalgia that had drawn the question from your throat. Every piece he plays is beautiful beneath his fingertips but for some reason, the echoes of this piece stay with you, merging into your breath, tickling its way through your ears, as he hands the score to you.

—The composer was far from home when he wrote this, Jun says quietly as you trace the black notes on the worn, yellow page. He needed to run. To escape. He never saw it again after he had to move, but…in the end, he only ever wanted to go home.

Dark eyes flicker to the window, pale skin reflecting the starlight and the glow of the full moon. It’s your turn to watch him, this time, as the faint moonlight lends a familiar golden tinge to his face that you have never seen but that you know, anyway.

Only a few physical feet separate the two of you in this moment, the distance between Jun’s piano bench and your armchair easily traversable in just one step, maybe two. For all the look in his eyes right now, though, you could be centuries apart.

—I once wanted to escape. I was so lonely. I wanted to find someone who could care for me. Who could make me feel worth something.

—Did you?

He looks at you now. Traps you in the moment, his blond hair illuminated by the moon, pooling around his feet. An enigmatic smile dances on his lips.

—I did.

Silence falls gentle, heavy, the leftover notes from the melody fading softly into the air, the dust of the old sheet music settling on the floor. Against your will, you stare at the piano with its worn and yellowing keys that your grandmother once showed you to play. You were never as good as she, though Jun would have been a match.

What might she have thought of Jun if they’d met now, in the physical plane? She would have liked him, you think—liked his soft-spoken voice, his sweet, awkward nature, and the way he seems to amplify the warmth and light of the room with his cratered eyes and waxing-waning crescent smile. Their musical styles are different, from what you remember of hers, but she would have enjoyed his interpretations of the same pieces she loved.

Tears nearly spring into your eyes. Yes, she would have liked him. She would have liked him very much.

A question burns on your tongue as he stands, as you stand, as you both walk to your rooms and bid each other goodnight. You don’t ask. But he must hear it anyway, lingering in your eyes and on your tongue even as you shut your door.

(Where is your home?)

You’re not sure if you can hear his answer, not when you don’t have one yourself. Because while you’re still trying to escape, Jun has already made peace.

He knows his home, even if you don’t.

. . . . .

Still, though, he stays. For you or for something else, you’re not sure. But through the end of summer and the billows of fall, still he comes and he goes, wanders and returns, and though his presence comforts, something about it—you’re not sure what—has begun to hurt.

He’s playing the same piece when autumn has begun to give way to winter, when you find a familiar pile of yellow wool in the drawer of one of the little tables beside the lobby couches. Part of it has been knit into some shape, but only barely—easy enough for you to decide it will be a scarf, a decision you didn’t get to make two years ago, and easy enough for you to pick up the needles from where the universe left them and for their gentle clicking to accompany Jun’s music flowing about the room. Not so easy anymore when the cat Jun let inside begins batting at the pile of yarn, little claws catching on the wool, but easy enough. Easy enough.

The night before, when Jun was gone, you went up to the storage room yourself. Though the room has been mostly cleared, boxes opened and some things rearranged around the inn, others pushed in neater piles against the walls, your grandmother’s presence still wrapped around you the second you entered. Something in the walls, you suppose, in the notes of dust that still flicker, magical, in the air. The fact that this room was hers, the way the rest of the inn was and wasn’t.

You didn’t open the curtains. You thought about it, even touched the heavy cloth with a single hand, felt it fold beneath your palm. But the moon was so bright then, so full. It hurt so much. So you kept it closed. The memory of those closed curtains, unable to shield you from the glowing contentment of the moon, helps you meet his eyes as his hands leave the piano, the knitting needles flashing between your fingers, their rhythmic clicking steadying your heart.

—Where is your home, Jun?

The lobby echoes with the silence after your question, broken only by the kitten batting at your wool. Her little head butts against your hand and you stroke it gently, eyes still trained on the spirit sitting in front of you.

He draws breath. Sighs. Looks down at his hands, down at yours, and looks back at you.

—Wherever I am not lonely.

The clicking between your fingers stops. Silver needles bury themselves in the yellow yarn like the cat’s claws, the cat that now detaches itself from the wool to jump into Jun’s lap instead, purring softly. You stare at it, at the yarn, at the empty spot on the couch it used to occupy. The spot someone else used to occupy, once, smiling fondly as you played with her own yarn on her knee. Someone who belonged here far more than you.

—Where have you been lonely?

—Many places. Jun’s smile turns small, wan. Not all are as welcoming as you have been.

Your mind returns to the first time he disappeared, the first time he returned and you couldn’t speak for several hours without crying.

I didn’t realize you would worry this much, he had said. And you had found it so hard to believe no one would—that no one would worry about this lovely spirit disappearing without a word. But it’s true. Not all are kind. And perhaps, before your inn, Jun had encountered more unkindness than you were willing to believe at the time.

You swallow.

—Are you lonely here?

—No. The answer is quick, certain. So is his next question. Are you?

His eyes won’t allow yours to flicker away, moonlight holding you captive as it flows around the two of you, encasing you in pale light. The cat purrs in Jun’s arms, but he only looks at you.

It hurts to admit it, but you do.

—Yes. When you’re not here.

He nods. Nods again. And then he sets the old page back on top of the piano, and you speak no more until the music has stopped for the night and he asks a final question to you.

—Who’s that for?

You look down at the half-finished scarf, and the needles you’ve just stuck into the rest of the unknit pile. I’m not sure.

But as you lie awake in bed that night, staring out of your window at the full moon and its familiar golden tinge, you realize it was a dumb question, with an even dumber answer. Because it’s obvious. Even though the universe had you begin the scarf with no thought of its future owner, as it grows longer and longer under nights of soft music warmed by the reflection of sunlight on Jun’s lovely face, when you look at the man whose smile waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon, you know, and the world knows.

Of course the scarf is for him.

. . . . .

In the days after, as the scarf grows longer, as the wind turns colder, as the moon fades to black and Jun disappears again, you think. Ponder. Try to confront the fear in your heart that sprang fully formed when you realized who the scarf was for, because as the woolen links drape across your lap and the cushions of the lobby armchair, you can’t shake the feeling that giving him this yellow scarf, this warmth woven of sunlight reflecting off of sparkling snow feels…final, almost. Like something ends with the tying of the last knot, something you’re not ready to give up just yet.

Jun is ready. You know that, and it hurts and terrifies you. Because he must have suffered—must have gone from home to home, begging, pleading for someone to recognize the lonely spirit he was, and found nothing but a frosty chill instead—but he found the strength to continue. And eventually, he found you, who would love him. Who would cherish him. And somehow, that is enough for him—enough that he no longer feels lonely, even when he is away from you. Enough for him to pull away, because he knows this is not the plane on which he belongs, even though it is yours.

But you’re not ready. You still—you still need him. Need his warmth, need the moonlight reflectance of his smile to guide you through the day. Without him, how do you return to the emptiness of the inn where everyone leaves and no one stays, where the polished wooden floors and walls echo with the silence of your footsteps, memories haunting everywhere you look?

Deep inside, you know he cannot stay. That the spirit plane, however it may intersect with the mortal world, is separate from yours. And it makes you laugh, a little, when you remember how you felt you had learned Jun during the first year of his stay—because you will never know the moon. Will never understand his enigmatic smiles, never parse the way his fingers trace so cool and so warm against the skin of your cheek, never dissect how he can stand to be so selfless, returning to you from each of his trips home because he knows you cannot live without him.

—How do you continue, Jun? you force yourself to ask under a waning gibbous moon, three days after his last foray to a place he once called home. The autumn-fading-winter wind blows crisp through the air, ruffling Jun’s hair where he sits beside you in front of the inn, petting one of the stray cats that has settled on his lap. You trace the lines of the cracked stone on the ground, ripples of time rough and bitter beneath your fingertips, hoping he knows what you mean from the five brittle words you managed to speak.

(How do you move on? How do you make peace with the memories? How do you let go of the grief, how do you remember someone as who they were and forget about how they left you, forget how they will never be able to stay?)

He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks at you, you brace yourself.

—I cannot answer for you, he says, and your heart plummets. That is for you to find in yourself.

He takes your hand, though. Presses it between his own, and even through the despair closing up your throat, you find it in yourself to take comfort in his moonlit warmth.

—But I will tell you this, he says quietly. To me, to know that there is someone who I love, and who loves me—that is enough. Even if I am not with them. Because my home is in the memories we share.

His smile is blinding, bright as the moon and more. And through the gnarled desperation twisting in your heart, you allow a piece of that brightness to prick its way into the brambles.

. . . . .

Letting go, you decide, is an art. A painful art, disentangling the nettles from the brambled wall you’ve built around your heart to shield you from the pain of reminiscence, but an art all the same in the way you carefully examine each thorn, stinging your fingertips and palms as you pull the branches apart, pinpricks of blood scattering across the canvas of your pain, your grief, the loss you feel every time you look up at the dim sky and the empty rooms around you, your grandmother’s presence lingering in every corner and crevice.

Some days, when Jun is gone, you nearly give up. Nearly decide the thorns in your hands aren’t worth it, that the brambles prevent more pain than they bring, that letting go is an art you will never master—because you can’t, and you won’t. You can’t give up the only person, spirit, who’s brought you comfort in this time, you can’t willingly give up what you have now because you need him here or you’ll drown in the emptiness of these large, quiet rooms.

But that’s unfair. Because the moon doesn’t belong on earth, and the earth doesn’t belong on the moon. For all the semblance of home Jun has found with you, you are not the only home he carries with him. Where he lives—what he is—it’s not here. It’s not here, not in this old, empty inn, with you, because an inn is never a permanent home for anyone but the owner. For anyone else, it is rest, respite, temporary comfort. More temporary for some than others, but it is a place of letting go.

Nights pass. The scarf grows longer, the storage room cleaner. And though the pain of Jun’s absence still aches in your chest, the cool silver needles and the heavy window curtains begin to soothe more of the sting. When you look up at him on the days he is here, his own fingers gliding across old piano keys, you breathe, and you remember, and you let yourself into the thorns and nettles of memory once more. Because what is Jun’s home cannot be yours.

And so you will find your own, in a place where you once never felt lonely.

It’s slow work, slower than you would have liked. In what world does anyone not want to dash the pain away quickly, strip off the bandages in one fell swoop and find the skin and tissue already unscarred and whole beneath? But with every disappearance you’re running out of time so you work at the thorns, slowly and slowly and slowly, and as Jun’s enigmatic smile grows a little wider every time the scarf grows a little longer, as a hint of something soft begins to chase away the aching sympathy in his eyes when he looks at you under the faded night sky, you find in his smile a quiet balm for the pain in your fingers, in your palms, in your heart.

When you pull the final branches away, there are scars etched in your chest that will never fully heal, patterns of time to mimic the lines carved on your skin. Memories of thorns still prick your palms and something aches awful in your heart as you stare at the mess you have made of yourself in forcing memories out of their old home to avoid the pain you thought they would bring, but then you look at the moon as you tie off the final knot on the pale yellow woolen scarf and when you do he smiles back, something akin to pride, and maybe gratitude, in his eyes.

That night, after seeing Jun off to bed, you walk upstairs to the room where your grandmother stored her memories. The moon is almost full and its light shines bright, strong enough to just barely filter through the heavy curtains still draped across the glass.

Taking a deep breath, you take one curtain in each stinging, thorn-wounded hand. Push them aside. Let the moon’s smile bathe the room pale light.

No blood stains the fabric, even as your heart aches at the sight.

. . . . .

You give him the scarf the next day, a night where winter is stronger than fall, loop it around his neck when he leaves the piano to sit at your side. He played that piece again, the composer’s reminiscence of home, and its notes still linger in your ears as you settle the scarf at his throat.

Jun doesn’t react at first, only touches a finger to the wool, the color of the sun on the snow the day he first knocked on your door. It’s as though he knew it was made for him, even before you did. The way you knew his crescent smile, the wax and wane of the brightness in his eyes, the reflection of the sun off his skin, before he even arrived.

He stops you before you go to bed that night, puts a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. For a moment you only look at each other, candlelight reflecting off your faces, a glow that joins the pale moonlight pooling on the ground.

Thank you for the scarf, he says quietly, his fingers tangling with yours. His breath ghosts past your cheek, eyes crinkling at the corners into a soft, slow smile. And for letting me stay.

You go back to the storage room when he closes his door, sit on the moth-eaten armchair and stare out the window at the full, full moon. Sometime later the first snow begins to fall, floating pitter-patter against the glass, and, lulled by its soft rhythm, you allow yourself to sleep.

When morning comes with the shimmering sun on ice, Jun is gone.

This time, he doesn’t come back.

Reality seems to blur as the days go by, one without Jun, two without Jun, three, four, six, ten. Sometimes you sit in the inn’s empty lobby and squint at the grand piano still standing in the middle of the floor and for a moment, you can’t quite recall whether it’s always been there, or if it simply came into existence when Jun’s music followed him into your home. Everything feels dim, faded, like the shadow that had settled over the moon for so long, and sometimes you debate leaving. Leaving the inn and memories of a loving grandmother and laughing spirit that lie here, burying what you had with those you loved and running away from the remnants that chase you.

But where would you go? There’s nothing in the world you have except this inn and those memories, and for all remembering hurts, they were treasures. Treasures that sparkle with a happiness that hurts a little too much right now, but that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Treasures that will be a balm, in time, to the scars they left behind.

Treasures that tell you, someday, you will have your home.

Sometimes, sitting at the old piano, you wonder if he was real. If he really existed, the spirit with cratered eyes and hair the color of the sun on icy snow. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because you remember him—the sleepy eyes, the wide smile, the soft voice that waltzed with long fingers across ivory keys and spun music to life, tapestries of notes that settled gentle, ephemeral in the night air before a single breath blew them away. You remember him, and you remember an album of pastel memories and watercolor laughs, pages left to dry under winter sunshine, the color of a pale yellow scarf that a laughing man wears around his neck, its ends fluttering in the breeze.

An album leaf. A page of memory. Loved in the moment that it was there, and someday, later on, turned over and smoothed with care. Remembered.

And when you look out of the window at the full moon glowing brightly in the sky, you know the memory will be treasured, too.

One evening, when the seasons have passed and winter has come to your inn once more, you sift through the music you had unearthed from that trunk so many months ago, the music now stacked around the piano in haphazard piles. You pull a single yellow sheet from the depths. The few guests who have settled at your inn since its opening retired to bed hours ago, leaving you alone to sit on a restored armchair pulled out of storage and trace black notes printed on old, crinkled paper, letting their melodies shiver through your skin, your ears, your memory.

That night, you take a walk along the streets of the town. Lamps light the way, but you follow the path of the full moon on powdered snow, not a single shadow draped across its cratered surface. There’s music in the wind and you walk with it, fingers tapping where they rest in the pockets of your coat.

A flash of movement catches your eye. You turn and there’s a little cat slinking through the powdery white streets, moonlight glinting off its smooth, pale fur. It looks at you, and you look at it, and then you crouch down and extend a hand as it shyly pads closer through the snow.

You smile, remembering a shy man twisting his fingers at your door. Hair blond, not white, but gentle and sweet just like this creature cautiously butting its head against your palm.

—Hello there, you murmur. The moon looks lovely tonight, doesn’t it?

The cat purrs, like it agrees. Like it also knows the man you knew, and knows that he is where he needs to be, like you.

Smiling softly, you glance up at the moon and its reflective glow. It seems to brighten as you stare at it, moonlight pooling softly on the glittering snow.

The cat purrs again and you turn back, soft with the moon and the memories. Sweet laughter, dark eyes. A crescent bright smile, an album leaf.

A gentle melody humming through the air, and a yellow scarf rippling in the wind.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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newsalvations · 3 months

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leo woodall, bisexual + biromantic, cis man + he/him → isn’t that oswald “oz” michaels? i’ve seen them hanging out with the sirens. i hear they’re twenty-eight, but they’ve only been in alexandria for their entire life. they seem to be whimsical & alluring, but also unstable & cruel.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: oswald gage michaels

nickname(s): oz, ozzie

age: twenty-eight

date of birth: august 10

hometown: alexandria, louisiana

current location: alexandria, louisiana

species: siren

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

gender: cis man

pronouns: he/him

orientation: bisexual + biromantic

occupation: lead singer of tbd band

living arrangements: at the chateau

language(s): english

accent: lousiaian

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: leo woodall

hair color: auburn

eye color: blue

height: 6'2"

weight: 154 lb

build: athletic

tattoos: a siren on both of his arms; various others

usual expression: devilish grin

distinguishing characteristics: his smile, his bright eyes

PERSONALITY

positive traits: whimsical, alluring, confident

negative traits: unstable, cruel, spiteful

myers brigg: esfp

zodiac sign: leo

element: fire

enneagram: the individualist

temperament: choleric

hogwarts house: slytherin

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

primary vice: wrath

primary virtue: generosity

fears: losing his voice, dying again

hobbies: singing

FAMILY

father: toby michaels

mother: charlotte michaels

sibling(s): aren michaels, one other brother

pet(s): none

FAVORITES

weather: rainy

season: winter

color: black

music: emo / punk rock / alternative

movies: comedy / horror

beverage: beer

food: burgers

animal: dolphins

NSFW

preference: vers top, dominant

kinks: breeding, rough sex, dom/sub, control in/out of bedroom, lingerie, open to others

anti kinks: scat, vomit, blood play, etc

BIOGRAPHY

oz grew up in a fairly normal and happy human household. they knew about the supernatural and seemed to get along with everyone. oz was the sweetheart country boy who played for his high schools football team and went to church every day. nobody could truly hate him, or so he thought.

at the age of sixteen, he was invited to a kickback in the woods with a few of the other kids from his school. what he didn't know was that a group of witches planned on sacrificing him for some blood pact that they needed. although they tried to muffle his screams, it burned him back to life with a rage he'd never experienced before.

the witches realized what they did and quickly began to scatter, he'd eventually track them all down and brutally killed them one by one until he burned the leader alive in the same place he'd been sacrificed.

after that, he knew he wasn't the same. giving up football and church, oz discovered that his voice was even more beautiful than it'd been before. he had always been talented at singing but it was different now and he decided to abandon his life to persue music. without a word to his parents, oz left in the middle of the night to california where he'd form a band of sirens, banshees, and harpies; quickly got the attention of record labels who ended up fighting over them.

the bands freshman album was an overnight success, people were almost hypnotized by his voice and he grew a loyal but rabid fanbase. he'd find his way into the beds of married men, from hollywood execs to fans of his. he didn't care.

the band released more albums as time went on, becoming a mainstream success despite the numerous controversies they found themselves in. oz was known as a heartbreaker and various accidents began to follow the bands name, including the deaths of those who knew them personally and fans. the biggest scandal was when one of oz's biggest fans was found with his husbands dead body in their bed and people believed the man did it to try and win oz's affection. little did any of them know that oz specifically told this fan that killing his husband was the only way to prove his love for him.

after this, their record label was furious and wanted the band to clean up their image. something oz wasn't interested in. he still had a desire to burn the world down, no matter what the costs were. they agreed to leave the spotlight for the time being, work on a new album, and maybe rebuild their image.

he's been back in alexandria for a few months now and the itch to destroy more marriages and couples is still getting to him, now that he can't do it to his pool of fans.

#unveilintro #( bio: oz michaels )

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bluecoolr · 1 year

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🎱 Darrell Todd NSFW Alphabet 🎱

A/N: Keep in mind our boy is bi. I tried keeping this gender neutral, though. This is in Darrell Todd x You format. Also keep in mind he is a vers. I once said he gave subby energy, but soft dom is also applicable.

Absolutely not proofread. I charged through this like a diesel train firing on all cylinders.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He's usually light-headed after sex. When he comes down from his high he'll make sure to attend to you. He helps you clean up (if you want) and would get both of you a drink of water. Tucks your hair behind your ear/brushes your hair from your forehead while you drink.

Would love to cuddle after, share a kiss or 2 … or 3 before falling asleep with you in his arms.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands. They're big with prominent knuckles. There's a couple of freckles on the backs of his hands and one mole on his right wrist. He has vertically long fingernails which have a sort of pale pink nail bed and barely there lunulas. He keeps his nails trimmed and clean.

His hands are reliable. They can touch, caress, hold, grope, and pull orgasms out of you.

Of course he also likes his dick. He's all about closeness and thinks having it buried balls deep inside you would be the epitome of closeness.

Your tits and thighs and lips. Don't get me wrong he appreciates a nice ass, but tits drive him wild. Chronic case of lemme suck them tiddies. He can get off on it alone.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Thick and white, which is relatively surprising for someone who has bad eating habits and who leisurely smokes.

Would love to cum inside you every chance he gets, but if you don't want that he'll gladly cum on your belly or your thighs.

Likes to see his cock covered in both your juices when he pulls out.

Gathers any that leaks out and pushes it back in.

Likes it when you swallow.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Would just love to bite you

He settles for nips and hickeys but he would love to sink his teeth down and mark you up

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's pretty experienced and kinda knows his way around.

Deadset on learning how you like it so he can satisfy you. He will find that sweet spot and make it his fucking mission to hit it every single time. He sleeps well knowing he did a good job for you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Missionary and its variations: Both legs on his shoulders. One leg up. Your ankles locked around his waist/the small of his back.

He thinks it's perfect because you can have eye contact and its easier for spotting any signs of discomfort (no matter who's topping)

Also allows for deeper penetration and gives him front row seats to your tits. Makes your lips more accessible to deep, heated kisses.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Somewhere in the middle, I suppose. Likes to enjoy the closeness, wants to focus on how good it feels throughout.

Won't actively joke but he'd make you smile with honest, genuine praise.

Praise him and you'll get him very red and smiley.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

The carpet obvs doesn't match the drapes. He doesn't shave but trims it to help with clean up and comfort.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Very intimate.

Leans down all the time to kiss you. Thinks he can manifest his feelings through kissing. Outside of a sexual setting his kisses hold a lot of meaning too.

Kisses every bit of skin he can reach.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Jerks off a lot. It's one of the ways he relieves stress.

He'll be at work and very subtly reach down and palm himself behind the counter. Sometimes he disappears into the gas station bathroom to pump one out. Things get more interesting in his trailer.

He humps his pillow, hands clutching it in a death grip, while he lets his thoughts wander or while looking at pictures of you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

BREEDING

Praise kink

Mutual masturbation

Taking pictures/getting his picture taken

Outdoor sex/Agoraphilia

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His trailer, in the woods or by the lake of Devil's Peak

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Dirty talk and naughty texts

Send him a pic and he's fucking feral, itching to get off his shift

On the opposite end however, he also gets turned on when you're just relaxing/cuddling. Loves it when there's this shared air of trust and open affection that wraps around you.

Tenderness.

Confident and genuine smiles, twinkling eyes, and having some outspoken passion for an interest enthralls him too

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bondage

Knife or bloodplay

Degradation

Any form of hitting (spanking or slapping)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Honestly, he loves both. He knows how to go down on you for sure.

Great hand-tongue coordination *wink wonk*

He likes to lace his fingers with yours while giving/receiving

Absolutely loves when you come in his mouth and swallows every drop

Will not hesitate to kiss you even with the taste of him on your tongue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He gives you time to adjust once he bottoms out, but he's quick to settle on a pace you both enjoy.

Knows how important good rhythm is, so he's gonna commit to that.

Gets faster as both of you are close.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Loves a good quickie <3

Willing to risk it all for a quickie

If he's stuck at work, you're more than welcome to drop by and take him in the storage closet or bathroom.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

50/50… if it makes him uncomfortable or bears any form of resemblance to his turn offs, I'm sorry he isn't doing it.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Baby can take 2 max, but each round lasts a while so you both would have had your fill by then.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Surprisingly doesn't own toys. Considered buying one of those doll torsos, but decided against it. Didn't appreciate how desperate he seemed.

If you do have toys, he'll gladly use them on you, and if you get him any he's very willing to try them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Doesn't tease much. Doesn't like to be teased either. If you want him, you'll get him and would appreciate it if you return the favor. He gets embarrassed/incredibly needy when you tease.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Loud. Can't help it. Absolutely vocal.

Sprinkle of expletives here and there

So much moaning it might surprise you because in a normal setting he isn't too talkative.

Petnames galore. Says "ma'am/sir" or "mama/daddy" when subbing, but always uses "baby".

Out of breath by the time he's about to cum. Just helpless pathetic whimpers that he buries in the crook of your neck.

Begging. That's it.

Stumbles over his words.

His orgasm pulls out a deep, satisfied, moan out of him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Thoroughly believes that sex isn't good sex unless it's sloppy so... let's hope you're at the lake or near some running water and paper towels.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

*cracks knuckles* I've said before that he's big in every sense of the word and I stand by it. He's a good 8 inches in length, maybe a spare .02 or .04 or so, and a decent 5 inches in girth. Uncircumcised. (Gasp! An uncircumcised Christian?! Heresy! Bloo is burnt at the stake)

A shower. When you pull down his pants, it's a bit of a shocker and he always chuckles at your reaction.

Worried that you genuinely can't take it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Relatively average sex drive? Although it's pretty high when you're around.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pretty fast, only because he's absolutely spent afterwards, but he'll force himself to listen to you if you wanna talk after. He'll insist he's just resting his eyes when he closes them. Pretty soon his replies turn into sweet but monosyllabic mmm's. Then he's out.

Gonna tag some people who interacted with my post: @rottent33th @fraidy-farfelle @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @solmints-messyocdiary @probably-a-plant-thing @damien-mlm

#darrell todd #oc writing #slasher oc #nsft #bluecoolr.txt

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repo-net · 2 months

Text

updated ver: aoyama nakazke

How long has it been since I posted about an OC, let alone one that isn't from my bag of wrestling characters? A couple of years now?

Well, never mind all that. I've been in a strong writing mood as of late (it's more or less just me trying to get back into the hobby again while my schedule is freer than it was a month or so ago) and I thought I'd put down an updated and cleaner version of one of my older OCs; Aoyama Nakazke. The older post for him can be found here, if you have some sort of interest in checking that out.

He used to be solely a Danganronpa OC (and the context of his backstory is still minorly reliant on Hope's Peak being a thing), but I've admittedly fallen out of that genre a little bit as of late (not completely mind you, why else would the sage is still the entire theme of my blog?), so now he's more or less just a general OC that can be put in just about any verse.

Well, anyways. The lad's under the cut, so go check it out if you're interested.

Picrew link

Name: Aoyama Nakazke

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Height: 5'2" / 158cm

Weight: 128lbs / 58kg

Birthday: May 8 (I forgot why I gave him this birthday, but it has something significant to do with basketball)

Talent: Street Baller

Likes: Cola bottles / most kinds of street food - Cats - Mikel Jordin (???) - Having his hair stroked (generally by people he likes)

Dislikes: Strong fires - Authority figures - Tacky clothing - Getting shoved/slapped/any form of physical disrespect

Appearance:

Aoyama is a rather short boy with a youthful face; making it easy to mistake him to be younger than he actually is. He has light brown eyes and fair white skin, and styles his dark gray hair into short upswept spikes, with two pigtails tied together with black ribbons. When they’re let down, his hair reaches all the way to his shoulders, though he rarely ever does this outside of his own home or in the middle of a shower. (Small tidbit: he chose the dark color for the ribbons to have them blend in with his hair as much as possible)

Aoyama’s attires for everyday use consists of a long and baggy sleeved, black hoodie jacket that has a puffy interior within it, made to maximize the amount of comfort he can feel. Underneath the hoodie is a maroon shirt patterned with black vertical stripes, with the same design being applied to his socks. His shorts have a similar color scheme, with predominant maroon and black accents around the waist area and the edges of the cloth, and maroon sneakers that are topped with white shoelaces. This is usually his outfit while at his home, or if he plans on playing basketball within the day.

If he’s out and about, he makes the slightest bit of effort to change it up; although not by much, as he tries not to stand out among a crowd and would only really put in this ‘effort’ for someone he likes. This alternative outfit has Aoyama don a crimson and black undershirt with a silver leather jacket, and black pants kept in place with a belt. Both the jacket and his pants have plenty of pockets for him to store items; and more importantly - his hands. He really likes idling with his hands in pockets somewhere.

He also changes his footwear a little, now a simple pair of pure crimson socks and black sneakers with red undertones and laces. Aside from his clothes, he’ll style his hair to make sure his three antennas don’t just pop out, thinking that they look ‘stupid’.

Underneath his clothes is a rather muscly and well-toned build, as expected of someone from his area being a street basketball player and all. There are also a few, not so distinct scars around his torso and back - all a product of his childhood.

Personality:

Raised in the streets by himself and his talent, Aoyama is a stubborn and humble boy who seeks to get by in life as comfortably as he can. He's generally quiet off the court due to not wanting to really associate with anyone other than those he teams up with, and from a bit of deep insecurity that he isn't really worth more than what his talent can get him.

His thoughts tend to be a little sarcastic and blunt, sometimes seeping out of his lips and getting blurted out. Aoyama generally tries to avoid anything that’ll start a confrontation though - especially if it’s getting him involved in one.

He's unpretentious and practically his own biggest hater, though he doesn't take well to disrespect, especially physical ones, and it’s likely he’ll instinctively throw a fist right at the source if he gets shoved, pushed around, etc. He's a little clueless when it comes to things like world knowledge and educational subjects, with his lifestyle while growing up playing a major part in that.

Aoyama is incredibly loyal to those who he considers a friend and resents the idea of turning his back on someone; but his nature and roots as a street kid make it rather unavoidable for him to get in trouble from time to time, which has had him have to solve issues across different groups… at least, in the ways that he best can.

Backstory:

To say that Aoyama hated his childhood would be an understatement; but even so, he knows most of it came to be because he would rather walk through true hell than have to live in a fake heaven with demons.

Aoyama was an accident child by a shaky and collapsing couple in a rural farm close to the edge of Kushiro (an average town/city just north of Hokkaido) - both parents were not only poor but had also began to fall out of love for one another, sending the Nakazkes into a spiraling doom of debt and unwanted parental responsibility. Not having the means nor the funds to abort the child, they gave birth to him and left Aoyama to be raised by his grandparents, who would both shortly pass just before he turned 3 - the year he first started to remember and be conscious of his surroundings.

Taking Aoyama back with them to their house, his parents began to take their frustrations and misery of their situation out on him, blaming him for the fact that they keep spending money because of him. Whenever he was at school, he didn’t have many friends; and his short stature and endearingly innocent face as a kid made him an easy target for bullies. Yet whenever he would fight back, he’d get punished as if he started the trouble itself. It didn’t help that he could never focus on school too - and his grades were ‘passable’ at best.

Aoyama’s parents would constantly shelter him and refuse to ever let him out of the house, stopping him from eating too much, reasoning that if he gets full, he’ll become sleepy - and that if he became sleepy, he wouldn’t be able to study. After some point, Aoyama’s parents were no longer able to keep affording his tuition, which left his basic education level around merely the 4th grade. It wasn’t until he later got into Hope’s Peak that he was able to somewhat catch up.

Scars left on him by the whips and belts they’d strike him with, cold and heartless words that made him question why he was even alive, and constant hate that boiled and bubbled until he couldn’t take it anymore. After getting splashed with hot water by his father after he was caught trying to go outside and berating him, telling him that he’s wasting his life by trying to make it out of the house and that he’s only going to hurt himself like the idiot he is. Aoyama yells at the both of them, screaming and asking why they’re so mad at him when he never asked to be born, and that they’re saying that he’s wasting ‘his’ life…

When ‘his’ life was never his to begin with, because they’ve been dictating everything he’s been doing since the beginning, and that he hates it here, saying that he wishes he could just leave like they clearly want him to. His mother steps up, slaps him in the face and pulls him by the hair, dragging him back to their house. She tells him if he hates his life here so much, then why doesn’t he pick all his stuff up and leave? Aoyama’s eyes narrow for a second, but he grits his teeth, clenches his fists and storms off to pick up his own stuff. Both of his parents look shocked at the fact that Aoyama seemed absolutely on-board with the idea, but… if he wanted to leave their miserable life, when they knew he’d come crying back later on anyways… they’ll amuse him, they thought.

He never came back. He took a basketball, a stock of his clothes, the very little savings he had, and most importantly… what little money the Nakazke family had left and took it all for himself from his parents’ room and hid it away in a wallet he hid away between his shorts. And Aoyama barged out the door. Then he ran. And ran. And ran. And he just kept running, refusing to ever look back. If he felt thirsty or hungry, he’d buy a drink and a small snack to eat along the way. If he felt sleepy, he’d rest in an alley or a sidewalk under the night sky, using his bag as a makeshift pillow. And if he ever thought he’d want to go back home, he’ll kick himself in the foot and continue to run.

Aoyama didn’t know where he’d go. He doesn’t even know what his old house’s address was; and what side of the country he’d ended up in by then. But as long as it was far away, by himself, he was okay. And if he ever has to make money again so he can keep surviving long enough to prove those two nutcases wrong… he’ll pick up his ball, dribble it and gamble everything he has against another kid. It doesn’t matter if he gets pushed. It doesn’t matter if he gets hurt.

If someone shoves him, he’ll be able to shove them back. If someone tries to trick him, he won’t just look down and let it go. He’ll live. If only to spite them. If only so he never has to go back to them. And there were bumps, losses, moments of thievery and rumbling into street fights that he’d get into along the way. But he kept getting better and better, stronger and tougher, faster and sneakier. His height became a deceit for what was both a natural and honed gift for street basketball - skillful, agile, and a menace on the court that tore through enemy’s defenses and was speedy to the point that getting past him while he was guarding you felt infuriatingly impossible. Building himself from the bottom up, he was able to get scouted for local teams, make a proper wage for himself, a name was created, and soon enough on his phone, a call from prestige he could only peek through from a window had finally reached him.

Extras:

I got asked this a while back on a Discord server, and I thought I'd put it here too - Aoyama isn't exactly interested in romance (ball is life 💯). While he wouldn't say no to having a partner regardless of their identity, he grew up thinking that it's extremely corny and has a bit of a childish perspective, still half-convinced that cooties actually exist. But half the reason for that is because he's pretty socially inept and has trouble with showing and receiving affection outside of the one thing he's good at. The other half is because he doesn't even know what kind of people he's into and is still figuring things out, though he might have a bit of internalized homophobia having grown up in a somewhat conservative environment. It'd just take some convincing.

Aside from the likes listed above, Aoyama's into trap, hip-hop, and video game music. He's also more likely to hang around people that are rebellious and wild, even if he himself isn't a very loud and proud guy. Maybe it's just him wishing he'd have half the confidence they did. Oh, and he's a pretty frugal guy, tending to take the cheapest and most bang-for-your-buck options at almost anything he goes to.

"Is there anything outlandish he might have an interest in?" - Another question I answered on a server I used to be in. There might be one, actually! I gave it some thought, and I think he has a slight repressed fascination in cosplay! While he himself would never want to wear flashy clothing out in the open, thinking that it'd look ridiculous and cringey; ironically enough, he'd be open to trying it on by himself and pretending to be another person! That... stems from a bit of his insecurity about his own image (physically and mentally), but that is one thing someone who's close with him wouldn't expect for him to be drawn to. He'd probably isolate himself in embarrassment if you ever find out though, so maybe it's best you never find out about that.

#ocs: aoyama nakazke

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rosietrace · 1 year

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Lancelot Novellion

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“.... Your assistance is unneeded, however, I appreciate the offer.”

— Lancelot Novellion, the second son

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General Information

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Full Name — Lancelot Winchester Novellion

↳ Lancelot; Possibly a French diminutive of Lanzo. In Arthurian Legend, Lancelot was known as the bravest of the knights of the Round Table, while also for being the lover of Guinevere — ultimately leading to the destruction of Arthur's Kingdom.

↳ Winchester; Taken from the English place name, derived from Venta, of Celtic origin, and Latin castrum, meaning ‘camp, fortress’.

↳ Novellion; Taken from the word ‘Novel’, with additional letters.

Japanese ver. — ランスロットウィンチェスターノベリオン

Romaji ver. — Ransurotto Winchestā Noberion

Twisted from: Sir Lancelot

❐ — Arthurian Legend

V/A(日本語): Yuki Kaji(梶裕貴)

↳ Voices Todoroki Shoto from Boku no Hero Academia

V/A(英語/EN): Sean Chiplock

↳ Voices Diluc from Genshin Impact

Age: 18

Birthday: June 19th

Horoscope: Cancer ♋

Species: Human

Height: 177 cm

Hair color: White, Gray

Eye color: Amber

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/They

Sexuality: Pansexual

Dominant hand: Right

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Extra Information

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Homeland: The Blackheart Empire

↳ Formerly known as the ‘Lucretian Empire’

『 Family:

Mordred Lucretius — Father

Antoinette Winchester Lucretius — Mother

Davidson Novellion — Older Brother

Roya Callistis — Cousin 』

Dormitory: TBA

School Year: 2nd Year

Class: 2-A(seat no. 2)

Club: None

Best class(es): Physical Education

Worst class(es): Herbology, Alchemy

Like(s): Family, protecting those he cares about, sparring with Davis, spending time with his mother, knitting, swordsmanship, derby racing, listening to music, board games

Dislike(s): Davis' disdain for Roya, his father, being unable to protect others, the scars on his face, memories of his past, the inability to forget things he wants to forget, alchemy projects exploding, rusted armor, grenade launching, underestimation

Hobbies: Sparring, swordsmanship, relaxing near the palace lake, tending to his armory, cleaning his weapons, playing board games with Davis, derby racing, listening to music, knitting

Talent(s): Swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, multilingual-ish, equestrianism, knitting

Flaw(s): Pessimistic, over-dependent on his family, protective, aggressive, thinks about others before himself, self-conscious

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Personality

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Lance is significantly less…. Social, then Davis is.

He isn't much of a talker. He lets his accomplishments, his failures, and his actions do the work for him. At least most of the time.

Though Davis is the significantly more popular one of the brothers, Lance has quite the following as well….. Not that he seems to notice that, at least.

Lance, in all honesty, is hard on himself.

He can't seem to see the version of him everyone else sees, in himself. He looks into a mirror and sees nothing of what the people around him see.

With the way he grew up, the way he viewed himself was something he was accustomed to over the years. The smallest sign of praise would've sent him over the edge, but shortly after he'd start looking for ways to earn more.

Praise kept him going, just not in the same way it fueled Davis. They viewed the world differently (at least at first glance), and so, they viewed their pride differently.

In the case of mercy, Lance is about as aggressive as his brother. Just not as vindictive, much to the relief of many of the people he deals with, funnily enough.

Lance is considerably dependent on the acknowledgment of his parents, and especially Davis. He knows that his brother cares about him, but at times, his pride can get in the way of that care — often leading to moments where it feels like Davis doesn't even know who his own brother is.

Lance would do anything, anything, for his family. Getting hurt is just part of that process, and that's a risk he's more than willing to take for them.

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Thoughts on them

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“Ah, my sweet, beloved brother… He needs to learn to stay away from what isn't his business. I love him, truly, but there's no harm in teaching him an important lesson.”

— Davidson Novellion, Lancelot's Older Brother

“Lance doesn't speak much, but then again, I'm no better. We both often stay in the far corner during banquets and other social gatherings, but we're always dragged into the crowd that wants to seize our attention….”

— Roya Callistis, Lancelot's Cousin

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Additional Trivia

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✑ Main Theme: I'm Not Angry Anymore (interlude) by Paramore

✑ Backstory: 『 The Second Son 』

✑ OC Playlist: TBA

༝ㅤ･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ.ㅤ⋆ㅤ† .　↨

↨ In all the Swordsman Solstice competitions he's competed in, Lance always played third fiddle to his brother — and Victoria.

↨ …. Lance is somewhat intimidated by Victoria, not to mention her friendly ‘rivalry’ with her brother. He doesn't even know if what they have is a rivalry.

↨ Compared to Davis, Lance doesn't hold any sort of animosity toward Roya. Unfortunately, given how much Lance loves his older brother…. That isn't to say he doesn't assist Davis in his plans against Roya.

↨ Much like his Mother, Lance is an individual capable of producing magic — he just hasn't activated his Unique Magic yet. And that definitely doesn't bother him!..... Probably.

↨ There's an uncharacteristic childlike wonder in Lance's eyes whenever he spends time with his Mother. Growing up, he never saw her much, so he does his best to treasure the moments when they can spend time together. Especially since Davis already had so many opportunities, when compared to his younger brother.

↨ Is very much aware that his brother is capable of wielding a sword, even if it's gorilla glued to a rock. It's somewhat terrifying for Lance, actually.

Lance's Tags

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Appearance

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#lancelot novellion • #『 lance 🛡️ 』

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#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #oc profile #rsa oc #twst rsa #royal sword academy oc #royal sword academy #lancelot novellion #『 lance 🛡️ 』

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wolfcooked · 1 year

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ethan. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • thread tracker.

Is that [JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN]? No, that’s [ETHAN LIAM MONROE]. The [51] year old [ALPHA] [MALE] is a/an/the [COOK] of/in the [SABRE] pack. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be [ENERGETIC] & [OPTIMISTIC], but they urge you to be cautious, because they’re also known to be [DISORGANIZED] & [POSSESSIVE]. Their friends also say that they’re into [BREEDING & VOYEURISM] but don’t even think about trying [DIRTY TALK & HUMILIATION/DEGRADATION] with them. [MELLI, 30, SHE/HER, GMT+1]

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Ethan Liam Monroe

Nickname(s): n/a

Age: 51

Secondary Gender: Alpha

Occupation: Cook in the Sabre Pack

Pack (born): Samira (dame), Johann (sire) + eight siblings

Mate (former): Benjamin (deceased)

Likes: cooking, playing with & looking after pups, animals, the sky

Dislikes: traditional lifestyles (alphas > omegas etc.), being told what he can and can't do, food waste, hurting animals

APPEARANCE

Height: 6'1

Weight: 180 pounds (we like jdm before he dropped 45 pounds)

Build: muscular up to some degree, but not perfectly toned.

Hair Color: Brown-black

Eye Color: Hazel

Wolf Color: this is him, he's quite big and black with a white patch around his neck

SEX

Kinks: Alphas (lol), Voyeurism (he really likes to watch others have sex), Marking, Biting, Scenting, Gentle & sweet love making tbh

Anti-Kinks: Scat, Gore, Vore, Dirty talk, Humiliation, Degradation

Note: He's vers with a preference for Alphas (or dominant Omegas).

Ethan was born in a small fishing village, where he learned early on how hard life could be without royalty looking over you. He was the sixth of eight children, so the pressure was always high and every single one of them tried to best the other at every turn. He grew up thinking he had to be like them, a fisher - a hunter, a provider but as he grew older, he learnt that he didn't have to be like them.

He spent a lot of time with his dame, watching them cook for the village with a few others and he was fascinated by the process. More often than not, he'd rather stay home and help cook - than spend the entire day fishing. The act of killing had never been his favorite, despite knowing that it was hypocritical to cook and eat the fish (or other game occasionally) anyway, but refuse to kill it, but that didn't change the way he felt. He presented as an Alpha, much to everybody's surprise, but that didn't stop him from doing the things he enjoyed. He grew taller and stronger, but his heart remained the same.

In his late twenties, Ethan found love in a the lap of a fellow Alpha. Uncommon, not exactly wanted by the village, but since Ethan was already breaking all the rules by enjoying Omega activities, nobody seemed really surprised by this. They knew the chances for offspring were abysmal, but the couple didn't care at the time. They were happy together and despite being side-eyed by the people of the village, they were allowed to be.

When the Crown's soldiers marched into the little village twenty years later, Ethan was one of fourteen to escape alive. His mate did not. Athos was a myth, but with nothing left to lose, the survivors set out to find that magical place. Weeks later, only seven of them were left. Another few weeks later, it was only Ethan. Not all had died, some had abandoned their journey to live in Egrain, but Ethan didn't want that.

Athos was all he hoped for.

The Sabre pack is the perfect fit for him, cooking for the village is a dream come true and knowing that his pack doesn't care about his second gender is amazing. He's all for uniting the three packs to form one big, strong pack, but would never think of pushing them into it. He believes in freedom for all.

(He's been in Athos for approx. 8 years now.)

#ahqintro #pinned post.#bio.

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sakuramidnight15 · 2 years

Text

-HSA MC Information-

[Gacha Club Mod Ver. Below]

Character Bio

Name: Sasuke Aikawa

(Japanese: うちはサスケ)

Romaji: Aikawa Sasuke

Qoute: "Sis, wear your glasses or you'll get blind."

V/A: Tatsuhisa Suzuki (Japanese)

Aaron Dismuke (English)

Gender: Male

Age: 18

Birthday: September 5

Star Sign: Virgo

Eye Color: Pale Peach Yellow (Original Eye Color)

Coral Blue (???)

Hair Color: Oyster Yellow

Height: 179 cm

Race: Human???

Homeland: Asia

Family: Kane Aikawa (Biological Father)-(Deceased)

Takashi Mirio (Step-Father)

Kokoro Aikawa (Mother)

Haruki Aikawa (Older Twin Sister)

Hatoko Mirio (Step-Aunt)

_________________________________________

School Status and Fun Facts

Dorm: Tetravania (@hourglassstationacademy)

School Year: First

Class: 1-A (Same Class with Haruki, Freya, and Irelyn)

Student no. 3

Occupation: Student

Vice-prefect

Figurine-maker (Anime Kind or Not)

Master Player

Hacker

Club: Art and Photography Club

Best Subject: Combat Simulation, Arts, and Hand to Hand Combat

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous (Can both feet count? XD)

Favorite Color: Light Yellow, White and Grey

Favorite Food: Chips (More fully Spicy), Chocolate dipped Crepes, Vanilla Milkshake, Shaved Ice, Ice-cream sandwiches,

Least Favorite Food: Squid Rings, Too much sourness, Lime, Anything Tasteless, Cakes (Especially ones with too much frosting), Ghost Peppers (Almost Passed out-)

Likes: Positivity, His family and friends, Metal Music, Video Games (Mostly), Making hand-made figurines (Mostly, anime or not) , Messing his twin sister, The Weekend, Daily Internet Updates, Digital Gameplay (Safely), Food, Sleep, Giant Blankets,

Dislikes: Negativity, Being the center of attention, Increasing Workload, Losing the Connection, Cliffhangers, Separated from his sister, Someone hurting his loved ones, His Past 'Incident', Getting Teased, No Sleep, Worrying his family (her mother and sister mostly), His Father's Death, Interruptions, His Figurines broken (Mostly),

Hobbies: Making Figurines (Mostly), Art (Mostly), Cooking, Napping/Sleeping, Cunning-like planning (Mostly), Foiling his Opponents Plans, Multitasking, Solving Riddles (Either Easy or Difficult), Making somewhat complicated battle arenas (Mostly), Star-gazing,

Talents: High IQ, Fast Memorization, Keen Eyesight, Outsmarting someone, Stating things too directly, Self-defense (either physical or weapon), Knowing someone using a tactics (In a game system), Lying, Hi-jacking skills, Mastermind skills, ???,

Nicknames: Sasuke-san (From his family and friends)

Sake (From Tatsuo)

Sasu-kun (From Chizuko)

Little Bro (From Haruki, sounds like a tease comment to him though)

Aikawa-san (From Others)

Other Nicknames:

'Scluptor-san' (Figurine-maker Identity, secretly hidden)

King (From ???)

Player no. 3 (From ???)

The Rumored Isolated Player (From ???)

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Appearance and Personality

Appearance: Sasuke has a tall and slender male body build with well fitted muscular body. He has short oyster yellow colored hair which he has often get bed hairs from time to time. He has the same pale peach yellow colored eyes like his twin sister but they can change into coral blue, strangely the trigger of it remained unknown. Sasuke has a calm type behavior but often gets irritated.

Personality: Born as the only son and youngest child in his family, he too has a decent childhood like his sister Haruki, before his biological father's death, his father reminded him to always protect his sister even through hardships which Sasuke till remembered to do it after he died.

Since it's just him and his only twin, it was hard for him to handle it... But it wasn't serious like his sister though. It took some time slowly for him to move on, and so both of them never left their sides... When separation is needed to finish the job, expect them to reunite once again.

The current Sasuke we're now seeing has a calm personality towards other people in the campus, but when he's with his twin sister Haruki though he does get irritated easily due to her teasing against him, from time to time. Which that's rather a normal thing to see between them, like his sister, he too can be on his phone from time to time.

Additional, he quite a fond of art which he knows how to make well created figurines with only using simple materials, either from anime series or a well-made characters. Needless to say, he knows how to make them well-detailed, and it took him for about a while to finish.

Apparently he seems to know how to handle Haruki and her teasing with additional of pranks and ratting each out quite good despite his irritation getting through him eventually. Needless to say, he never gets tired through it at all, not even once but he does hides on what he actually feels so he's less secretive than Haruki but more in a cold kind of way.

Aside from that of what he holds inside of him, he also easy to be impressed at something new or relates to his hobbies but a bit easier than Haruki though. Sasuke would give some friendly or snarky comments if you get close to him. Mixed with Haruki's teasing, things can get pretty crazy and even wild between those twins eventually.

Do be well beware, according to Haruki he can eventually turn into somewhat of an ice king of he gets irritated too much. He holds the same smile but an cold aura started slipping out of him menacingly, he doesn't like anyone testing his patience so much, an additional of a cold shoulder is a sign from him afterward.

Despite being the younger twin, he seems to know how to handle his sister... Needless to say, we're now seeing a daily sibling fight now.

_________________________________________

Trivia

-The name 'Sasuke' itself means “assistant” or “help” in Japanese. While his surname 'Aikawa' is meaning love, affection, favourite./ 川 meaning stream, river, river or three-stroke river radical (no. 47).

-He's based on a few characters. IF and Black Heart (From Hyperdimensional Neptunia), Tōshirō Hitsugaya (From Bleach), Kirito (From Sword art Online), and Itachi Uchiha (From Naruto)

-He and sister are also close friends with Chizuko and Tatsuo prior before entering to HSA. They still kept close contact.

-He has a lot of well created figurines. So he doesn't need to buy them at stores. All he did is to make his own figurines, either from the series or a self-made character that his sister creates from her games.

-He also helps his sister on her game developing and updating from time to time. But he mostly helps with the characters in there as well.

-Both siblings mostly have their daily bickering, but they trust each other backs when it comes to secrets and other reasons.

-He was also in the same accident like his sister, but strangely he too survived despite the high chances of dying.

-His voice sounds pretty normal and calm, but the tone changes whenever he's in a bad mood. Which is why I chose Tatsuhisa Suzuki for his japanese voice and Aaron Dismuke for his English voice.

-Often scolds Haruki harshly if she's being a total ass.

-Knows pretty good sign language.

-Keen eyes for discovering cheating on games and is also good at memorizing the rules of which is allowed and not allowed.

-Knows numeral coding on systems, which it's hard to read and understand.

-His Korean Name Is 'Lee Ha-Joon'.

#mc #oc #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #gacha club #gacha games #gacha club mod #hourglass station academy #hsa #bio #character information #sasuke aikawa #sasu

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lotusmuses · 2 years

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i have a whole au that involves vanitas being transmasc (specifically masc/vers/neutra-adrogyne gender expression and agender identity) so i'll list some of the details (a lot of it is pre "transition" idk if i can call it transition because he never really did a transition?) also this is the first time i have a fully fleshed out idea of a trans au so please tell me if some things are inaccurate (though the androgyne expression, agender identity is something i've been self questioning a bit):

his birth name is Artemis

he didn't present as a guy until after Luna and Mikhail's deaths so Misha calls him sister

in Vani's eyes, Artemis died with her mother and brother and vampire doctor Vanitas was born

that scene where Misha imitates vanitas? but "oh! i was trying to act like my sister! hm... i suppose you'd know her better as my brother?" he's honestly very angry with Vanitas about this (not even bc Vani is trans but because vani isn't the same as he remembers; how can he go back to the happiest moments of his life if his sibling is different)

little Artemis wanted to be a boy to protect her little brother and so nobody would look down on her back when she trained with the chasseurs

when Number 69 first told the blue moon vampire her name Blue literally got so happy and said "Artemis! like the goddess that pulls the moon.. perhaps it was fate for our paths to intertwine haha!"

but it took a while before she told her brother and new mom her name

trigger warning; he never physically transitioned of his own choice but the doctor's experiments.... well let's say they did more than just inject blue blood into Number 69. after all what does an experiment need a sex and gender for?

before the vampire killed her dad and the others of the travelling show, Artemis was also in the show as an aerialist and acrobat. it was something she truly loved.

it's the reason why you can always find vanitas on a roof or high places when he's overwhelmed (also why he can stand on the top of an airship without batting an eye)

often Luna would come to the roof as well to comfort the child (bringing mikhail along if he was still awake) — they would sometimes talk to Artemis or sometimes just look at the night sky with her in silence

Luna also liked to sing to the children, Vanitas will hum the song when he's alone on a roof

also because of this, what he lacks in strength, he's makes up with agility and reflexes

Artemis never called Luna mother or father but she did wonder if this is what she could've experienced if her birth didn’t kill her mother

mikhail also wanted a lunar name like Luna and Artemis so they decided to call him Charon (a moon of pluto and a greek psychopomp; references that mikhail actually did die but is currently revived temporarily). he decided he preferred misha though

vanitas never calls his brother misha because he understands that the boy's mother called him that to prentend he was a girl. instead he called him mika (mikhail was still very excited that his sibling finally used an endearing nickname for him)

Vanitas never had dysphoria but he considered Artemis too weak for trusting and caring for people deeply and that she is a vital part of the memories he wants to keep buried. so if someone called him by his dead name.... run. we all know what he feels towards anyone who wants to know his past.

if he's okay with a person knowing his past he's okay with them using any pronouns for him though he/him is their most preferred. he feels quite awkward about using the name Artemis again because it reconnects him with Luna more (in this au he's no longer human and is the new blue moon vamp [thanks to the parade people- naenia, grandpa de sade, etc]; noe will still kill him but not yet) but if you have a vvv close relationship, he'll allow it. please be careful with the trust they placed in you.

(another thing is that his hair turns white when he uses the book a lot now)

after being saved by Luna, Artemis grew her bangs out (it having been cut so horribly simply so it wouldn't get in the way of 'procedures')

he would have kept his hair long but he didn’t like the feeling of it in his face so he gave himself bangs again and keeps the rest tied (he's not very good at cutting his hair so he just keeps it the way it was when he was with Moreau)

only Jeanne knows he's trans (bc of the cabin scene)

and murr i guess (canon that he only likes women and vani)

eventually everyone else will learn his past as well. and while they are shocked, it does explains certain peculiarities about him

oh! remember that scene when he says he cures vampires as revenge to Luna? it's because Luna once told them that she no longer resents those of the red moon and that while she may not regret cursing them, she'd never do it again-

"Artemis... in my years. I've learned that the best revenge is to prove someone wrong... to be kind. Never be the person they think you are. I know the feeling of being ostracized by my own kind. Do not let that anger overtake you. One day you'll meet those who make you realise that the world isn't as harsh as you thought, just as I have with you and your brother."

when her true name got tainted she went back to the strong resentment. Vanitas' "revenge" is against the corrupted Luna and every vampire that expects the one of the blue moon to harm them

he saves vampires as a promise to get 'revenge' on his mother, the vampire that showed him kindness, the corrupted vampire that killed his little brother. revenge against the humans that thought him weak. revenge on his abusers. revenge on the chasseurs that taught him hatred. revenge on the version of himself that hates humans and vampire alike.

this promise was the last thing they told the vampire before he killed them

had luna still retained sanity after making Vanitas a part of the blue moon clan, she would've been so very proud of him in that moment

the revenge that Vanitas wants in return for being the antagonist of everyone is to finally be reunited with his family. he hopes that his first true close friend, Noe, can grant him that act of kindness.

saw someone say promises of death is his love language and they're absolutely right

Hope you all enjoy this!

#the case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vanitas no karte #memoir of vanitas #blue moon vampire #vnc vanitas #vnc luna #vnc mikhail #vnc misha #trans vanitas #trans headcanon

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insolitus-academy · 11 months

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♚ // Face Claim

Full name Face Claim: Christopher Bahng

Group/Band/Occupation: Stray Kids

Nationality: Korean

Faceclaim age: 25

♚ // Character ; Basic information

Quote: In the calm, deep waters of the mind, the wolf waits. F.T. McKinstry

Full name character: Chan Awoo Lykos

Nickname:Lykos

Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Korean

Age: 25

Date of Birth:October 3 1997

Gender: Male

Preferred Pronouns: He/Him

Race: Werewolf

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

What is the level of Korean and how did they learn to speak it (For non-Korean characters from other realms & other earth-countries): Expert

♚ // Character ; Appearance

Skin Color: Pale

Eye color: Mixed eyes, right eye dark blue iris, left black iris

Scars: Cut along his eye right, faint fighting scars on his body, one long scar down his chest

Piercings: Nose stud, both ears, and helix

Tattoos: None

Hair color: Black

Transformed form: Midnight black wolf

♚ // Character ; Personality

Six personality traits: Disciplined,Masculine,Protective,Sociable,Self-conscious,Transparent

Likes:

Crafting

Working out

Nature

Animals

People

Dislikes:

Being Alone

Being inside for too long

Vegans

Looking in Mirrors

Animal haters

Manias: Working out

Phobias: Being alone

Animal: Dog

Religion: No

Favorite song: EXO 엑소 '늑대와 미녀 (Wolf)' MV (Korean Ver.)

Vice: Wrath

Virtue: Diligence

Personality Description:

Lykos is a happy pup. He loved nature and living amongst his pack and other animals. He was a tree hugger like any other animal. He loved listening to the sounds while simply laying on the ground.

Lykos wasn’t the smartest crayon in the box. His mindset was very animalist at all times, hunt, eat, play, love, and protect. On a day-to-day, his wolf resides in a plane in his mind even when he's in human form only taking over during the full moon. He didn’t like giving his wolf full control over his mind or body but they happily coexist.

Spending so much time in the forest Lykos picked up many hobbies, his mom called him a bull in a china shop because he loved crafting miniature things. He taught himself how to whittle wood and make jewelry out of the things he found in the woods, and how to hunt gems from the river rocks. But as he got stronger being a gym bro also took over his personality, he had to be strong, lift the most weight, do the most pushups, run the fastest, and hunt the most deer. Two complete opposites but while he loved crafting he learned to love strength training.

♚ // Character ; Powers

Magical Powers:

Increased strength

Shifting

Increased senses (smell, sight)

Non-magical Powers:

Crafting (Woodwork, Jewelry making)

Hunting

Running

Weaknesses:

Muscle Dysmorphia - No matter how big he is, how much he can lift he feels like it’s insufficient. He could be stronger.

Shifting - After the full moon he becomes weak and energy is totally drained

Angry - His instincts are animalistic and angry is the hardest for him to control

Silver

♚ // Character ; The Villager

Job/Occupation: Business owner of Nyctimus fitness center in FOGATAS

Lives in: FOGATAS

♚ // Character ; The Past

Date of Birth: October 3 1997

Has your character attended Insolitus Academy in the past?

Background:

TRIGGER WARNING, MUSCLE DYSMORPHIA, INCEST MENTION, HOMOPHOBIA MENTION

Lykos had an easy life, living in the woods where to him nothing but nature and his family meant nothing to him. He grew up in a metaphorically white picket fence house. A mom and dad who loved each other until what would seem like the end of time. They loved each other so much they popped out a whopping 9 kids and Lykos was lucky number 5.

Living with his family in the Lykos never left the watchful eyes of his parents or brothers and sisters. With 4 brothers and 4 sisters, Lykos was well-loved. His family had a normal pack dynamic, with Dad being the head of the household and his mom the gatherer taking care of all the pups while he hunted for food and of course the breadwinner.

They weren’t rich by any means but they had what they needed, living in White River National Forest in Colorado in a log cabin deep in the woods with his big family.

But Lykos was different growing up he was smaller than the other pups, as a male he should have been bigger than the women in his life but he just wasn't. Lykos and his wolf grew at a slower rate than everyone he knew. It didn’t fly with his dad at all. That’s when Lykos began to hate his body. “How can you protect your family if you’re tiny? A real wolf should stand tall against other wolves around him” Words swirled around his brain of his own thoughts as well from his father and mother.

Then came his obsession with the gym, day in and day out he would spend any time he wasn’t at school at the gym lifting weights or running in the forest. The older he got the more his body changed, the muscles filling out his body. He could see how proud his parents were in their eyes but even being bigger and stronger didn’t help Lykos, he should be bigger, stronger. He thought getting bigger would help his ego, being stronger would make him a stronger leader of his family but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. All it left him was roid rage and a bad attitude, it wasn’t him but it became him.

As a teenager Lykos knew he liked men, he worried about telling his parents but mostly his dad. But they were close so he knew he could go to them and talk to them about anything. So that’s exactly what he did, they were surprisingly understanding. They didn’t care who pined for but without missing a beat his mother gently reminded Lykos that he was still to marry a she-wolf and have pups.

That’s the moment Lykos became scared. Being a werewolf was sacred and closed society, they were the superior beings. They had to keep their bloodline pure. The most important thing in his family was to continue on the generations no matter what, his family tree while sometimes resembled a spider web was still easily followed because of the sacred lineage . It went as far as wolf siblings matting together to keep the bloodline pure. His older sister and brother were married off together and so far has 2 pups. It had nothing to do with love (although they did love each other as siblings) but more about procreation. His own mother’s first husband was her brother who sadly passed to a hunter before she was able to have a pup. His mom was then married off to Lykos father in America and his mom had to relocate from South Korea.

Lykos was to be married off to a she-wolf from another pack because they were similar ages back in his mom's hometown Jeoluml South Korea. He couldn’t even disagree or leave kicking and screaming. He knew it was what he had to do, it was like a business transaction. It was his first time away from his family. So off he went to meet his betrothed she-wolf ‘Hei’. She was pretty and he thought she was sweet, that was until she found out that Lykos liked men. He assumed she would be just as understanding as his parents but he was deathly wrong, Hei was disgusted, he was thrown out like a wet dog with insults hurled at him.

Back home his parents were not happy. He should have kept that part of him a secret but they promised to find him a more understanding wife, maybe even a lesbian. But he didn’t want that, he wanted to be with someone he loved, even if it wasn’t another wolf. Voicing his opinion was the worst idea, they demanded Lykos come back home where they could knock that idea out of his head.

Lykos didn’t want to go back home there was no way, no matter how much it hurt being away from his pack he couldn’t do it. So he stayed in Korea but he had nowhere to go, he wasn’t welcomed in Hei’s pack. During his short time there he did meet a friendly elder who understood what Lykos was going through. The elder told him about a forest near a grand academy that might have a pack that would take him in. So again off he went.

♚ // Roleplayer

[ optional ]

Time zone: GMT-5

OOC! Triggers: Writing about parents passing

Themes/genres you like writing the most?: All

#bang chan #were #fogatas #iachcracter #villager #kpoprpad #krp

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foxlawed · 1 year

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nathan. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • isms. • memes. • thread tracker.

Is that SHAWN ASHMORE? No, that’s NATHAN GRAY. The 39 year old GHOST MOON - WEREFOX OMEGA MALE is a PROSECUTOR (LAWYER). If you ask their friends, they’re known to be ELOQUENT & AFFECTIONATE, but beware, they’re also known to be FEISTY & UPTIGHT. Their friends also say that they’re into BONDATE, COLLARS & BODY WORSHIP but don’t you dare trying GORE, SCAT with them.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Nathan Gray

Nickname(s): Nate, Gray

Age: 39

Species: Werefox

Moon Phase: Ghost Moon

Secondary Gender: Omega

Occupation: Prosecutor (lawyer)

Family (born): Lionel (dame), David (sire)

Mate (promised): Patrick Ruthledge

Likes: music, ink, work

Dislikes: selfishness, breaking the law, loud noises, silence

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'11

Weight: 150 pounds

Build: lean

Hair Color: Blond

Eye Color: Blue

Fox Appearance: Somewhat small, white fur, fast and lean.

Tattoos, scars: n/a

SEX

Kinks: Service Tops, Bondage, Clothed quickies (keep him in his suit for extra ruffled-ness), Biting (ok but like, push him face-first into a wall and bite him in the neck yes), Rimming (receiving), Face-fucking (receiving), Collars (with a glimpse to be seen under his suit yes), Body worship (pitts included)

Anti-Kinks: Scat, Gore, Vore

Note: He’s vers, but leaning heavily towards bottom. He will top every now and then, absolutely, but it isn't his preference. Sex is stress relief for him and well, he relaxes better when he bottoms. ;)

The Grays have always been lawyers. Nathan’s parents met through their parents’ law firms and everybody before them did, too. His sire would always say that was their secret to success. The Grays worked only for themselves, taking up cases that were profitable for them, those who would provide the most publicity with high chances of success. Nathan grew up in his parents’ law firm, spending most of his time after daycare, after school, after highschool there - every free minute of his days were spent in an office chair, running around the lobby, annoying the receptionists until his dame would come and scold him, tell him to sit back down and listen.

Sometimes he did. But most times he decided that everything else was more fun than listening to adults ramble about laws and consequences and contracts. In highschool, they let him work for the firm - it was simple jobs like sorting files, proof-reading and the like, but every single Gray lawyer went through the same process when growing up, so Nathan would, too. While other teenagers his age were out playing football or making music, Nathan was sitting inside his father’s office - ear pods in his ears with soft music playing most of the day and doing paperwork for the firm. Presenting Omega wasn’t a problem for his family, but being reborn under the Ghost Moon was a bad omen.

It was never the same after, but his parents tried their very best to raise him like he wasn’t the black sheep in the family. At least they left him the music when he worked, knowing that otherwise he’d never get any work done. Despite all that, despite the difficulties he was put through - despite the disappointment he could see in his parents’ eyes whenever they looked at him, he graduated at the top of his class and went to New Haven’s University to study Law.

Of course he did.

Nathan knew nothing else - had been molded into a lawyer before he developed the ability to decide for himself what he wanted to do with his life and besides, he’d brought enough shame over his family by being born again under the wrong moon. The moon itself was punishment enough - he felt. the constant thrum of voices whispering at him, day and night. Nobody who wasn’t affected by it would understand. But he had given up trying to explain. So he found his own system, his own way to deal with the disadvantage and make the best of it. He wouldn’t be where he was if he hadn’t been born feisty and stubborn - a trait inherited by most of the Grays.

But, during his time on Campus - his family loosened the grip they had on him, sure he’d follow suit like he had been taught to. Classes, study, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Nathan though, found himself drawn to the outside more and more, found himself exploring a world he’d never really seen before. He drank, he woke up hungover. He dated, he fell in love, he got his heart broken and regretted ever giving up the celibate life his parents wished on him. He was alive. He was not just one of the voices - he was flesh and blood. Love hit him harder than he expected, especially because it came in the form of a very handsome selkie who wasn’t just someone equally misplaced in their respective family, but also none other than the Alpha his family had chosen to bind him to for all eternity. If they had their way. The Grays and the Ruthledges had come to an agreement to bind their respective heirs to each other for they would one day become one and combine the power and influence both families have on New Haven. Nathan’s first instinct had been to protest, but when he actually met the Alpha… that quickly shifted. Fondness grew, feelings developed. But it wasn’t meant to be. They weren’t meant to be. Nathan found out the hard way when Patrick Ruthledge - thief of his heart, vanished into thin air without so much as a peep.

Back to business.

Classes taught him a lot about himself and what he thought about right and wrong, about cases that were worth fighting for, even if the pay wasn’t good. Ever since the day Nathan was born, there had been a chair reserved for him in the big oval office his sire loved more than his dame. But it was during this time of exploration and freedom that Nathan realized that he was not a puppet. He didn’t want to work for his sire, he didn’t want to give up his integrity for money. He wanted to come home from work and feel good about himself. Proud of what he did that day.

The entire family would flip, he was aware of that, but he’d also learned a long time ago to ignore what others in the family had to say about him. Maybe, cutting himself loose from his family was actually a blessing for them. The Black Sheep finally gone. None of that mattered to him, he believed in the law and he believed in freedom, so when he graduated - Nathan applied to become a prosecutor for New Haven.

The Grays didn’t approve, but they also knew better than to fight him and so long as he kept the agreement between the Grays and the Ruthledges intact, they had no reason to force him back into the family’s grip of death and despair. When Patrick, the former thief of his heart and heartbreaker returned to ask for a favor, he had been playing with the thought of calling the entire thing off, but … when he looked into those pleading blue eyes… he gave in once again. Patrick hadn’t left his side ever since.

It’s been over ten years now since he had his first day. The beginning had been rough, police officers weren’t easy to work with, most of them far too stubborn to believe that someone actually was on their side. He was good at his job, though - a better lawyer than many in his family ever possibly could be and soon law enforcement acknowledged as much.

Inside Court, he was a force to be reckoned with - outside Court he was a lot more tame, yet usually more focused on his work rather than anybody or anything around him.

Working with the police, fighting for justice - for the law. What better way to honor the sacrifice of those who came before him?

#wtnhintro #bio

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sullivanmatthew · 1 year

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GET TO KNOW THE MUSE

Name: Matthew Sullivan

Species: Witch

Nickname(s): Matt

Age: 24

Date of Birth: May 22, 1998

Place of Birth: Bethesda, Maryland

Race / Ethnicity: Caucasian

Gender: Cis Male

Secondary Gender: Alpha

Pronouns: He/Him

Job: Sex Shop Owner

FAMILY

Sire: Jonathan Sullivan

Dame: Moira Livion

Siblings: none

Mate: none

Children: none

Pets: none

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 172

Build: Muscular - Athletic

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Brown

Tattoos: Sleeves on both arms

Piercings: Both Ears

Clothing style - Styled Thrifted Clothes, Athletic Wear

Distinguishing Features: A notch on his left eyebrow

PERSONALITY

Positive Traits: Ambitious & Dedicated

Negative Traits: Indulgent & Sleazy

Hobbies & Interests: Woodworking, Camping, Soccer, Cars

NSFW

Position: Vers Top

Kinks: Recording & Toys. (There's obviously more)

Anti-Kinks: Scat, Vore, Gore

Safeword: Soliloquy

Dick Size: 9.6"

BIOGRAPHY

Pretending to have a normal life despite being a witch with a long standing lineage would be counterintuitive, but that was the life that Matthew was born into. There was nothing spectacular about his childhood, or at least, nothing that would differentiate him from anyone else. He had two loving parents, the white picket fences, and his friends from school and the neighborhood. Nothing seemed to be out of place, he was just a regular kid with a regular life. But things began to change when he turned ten and he simply told his mother that he had a really bad nightmare the previous night.

Matthew didn’t reveal what his dream was about but he can already tell that his mother was more worried about this than he was. Despite her concern, she still asked him to tell him what he saw. “It was really dark,” the kid would begin, almost losing whatever fear he had over the dream as he continued on. “And there were these large, clawed hands in front of me. I tried running away but they just followed me until I stopped. That’s when they asked me to take one of their hands.” His mother was drained, running her hand through her hair in disbelief of everything that was being told to her, and wishing this was her own nightmare but she eventually asked him if he did, in which Matthew nodded. Her head hung low before she eventually cupped her face in her hands. There was nothing said, but his father walking towards his mother broke the silence.

After what felt like forever, his mother finally told Matthew that she was a witch, his father a human, and that she hoped Matthew would be too. She was from a long standing coven that was connected to the old gods. Their practices have been passed down for countless generations, and it was a rule that they never become involved with a human as they would create an impurity that wouldn’t be able to handle their bloodline. But she had met his father and fell madly in love with him that she was willing to risk everything and leave the coven to be with him. Soon enough, she became pregnant and all she hoped for was that Matthew would become human.

But that wasn’t the case and now she had to race against the clock to rectify her decisions. However, the solution wasn’t any better, Matthew sadly had to leave his old life behind and join a sanctuary far from home that can hopefully help him. It was a confusing journey trying to figure out what was happening, especially with the threat that he could die because of this, which can lead to even more problems. So, adjusting in this new place was hard on him, he didn’t want to make friends with anyone since he thought he was on borrowed month. But one day there became a week, which turned into a month, and after time, he was allowing himself to stop fearing death because he didn’t see anything bad happening to him, in fact he was actually feeling better than he ever has.

Through his stay there, he has learned so much about being a witch, applying himself as much as he could because he wanted to prove his mother’s old coven that he could handle their bloodline. And thanks to some incredible witches who saw beyond old traditions, they figured out that the mix of the human blood and old blood had caused a non-verbal pact with a demon, which was what he saw in his nightmare. Although this was fairly uncommon, what was a rare occurrence was Matthew surviving this power since a lot of children from a relationship between a witch from this coven and humans would have died soon after their agreement. Fortunately, he was one of the handful of witches to handle the ordeal. Matthew didn’t know what, and quite honestly, he was scared to find out further as he felt he would have jinxed himself. So he continued his studies until he could. Or in his case, until he became starved for something more.

When he thought it was time, Matthew packed up a van with what little he had at the Sanctuary, took some friends and decided to travel the country, exploring all that he had missed out on in his time there. It wasn’t easy to say the least, as he tried his best to survive without taking advantage of his magic, but he was soon finding out that he was a very convincing person. Somehow finding places to crash, haggling prices at absurdly low prices, and being able to convince anyone to buy something from him when he was working odd jobs every time he stopped at a new city. The witch was learning more beyond the magic, which he felt was somehow just as powerful as his abilities. And after a few years of living a nomadic life, he stumbled across some other supernaturals who talked about this special town that accepted all. So with that, Matthew decided to drive his way there, and set up shop there. At first he thought it would have been a little silly, but he’s slowly finding out that opening up an Adult Sex Store was actually a good idea.

#matthew sullivan ;; visage #matthew sullivan ;; about #i will be writing posts about his shop and his powers respectively in the future uwu

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newsalvations · 3 months

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eli brown, homosexual + homoromantic, trans man + he/they → isn’t that arthur ashe? i’ve seen them hanging out with the humans. i hear they're twenty, but they’ve only been in alexandria for six months. they seem to be astute + pragmatic, but also unnerved + withdrawn. they are not heightened! |

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: arthur adler ashe

nickname(s): artie

age: twenty

date of birth: august 28

hometown: new haven, connecticut

current location: alexandria, louisiana

species: human

ethnicity: white

nationality: american

gender: trans man

pronouns: he/him

orientation: homosexual + homoromantic

occupation: book store clerk

living arrangements: with his uncle

language(s): english, french

accent: northwestern american

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: eli brown

hair color: brunette

eye color: brown

height: 5'5"

weight: 145 lb

build: slim

tattoos: none

usual expression: grave

distinguishing characteristics: his curls

PERSONALITY

positive traits: astute, pragmatic, intelligent

negative traits: unnerved, withdrawn, passive

myers brigg: infj

zodiac sign: virgo

element: earth

enneagram: the investigator

temperament: melancholic

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

moral alignment: true neutral

primary vice: envy

primary virtue: patience

fears: meeting the same fate as his parents

hobbies: reading, writing, doodling

FAMILY

father: alastair ashe (deceased)

mother: alice ashe-adler (deceased)

other relatives: archer ashe (uncle)

sibling(s): none

pet(s): none

FAVORITES

weather: cloudy, rainy

season: autumn

color: blue

music: indie

movies: romance

beverage: tea

food: meatloaf

animal: cats

NSFW

preference: vers bottom, submissive

kinks: breeding, light dom/sub, handcuffs, open to others

anti kinks: scat, vomit, etc

BIOGRAPHY

arthur had pretty normal and healthy upbringing. both of his parents were yale graduates who encouraged a young arthur to persue his studies. his father was a high profile lawyer and his mother was a celebrated journalist who traveled the world. although arthur spent most of his formative years being looked after by a nanny, his parents still made an effort to be there for their son.

when arthur was sixteen and on vacation in italy with his parents, something unusual happened and the trip was cut short. his parents became paranoid after the trip and constantly looking over their shoulder, though they never told arthur what happened or why.

shortly after his nineteenth birthday and just as he was starting a new semester at yale, arthur got a call that his parents were found in a terrible accident. rushing off campus and across town, their home had been caught on fire and his parents bodies couldn't be identified nor autopsied. this left arthur orphaned and alone, he was wrecked and could hardly finish the remainder of the semester.

deciding to take a break for the spring semester, arthur was able to live off the hefty inheritance his parents left for him though he was a ghost of his former self who simply locked himself away in an apartment near where his old home was. by that summer when he was re-evaluating what he wanted to do next, he got a surprise visit from someone he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. his uncle archer.

the man had always been a mystery to arthur, he seemed to always be traveling and never visited for more than two or three days at a time until he stopped showing up. archer stayed with him for several months, encouraging arthur to start over somewhere new. he mentioned that he had a place down in louisiana that arthur could stay at until he figured out where he wanted to go.

and so he did, arthur packed up his belongings and said goodbye to connecticut. alexandria is unlike anywhere arthur has ever been to before and he's still not adjusted to the humidity or the strange aura that the town has. he's taken a job at his uncle's book store in the mean time.

#unveilintro #( bio: arthur ashe )

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twistedr0se · 3 years

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Hello, I would like to ask how diasomnia and pomefiore would react when they discover that their s / o is an angel (yes with has wings, a super believer in God, etc)

Diasomnia with an angel s/o 🤍🕊

Pomefiore vers (soon)

Note: GN(gender neutral) reader, I’ll be splitting this post up into two since it’s two dorm sets ^^

Malleus Draconia

- He had thoughts of you possibly being an angel with how kind and open you are with him, but to find out that you’re an actual angel is a shock to him

- a lot of things start to make more sense to him. How you weren’t afraid to approach him and actually make a connection with him, how your energy seems warm and comforting even in your worst moments, and how you always knew what to say when it came to the fae’s troubles

- a small thought kept itching into his subconscious after this realization. He was mainly worried if your relationship with him would cause problems to your god. While he is a dragon fae, he cant help but get a little vexed when he sees a slight resemblance with Satan. He doesn’t want you to see him as a threat. You assure him that it’s not the case and that your love for him superseded his resemblance to any demon.

- takes you to more religious abandoned places and ruins, often visiting old cathedrals and church gardens that have been long abandoned for centuries. Here you talk in length about some angelic statues that managed to still be there, and malleus listens attentively

- at one point you showed your wings to him in all it’s feathery glory. He’s incredibly speechless at how soft and white your wings are, a complete opposite to his jagged, scaly and cold draconian ones.

- he’s more protective of you are now that he knows you’re his angel, he’ll stop at nothing to protect you from those who seek to drag you down to the depths of evil, and further from your god’s light

Lilia Vanrouge

- he suspected you were an angel from the start, he’s seen angels before during his travels and you fit every criteria of being one. it turns out he was right!!

- asks you a lot of questions about the divine, your god, and everything there is to know about being an angel. He’s researched some parts of biblical history before for some exams, but he wants to hear from you about what you’ve experienced as a full blown angel

- he teases you a lot about his hair in the shape of horns meaning that he’s your little shoulder devil here to cause mayhem. He once popped right next to you while upside down and tried to do his best Satanic impression while he picks you up for one of your dates (and yes, your friends are terrified).

- he listens to you talk about your god a lot. He just likes the way your loyalty and grace shows for your ruler and it honestly leaves him in awe. It’s not everyday you get to see an angel end up in NRC let alone one who hasn’t had the world’s filth taint their innocence and spirit. You’re everything a perfect being could be and he’d be sure to protect you from any harm

- sometimes gives you crosses, little angel statue trinkets and other biblical memorabilia after he comes back from his travels. It’s not everyday you get to have rosaries blessed by holy water so you bet he’s getting this !! He’ll even buy some cute accessories for your angel wings if he finds some.

- your wisdom and faith is what keeps him optimistic for whenever he remembers the many conflicts twisted wonderland has faced. The many lives lost during battle, the many people that suffer because of it, and the cruelty that some have towards others to continue such vicious cycles of pain, those thoughts subside when he’s with you. You who has unconditional love and acceptance for all, with a warm smile everywhere you go, may be the key to ending all of these wars and finally bring about universal peace.

Silver

- he hadn’t paid much attention to the signs of you being an angel. I mean sure, your kind and warm nature was an anomaly in a school crawling with villains, but he thought that you were just an ordinary human. Well, he was dead wrong.

- when you first revealed yourself to him he was taken aback. He didn’t expect his lover to be such an angelic creature. It’s a wonder how and why whenever he falls into slumber he feels as if someone is gently carrying him somewhere, only to then open his eyes and find himself in his dorm room.

- he tries his best to stay awake during your music and prayer sessions, but honestly the church organs feel so soothing that he just can’t help but zzzzzzzzzzz……..

- your hymns and songs are what made him more in love with you. Hearing your voice lull him into a peaceful slumber makes him feel like he is protected and safe.

- You accompany him a lot during your free time, often having his sleeping body on your lap while you caress his silver locks during his slumber. He cant help but feel safer sleeping when he knows you’re there with him. His dreams feel more pleasant and he couldn’t help but melt at your touch. “Hey…does this…make you my guardian angel?”

- he’ll pull you close during moments of rest and just soak in your heavenly presence. He had never felt like he would fall in love before, but the fact that he has and it’s with you, it’s far more of a paradise with you then what’s above.

Sebek Zigvolt

- the minute he finds out about you being an angelic being, his entire existence was shaken. Residents can immediately hear screams from outside diasomnia, and it lasted for about 10 minutes.

- I mean him???? With an angel????? An ANGEL???? He couldn’t believe it. He saw earlier signs of you being incredibly friendly, even approaching him despite his brash attitude to humans, he even thought you were one of those “humans”. But to think that you’re a divine being…he fell even more in love with you.

- he starts to learn more about your god, almost to a religious extent. No other ruler could take the place of his young master malleus, but he wanted to know more about this god you’ve been praying to almost everyday. It has only been 30 minutes and he’s already memorized every single name from the spheres of angels.

- he stops calling you human now and opts to call you ‘angel’ or ‘cherub’ whenever he sees you. He wont say it to you directly, but he thinks very highly of you. Despite him coming from a home where it doesn’t take such pure beings lightly, he is still shocked that out of the many powerful dark faes in his homeland, the one that stole his heart was the sweetest angel.

- once you show this man your wings and your halo, he goes absolutely red. He felt a similar feeling for when he was assigned to guard Malleus as his retainer, but this, this was something far greater than that. His heartbeat raced as you playfully flapped your wings against him, and with that warm smile…he really was sure he’d seen heaven at that moment.

- his worst nightmare would be if you ever turned into a fallen angel, he would hate to have your wings and halo broken off from you, and he’d do whatever he can to be your guardian angel for a change.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #malleus x reader #Lilia x reader #silver x reader #sebek x reader #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #silver #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia x reader #Lilia Vanrouge x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

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mlm-writer · 3 years

Text

Rutterly Filled (Omega!Wei Wuxian x Alpha!Male!Reader)

Pairing: Omega!Wei Wuxian/Wei Ying (The Untamed ver.) x Alpha!Male Reader (NOT trans-friendly) Rating: Explicit Words: 3416 POV: Second Summary: You have not had a rut ever since you have been captures with the other Wens. Now things are going well on Burial Mounds, your body decides it is time. Unfortunately, your prolonged period of being rutless meant your next one was going to be extreme. Fortunately, the Yiling Patriarch is secretly an omega and you two have been flirting ever since you met. Notes: This is 200% self-indulgent. I saw the twink, I fell in love, I wanted to wreck him. Do I need an excuse? Tags: Omegaverse, a/b/o dynamics, ruts, idiots in love, being in a relationship without realising it, reader is a himbo, loss of control, magical restraints, breeding, knotting, multiple orgasms, does Wei Ying have a dick and a pussy or a dick and an ass? up to you!, self-lubrication, fingering, blowjobs, facials, handjobs, gēge kink and fuck or die

There was no qi flowing anywhere. The only thing that filled your ‘internal stream’ was utter rage. “I told Wen Qing this would not work without a golden core!” You exclaimed as you got up and started stomping around. The alpha pheromones were rolling off you in waves and you were low key glad you were the only alpha present on Burial Mounds or you would have started a fight the second you caught a whiff of any other alpha.

“It was still worth a try. I do not think there is a way to stop your rut now.” You stomped around Wen Qing. You did not want to lash out at her. Were it not for her concoctions, you would have gone into rut a few days ago without a backup plan at all. Your hands clenched and unclenched at your sides. “There is one thing I have not yet told you.” You let out a grunt, indicating you were listening. “Wei Wuxian is an omega and has offered to help you through your rut.”

You stilled for a second. The Yiling Patriarch was an omega. It only took a second for you to process. Wei Wuxian was not known to adhere to any stereotype or standard. It was not crazy to think that the Yiling Patriarch, a figure that induced fear and hate in many cultivators, was a fragile omega. He may carry himself around like a big figure, but truth to be told, he was skinny like a twig and if he was not such a good fighter, anyone could snap him in half. It all made sense, it was not a crazy thought.

“Master Wei has saved my life. I am already indebted to him. I will wait out my rut in the tent Wen Ning set up in the woods.” You were already walking to the door of Wen Qing’s humble hut, but she stood in your way. Sometimes you suspected her of being an alpha as well. One never knew, when cultivators could just simply suppress their second gender, making them all appear like betas.

“You have not had a rut in a long while due to the poor conditions we have been under. Your first rut in a while may be much more intense than you are used to.” You clenched your fist, digging your nails into the palm on your hand. Your eye twitched. “Wei Wuxian can defend himself against you, should there be any need. He is also the only omega on the whole mountain. His only condition is that you do not mark him.” You violently shook your head before you could agree to it. The man was the prettiest boy you had ever laid eyes upon and while you two had been flirting, you had not yet confessed that every flirty word you shot his way was truthful. The thing between you two, unnamed and not yet romantic, was too good to risk.

You walked away from the door, before you were going to physically lash out at Wen Qing. “I will not take advantage of master Wei. I owe him too much already.”

“Your excuses are so weak, I’m starting to think that you don’t think I’m attractive.” Your whole body whipped to the door, where the omega in question had appeared with a pout on his face that made you want to kiss him. His lips were pink and glistening. They looked so full and soft. Wen Qing told him to get out, but you already caught a whiff of the omega scent you had never noticed on him before. Before you had any control of your tongue, you had agreed to spending your rut with Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Want bubbled up from deep within you. There was no way back now.

You followed him and his scent like a blind puppy, as he let you between trees to a tent Wen Ning had set up earlier in case you could not suppress your rut. You saw the dark red fabric in the distance, when suddenly you were caged against a tree by Wei Wuxian. “Scent me,” he whispered into your face and he did not need to say it twice. You rubbed your nose all over his neck and down to where it met his shoulder. You took deep breaths, letting your lungs fill with the sweet and spicy scent that you from now on would know as Wei Wuxian. You didn’t know how long you were rubbing yourself on him and smelling him, but after a while, the fog of alpha hormones cleared and you had a bit more grip on what was going on and what was about to happen. “Better?” Wei Wuxian giggled as he rested against you. You held him close and slowly breathed in his scent.

After a few slow breaths, you nodded and took his hand to drag him to the tent. It was big enough that you two could stand inside and there were supplies inside, mostly food and water, but also extra robes. You didn’t hear the sound of a lake behind the tent, as you dragged Wei Wuxian inside and pushed him down onto the straw mat on the ground. You crawled on top of him, but as your eyes met his, you were awfully aware of how you were acting. “Sorry, maybe we should talk about what I can and cannot do, before I lose all my patience.” Wei Wuxian laughed and shifted so you two were sitting on the straw mat, facing one another. His robes had fallen open a little and the sight of his chest threatened another frenzy to make itself known.

“You can do anything, but try not to claim me. It is a little early in our relationship for that.” You almost choked on your own saliva and started coughing. Wei Wuxian handed you a waterskin, but you needed a solid minute, before you had enough breath to actually attempt drinking anything.

“I’m sorry, but… relationship?” You watched Wei Wuxian through teary eyes from your coughing fit. He seemed to turn red in an instant, his face now matching the ribbon in his beautiful silk black hair.

“Yes? I mean I thought… we always flirt? And we drink together and you sometimes feed me at dinner? We also cuddled when we were drunk? I know we never talked about it, but we are in a relationship or something… right?” You stared at him, a little dumbfounded. He did not lie; those things happened. You just took all those things for things Wei Wuxian would do with anyone.

“I didn’t think of it that way,” you immediately regretted your words as you could see Wei Wuxian’s heart breaking all over his face, “but! But! But!” He looked at you, hopeful in a way that seemed plainly desperate. “I want it to be that way! I just didn’t realise what we were, but I want to be…” There was a flare of hormones and you shuffled forward to bury your nose against Wei Wuxian’s scent gland. “I want you, even when my rut is over, but also now. Right now.” A slight shift and you noticed you were hard between your legs.

Wei Wuxian might have noticed it too through your robes, because he was shoving at your clothes. You stood up, ripping everything off in a hurry and grabbing Wei Wuxian by his ponytail. You pulled at it until his lips were around your hard cock. You let out a moan of relief, as he immediately started sucking on the length. He resisted when you tried to get him to swallow more of you. Wei Wuxian only took the tip, but with the way he was sucking and licking, it was enough for now. You threw your head back, grunting into the air, while Wei Wuxian sucked you off. His tongue cupped the head of your cock and played with the ridge between the head and the rest of your length. The wet sounds of his mouth seemed so loud in the small space. Before he even took more of you in his mouth, you grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Wei Wuxian took the hint and with a wet pop he pulled his mouth off your cock. You would have protested, were it not for the hand on your hard length.

The cultivator squeezed the knot at the base of your cock, everytime his hand was at the bottom of your length. You looked down at him, seeing him with his tongue out, a smile hinting behind that lewd expression, cheeks a beautiful rosy colour that matched his spit-glistened lips. You let out a groan and kept a firm grip on his shoulder. Ropes of cum spilled from your cock. Wei Wuxian’s face, hair and robes were painted white with your seed. When he finally let go of your cock, your face heated up at the sight of him. A mixture of embarrassment and arousal swimmed inside your belly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered out of breath, but Wei Wuxian just smiled at you and started taking his soiled robes off, wiping himself off with a sleeve. When he was mostly clean off your cum, he laid himself down on the straw mat, completely naked and stretched out like a meal for you to devour.

“Don’t apologise, I want this too,” he confessed with flushed skin and a hard omega dick twitching between his legs. You kneeled down and hoisted his legs onto your shoulders. Your tongue automatically fell from your lips at the scent of omega slick filling your nostrils. Lapping up the slick that had escaped his wet hole and trickled down his thighs, drew a gasp from Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Don’t tease me.”

You huffed out a laugh at the annoyance in his voice. “Or else? Will the Yiling Patriarch haunt me like a ghost and eat me?” You didn’t let Wei Wuxian reply. You held him up with one hand and pushed your tongue inside, the other hand touching his cock. The omega mewled and moaned as if he was putting on a show for you. Maybe he was. When was Wei Wuxian not making a scene? “Wei Wuxian sounds so perfect,” you growled as you licked the slick off your lips.

“If you are going to knot me until I can’t walk, at least call me Wei Ying,” the demonic cultivator huffed, his eyes ravishing your body. You smiled as you put his legs around your waist and lined your cock up with his wet hole.

“Wei Ying is perfect.” And with those words, you slid into his heat. Wei Ying gasped as he stretched around your thick alpha cock, the slick making the slide easier, but he was not in heat. You got halfway, before the resistance became too much. “Wei Ying needs to relax,” you grunted as you rutted inside him, micromovements trying to make further entrance possible.

“You’re too big,” he complained, hands on your arms and squeezing your biceps. You leaned down and caught his lips in a biting kiss. Soft, pink lips turned red under your onslaught. A hand made its way to his throat and he gasped deliciously against your wet lips. Wei Ying squirmed and gasped for breath as you frantically fucked his hole open until you were slipping in deeper. “So big, too big, I’m going to tear in two!”

You would be more concerned for him, were it nog for the thick cloud of alpha hormones clouding your judgement. Instead of sounding fearful, Wei Ying’s voice fuelled the fantasy of a helpless omega at your mercy. “Pretty omegas like you can handle this,” you growled in a voice no one woud have recognised as your own. Both hands landed on Wei Ying’s hips and you sat up, so you could thrust inside him with vigour.

Wei Ying’s voice would have been audible from miles away as he screamed mostly in pain. Coherent thoughts had long left your mind and all that was left was ‘mark’, ‘claim’, ‘fuck’, ‘knot’ and ‘breed’. Pleasure was all on your mind as you closed your eyes to fully enjoy the stretch of Wei Ying’s walls around your cock. That was until you found yourself unable to move. “No! No! No!” You growled as Wei Ying slid off your cock. He pushed you onto your knees and sat down across from you.

“I’m sorry, alpha, but don’t worry I will not leave you like this,” he croaked out as he struggled with sitting down comfortably. His chest rose and fell in deep, but ragged breaths. You now noticed the redness around his eyes and the wetness on his cheeks. Worry paved a little clarity in the lustful fog dominating your head.

“Cruel bastard,” you found yourself snarling back, in spite of the seed of worry Wei Ying’s image planted deep inside you. Before even the last syllable left your lips, Wei Ying had his hand tight around your cock and stroked, drawing a guttural groan from you. “That’s not enough, I need more,” you breathed out at the torture that was the grip of Wei Ying’s hand. It felt good, but his omega hole had felt so much better.

“And I need more preparation, I am not in heat,” Wei Ying huffed back as he reached behind himself. You could hear the wet squelch of him fingering himself and it drove you into a frenzy. You demanded being released, so you could once more claim your omega, but Wei Ying did not release you. He let you cum with his hand. Once he needed a better angle to shove more fingers inside, he switched his hand for his mouth, so he could support himself with one hand while he tried to shove his whole fist inside. His mouth felt better than his hand, but you already had had a taste of paradise and this was not it.

“You’re open enough, please, I feel like I’ll die,” you whined, shortly after you covered Wei Ying in your fourth load. No matter how often you came, it would not be enough until you knotted the omega in front of you. Wei Ying seemed to take mercy on you and he turned around. Wei Ying lowered himself onto your cock. The mercy got you moaning. You could see where you entered him as he bounced on your cock, his hole gripping your length visibly. “Yes, you feel so good omega,” you moaned as he rode your fat length. “Release me and I’ll pound you so good. I will knot you and fill you with my cum and then pound you again.” Wei Ying gasped, a hand moving to his cock to stroke it. The smell of his slick as it dripped down your cock was intoxicating.

“Gēge, you talk so indecently when you’re in a rut.” You wanted to pin him down and fuck him so bad when he called you ‘gēge’ and Wei Ying seemed to know. The glint in his eyes as he shot you a look over his shoulder was quite telling. “But I’m afraid gēge will break me if I release him. Gēge is such a strong alpha and I’m just a frail omega,” he spoke dramatically, knowing fully well he was far from a frail omega. His words would have made you cringe were it not for the fact you were in a full-on rut. The idea, the thought, the image of him being so fragile and breakable and at your mercy suddenly got something flowing in you. The feeling was unfamiliar, as was the strength it brought.

You had no mind to think about it, but enough instinct to use it. With this new-found energy, you broke yourself free from whatever was holding you in place and grabbed Wei Ying by the back of his neck. A hard shove and Wei Ying was face down, ass up on the ground with your cock plunging into his wet hole. “Maybe they are right, the Yiling Patriarch is cruel,” you drew a loud moan from the man below you with a hard thrust, “and evil.”

Wei Ying did not move from where you had him. Instead, he took your punishing pace with the prettiest moans you ever had the honour of hearing. His voice filled the tent with a symphony of pleasure, which only grew louder when you pressed inside and your knot slipped in. Wei Ying screamed in pleasure and pain as you slotted the two of you together and filled him up with your hot seed.

Still, it was not enough. He was beautiful, had the most breedable body you ever laid eyes upon. How could it be enough to only fill his slick hole once?You only stilled for a minute inside of him, before you pulled out until the knot pulled painfully at the inside of his rim. Then, you pushed back inside, as deep as you could go. Wei Ying whined as you fucked him like that, the knot dragging against his walls and drawing out the melody of pain mixed with pleasure. He moaned and screamed about how he was stretched to the limit, but there was no urgency in his voice this time.

Everything was a blur from there. Somewhere between rutting inside him and fucking him with your knot, Wei Ying had gone near-silent. His ass had become so open that your knot no longer served its purpose of keeping you inside as you spilled your seed. You didn’t know how many rounds you went, how often you filled the Yiling Patriarch with your load or how often the omega came himself. In one final mind-blurring explosion of pleasure, you passed out. Whether it was on top of him or if you managed to fall beside him was out of your control.

When you woke up, however, you found Wei Ying on top of you. The smell of sex still hung heavy in the air, mixed with pheromones, both alpha and omega. A groan left your dry throat as you lifted your head to take a look at the man to whom you were indebted with your life, twice. He looked like he was not going to wake up for another 100 years. You tried to brush the hair out of his face, but your fingers got tangled in the silk black strands. Guilt filled your heart at the sight of bruises on his hips and sides. A respectful look down revealed there was still cum dripping out of his hole.

You untangled yourself from him. It took you a good hour to get Wei Ying cleaned up and placed on a clean towel; the straw mat was completely ruined. You had him on his side, still sleeping peacefully, while you tried to comb the tangles carefully out of his hair. You were almost done when you noticed him stir. “Wei Ying?” You called out softly, hand shooting for the waterskin. You held it to his lips. “Don’t move; drink first.” To your surprise, he obeyed. He tried to sit up, but winced. You took the hint and helped him sit on your lap, the gap between your legs perfect for his ass to rest between with no pressure on it. “I’m sorry. I lost control.”

Wei Ying blinked at you and then reached for the jar of wine in the corner. You chuckled and handed it to him, still cradling him close. He took a few gulps, before speaking up. “I thought I would die,” he pouted in a somewhat playful way that gave you conflicted emotions about his words. “Gēge, you were such a monster. Next time, I will use a stronger talisman to keep you down.”

You inhaled sharply. ‘Next time’, he had said. You licked your dry lips and nodded, agreeing with him. A signature smile painted the omegas lips, before he snuggled closer to you. “Gege is adorable when he is worried about me. I’ll be fine, I swear. Just don’t make me do anything for a few days.” You let out an empty laugh, relieved and still worried. Another nod as you put a hand on his head, holding it close to your shoulder. You twisted your head, placing a kiss upon Wei Ying’s temple. He hummed happily and closed his eyes.

“Wei Ying! You need to eat before you go back to sleep!”

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