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mamayan · 7 months

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You up? Give us some delicious yandere stuff 🙏 let's say... Fae King yandere and changeling darling 😏✨

This turned into a full fic :3 ~★ In honor of some monster fucking!

Yandere! Dark Fae King x Darling! Changeling

tw: NSFW • Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Non-Human Morality • Kidnapping • afab Reader • Dubcon • Oral (F) • Grooming (reader is of consenting adult age) • Forced Mating • Imprisonment • Violence (not toward reader) • Implied Murder • Rough Sex • Praise • Overstimulation • Dumbification • Belly Bulge • Size Kink

Part Two: Here

“…hic…sniff…”

Dark eyes glanced into the cool night, curious as to what creature was disturbing his evening.

“…hic…” it came again, much to his chagrin.

The still lake reflected the full moon like a mirror. To his left, not too far off, he honed in on the disturber. Something small and curled up. Shaking. The oddity enough to catch his full attention as he stood silently. The night his home and prison as he swiftly left in a puff of smoke over to the location of his intruder.

You.

His first instinct to end your miserable life, a human somehow entering his domain and crossing his barriers, but upon a closer look… he realized you were of his own kind.

A changeling at that. An abandoned fae left to die in the hands of mortals. Few if any live to maturity like this, but your short human stature led him to believe your growth was surely stunted due to neglect. Young fae needed abundant love and care in their infancy, the first 100 years of life incredibly crucial for their development. Least they end up like him and his kingdom. You were even younger than full maturity, though your physical body had completed it’s growth, your magic was weak and juvenile.

You were making odd noises which drew his curiosity, moving closer to your form, face buried in your lap as you hunched over your drawn up legs. Your feet were bare as the edges of the water lapped at them. Clothing sparse and tattered, rags unfit for even a human, let alone a Fae nearing maturity.

“Noisy little thing,” he hums aloud, startling you as you jolt and nearly throw yourself into the water. Your neck snaps up, pretty face swollen and blotchy from tears looking up and up until you saw a creature looming over you.

Your scream is cut off by a clawed dark hand, slapping over your mouth and muffling the cry as you try to jerk away in fear and panic. He watches in mild amusement, snickering as you realize your struggle is futile and efforts dying down. “Scream if you like, but none other than I will hear it out here.” He assures ominously, thin onyx colored lips pulling back to bare his razor sharp canines and pearly teeth at you. His grin savage and delighted in your terror.

He watches curiously as your wide doe eyes well up with tears, the crystalline droplets spilling up and over your cheeks, soft lips quivering beneath his palm. You reminded him of an animal imploring their predator for mercy by revealing their underbelly. There was a word for it…

Cute. His mind conjured at last. He found you cute, a changeling bold enough to intrude into the kingdom of the corrupted. You hadn’t even dropped the mirage covering you, old magic from your biological family still covering your natural appearance to mimic the human you parasitized off the life of.

“Why do you cry little one?” He asks softly, attempting not to terrify you further and avoid his questions.

You hesitate, but his molten gold eyes seem to melt through your defenses despite his dangerous and beautiful appearance. “I’m wrong,” you sniffle, grateful when he removes his enormous hand off your face, the sharp claws tipped in gold frightening against your soft breakable skin. “All wrong… and I don’t know what to do.” You curl back up around yourself, as if he too will cast judgement upon you.

He awkwardly mimics your stance, curiosity blazing as watches you in fascination. You find the way his monstrously large form contorts to sit like you somewhat baffling and amusing, less frightened now that he doesn’t seem to wish you harm.

“How are you wrong then?” He pries further, cupping his defined jaw and leaning into his hand as he observes.

“I’m not…I’m not human—I’m a—a—,” you stumble, unsure if this night is even real anymore. The shock so great you’re still trying to cope.

“A faery?” He supplies, amused by the way you gesture with your hands, expression so open and easy to read. “A changeling raised amongst humans to feed off their happiness?” His deep voice purrs it happily, as if he’s glad for it.

He is. His hatred of humans not something he feels the need to hide.

You appear devastated though, “I didn’t mean to—I don’t want to hurt or make anyone unhappy.” You mumble miserably, tugging at your hair and skin, as if that will dispel the magic which hides your true appearance.

“That’s just how our kind is, we need that happiness to grow properly.” He rubbles, eyeing your shocked expression. “We also happen to be fickle creatures ironically, and if a newborn is thought to need too much care, it is pawned off on humans who have more patience.” He clarifies, smiling as you seem to take him in with new eyes.

“You— are you a faery too? You just seem…” he chuckles as you awkwardly trail off.

“Evil? Centuries ago humans once called me the devil,” he laughs, his dark hair falling into his face like a waterfall as he shakes the loose fluffy curls, his pointed horns jutting from the top of his forehead jet black and smooth like ivory. He was too beautiful to call a devil, though you supposed it could be because of that which he was deemed so. His every feature seeming to catch your gaze with it’s beauty.

“I was going to say different…” you trail off shyly. “You don’t seem evil to me at least.”

He pauses, taking you in again as you regard him with those harmless eyes still wet with drying tears. It’d been centuries too since he’d left his kingdom, the entrance to the veil this lake he occasionally comes up to lounge by. He hasn’t seen a human since then, let alone a changeling or uncorrupted little faery like you.

He likes those pretty tears. He finds it annoying you shed them for humans you should guiltlessly take from.

His smile widens, eyes glittering mischievously and nearly glowing as he leans closer. The smell of sugar and cinnamon wafting off of him as you breathe in, nearly gasping as your mouth waters.

“How’s this little one? I’ll teach you how to be a faery, to show you there is nothing wrong with you.”

His eyes, where they should be white are entirely inky black, golden irises with reddened pupils framed by dark thick lashes, looked sincerely upon you.

He seemed genuine and kind despite his towering humanoid figure which looked to be capable of killing you easily.

It warmed you though, the thought of wanting to belong strong as you nod with a smile.

“I’d be eternally grateful.” You nod.

Sealing your fate.

“Tell me your name.” He asks sweetly, because despite his menacing size and sharp teeth and nails, your new friend was nothing but kind and gentle with you.

“Y/N” you reply easily, letting him playfully ruffle your hair as he picks out the leaves which got tangled in your locks from your travels here.

When he repeats it though, wonderful shivers shoot down your spine. He smiles, cooing at you like one might a baby as a he teases, “Such a cute name for a cute faery.”

You weakly protest, but fall into easy laughter as he swiftly changes the subject.

He was discussing proper fae etiquette. The basics, to not say please or thank you or I’m sorry. They all meant you expected more from the other or wouldn’t reciprocate, and that was just bad manners.

His soft hands, which could easily cover your entire face, were settled on your upper arms, having sat you in the grass against his chest.

He liked holding you close. Your little figure so soft, and from the dark circles beneath your human appearance, he assumed the neglect from the humans you resided amongst was growing worse. It was bad for your development.

“You should come live out here, they are vile creatures you know.” He comments every time you visit, though he never forces you to stay with him.

“It’s because I make them unhappy…” you explain sheepishly.

He shakes his head, thick brow arching as he rolls his eyes. “You are nearly completely mature now, you suck no happiness from your surroundings anymore silly girl.” Your confusion was palpable as he sighs and further explains, enjoying the squish of your tender flesh as he lightly squeezes you.

“While it is true fae infants are quite the hassle to raise, it isn’t as tortuous as humans make it out to be. In fact, most fae will take their child back if not treated well by their human surrogates.”

You hum, relaxing back against his warm chest and breathing in his sugary scent.

“So why wasn’t I—,” you stop short, brows furrowed but no longer speaking.

He doesn’t pry further, leaning his chin atop your head as he looks out at the lake.

“You won’t tell me?” You push, annoyed how he dances around your question endlessly. Your companion close enough that you feel insulted he won’t reveal it.

“My name is not to be uttered aloud, least calamity befall this land~” he’s teasing, you know he is, but still he refuses to divulge his name. “I gave you mine,” you argue again, huffing as he chuckles and lightly shoves you to your back on the grass, leaning over you and caging you in beneath him.

The moon is bright like the first time you’d met, illuminating his other worldly beauty.

“If you wish to call me something, call me Master,” he laughs, his sharp teeth no longer scaring you, but making your thighs squeeze together whenever he flashes them. He acts nothing like an immortal being, too immature and jovial to resemble someone having lived for thousands of years.

“So why do you get my name, but I don’t get yours?” You question in annoyance, avoiding his kiss to your cheek by jerking your face away. He huffs, sharp gaze daring you to dodge again.

You do. Earning yourself a warning nip to your collarbone as you yelp.

“Mean!” You cry, pushing at his chest as he snickers.

“Yes little flower, I am very, very, mean.” He rumbles, chest literally vibrating much like a cat does to purr.

“You give me weird nicknames…” you mutter, giving up as he licks your cheek. You don’t fight it, even as it feels foreign to you, trying to accept this side of your culture.

He licks your neck, lavishing the point where your pulse races with wet kisses and you tremble and struggle to act unaffected beneath him.

His smile is dangerous outside your view.

“Star!” You giggle, his rumble of irritation not the least intimidating to you as you roll away.

“That is an awful nickname.” He hisses, face twisted in disgust as you throw out the most horrendous names you could conjure in your pretty head at him.

“Lumi!” He growls.

“Then… Kitty?” He nearly bites you, careful not to play too roughly as he lightly tackles you down.

“If I give you a nickname, will you cease your little game?” He feels his anger fade as he wraps his arms around your smaller figure, easily pulling you into his lap. You don’t even flinch, too engrossed in your amusement to care where he handles you. You nod happily, your wish finally being fulfilled.

“Very well you stubborn creature,” he chides, “In addition to Master, you may also call me King.”

You frown. Clearly displeased by the lack of intimacy in the name. He laughs, amused by your obvious dislike. He kisses your puffed cheeks, over your pouty lips, and down to your vulnerable neck. Snickering as he goes, adoring how you so easily become pliant for him.

“I am teasing pretty flower, there was a time long ago I was called Ava, will you settle now?” He asks, voice husky as he sucks a mark into your skin, your little whine flaring his desires.

A strong urge to press you down and mate you nearly overpowers his control, but he merely holds you close and breathes your floral scent in to calm himself.

“I still prefer Kitty…” His eye twitches.

“Ava… this feels weird…” he pauses, looking down at your small form still cloaked like a human. Weak beneath him, partially nude as your skirt is pulled up to your soft belly. Your thighs are spread and shaking, his lips sucking another mark onto the thin skin of your inner thigh while you writhe.

He had your wet dripping slit open to the night air and his lustful gaze, begging for his tongue to taste.

“You don’t want to please me?” He asks, purring as you pout but deny. You were such a good little girl for him after all, so eager to learn and soak up his attention.

He resumes, licking down your thigh until his face rested above the warm mound you so sweetly offered him.

“You’re being so good for me petal, can you keep your legs open or should I help you?” He doesn’t need to look up to know you’re shaking in arousal and embarrassment. He can feel the tremors through the air as you struggle to keep your thighs spread as he asked.

“I-I need help…” you admit, feeling terribly hot as he keeps licking you, except where you seem to ache for him to lick.

He easily shifts forward, arms wrapping around you and letting your legs rest over his shoulders as he finally lets his tongue slip out to taste you.

You glance down, choking at the sight and feeling as he lets his entire tongue come out, the appendage inhumanly long and colored purple. It feels strange, the wet slimy feeling of his tongue slithering through your folds, but when he nudges the tiny nub hidden above your slit, you moan.

It sends jolts of electricity through you, hips canting up so he can to lick there again, earning you a hearty chuckle as he obliges. Licking and even curling his tongue around it, riling you up as your tiny hole leaks arousal and drips down your ass to the earth below.

“You’re making a mess petal, do you feel good? Should I stick my tongue inside you this time?” You moan, feeling the muscle prod at your unused vaginal entrance, too hazy to bother responding. He doesn’t wait for your answer, letting the thin tip of his tongue lap and taste your heady desire before poking and wiggling inside you.

It has your legs shooting straight, back arching as he holds you down with one large hand placed over your belly and chest. He groans as he feels the molten texture of your insides struggling against his intrusion, trying to force him out of your tight heat as he surges forward.

The tip of his tongue curls, swirling up and knocking the air from your lungs as a rush of hot liquid spills from your insides for him to drink down.

You shook and twitched, moaning and curling your hands around his curved horns like a handle.

The touch sends blood racing to his cock, as he moans and loudly slurps your cum down with audible squelching, enjoying the cries you released into the quiet night.

He lets you rest as he pulls back for just a moment, your body limp and panting as your high comes down.

“Good girl~” he praises, leaning over you to kiss softly at your sweaty skin, licking that too and tasting the sweet and salty mixture.

Then he’s pressing his lips against yours, forcing them open to sneak his long tongue inside your mouth, filling it and claiming that space too as his own. You’re helpless to resist, delirious on pleasure as he devours you, wiggling muscle curling and rubbing erotically around your own.

He tastes like sugar and something heavier, more musky, as you come to realize it as your own taste.

“Is this… really normal…?” You can help but ask as he pulls away, his lips still sticking close to trail kisses across your skin.

“It’s quite normal little flower, are you shy still?” He asks curiously, lifting one of your small hands and bringing it to his face, his size dwarfing you considerably. He lightly nibbles on your fingers, making a giggle bubble up as you smile and then squirm when he grins and licks your hand instead.

“A little…” you admit honestly. Always so honest and open.

He nods, as if completely understanding.

“That’s alright, we’re in no rush, I’ll teach you slowly…” there’s something else not said in his words, and you’re left drunk on his pheromones and lips as he distracts you. Then he’s kissing down, discarding your clothing and leaving you naked for his mouth and curious fingers.

Your breasts are lavished in his saliva, pebbled nipples sucked until standing upright before poked down with the tip of his tongue playfully. Always so playful, Ava nips and teases your skin, blinking innocently when you moan and glare accusingly.

“It’s not my fault you enjoy this so much petal~” he pouts, looking comical and so harmless, his glittery gold wings, almost translucent behind him, fluttering as if indignant to your silent accusation.

The golden tattoos which marked his skin more visible tonight, his clothing more minimal in his wish to feel more of you as he explores and plays.

Then he’s parting your thighs and throwing you into ecstasy again.

“Who did it?”

You sat curled around yourself, terror and dread swirling inside of you at the new side of Ava you’d never been graced with before.

The side you supposed was reserved for his enemies, but now showed to you.

Despite your fear, the tears spilling down your cheeks, and the injuries you bore, you still remained stubbornly silent.

He was going insane with rage and anguish.

You truly were a flower. So delicate and easily destroyed.

“Y/N… while I am being reasonable…Tell. Me. Who. Did. It.”

For all the times he’d made himself smaller, less alarming and more charming than his true nature called for, it made this time more appallingly. He stood to his full height, like an unwavering tree he did not budge or allow you to leave, golden eyes flaring and mixing with his red pupils to create something alarming. Even the markings which covered his dark skin seemed to glow and match his eyes, magic crackling in the air and silencing the night further.

As if the stars and moon were frightened too.

Still, still, you did not speak, even as he closed in on you, your fear so strong it almost choked him. Almost. He was too angry, too furious with the humans he liked to cast out of his mind. They needed to be taught a lesson it seemed. Their fear of the Fae renewed. They were becoming arrogant, as if their species was even in the same standing as them.

Your pretty injured face and form, battered from abuse and humiliation, was all the information he truly needed.

If you wanted to protect them, and not tell him, then he’d just punish them all as if they were the culprits.

It soothed him finally, his decision made as the ominous energy around him faded slowly. He let his rage dissipate, worry and concern bleeding through now as he crouched and shuffled towards you, claws spread and outstretched towards you.

“Come here Y/N, keep your secrets, but allow me to hold and comfort you…” his eyes darkened, the glow leaving behind almost a copper color, somber as he looks at you. There’s not pity in his eyes though, as you swallow and sigh in relief, grateful to crawl into his warm embrace where it feels safe.

He’s gentle as he wraps you in his arms, lips and tongue soothing as he tastes your tears and blood.

He grits his teeth, focusing on your scent and the feel of you to calm himself again, before letting his magic seep into your skin. You easily absorbed it, soaking it up like a sponge as your pain and injuries heal.

“Ava—?” Your eyes widen, amazement in their depths which stroke his ego as he taps his forehead against your own. His horns slightly tangling in your hair.

“Do you not want to drop the illusion on yourself?” He asks softly, staring at the human image your portray. He didn’t want to admit it, but it enraged him to see you still trying to live amongst them.

You seem surprised, before looking away nervously.

“It just feels strange… to not see myself anymore,” you confess, burrowing deeper into his chest while enjoying his ability to heal and soothe you. His sugary smell lightening your heavy heart.

He nods slowly, eyes staring at nothing over the still lake.

He holds you a little tighter.

Then you’re asleep.

The burns and screams of the people echo, the night come to life with flames and chaos.

Ava stands leisurely, smile filled with fondness as he watches the human village he’d followed and found to be your residence burn.

He’d spent all night playing with them, listening to them confess the awful things they’d done to you, said to you, and tried to do to you. They even thought of sacrificing you to some nonexistent deity, which only prolonged the nightmare he’d turned the populace into.

He laughed as the sounds swirled into music for his ears, the sharp points curling in delight as he hummed a tune older than the trees towering in this forest.

The night was still coming to an end sadly, and he’d need to return to your unconscious body still where he’d left it.

He didn’t want to let you wake in your new home alone after all.

His body covered in the blood of mortals he’d torn into and feasted on, Ava left them to perish.

Alone you woke. In a bed four times the size of any normal one, within the walls of a palace you’d only ever seen depicted in stories told by faraway travelers.

You glanced down, at hands unlike ones you were accustomed to seeing. You were nude, unable to hide from yourself as you felt tears begin to sprout. The illusion magic wasn’t working, and you couldn’t understand why.

This body was your true form, not that of the human you continuously tried to convince yourself you were. You hadn’t showed Ava, too afraid he’d see your appearance and dislike you for it.

While he was magnificent, you felt puny and odd.

A hiss snatches you from your self loathing, eyes flicking up to land on the one you’d just been thinking of.

He was covered in something, though you weren’t entirely sure what until he moved closer. The pearls lining his chambers glowed softly, his appearance more vibrant as he closed the distance between himself and the bed you laid on.

You sucked in a breath, realization dawning as the red contrasts against his skin. His lower face completely smeared in it, but his lips seemed clean. Until he grinned, red stained sharp teeth with chunks of dark meat stuck in between.

You remembered briefly him mentioning being mistaken for a demon.

You finally understood as a strange fear blossomed in your gut and you scooted away. Confusion and terror consuming you, but your body not catching up with your mind, because it recognized his scent and touch. You didn’t move quick enough, a clawed hand easily curling around your ankle and tugging you close. You slid smoothly over the cool silk, brought close to his body radiating heat. He only wore trousers, his taloned feet bare and ankles revealed as he’d cuffed them up to avoid bloody human fingers trying to grip them.

“Oh my little flower, look at you,” his eyes are swirling melted gold, enchanting and so disorienting. His beauty becoming savage with the blood and human flesh he adorned.

“A-Ava…” you want to ask, but you also don’t want the answer.

Did he find out who hurt you? Or was it unrelated? It seemed too coincidental.

Your chest constricted painfully as he stared down at you in wonder. Your true form so lovely it took his breath away, your image so fitting for you it was a wonder why you didn’t prefer this over your human mirage. Your ears, pointed like his own, were curled down a little with your emotions, as his eyes traced your face.

The shape was the same, your body still so small, and your eyes still expressed every little thought without fail.

He hated to admit it was even cuter, though he mused it was likely because he was the first to see your true form.

An abandoned young changeling, one he only took mild interest in, had him so thoroughly ravenous for all of you now.

“Isn’t this more comfortable petal? Instead of masquerading as a filthy human, aren’t you happier to just be you now?” His callous words seem off, but you can’t quite fathom it all as the shock settles in.

“My precious flower faery, are you scared?” Yes, you wanted to scream, as his bloody face and body near you, his sugary scent over powered by the scent of iron and death. Fae hated iron. He shouldn’t be comfortable.

You choked, jerking back and trying to crawl away from him, but he still had your ankle caged in his hand.

He laughs, but it’s empty and devoid of any true humor as he stares down at you with something dark in his gaze.

He yanks you back, harshly and sending a jolt of pain up your leg as you cry out, pulled back beneath him as he crawls onto the bed over you.

He’s too close, nausea consuming you as you smell and see the gore adorning him.

He finds your useless fear amusing and annoying all at once.

“I asked you a question little flower.” He grips your face, smushing your cheeks and making you look at him.

He rolls his eyes as the tears you so love to shed spill down your cheeks.

“Yes… I-I’m scared…” his smile softens, almost becoming sweet and familiar.

“Good. You should be.” Your blood runs cold.

He has the mercy to bathe, but not alone. You watch as the spray of water from some sort of piping turns pink as it disappears through tiny holes in the marble floor.

He’s nude, like you, and even though you cower and try to turn away, he easily stops any and all retreats with hardly any effort.

“I thought you didn’t like the blood? I’m still not clean petal.” His fluffy curls are flattened by the water falling above, the warm spray soaking you both as you try not to wonder why the sticky redness won’t just wash away with the water. The dried portions difficult to get off without physically touching and rubbing him with your soapy hands. You wanted to know why he was doing this, being so mean.

His ears look more distinct with his hair flat, onyx horns prominent against his forehead as his lashes hold droplets of water to frame his golden eyes.

You try not to show it, but as the blood clears and his dark smooth gold lined skin is revealed, you notice the hard lines of muscle and purple veins which protrude.

You only come up just below his chest, and you can’t look down, least you see it again.

He was making you nervous and scared on purpose, but you couldn’t understand why.

Like a coward you didn’t ask either, because you feared the answer even more.

Ava shifts, fingers coming up to cup your face in his hands and tilt your head up as he leans over you and blocks the water falling. His claws jut out beside your head, one lightly tickling your pointed little ear.

He licks his lips, loving the sight of you soaked and naked, your pretty form so enthralling to his eyes he struggles to contain himself.

“Do you want my help…?” His tone is condescending, eyes uncaring in the least about your inner turmoil.

“Here,” he drops one hand, engulfing your wrist and forcing you to plant your hand against his abdomen. “You have to wash like this—,” he teaches patiently, like none of this was happening and everything was fine. He moves your soft little hand back and forth, the soap quick to wash away as the water continues to fall. “You need more soap petal.” He informs gently, moving to stop the warm spray and letting you both stand in silence now, drops of water falling the only noise besides your breathing.

He sighs when you don’t move, your eyes trained on the corner of the spacious bathing room, where an in ground bath rests. He would take you to the hot springs later.

He fills the hand he has control of with soap, and amuses himself with using it like a washcloth, your little fingers curling as your lips tilt down into a frown.

“Since you need the help,” he goads, watching as those sweet familiar doe eyes flash up a glare from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, a nasty grin filled with something sinister as he chuckles darkly. “Don’t want to be my good girl anymore?” It’s a loaded question you’re unsure of how to answer.

It hardly matters as he forces your hand down, until you jolt at the change in body part you were touching. He forces your fingers to close around his throbbing length, unable to touch or fully wrap around it as your head jerks instinctively to look at what he was making you do.

“A-Ava—,” you try to pull away, but to no avail. He only hums, the soap like lube as he uses your hand to jerk his cock, amused as you stare in shock. He won’t let you go, not when the sight of your smaller form holding his leaking rod is so arousing he comes a minute a later. Hips thrusting with the timing of the squeeze he forces your hand to hold, hot ropes of his seed shooting out onto your chest and belly as he cages you with his free arm from moving away. He allows his purple tapered tip to smear the remaining pearls of his seed on your skin, ignoring your whine of protest as he paints you.

“Fuck, that’s it, be good for me pretty girl,” he growls lightly, chest rattling as he releases his pent up frustration on your confused form.

Really, you couldn’t be more adorable covered in his release looking dazed.

His golden eyes heavy lidded as he crouches down to catch your lips in a heated kiss.

You swallow nervously, staring at Ava as he stares at you from across his bed chambers.

You’d fallen asleep after… after bathing, if you could even call it that, and awoken later to find yourself alone again. Ava missing and your body covered by fine silk sheets while you slept.

You’d scrambled about the room looking for escape, finding nothing but a single exit locked, which Ava now stood before.

He wore a pair of silken sleep pants, tailored to his enormous figure as well as a matching robe left loose and revealing a majority of his chest and abdomen. His wings weren’t physical but a magic which naturally formed behind him, you’d learned.

The gold markings on his body were duller than earlier, his eyes less vibrant and more cool as he looks at you.

He seems more… familiar. Less of the Ava covered in blood and flesh of humans and more of the one you’ve befriended.

He’s silent, unmoving as he stands still in the doorway.

You don’t want to make the first move, unsure in this new environment, but you similarly disliked all of this distance and miscommunication between you both.

You moved cautiously, much like the skittish animal he likens you to in his mind, off the bed. You’d wrapped yourself in one of his sheets, his scent clinging to you the only thing stopping him from tearing it off you in annoyance. He stays put, muscles taunt and jaw clenched as you approach him like he might harm you.

He debated it.

Briefly showing you why you should be obedient and just listen, but dismissing it in favor of you liking him at least to some degree.

When you reach him, he merely stares down at you, face impassive unlike your nervous and awkward expression.

“Ava…?” He finally shifts, leaning down to close the distance a little but still not touching you. It’s you who initiates, because he’s certain he’s trained you well enough in your past touch starved state that you can’t resist the comfort and warmth he provides. You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your figure to his while looking up with those honest eyes he adores.

He finally relaxes, your touch so addicting he was unable to resist wrapping you further into his embrace while lifting you up. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, warm bare cunt now pressed against his abdomen while your arms come around his neck. The sheet loosening and falling down to pool at his feet. He finally smiles at your flustered state, not letting you climb down to grab it, instead moving you both towards his—your—bed and easily laying you down to drape over you.

“You’re calmer than I imagined you’d be…” he murmurs against the skin of your neck, kissing up to your jaw. “Should I prepare for your wrath later little flower?” He muses, lifting up to look at your expression.

“Was that blood… from a human?” You look guarded but he isn’t surprised.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill them?” He affirms again.

“Was it because of… me?” Those sweet eyes looked so haunted as you asked, as if you knew what he was going to say.

“No. It wasn’t because of you.”

You check his face, as if he were a human and would lie to you as they do.

“Then why did you do it?” You breathed, sagging in relief beneath him. His lips twitch, molten eyes shining with adoration as he looks upon you.

“They greatly offended me.” He answers vaguely, but it was the truth. They offended him by breathing and walking the earth. It was a direct insult to him. They only met misfortune because they caught his attention.

You seemed happy to accept whatever rid you of any guilt, looking up at him less fearfully now that he was clean and not being mean to you. Though, you both shared very different definitions of being “mean”.

“Am I staying the night?” You asked him curiously. You had thought he’d brought you here as he didn’t know where your home in the village was when you’d fallen asleep.

He shook his head, lips curling higher.

“You’re staying forever.” He declares, sweet scent filling your senses as he comes close enough to kiss you.

Then he does.

You thought his teasing was funny, lips tilting up finally as the awkwardness dissipates and familiarity rises.

This is your Ava, warm sweet Ava that smells so good it makes you crave sweets you cannot afford.

He presses you further into the unfathomably soft bed, his lips demanding as you open for him.

“Ava,” you break the kiss, breathing heavier as he growls and nips at your bottom lip, a shiver wracking you as he leans back enough to meet your gaze. “What we’re doing… it’s what lovers and spouses do isn’t it? At least, this is what human lovers do…” your voice becomes smaller as he stares down as you with an expression you couldn’t name.

“And?” He encourages.

You look away for a moment, gathering your thoughts before remembering out of all the cruelty in the world, Ava was the outlier.

“Is that what we’re doing? Like lovers?” You felt too embarrassed to directly state it, to say it aloud, and equally scared this isn’t anything different than exchanging a handshake with another faery to him. It was different to you.

“Do you want it to be?” He leans down, placing a feather soft kiss against your temple so you couldn’t see his eyes glowing bright. “Do you want us to be like lovers little flower?” His voice is deeper than usual, strained almost as he holds himself perfectly still above you.

You take the time to think, much to his displeasure, but when you answer it was everything for him.

“I do.”

He places a chaste kiss to your lips, his own tilting higher and higher until he’s grinning gleefully.

“Then that’s what we’ll be.” He confirms, and you miss it.

You miss every little trap he’d laid, each tiny piece of the puzzle forming around you like a cage. You miss everything and it’s too late to go back now. Ava muses wickedly, as he kisses you more sensually, lets his claws drag so delicately down your soft skin, he thinks how stupid you are.

“I’ll be all yours if you ask for it Y/N,” he speaks directly into your pointed ear, hot breath making the tips curl as you whine. The way he says your name is different than usual, more serious and seductive. You realize this seems wrong somehow, the way he’s making you melt so easily like this, how your panic and fear evaporated so quickly. You aren’t given time to think further, when he shifts and sits up. He sneers when you attempt to cover yourself again, gripping your wrist and lightly pulling you up too. On your knees, you face his chest, eyes looking up to see his heated expression.

Ava cups your jaw with one hand, and pokes at your lip with the other.

He doesn’t ask before his thumb invades your mouth, and you fight not to bite down or jerk away with his pointed claw inside.

He’s exploring, squeezing your cheeks until you open wide so he can playfully run over your sharpened canines. Curiously playing with your tongue until he leans down licks it with his own. It felt strange and erotic, your body vibrating with nerves and budding arousal as he explores you.

“Ava…” you wanted to touch him too, but he didn’t seem to be listening as he lets his hands trail down to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples as your back arches into them.

So you let your own hands wander, bolder than usual as you feel his solid form beneath you. His skin is much softer than it appears, strange markings and golden symbols flat. He had no softer points aside from that, muscles like stone and occasionally uncomfortable to lounge against due to it.

He squeezes your waist, smiling mischievous as you yelp and glare at him. He does it again, finally chuckling as he lets his hands slip to your ass.

This time his squeeze makes you gasp, as he parts your ass cheeks and allows your heated core to be exposed to the air. His claws so careful not to tear your skin open as he drags you taunt against him, rutting his hardened cock against your soft belly.

He moans aloud as he sees the tip poke out between you, your breasts above a delicious sight as he does it again and again.

“You drive me wild pretty faery,” he smiles, licking your cheek as he easily lifts you up to toss you to the center of the bed. You sink in, huffing but giggling as he crawls over you, looking like a dark angel as he covers you completely to capture your lips in a much more filthy kiss.

“I want to devour you,” he purrs, licking and kissing down your neck and chest, spreading your legs. “Make you mine completely,” you moan, feeling delirious as he finally licks your sloppy pussy.

You moan when you feel his fingers prod your entrance, sharp claws gone and retracted as he pushes one inside you while he laps at your clit. It feels different and firmer than his tongue, able to rub and stretch you better as he begins sucking on your puffy nub and purring deep in his chest. “Your little nub is hard~ are you feeling good?” He teases, wiggling the tip of his tongue over your engorged clit.

Then he’s pressing a second finger in, a mild burn heating your core as you gasp and try to shift away to no avail. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, spearing them into you, your soft gummy walls forcefully spread around the two digits as he noisily slurps. He’s being messy and a bit rough, but your moans spur him on as he groans into your pussy when you begin clawing at his hair and whining.

“Ava! S’too much! Can’t—!” You squeak and almost bite your tongue when you cum, pussy sucking his fingers deep and massaging them as you soak his hand and face.

He doesn’t stop, eyes glowing bright molten gold as he watches you squirm and babble senselessly while he stuffs a third finger into your poor overstimulated cunt. Your little hole stretched wide around him, and he’s content to watch as your greedy lower mouth takes it as he pumps them into you.

You’re less amused though, body thrumming as the pleasure becomes overwhelming and you panic.

“Stop, I’m gonna make a mess, Ava stop—!” You cry out, eyes watering before tears fall as you struggle to stop the powerful pressure building in your core, hurting you with the intensity as he pushes you further and further. “Your insides are steadily swallowing and sucking my fingers in, aren’t you a little lewd?” He asks, unaffected by your dull nails digging into his forearm, eyes trained on your drooling hole below.

He’s got an iron grip on your hip with his other hand, nails digging into your flesh every time you try to squirm away. “You’re so lovely like this petal.”

He’s fascinated when you break again, clear fluid squirting up and out from your squelching pussy as he continues to shove his fingers in.

You cum so hard it nearly causes you to lose consciousness, eyes rolling back as you twitch and moan as the dam inside you bursts open.

You whine as he pulls free, hand dripping in gooey arousal as he brings it to his lips and slurps it up without any decorum, appearing almost starved as he gazes down at you with the eyes of a predator. “Messy girl~ I’ll teach you though,” his lips pull back to reveal his sharp teeth, “When you feel so good you think you’ll break, you’re supposed to say I’m coming, do you understand?” He asks darkly.

“No more…” your weak plea only makes him smirk, kissing you softly as he slides forward and uses both hands to cover your hips and lift your lower half up.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force them open, slow to realize that his enormous cock is now laid over your pussy, pulsing and dragging back and forth through your slick folds. The thick veiny appendage causes your trepidation to rise, realization dawning that he intends to fit that inside of you.

“It won’t fit—,” you weren’t being cute or coy, because while you may not be human, your form was still the same size as one. He was much, much bigger, and his cock certainly fit his proportions. You try to catch his attention, unable to close your legs with his body between them. “Ava,” He’s truly not hearing you at all, too enthralled and excited as he lubes his massive length up with your juices. He’s shaking a bit too, heart beating rapidly in his chest as he coos down at you mindlessly, golden orbs almost unseeing at this point as he lines up with your entrance.

“So good for me petal~ you’re all mine aren’t you?” He breathes, and you feel the weight and pressure begin as his tip breaches.

“Wait, stop Ava—!” You whine as the sting becomes a burn and then you’re being filled to the point of excess as you struggle to breathe anymore.

“Shh—♡,” he hushes you, pained as well due to the pressure around him, strangling him as he grimaces and drags back out a little before surging forward. “You’re mine now petal,” he groans.

You’re unable to form words as he works his cock into you like a piece which doesn’t quite fit, bullying and stretching you open to forcefully fit himself.

He leans more weight down onto you as you struggle and writhe, noisy cries falling on deaf ears as he feels himself slipping deeper as your body finally gives up on keeping him out. His tip touches your cervix, before shoving even further and smashing it up as your stomach aches in protest.

You lay limp as he finally bottoms out, twitching with your mouth open and drool pooling down your chin as you feel nothing but the feeling of him inside you. He huffs a laugh, the way you look ruined before he’s even gotten started.

You look like a doll in his grasp, his cock extending your stomach a little as it twitches inside you. Your thighs ache as they’re naturally forced up, unable to spread fully enough for him to settle so he’d merely folded you and pressed you down to prevent escape.

“You did it pretty girl, look at you~” he grins, one hand leaving your hip to press on your belly, making your eyes widen and roll back as you whine. “You took every inch of me in this cute cunt didn’t you?” This male over you isn’t familiar, even as his sugary scent seems to increase and smother you, he seems foreign in his words and actions.

The inconsistencies are difficult to track as he drags himself out of you, the fullness replaced by feeling each ridge and bump of veins decorating his cock as he slides out.

Then he’s pushing in again, stealing your breath and ability to think as he starts to fuck you.

“Don’t worry petal, I won’t hurt you,” you can’t quite understand as he pushes his thick rod inside you, brain shutting off as you go pliant in his hold. “I’ll go nice and slow so you never forget,” he moans as you tighten and jerk, “who owns you.” He’s holding back with all his might as you spasm and grip him in inside of you, walls sucking him back in as he moves to exit.

You make him forget.

As you slick his cock up with your juices, he begins to slip in easier, folding you down further into a mating press as he looks down at your teary face. You make him forget all the time he’s spent alone. Your moans increase as he picks up the pace, pounding nice and deep inside of you and ridding you of any thought beside him. He slips a hand down between you both, claws retracted completely as he softly presses on your swollen clit and throws you reeling into another orgasm around him. “Say it petal,” he grits out, the feeling of you tightening drawing his own end. He’s hardly able to move inside you, short thrusts all he can manage as he drags you over the edge.

“I’m coming—!” Your head tips back, neck bared to his eyes as you cum for him obediently.

He fills you up right after, heavy engorged balls drawing up as he pumps his first load of the day into you. His thrusts not stopping as he rocks forward, expression relaxing as his magic swirls inside of you, his mating mark slowly sinking into your soul as he works to keep his seed deep within your womb. You’re too fucked out to notice, the pleasure and pressure overwhelming your senses as you try to rest now.

Except his cock doesn’t soften.

He thrusts hard once he’s sure his bond has settled, feeling you so much deeper in his soul as he drags his cock out almost all the way. “It’s like your little hole misses me already,” he smiles, watching as you flutter around his tip as if to tell him you don’t want him to leave. “Tell me petal,” he slides back inside, jolting you awake as you stare incredulously down at where you both connect. The slick sounds of him slipping into your sticky wet entrance haunting as you whine, hands digging into fine silk as you try to push away.

He only presses you down harder, cock burrowing deep as if to anchor you. His eyes are wild and swirling, the color so bright it’s almost blinding in the dim room. “How does it feel to lose?”

You blank. His question not making any sense as the room spins and you’re overcome again with pleasure so intense it makes your toes and feet curl in the air where they rest.

“How does it feel to be utterly mine for the rest of eternity?” You gasp, tearing at the sheets as he picks up the pace, balls slapping against your ass as he begins to truly fuck you now. Enormous cock working you into a frenzy as you yelp when two fingers pinch painfully around a nipple. “You’re not going back pretty girl,” he laughs, face wicked and beautiful as you look up through blurry eyes spilling tears. “You’ll not return to that filthy human village,” he releases your sore nipple in favor of loosely gripping your throat, feeling your pulse beneath his hand. “You are not in the land of Fae sweet flower,” he lets his lips ghost over yours, his tip bullying your cervix as you writhe and move to claw at his shoulders. “You are in my kingdom, ours, where the corrupted Fae separate themselves,” you’re lost, eyes crossing almost dumbly as you come again, choking as you cry out his name.

You can’t move even an inch, unable to even squirm as you’re forced to take each punishing inch of his cock and he ruts into you.

“Your pussy keeps tightening up when I tell you all the ways you’re mine. Do you like this?” He delights in your pathetic attempt to push at his chest, clearly finished despite his balls still being heavy with his seed he intends to spill into you.

“A-Av-Ava!” You struggle to form even his name, let alone any sentences as he keeps up his fast and brutal pace. Though, from his perspective he was still holding back as he moans and spills himself inside you again.

“Yes flower?” He coos, pushing your hair out of your sweaty face as he pulls out just enough to grip your thigh and turn you on your side, sliding back to the hilt again. He hugs your leg to his chest, working his cock at a new angle in your abused pussy still spilling cum from earlier. “I’m listening,” he chuckles, knowing you can’t speak, aware his cock was keeping you like this.

Words die down as he uses his hand not holding your leg up to grip your hip, holding you still while pushing his hips forward, railing himself inside your exhausted body. Your head rests against the bed, mouth open as your saliva soaks into the sheets, eyes staring at nothing as you feel another impending orgasm approaching.

Ava doesn’t mind, adoring the cute cock drunk expression as he uses you like a toy, filling you up over and over while you slowly lose your mind. “I’m sorry—Ava please, I’m sorry,” your slurred speech and delirious voice make him laugh. Genuinely amused by your rambling, “Why are you sorry petal? I’m not mad,” he catches your lips, tongue invading and swallowing your cries. He finds you so cute.

His cute, stupid little changeling, so trusting and unaware of his unsavory intentions.

You lose consciousness and count when he comes with his hips pressed deeply into your ass, pressing you belly first into his hand as he keeps you angled up to meet his thrusts. Your sensitive chest rubbing against the silk below, body limp as your world goes black and you convulse around him.

This time he lets you fall flat into the soaked bedding, taking his still hard cock out so he can pry apart your pussy lips and watch his release ooze out of your gaping hole.

His golden eyes flick up to your sleeping form, lips pulling as he coos, “Cute~♡” before he’s stuffing you full again, merciless as he leans on one arm to keep from crushing you as he continues to drill into you.

Even when you regain consciousness, trying to crawl away from his torturous pleasure, he only grips your arm and twists it gently behind you to hold. “You’re soaked and so hot inside, do you know how crazy you’re making me?” He groans, almost sounding like he’s in pain as you squeeze and come again. “I’m not letting you go, stop trying to run. You’ve already lost sweet girl.” As he lifts his hips, tip still encased by your wet hot heat, he eyes the slick mess which coats you both and connects you to him. “Go ahead and go crazy too, be good and listen.” He laughs, slamming back in and making your back arch as you nearly scream, feeling him so deep it makes you wonder if he’s going to break you. You really will go crazy, it’s a fleeting thought stolen by his cock once again, but you truly worry as he drowns you with euphoria and madness.

He’s hunched and leaning over your back, letting his tongue and teeth tease your ear so sweetly while he pounds you stupid, whispering to you things you won’t remember.

“You wanted my name so badly, didn’t you my lovely mate?” He knows you don’t understand, but it doesn’t stop him from speaking on, husky voice lulling you as you cry and lose yourself to pleasure. “I’ll tell you since you’re being so good, taking my seed so well~” he lets a little more weight settle on top of you, his cock nestling into your deepest parts with it.

“I am Avarice.”

Post dividers by @cafekitsune

#Dark Fae King x reader #Yandere Fae King x reader #Yandere Fae #monster smut #Greed x reader #Fae smut #faecore #yancore #yandere x reader #fae king #yandere smut #Dark Fae #kinktober fun #request filled #afab reader #Fae x reader smut #changeling #changeling reader

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yandere-writer-momo · 4 days

Text

Yandere Head Canons:

Love After Death

Yandere Skeleton x Fem Reader

I’m obsessed with Kate Bush’s song ‘Army Dreamers.’ So I decided to write a story about a soldier who died during a war, but he came back to life just to fulfill his promise of coming home to his lover…

There was a Great War many years ago between monsters and humans. A war that took countless innocent lives all due to the human’s greed. A war that took the life of your lover, Zered. Your childhood sweetheart.

Zered was a young sorcerer from the magic tower. A prodigy and pioneer of magic with a heart of gold. He was the man you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. You wanted to run your fingers through those blonde curls until the two of you were balding and wrinkly. To look into those sea foam eyes until you couldn’t. To press soft kisses against his full lips until your lungs burned. You loved that man more than anything in this world… but the war took him from you.

Zered may have died a hero of the empire, but you couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped its fingers into your heart. Your beloved was no nothing more of a war story. A great sorcerer who was able to take down the dragon enemies to give time for reinforcements to arrive. A war hero. And they couldn’t even bring a single remain of him back to you…

You sighed as you sipped on some homemade ale. Your eyes glanced at the sun’s rays that danced across the hay fields in sorrow. This was the cottage the two of you were going to live in for the rest of your days. The one you’d start a family in that was now cold and empty. It didn’t matter that the sun hit it perfectly each time, Zered wasn’t here.

You rock back and forth in the rocking chair. The birds weren’t singing their melodic tunes like they normally did. Which was odd. Why weren’t the birds singing- you almost screamed when you see a dark figure slink through the meadow towards your cabin. What on earth was an undead doing here?!

You quickly sprang up from your chair and fell over since you were a bit tipsy. Crap. Crap. Crap! You needed to head inside before that creature got to you.

You let out a shrill shriek of terror when the skeleton stood in your porch. Its red eyes stared into your very soul as it tilted its head to the side. Oh god… this was it. This was the end. You were going to be ripped apart by this hideous creature-

You went still when the creature threw itself into your arms as it released weeping noises. The skeleton whined and shook as its arms wrapped around your body in a tight hug.

“H-home. I… home.” The skeleton’s voice was a spin chilling rasp. A small tuft of blonde on its head showed that it was once human.

What did it mean by being home- wait. This cousin possibly be?

“Zered?” You gasped when the skeleton pressed its teeth onto your cheek like it wanted for press a kiss against your cheeks. “Zered, what happened?”

“Home… home.” Zered was barely to rasp out legible words. The skeleton cupped your face in its palms. “Love you… I home.”

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hellfire--cult · 4 months

Text

Krampus!Eddie x Virgin!Fem!Reader

wc: 5k

+18 mdni, krampus meets reader at 18 (no smut at that age), obsession from reader, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity in adulthood, christmas folklore, dark fic, reader isn't a good person.

plot: At 18 years old you were visited by Krampus for misbehaviour, but you instantly fell in love with the creature. Years pass, your sick and toxic obsession grows, making a beast's curiosity bloom, and so, he visits you once again after many years.

a/n: yep, its a reupload after rewriting.

always reblog, don't just like.

MISBEHAVED

Of all the things you thought this monster would look like, you didn’t think he would look like this.

Even the idea of him existing like Saint Nicholas was a crazy thought by itself, but here he is, in the flesh, while Chrissy probably got visited by Saint Nicholas, you were visited by…

“What a naughty girl you’ve been this year, pumpkin.”

You were in the corner of your room with the candle in your hand, trying to light anything close to you as much as possible, the monster's steps getting closer as you gulped loudly, waiting for a hideous monster to appear in front of your eighteen-year-old self.

But in front of you appeared a gorgeous man, with big horns on his head, like a goat’s. Deep brown eyes that glistened with the candle in your hand, long dark curls falling from the top of his head and down to his shoulders, his bare chest, full of symbols, and then you saw his bottom half, pants that resembled black fur as he bent down towards your face.

You couldn’t look away at how beautiful he looked, how this being could be considered a monster at all. Is beauty considered evil? If he was like this, what did Saint Nicholas look like?

“Are you going to take me away?” You asked, almost as if wishing for it, and the man before you smirked, taking something out from the side pocket of his pants, and you could see the twig of a tree, handing it to you. Your confused face made him scoff with a shake of his head.

“No. But this is what you get this year for Christmas. Next year, try to be good, okay?” His tone was calm, and reassuring, yet with a hint of malice behind it that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What’s your name?” Your voice finally got out and he was surprised that you asked such a question.

“Well, I am Krampus.”

“No, your real name.” And his red eyes glistened with a hint of gold, with a hint of amusement.

“Hmm… If you behave, I will let Saint Nicholas give you the knowledge of it next year. How does that sound?”

And the man, if you could consider him that, smiled at you, and that was all it took. All that smile did was finally set your heart into a quick pace, and that’s when you realized:

You became obsessed with him and you would do anything to get to see him again.

So the next year, you behaved, just like he said, and at nineteen years old, Saint Nicholas visited you, only for you to receive the letter ‘E’ as a gift.

“If you keep behaving well, I will give you one letter every year until you complete his full name.”

You were angry, you behaved yourself for nothing, but what if you misbehaved on purpose and he didn’t come anyway? And you wanted to know his real name, you really did. So every year, you kept doing good deeds, even if not with good intentions, you helped with herding the sheep for Mrs.Driscoll, helped Wayne Munson with his farm, and did communal duties in the small town with Nancy Wheeler and Joyce Byers.

Electricity was slowly making its way into the town as the years passed, and each year you received a new letter from Saint Nicholas.

Until you finally reached twenty-one. Saint Nicholas didn’t arrive anymore because you were an adult, but you had a good guess as to what his name might be, something inside you told you so.

'ED'.

You knew he wasn’t going to appear, so you kept your good deeds, but with a bad intention. For example, you helped young Dustin Henderson by teaching him how to milk a cow, yet you didn’t teach him he didn’t have to stand behind it after milking it. The boy received a black eye the next day.

You agreed to help Jonathan Byers with the preparations for a festival that was going to be held in the center of the town, and you handed him the new scented candles that were gifted to you by a lady in the neighboring town. When they were turned on, the candles smelled like rancid milk, and Jonathan took all the blame.

But he never showed. No matter how many years passed, even if you were now twenty-five years old, you couldn’t find anything to help you in invoking him again.

You knew this love of yours would never cease, but the children in town were all good, so Krampus was never seen. You had no way of contacting him, even if you did rituals, even if you tried to talk to Saint Nicholas by creeping on Christmas nights into the houses of the townspeople who had kids, but you were always a second late.

So now, you were pacing around in your house, already sick of this game, sick of these obsessive feelings of yours over a beast that you didn’t know if he even remembered you. Over someone that probably didn’t give a damn about you and who you were, yet you studied him for years, through the tales, through the books, through the experiences, through the people in other towns.

You were never going to see him again. You were tricked by him into believing that you would see him again, and the anger that was sipping through your pores was great, too big.

“Fuck you, Edward! Damn you!”

And the fireplace immediately went out, as the newly installed lightbulbs in your home flicked until they exploded.

You screamed as well as cursed because those were expensive, a dollar each. The price of luxury was a lot, but you wanted the electricity, already tired of lighting candles throughout the small house you bought for yourself after your mother passed away thanks to tuberculosis.

Your head whipped around when you heard the sound of what sounded like hooves coming in contact with the wooden floor of your house, slowly changing into soft steps. You ran to your kitchen to grab your knife in self-defense, pointing it at the open space.

“Who’s there!?”

“You’ve been really naughty, Pumpkin.”

Your blood went cold as two bright yellow eyes shone in the darkness of your living room, and suddenly, there was a snap of fingers and the fireplace lit up again, burning the logs at a fast pace, and it illuminated the entire room, the Christmas tree in the corner now with its decorations glistening once more with the embers of the fireplace.

Yet despite those glistening decorations, your eyes could only focus on one thing. The man, the monster, the creature that you’ve been seeking to see again, standing in the middle of the living room, his hands in his pockets, and a stern look on his face that made you drop the knife to the floor.

Your breathing picked up, your heart thrumming in your chest, and you couldn’t help but swoon at the face you’ve been craving to see all these years, and now he is in front of you, even if angry.

“Edward…” You sighed in pure bliss, in happiness, and you knew you were obsessed, crazy even, but you couldn’t help yourself. You fell for him the very first moment he visited you, and now you are a grown woman, still holding onto those lovely feelings, never forgetting about his eyes that changed from brown to red, to gold.

“Look who’s all grown up, you’re even cursing my name out loud.” He snarled at you, and you could see how intense his gaze was as he scanned you. He took a few steps towards you, his now bare feet coming in contact with the wood, and you wondered if he looked different, yet he took this shape to not scare kids or people off.

“I– I behaved. I earned it.”

“You didn’t behave with honesty. You weren’t a good person because you wanted to be, you were a good person because of your selfishness.” He was finally in front of you with his hands still in his pockets, and his eyes were intense, a deep yellow, staring you down with an unreadable expression.

“I still behaved, that was the deal. You never specified if I behaved honestly or not.” You responded and his eyes twitched in surprise at how mischievous you were. How… brilliant you were.

“And may I ask why you were so obsessed with knowing my name?” He asked and you couldn’t help but press your legs together as heat rose all over your body, your cheeks becoming flushed as you looked at him.

“I wanted to see you again.”

“You are a big adult now, past twenty-one.” And at his response, you finally showed him a big grin on your face, and his eyes flashed with intrigue.

“And yet you are still here… Eddie.”

And the puzzle clicked in his head, a smirk appearing on his lips as his tongue darted out to lick all over them as the thirst came up in his throat, his eyes turning a deep red, and lust filled him to the brim, thanks to the woman that was in front of him.

Your eyes darted from his eyes to the horns, to his hair, to the markings all over his chest and arms, and then, he took his hands out of his pockets, to reveal long nails, like claws. You took a sharp intake of breath as he leaned his face towards yours, inspecting you.

“So you have been misbehaving lately so you could see me again? What is your plan?” He asked in a sultry tone and you just sighed in relief and bliss, and you were brave enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him close, feeling his broad back underneath your forearms, making you clench your legs again.

“I waited for you… aren’t I good?”

And that made Eddie groan loudly, and with a snap of his fingers you were now in your room, and he pushed you off him so you could fall flat on your bed, taking you by surprise because of how the environment changed in one quick motion.

“No, you are not. If you were, I wouldn’t be here.” Your breathing was heavy, your gut turning with nervousness and excitement because what you’ve been craving was right in front of you. You want him to take you. To make you his. To mark you.

You heard another snap of his fingers and what appeared to be floating candles appeared all around the room, lighting it subtly, endearingly, almost as if it were some sort of ritual, but you weren’t scared of it. You weren’t afraid of what might happen, because whatever it is, whatever he does, you would gladly take it.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at your body, and then your eyes widened when his tongue darted out just like before, and now you could see just how long and pointy it actually was, and that only made you wet with the idea of feeling it against your skin.

“Please…” Your hips raised up slightly towards him as if presenting yourself like a bitch in heat. His eyes scanned your body, wondering if you were right in the head, but from what Saint Nicholas had been telling him over the years, it seemed you were doing everything with a conscious mind.

You wanted him, for whatever reason that was. He’s only seen you once, and you became attached to him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep breath in, inhaling your scent, be it the one you were emanating from your pores as well as the scent from the wetness between your thighs.

His clawed hand shot out to grip the front of your white nightgown, startling you when you start hearing a ripping sound. Your body jerked upwards as he ripped the gown apart, opening for him, and now you lay there, bare for him to take in with his red lust-filled eyes.

“You are untouched.” It was a confirmation, and you smiled at him with a nod, and that only made his hunger increase by a hundred. A virgin. Now he realized what you meant when you said you waited for him.

“I want you, and only you…” You finally admitted it to him, and his eyes found yours. Your breathing was heavy, your breasts moving up and down as your lungs tried to get oxygen inside, your cunt pulsing with need.

And his eyes gleamed in a golden hue once more, as if there was a click of some sort.

A growl was heard in the room and you yelped as he grabbed your thighs, pushing you closer to the edge of your bed. He fell to his knees and took a deep inhale of your intoxicating scent. You needed to be punished for your behavior, the biggest punishment.

His long tongue snaked out of his lips to flick your clit, making you gasp as you stared at the ceiling. This new feeling, so dirty, something you waited for so long, and even if you had the chance to, you didn’t want anybody but him.

He licked around your folds, tasting the wetness that surrounded them, an animalistic groan vibrating in his chest, his claws digging into your inner thighs as he kept your legs open for him. He couldn’t wait anymore, pressing all of his tongue against your slick, tasting you completely, and you finally let out a moan out of pure ecstasy as you gripped the sheets below you.

He smirked against your cunt as it pulsated for more contact, and he immediately dove in. Your moans could probably be heard from outside, but you didn’t care, nobody was near you, so there was nothing that could forbid you from yelling his name, from crying out from the pleasure you were feeling.

His tongue was going in between tasting you and flicking your clit repeatedly. His lips sucked on your folds and you couldn’t believe you waited for so long to feel something like this, but it was worth it. It’s so worth it.

Your eyes opened wide when you felt his tongue slowly sliding inside of you. You’ve only touched yourself outside, you never inserted a finger of yours even if you were curious. This feeling was weird, but pleasurable all the while. You felt it move inside of you, as if flicking your walls from side to side, making your back arch upwards.

“Oh–!” You were amazed by how good this felt, how amazing he was making you feel with just these simple touches, these hungry kisses all around your center.

“You taste delightfully darling. And I am the first to taste it.” And last is what he wants to say, but he will take that comment with him, at least for now. He needs to keep his tongue inside of you, drunk of your taste, of your juices filling his taste buds.

“Edward– Eddie, please–” You didn’t know what you were asking for, but you needed something, yet you didn’t know what. He then pressed his nose against your clit as his tongue swirled inside of you, and you let out a loud moan, your hands shooting down to get hold of both of his horns.

He moaned against your cunt, desire shooting downwards, the pants becoming too constricting on him. His horns are quite sensitive, and you are pulling him against you even harder as you start to ride your hips against his face. What a naughty girl. His naughty girl.

His claws dug into your inner thighs as he felt you start shaking under his ministrations, your moans growing louder as he felt you pulsating against his tongue, clenching, body arching upwards as his name kept coming out of your mouth, over and over again.

“CHRIST!” You finally yelled as the tight band finally snapped inside of your belly, making you spasm against his hold, your hands gripping his horns as you rode your hips against his face, trying to feel all of your orgasm as he tasted and drank every gush you let out, not missing a single drop.

You were an elixir. He’s never been with a human before, mostly because he is in charge of children rather than adults, but you were a special case. He had to know why you wanted his name so badly, and now he is more than happy that you know it, that you even gave him a nickname so it would be easier for you to scream.

He pulled away from you, licking a few stripes of your center, making you jerk slightly at the overstimulation as you slowly came down from your high. He let go of your legs, seeing that there was some blood on your inner thighs where his claws dug into. He licked onto your wounds, and your skin instantly started patching back up.

He stood up, towering over your naked body as you breathed heavily, looking at him with dazed eyes, yet still hungry. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers again, and you looked down to see his pants slowly fading away, and you gasped as you saw just how big he was.

You’ve never seen male anatomy before, but this– you knew that this was not normal. And you remembered that Krampus– Eddie, is not human. He never was, yet you didn’t care. Was he a demon? A monster? A spirit? You didn’t care at all. From the pictures of the books you found, the supposed drawings didn't do him any justice.

But maybe, this was not his original shape.

“Even if you deserve to be punished, I will be gentle with you darling. I don’t wanna break this– lovely present you are giving me in this advent season.” You could hear the smirk in his tone as his hands wrapped around your frame to pull you back up into the middle of the bed.

Nerves filled your body but were quickly removed as you felt his tongue licking from your knee, towards your hips, then your stomach, all the way up changing into kisses as he reached one of your nipples. He swirled his tongue around the hardened nub to then clamp his mouth against it and that’s when you jerked again, pleasure shooting to your core again.

Your arms immediately wrapped around his back as your legs opened for him to slot right in the middle. You felt his hardness against you, and you didn’t care if it hurt, as long as he finally took you for himself, to complete this fantasy of yours, for him to know just how obsessed and how much you love him.

Because that’s what you feel. Love. Unconditionally, in the weirdest of forms.

It was crazy to think that you fell in love at first sight, but it was what happened. You fell for him as soon as his eyes clashed with yours, and it was one-sided. You didn’t care if it was, and if it still is. He would own you now, even if you never saw him again, you would be forever happy.

Your eyes widened when pain shot all over your chest, and you didn’t realize until now that the man had fangs. He has fangs or some kind of sharpened teeth, yet even in the pain you still felt pleasure. He let go of your right nipple to keep licking his way up as you moan from the feeling of his hot tongue on your skin.

He raised his head from your skin to look down on your face, and your eyes clashed with his again, and they glistened with a golden hue through the red once more. He leaned forward and your heart stopped as you felt his lips against yours, another place where you remained untouched.

You kissed him back, not having expected that he would kiss you at all, and in such an intimate way. He was soft, caring, not at all what you thought he would be, yet he was proving you wrong. Maybe the tales were wrong. He is not evil, he never was. His job was always to make children learn from their mistakes, while Saint Nicholas took the good guy part for himself when all he did was pamper selfish children.

Eddie groaned into your lips and you couldn’t help but open your eyes to finally see the tail behind him, something you didn’t spot before, maybe because he tucked it too well, or hid it. It was wagging, almost like a whip, with a fluffy end. It was black, and you couldn’t help but feel more attracted to him now.

You closed your eyes once more as you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, and your lips parted to let him inside your mouth, your tongues dancing with each other now, making your cunt clench in need again. You didn’t know that kissing someone could turn you on like this, but he is proving you wrong with each touch he gives you and provides you with.

His hands were caressing all of your body. Your sides, your hips, your thighs until one of his hands disappeared, only to feel him line himself up to your entrance and his lips pulled away from yours, looking down at your face.

“Breathe out. Don’t hold it in. Be a good girl for once.”

And you listened. Krampus calling you a good girl was something that ignited thousands of flames inside of your body, and his hips moved forward, breaching you open. You threw your head back with a wince as you felt him slowly opening you up for the first time ever. It stung, and it definitely burned, but it would pass, it has to pass.

“It– It hurts– But… Don’t stop–”

“Didn’t think of doing that. You still need punishment after all.” He almost sounded unphased, as if he weren’t stimulated at all, yet you could hear some restraint in his voice as if holding in something in the back of his throat.

He was claiming you. Slowly and torturously, and even in your short gasps and winces, you took it all. He was amazed by you, how you waited for him, how much you wanted him despite him not being human. Maybe you weren’t right in the head after all.

And he hit the wall, and with one hard thrust, he plunged forward, finally breaking it. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as pain shot through your body, but you heard him finally moan out in bliss as your tightness engulfed him. You were so warm, so perfect for him that he could hardly handle it.

“Ed– Eddie–” You were choking out his name as you tried to adjust to his size, your cunt pulsing around him at the sudden intrusion. He raised himself up, his hands on each side of your head as your nails dug into his sides. Your eyes widened when you saw the symbols on his body start to shine, it was dim, but it was a dark glow, like a shadow around them.

“Such a good girl…” And those words made you relax once again, and that let him be able to move backward, slowly, eliciting a wince from your part, and then a gasp as he moved back in again. “So good for me.”

You felt tears rolling down your face, but a smile was spread on your lips, and if someone told you that you would have to endure this pain every time in order to see him over and over again, you would. You definitely would.

His hips moved back again and then pushed in once more. The winces slowly turned into moans, the pain fading away, and even if the burning remained, the pleasure was slowly increasing inside of you as his thrusts started gaining some speed and momentum. Your eyes were hazy as they tried to adjust to look at his face.

His eyes were pure gold now, yellow as they looked down at your face, contorting in pure ecstasy as his thrusts became deeper now, your body jerking upwards as he started hitting a part of you, inside, that you didn’t know you could feel. You didn’t know what it was, but it was a hundred times better than your clit.

“Oh– Fuck– Fuck!” Your head was thrown back as your nails scratched onto his sides, making a groan escape him, his posture straightening to grab the back of your knees, pulling your legs up, opening you wider for him and that’s when you felt his need, his desire, as he started moving fast, desperate, and he was fixated on your breasts as they bounced at his every move.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from you as you moaned his name over and over again, and he felt the marks on his body burning him, making the pleasure even more unbearable. He needed to make you his, forever. Give you the worst punishment Krampus can give to bad people.

His hands slipped down to get hold of your hips and you kept your legs up as the skin slapping could be heard all over your house, pulling you towards him each time he thrust in, helping him go deeper into you and harder.

He could feel your walls clenching again, and he smirked as he looked down at you, your mouth open, drooling, as your hands were over your head, all over your pillow as you moved up and down thanks to his movements, the wood of the bed creaking against the floor.

“Come on sweet girl, you can give me one more, just one more.” One of his hands left your hips to get in between the two of you and you winced when you felt one of his nails scratch your clit, only to then moan when his digit came in contact and started to draw circles on it as he kept thrusting in and out of you as he tried to reach his own high.

“I love you– I love you– Make me yours, please– please!” And he smiled wickedly as he moaned out at your words. He knew you meant them, wholeheartedly. You really weren’t right in the head. He was sure of it now, and he didn’t know who to thank for that, but he was eternally grateful for them.

His thrusts quickened as he kept hitting that part inside of you while circling your clit with his thumb. You felt your body growing hot, like fire, as your legs started shaking and your hips jerking towards him as you felt your belly tighten, burn you, scream at you for release, and your hands were gripping onto your pillow under your head as your mouth was wide open with silent moans coming out of it.

“Do it, my good girl, do it.”

My good girl.

And that did it for you, clenching tightly around him, like a vice grip, like a python against their prey, crying his name, loudly, with breathy moans escaping you as your body shook against him. He didn’t stop his thrusting as he looked down at you, mesmerized, and he knew now that he definitely couldn’t let you go.

And so he claimed you, moaning your name loudly, even if you have never told him, he knew it. He spilled inside of you in long ropes, jerking his hips at every shot. Who would've thought a human would feel like this? Taste like this? He is obsessed now, not going to be able to let go of this, he is drunk on it, high on it, and he is definitely addicted.

You were at his mercy, in body and soul, and one of the things Krampus loves most is new toys. New toys that bend at his every will. New toys that would benefit him. New toys that he can play with, anytime he wants.

He was breathing heavily, yet tried to conceal it as he stared down at your face, completely spent, with tears and drool running downwards the side of your face. Oh yes… he almost forgot…

He leaned downwards to be face to face with you, and you opened your eyes to look at him. He smirked as he leaned down towards your neck, giving you a small lick before clamping his teeth down onto your skin, making you gasp in surprise at the sudden pain as your hands came to grip his shoulders for support.

You felt him suck on your skin, suck on your blood, for him to then pull away, another lick of his tongue on the wound he just provoked. He pulled away to look at the new mark on your skin, a symbol, a black swirl. He looked down at you, smiling wickedly as he rubbed your cheek.

“Time for me to give you your punishment.” Your eyebrows pinched together as you looked at him with a completely spent look in your eyes.

“My punishment?”

“Krampus is taking you away for misbehaving… horribly.”

And then the house was silent, the lights gone, candles gone out, fireplace with no embers, and then the townspeople never saw you again.

But children now say that Krampus does not come alone. The figure of a woman always stands in the doorway as he does his job, and his deeds, and the only thing the children can see from the shadows is a wicked smile, her white teeth, and glowing golden eyes.

Same as Krampus.

End

an: fuck them cute christmas fics

Merry Christmas, you naughty children.

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timeoveritasconsumofigmentum · 8 months

Text

Yandere Fisherman x F!Mermaid Reader

Warnings: Obsessive behaviors, Stalking, Kidnapping, Implied murder(?)

A/n: I tried to use actual boat terminology idk if it’s right lmao, but enjoy ♡ (not proofread)

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Mermaid!reader that loves to hang out with her marine friends during the bright afternoons. Exploring underwater caves, collecting the prettiest shells, telling spooky stories in sunken ships. Life was beautiful under the sea.

Mermaid!reader who was dared by Kai the stingray to go one of the many forbidden zones (the one infested with humans.) Despite her fear and uncertainty, she couldn't let that flat face call her a guppie!

Mermaid!reader who encounters dozens of dinghies once in the sunlight zone. Consumed with curiosity, she swam closer to the strange shiny devices hanging from the small ships. Yes the ocean floor collected the ships and it's artifacts, but she had never seen such a device.

Mermaid!reader who felt nothing but awe at the plastic fish that they(the fisherman) threw into the sea from their barnacle covered boats, fascinated by their unusual bright colours and shapes. Giggles at the confusion of her friends, their gurgles of excitement sending waves of bubbles along the currents.

Mermaid!reader who starts investigating with her marine friends but finds out the hard way what the plastic is truly meant to do and it breaks her heart. Dozens of her friends gone in a blink of an eyes, yanked into the unknown world. Mourns for the loss of her friends blaming herself for the lack of awareness, makes herself a promise that no other innocent being would be taken.

Mermaid!reader who helps fishes avoid the sharp hooks, warning all that wander too close that they could be snatched up and never seen again. Swears on Poseidon that no more of her friends will be stolen.

Mermaid!reader who actively tracks ships and fishing patterns. Herding the small guppies and airhead fishes away from the coast, sure they understood warnings but that didn't stop their curiosity or lack of awareness.

Mermaid!reader starts using her sharp iridescent shell to cut the fishing lines and collect the plastic bait, the humans obviously aren't using them so what's the harm in collecting them? Besides it would stop her friends from being caught up by the glittering they produced.

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Yandere!fisherman frustrated from the sacristy of fish coming in. His profit and family business plummeting to the ground from lack of customers.

Yandere!fisherman swore he would get to the bottom of this. His grandmother didn't break every bone in her body for this business to die a sudden death!

Yandere!fisherman who now, never leaves his modest boat, camouflaging himself to stalk the waters every hour of the day. Waits for days with no activity, his sour mood getting even fouler. "If there's nothing there, then where all the bloody fish?!"

Yandere!fisherman who spots a large fin lift out from the water one early morning, a quiet splash following. Snatching his binoculars off the stern pulpit he spotted a human like figure bobbing around the water, clicks his tongue in frustration about to look away when splash! A pearlescent tail jerks out of the water, his eyes traveled along the long fin only to find it connect to the figure he saw previously. Wide eyes stare at the strange creature entranced.

Yandere!fisherman shellshocked from the discovery, sure his grandmother told his stories about how merpeople lived in these water but he just thought it was a bad eyesight and manatees! To think she was right. Wonder soon turned into animosity, so this was the creature causing a shortage of food?

Yandere!fisherman who starts tracking the mermaids every move, determined to capture it. Thinks of the amount of money he would make by selling the exotic legend. He could see it now, towers of gold stacked to the clouds, a large home fit for a king, no longer having to break his back to scrape together enough money to pay his bills, his very being bathed in riches. Oh yes, he would have the sea beast . Dead or alive.

Yandere!fisherman after weeks of planning, decides it's time to capture the beast. Makes a custom bottom trawl, out of clear wire, adjusting it enough to fit the mutant, takes extra care to make it sturdy. As any good fisherman would do, he starts to track her movements.

Yandere!fisherman who writes in detail the spots she would mostly visit(the abandoned boats near the colorful reef seemed to be her favorite?), what distance she was most comfortable in(half a mile away from the dock but continuously inching closer) what time she preferred to come (right as the sun peeked out from the horizon.)

Yandere!fisherman finds out that the mermaid had been stealing the bait deliberately, his callous hands wrap around his booklet in fury wringing the innocent leather, another thing he had to worry about thanks to it.

Yandere!fisherman finally gets a glimpse of the creatures face. Is stunned stupid to see such beautiful features, every detail in her face seemed as they were sculpted by hand with utmost care. The blue hue of the water did little to obscure her beauty, feels something in his chest tighten but brushes it off.

Yandere!fisherman dreams now invaded by the unknown woman. Her opal like scales that seemed softer than cotton, the halo of hair that followed her whenever she moved, bright eyes filled with childlike wonder. Soft supple lips lifted into a small smile. The feeling in his chest returns.

Yandere!fisherman commences his plan at night, gently tossing the net into the water far away from his boat. Lies in wait, white knuckling the thick rope connected to the net ready to pull at any moments notice. Sees the beautiful beast nearing his trap, grits teeth "come on.." he jerks the net snatching the side of her body, her right arm and fin tangled in the thick plastic. Bubbles flurry to the surface panicked splashing accompanying it.

Yandere!fisherman who yanks the net forward creating small waves, the veins in his arms bulging from the amount of force takes large steps back bringing her closer. Has her a few feet away from boat when SNAP the net collapses into itself, her body freeing with every thrash. Let's out a scream of frustration watching the mermaid flee the scene quickly.

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Mermaid!reader swimming back home in pure shock clutching her iridescent shell, unable to filter in the million of questions her friends asked her.

Mermaid!reader who thinks of all the fables and stories of humans snatching merpeople were true, she knew that much, but never did she think she would be one of the missing. She had been so careful, not following the same path or reappearing in the same spot.

Mermaid!reader stays cocooned in her shell like home for days, the soft hues of pink and yellow calming her soul. Small treasures displayed on weaved seaweed shelves warmed her heart, creating a bubble of peace in her rampant mind. The human objects she collected overtime glared at her, an uneasy feeling urged herself to stuff the objects deep in sand. To forget about them and everything about the surface. To forget about the existence of humans.

Mermaid!reader traces the angry marks that indented her tail, curling further on her kelp bed. Regrets taking the dare that made her get so close to the land. She could have been blissfully blind if she just stayed with the cities limits, unburdened with the knowledge of what the coast held. Shivering at the daunting feeling, she imagined what awaited her the moment she broke through the surface.

Mermaid!reader who wants to stay rooted right where she was but the other part who knew the truth, she knew she would have to go back and help her friends. But to go back was a death wish there was no telling that luck would be on her side once more, memories of her stolen friends flashed through her mind.

Mermaid!reader with her mind set, decides to go back. Asks around her city hoping to find out more about humans only to hit dead end after dead end. Deflated, swims to the coral library wanting at least to brush up on the human tales that once scared her when she was guppie.

Mermaid!reader who draws a map of sector starfish. Noting where she was almost taken, she tries to remember where her fish friends would go. They weren’t the brightest bunch so she knew they would be scattered through out the water. Despite the numerous problem she was faced with, she pushes forward.

Mermaid!reader who stays at the edge of the sunlight zone, worry seeps in her veins her tail thrashing in agitating. “It’s not a big deal..I’m just going back to the place where I was almost taken, it’s fine. It’s fine, I’m fine..”. She took a deep breath before releasing, groups bubbles tumbled from her mouth caressing her features. A soothing warmness settles in her chest at the feeling as she tried to the keep up with the uncoherent thoughts she had.

Mermaid!reader cautious of every little thing, swimming as slow as possible. Decides to split the area into smaller sectors, one sector a day. That'll keep her safe. Hopefully. Days slowly crawl by, her wavered confidence stayed stagnant riddled with the anxiety of ‘what if’s?’

Mermaid!reader shakes her head disappointed at the fish who swim merrily around the few hooks in sector starfish. ‘All those warnings floated away from them’ she thought glumly. Sees Kai the stingray stuck in a large net, doesn't hesitate to swim forward sharp shell in hand pushing away her dread.

Mermaid!reader determination set in her features she prepared herself to slash haphazardly trying to free her friend as quickly as possible. Let's out a scream of terror dropping her weapon, realizing her friend was already dead and gutted.

Mermaid!reader distracted by the horrifying scene set in front of her, she barely felt another net underneath the sand lift upwards speedily creating a cage around her.

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Yandere!fisherman who is quite glum from the lack of appearance of his prize-bag of money. Rereads his booklet, noting she would appear most when the tides were rising. The perfect time when fish would trickle in like children at a sweets shop. Reinforces a seine net and buries it in the sand underneath his ship, is about to rise from the water when he spots stray stingray swimming away from his curious eyes.

Yandere!fisherman couldn’t help but to smile.

Mermaid!reader who's dropped onto the floor the modest boat unceremoniously. Starts to beg the burly fisherman to let her go, that she only wanting to keep her friends safe "Please! I mean you no harm! How would you feel if hundreds of your friends where snatched away from home and they were never seen again? Understand me" she pleaded, voice getting hoarse from lack of water. Her limbs ached from the drop, the tight net reopening the wounds on her shimmering tail and torso.

Yandere!fisherman after weeks of watching her from the boat can't help but to tune her out. Not that her voice wasn't as sugary as he imagined, but to finally be able to drink in her foreign features. Euphoria drenched his body, this was real.

Yandere!fisherman thinks of the dreams that haunted him each night, were nothing compared to reality. Entranced by every crease, mole, and scar that covered her very being, studying her features he memorized every little detail. Dark eyes taking in the strange clothing she wore, lingering on the open wounds on her opalescent tail.

Yandere!fisherman who feels cold at the thought of someone else feasting on her beauty. He was the only one deserved to look at her, he watched for months, weeks of planning and yearning to get to this moment. He knew her. She was his. No one was worthy enough to bathe in her beauty. "Shhh, it's okay. Oh, have I got some plans for you sweetheart. But don't you worry your pretty little head about anything, I’ll take care of everything.”

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nickgoesinsane · 2 years

Text

Thinking about Adrian getting railed by a demon...

As a creature of the night, a demon, you abhorred daytime. There’s many reasons you can list off to explain why you do; the sun stings your eyes, it leaves you with less places to hide, it becomes noisier and livelier… But recently, you’ve found reasons to enjoy it. Like the way the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen window made Adrian’s hair look like spun gold as he threw his head back with a cry of pleasure. A pleased purr rattles in your chest, and you suck another bruise into the pale skin of his inner thighs. The pale pink on his face traveled down to spread over his chest and shoulders in a full-bodied blush.

Your half eaten lunch lay somewhere on the other end of the table, not that either of you needed to eat, though Adrian was insistent you did. He’d also complained about doing these things in the kitchen, but he’d melted into your embrace the moment you scraped your fangs over the skin of his throat. Your clawed hands part his legs more, red eyes fixing on the erection resting on his abdomen. The precum drooling from the flushed tip glistens in the light, and you drag your tongue over the length of his cock to collect the bittersweet droplets. Adrian gasps your name, a hand wrapping around one of your horns to steady himself.

There’s a small tug before his hips tilt pointedly, and your lips curl smugly. “So impatient,” You murmur, lowering your face to lick at the pink hole being presented to you. His groan is echoed by your pleased hum, and you hook his long legs over your shoulders. One of your hands strokes his cock in time with the laps of your tongue, and you hear his heavy breathing turn into broken moans between quick pants. You allow your tongue to lengthen inhumanly and thrust inside him, making him stretch around the girth of it.

“Oh god!” Adrian chokes out, thighs threatening to close around your head— not that you’d mind in the slightest.

Your laugh is muffled against him, and you let up for only a moment, “Not quite.” You tease before your tongue is swirling around the rim of his asshole. You watch it clench around nothing, wet with your spit and loosened by your tongue, and a fierce hunger makes your trousers grow tight. An irritated growl spills from your mouth as you fumble with the lacings on the front of it, and you curse how easily you’d given into Adrian’s wishes for you to be dressed all the time.

“Come here.” You hear Adrian’s breathless voice call, and you give his hole a small lick before rising to your feet. You shoot him a weak glare, and he smiles amusedly as his hand slides down to cup your cheek. His irises are a thin ring of gold around the blown darkness of his pupils, and his chest heaves with his excited breaths. His other hand easily undoes the laces of your trousers, and your dark wings twitch at the relief.

His fingers ghost over your length, thoroughly coated in your own arousal and more than ready for him. Adrian tilts his head up for a kiss, and you press your mouth against his as the head of your cock brushes against his entrance. You swallow his moans as you slowly sink inside, his walls clamping around you. You can’t help the way your wings spread at the sheer pleasure, and you vaguely hear how they knock something over.

You slowly draw your hips back, flicking your tongue against the extended fangs of your lover, and thrust back inside with a sinfully wet slap. Adrian pulls away from the kiss, head tipping back with a strangled groan that resembles your name. His ankles lock behind your back, and you thread one of your hands into his long hair while the other guides his hips to meet your powerful thrusts. You bow your head to suck and nip at his pale skin, admittedly obsessed with the way he looks with your marks. His arms curl around your neck, and his fingers massage the spot between your feathered wings as a familiar swelling begins at the base of your cock.

You moan against his skin, and his entire body shudders at the feeling of precum and slick spilling inside him. It’s nothing but a small fraction of what was to come once your knot settled inside him, and he would take it without complaint. His hole squelchers and drips with your fluids as you fuck into him, ruthless and hungry. The wooden table creaks and groans under your combined weight, and you absentmindedly reconsider your faith in its strength. It wouldn’t be the first piece of furniture you’ve had to replace because of your love making, but you knew Adrian would be mildly annoyed that you’d broken the dining table.

You begin to slow the rolls of your hips, however much it pains you, and Adrian’s legs tighten around your waist. “Don’t stop,” He quietly pleads, and you immediately kiss his collarbones in apology for ever making him believe such a thing. Worries for the table cast aside, you double the strength of your thrusts, delighted in the way he pulls you closer.

You love him, you really do. You can’t bear the thought of ever leaving him, of abandoning or betraying him like the others had. You didn’t understand it in the beginning, but now you do. Slipping a hand between your bodies, you pump his cock in your fist to match the pace you’ve set. His precum makes it slippery and easy, and he gasps when you swipe your thumb over the tip.

“Love you,” You quietly murmur, pressing your forehead against his temple. Adrian turns his face, his nose bumping against yours, and the infatuated expression on his face makes you feel warm. His bruised lips part—

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Your entire body tenses at the voice, and your feathered wings immediately wrap around Adrian’s body to protect him. Your lips pull back to bare your sharp teeth at the man standing in the doorway, and a growl rumbles in the back of your throat. Adrian clenches around you at the noise, and you ignore the pleasure to the best of your abilities. The intruder looks utterly shocked, his eyes wide in disbelief while a whip — blessed, you immediately notice — lays slack in his grip.

Adrian shifts in your embrace to lock eyes with him from over your shoulder. “Belmont,” He greets dryly, looking annoyed. You stare down at him in surprise when he readjusts his legs around your waist, heels pressing against your lower back to keep you nestled inside him, the beginnings of your knot pressing against his rim. “Fuck off while we finish up, will you?”

Oh.

You watch as Belmont slaps a hand over his eyes and blindly runs, calling out to his companion to stay in the carriage. Your attention is brought back to the dhampir in your arms when he hooks a finger under your chin to turn your face towards him. “I thought I told you not to stop.” Adrian whispers, and a pleased grin spreads over your lips.

You’ll make him scream so loud that the Hunter and the Speaker will know what a grave mistake they’ve made.

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your-favorite-god · 7 months

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𝓥𝓲𝓽𝓪 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪 𝓪𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪

part one: here!

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜….

Really, it was a coincidence. No one knows why Wednesday Addams decided to come here. She had never explored this part of the woods before, it's not like she ever needed to really as the graveyard had always been her favorite place on the Addams property. But today Wednesday had decided she wanted to bury her brother alive, somewhere new. Somewhere far, where no one could save him. At the ripe age of 7, Wednesday had determined that she liked the pain of others. Since no one else was around, her brother was her favorite and only victim.

As the little addams was pouring dirt over the newly filled grave she heard a flapping sound, then a rustle of branches, then a snap of twigs. It all happened in quick succession and Wednesday was curious, just what creature is making such noise. As she looked around she saw a pair of bright golden eyes peeking at her through the trees.

"Who are you?" Wednesday asked, stoic but curious.

" I am called Endeara, and you", The voice answered.

"come out and I'll tell you" Wednesday demanded, clutching her shovel tightly in her fist. Prepared to destroy this new beast. Wednesday was never one for emotions, nothing really ever catching her interest much less shocking her. But if she was to feel such foolish things, she thinks it would be something like this. Wednesday had prepared herself for some new monster to add to her menagerie, yet her plans were foiled as out stepped a little girl. Close to her age it seemed, maybe a year or two older, with large horns and larger wings. Both a deep brown, almost black, flecked in what looked like gold. This winged little girl was dressed in what the Addams surmised as animal skins, covered in crystals and bones. Long hair to her legs with braids and small flowers, what especially caught the Addams eye was the white streak in the front. A stark contrast to the little being.

"What are you?", Wednesday asked again, and the girl... Endeara, laughed.

"I am fae, and now I have met your demands. It's time to hold up your end of the bargain, what is your name?"

"Wednesday."

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜. 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚏.

Young endearas moodboard made by me, please dont use/copy my work without credit.

Author note: this is a Yandere fanfiction. it will contain violence, unhealthy relationships, some steaminess, stalking, attempted kidnapping.... a lot. lots of attempted kidnapping. lots of stalking. obsessive thoughts and tendencies, enabling of criminal and morally questionable acts, sparse foul language- you know what. it'll be easier to just say whats NOT in here. no noncon, no dubcon, no pedophilia.

if you don't like the actor that plays Xavier, feel free to fan cast him.

I hope everyone enjoys, and remember. Don't do anything I wouldn't do😈

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in-death-we-fall · 1 year

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Aesthetics of Hate

This is the House of Nine. There is a horror that echoes through its walls. There is a horror that shifts and broods. A horror that coils itself into a moment of truth. This is our house. We have heard it sing.

It’s started again, hasn’t it? That’s why we’re back. That’s why we’ve… changed.

Back? Listen.

We never left.

Slipknot’s drug, alcohol and ego problems are history. No longer at war with each other, the only struggle now is finding a way to finish it.

Words: Ken McIntyre. Pics: Steve Brown.

Aka the one that aged like milk. Many thanks to @incredizort for sharing your collection. (docs link)

The are the village people of the damned, a psychedelic terror circus populated by depressed clowns, obsessive-compulsives, misanthropes, cyborgs, droogs, ghouls, and goblins. Their sound is a barrage of noise and confusion, a bundle of hiss and the dynamiting of mountains. They look like escaped mental patients on Halloween, and their demeanor vacillates between grandiose and openly hostile. They are Slipknot, and they are legion.

Since 1995, these nine creatures of latex and bone from the fertile plains of Des Moines, Iowa, have lorded over their dysfunctional kingdom of maggots and problem children with shaky hands that have often succumbed to their own wretched excesses. As the band went from strength to strength, from the runaway freight train of their 1999 self-titled debut album to the embittered, embattled success of 2001’s Iowa and their surprisingly tuneful comeback, 2004’s Vol. 3: (The Subliminal Verses), Slipknot scaled unheard-of heights for an extreme metal band, snapping up Gold and Platinum albums, winning Grammy awards, infiltrating the mainstream like sinister double agents.

But none of it came easy, and lurking behind the mask was a band at war with itself; a band riddled with drug, alcohol, and ego problems. In 2005, the levy finally broke, and Sipknot took a much-needed break, the various members healing, mending fences, and exploring other creative avenues. Singer Corey Taylor and guitarist Jim Root returned to Stone Sour, drummer Joey Jordison played with a myriad of bands, from Korn to Metallica, and drummer and visual artist Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan produced the revealing ‘Knot-doc Voliminal: Inside The Nine, among other projects.

But they could not avoid their fates forever, and so Slipknot return with a roaring new album, All Hope Is Gone, which pits a burgeoning retro-thrash metal obsession and their recent flirtations with melody against their original vision of pure, bloodlusting aggression and brutality. And with this latest dispatch from the abyss comes the expected media saturation, as well as an endless arc of tours and festivals and television performances. It is during the brief calm before the storm that Metal Hammer catches up with Slipknot, rehearsing their new set at Wells fargo Arena in downtown Des Moines.

Slipknot (left to right): Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan, Chris Fehn, Craig Jones, Joey Jordison, Paul Gray, Mick Thomson, James Root, Sid Wilson Corey Taylor

They say it’s what’s inside you that counts.

That’s what scares me.

It’s in all of us

It’s what binds us that makes us clash. It will happen again.

We’re twisted pieces of the same puzzle. Nine faces that speak with one voice.

The voice of madness…?

Is it normal to be practising in an arena? Shawn ‘Clown’ Crahan (percussion): “It’s not normal, but it’s not surprising at the level we’re at. It was my idea to do this, to practise in the small room and get it tight, and then to come out here and get the feeling of the arena again. Otherwise, you’re practising in people’s houses, and we’re nine brothers. Imagine nine brothers with nine families and everybody running with different crews, and all having different morals and standards and spiritualities. Imagine that fuckin’ insanity. So this makes sense.”

Des Moines had a series of floods recently. Did they affect the band at all? Corey Taylor (vocals): “Not really. I spent a couple days running around saving my friends. Everybody I knew with the exception of just a couple people lived on the flood plain, so I was just going out and helping people get the fuck out of there. I had a house full of people for a week.”

For years now, there have been allegations that you guys all hate each other. Is the band still dysfunctional? Joey Jordison (drums): “Yeah, we are dysfunctional. But I mean, we all grew up together. Me and Mick [Thompson (sic), guitar] are like, best friends, and I used to detest that guy. We fuckin’ hated each other, man. And Shawn, me and him are probably the closest brothers in the whole band, but we probably get along the least because we love each other so much, and we control a lot of what goes on in Slipknot. We’re constantly butting heads. I remember right before Ozzfest, you could just cut the tension between me and him with a knife, it was so thick, and one day I left practice (sic) all pissed off, and I was saying, ‘Fuck off, I think I’m quitting.’ There we were, we just got the ticket, we were on our way to making it. That’s how fuckin’ stressed out we were. And literally – he’s a lot bigger than I am – Shawn flipped his kit over, came over to my drumset, ripped my stuff down and held me by the fuckin’ throat, and I grabbed his throat and went to punch him, and then the whole band dogpiled us. We’ve had lots of fights like that, real fistfights. But even though we still get into fights, we don’t let them last that long anymore. The band is just so intense. I mean, we’ve got nine extreme personalities here.”

That reminds me, on a scale on (sic) one to 10, how nuts is your DJ, Sid? He just told me that he’s a cyborg, and I think he really means it. Joey: “One to 10? Like, 13. Yeah, he’s crazy. You take 72 hits of acid in one weekend, it’s gonna fry your brain up a little bit.”

How do you guys balance all the side-projects with Slipknot? Joey: “It’s fuckin’ simple. Slipknot comes first.”

So it didn’t take any convincing to get everybody back to do a new album? Joey: “Well, it usually happens when the other bands sorta run their course. Certain people in the band decide not to do anything, they just chill out until the next Slipknot record. Me, I do a lot of work with other bands, but Slipknot’s my priority, and I’m glad to be back playing with these guys. The first day when we started rehearsal, usually people are laidback (sic), it was like headbang city man, and we were like, ‘Let’s just get out metal necks, let’s get that shit out of the way.’ It feels great, man. I’m happy.�� Corey: “ I was completely stoked to do it. I’d actually started thinking of it and preparing for it on the Stone Sour tour. I just started filling notebooks with ideas. It got to the point where I had two notebooks full of stuff, and I was just ready to go. So as soon as the music was written and the demos started floating around, I was just like, ‘OK, this fits here and this fits here.’ I wasn’t rushing around to write lyrics, which a lot of guys do. I was very prepared and not only was I saying everything I wanted to say, but I was doing it in a way I was ecstatic about. I knew I wanted to go heavier, and I knew at the same time that I wanted to balance that with this melodic side that we had really tapped into. And the proof is there. I think this album is the best thing we’ve ever done, to be honest. I think it really shows the growth of the band and the maturity. But it’s still chaotic and heavy, but it’s still got those moments where you just go, ‘Holy fucking shit!’ Not only is it good, but the more you listen to it, the more you find. There’s a lot of layers, and that’s something that gets lost on a lot of people. There’s just so much thought and so much meaning behind everything we do. It’s not just shock for shock’s sake.”

What’s the theme for All Hope Is Lost (sic)? Umm, hopelessness by any chance? Corey: “It’s not a blatantly political or social album, and it’s not a blatantly angry album. I think the overwhelming theme, for me, is that none of us are the same, but none of us are different. We may change as people, but if we use the same energy to try and solve different problems, nothing is going to get accomplished. And that’s something that I think is lost on a lot of people.”

What was it like having Dave Fortman as a producer for this one? Joey: “Dave was great. It’s not like when we were recording with Rick Rubin – he was like an oracle. He would make these little tweaks from his house. He’d sit in this little library in his house, he’d sit there cross-legged with these prayer beads and he’d get a vibe, and he’d tell the engineer what to do. That was a weird way to record. But Dave, he was there every hour, every day. When we write songs, we tend to write really long like, [Metallica’s] …And Justice For All- type songs, nine or 10 minutes long. So we’d record the song like that, and Dave would help us chop it down. The thing with Dave is, that guy knows his tones. I finally got the best drum sound in my life. The guitar sound, the bass, the percussion… finally, we’ve got the Slipknot sound I’ve been wanting to hear my whole life.”

You’ve got new masks and new outfits, do you feel constrained at all by them? Corey: “No. We don’t only have these, but we have actual outfits that we put together ourselves. They’re still cohesive, but they’re a little more individualistic. We had started doing that on the last album. It’s part of our evolution. If you’re not evolving, you’re dying. No matter what the fucking fans on the websites say, nobody wants to see the same fucking shit over and over again. This time around, we felt it was very important that we are represented as individuals and not just as a band, as pieces of a puzzle. The new mask and outfits range from outrageous to very subtle. It’s a reflection of who we are. But we also kept the boiler suits, because we like to appear as a unit.”

You guys got saddled with the ‘nu metal’ tag early on. Obviously at this point you’ve overcome it… Corey: “There were a couple of bands that were good and that had a really good attitude. Snot comes to mind. That was an amazing band; I loved Snot. (hed)P.E. – their first couple of albums were amazing, because they had so much attitude, and it was so different. But then you had bands like Limp Wristed and all that crap, where it just got so watered down; the P.O.D.s, fuckin’ bands like that, where there was zero talent going on. It was frustrating being caught up in that, but at the same time, people don’t want to think outside of what they already know. They want their opinions forcefed (sic) to them. So if a magazine comes out and says we’re nu metal, than (sic) that’s what they’re going to say. It took us a long time to change people’s minds. We’re just a metal band. The people that wanted to write us off as a nu metal band weren’t our fans, they just didn’t know what to call us. We just got stronger and stronger and more willing to experiment and so they just didn’t know what we were. In that respect, we sort of created our own genre, and there’s a lot of bands that kinda take cues from us now. It’s kinda weird.”

Slipknot broke the ceiling for extreme metal bands making it in the mainstream. Did it shock you when it was happening? Corey: “At the time we didn’t even think about it, we were just real busy working. We were literally on the road for 18 months and saw home for maybe three weeks in that entire time. We were gone forever. But we knew that was going to happen, so we just put our heads down and did what we had to do, because we just refused to lose. So once we got that done we had time to take a breath. We were getting ready to start on the Iowa tour, and we just turned around and were like, ‘Woah! Look what we did. We’re fucking huge!’ We were playing this place that’s not even there anymore, it was called the Bronco Bowl in Dallas. It was set up like a mini-arena and it was just fucking gagged, fucking jammed with people. I remember walking out on stage and thinking, ‘Are we opening up for somebody? Where did all these fucking people come from?’ They knew every word, they knew everything, I remember coming off stage and just having this amazing smile on my face. I was like, ‘Something’s different. We’re not an opening band anymore.’ And I don’t think we’d ever be again, unless we were opening for somebody like Metallica. It was insane, it was probably the best feeling I’ve ever felt in my life.” Joey: “It didn’t happen overnight, because we had to work so hard for it but… it happened overnight. We went on Ozzfest, and three weeks into it we’d sold 150,000 records. Every time we played, everybody – every fucking band, Black Sabbath included – was out there watching us. And we’re out for blood, we fucking hate everybody, just ‘Fuck you!’ That’s always been the Slipknot mentality. We love a lot of other bands, we love a lot of different music, but when it comes to us playing, we just don’t care. It’s your ass. People think it’s arrogant, and it is. We believe in our craft. We believe in Slipknot.”

The voice of the madness perhaps

It’s the nature of madness – it’s always searching for a brave face.

Always changing…

…always the same

It seeks its own martyrdom…

…and to be reborn

Yeah, very fucking profound. Don’t get mad, get eaten.

You want to give food for thought?

It’s just for the food for the maggots.

Th-that’s all, folks.

Is it tough accepting the fact that you have to wear a mask for the next year? Joey: “No, not at all. I’m ecstatic to be back and playing with the guys again. It’s home, man. We take breaks because Slipknot is not just music, it’s a force, it’s a lifestyle. It’s also like being in jail. You’re constricted. You have to be on your game every night to be in this band. The stuff is not easy to play anyway, but we’ve got the whole stage performance, playing in masks, it’s what every band goes through, but with nine guys it’s very intense. I mean, look at this – all nine guys are still together. All nine original guys are still here. What other band can say that?”

So, has anybody ever tried to get out? Joey: “No, no one ever has. That’s why at the end of a 15-month tour cycle, we’re just like, let’s take a break, work on some other projects, just relieve a little stress. But when we come back to Slipknot, it’s on, man. There’s no fucking around.”

So what can we expect from this next tour? Clown: “For one thing, we’re musical, man. I play the fucking drums, so get used to it. I’ve earned the right, I’ve done the time, I’ve been on the mountain with the kung fu masters, learning. If you can’t accept that, go play with the kids’ toys. I’ve worked really hard on my art for this one. I got my boy-scout medals and I’m in the deep woods with no tools, no tent, no nothing, and we’re playing survival, man. Just know that I’m the guy who eats the fucking shit raw, man. If there’s an animal, I’ll fucking eat it. This is fucking Slipknot. That’s what you can fucking expect.”

Is Slipknot meant to last forever, or do you have to write the end of this story? Clown: “You nailed it, man. I am in more pain than anyone could possibly ever know, because I have to find a way to finish this.” Joey: “I don’t think it’s our last record at all, but there’s something seriously going on with this record, that’s for sure. It’s like Friday the 13th Part IV: The Final Chapter. It’s a climax.”

Is Slipknot like Kiss, where you could lose a member and just find somebody else to wear his mask? Clown: “No. If I left this band, we’d be done. If Joey Jordison left this band, we’d be done. All of us, if any of the guys in this band leave… See, it’s been out of our hands for a long time, since 1998. The world is just too dumb, too anti-art, to realise how important this is, to actually accept the truth that yes, if I left the band it’d be over. There could never be a drummer to replace me, man. We are The Nine. There is no one else.”

Nine long, tense, and occasionally violent hours later, Slipknot begin to slink out into the inky-black, dead-still Des Moines night. It’s a mere week until they begin headlining the Mayhem tour in the States, and that’s just the beginning. Once this album hits the streets, it is unlikely that any of them will see their homes again for at least a year, and probably longer. Although the band harbours the expected anxieties about their long-awaited return to the metal arena, the sprawling expansive All Hope Is Gone will probably be their biggest album ever. At this point the eldest members of the band are now approaching 40, while their fanbase still hovers around 18, and that’s the same sort of 18 Alice Cooper once sang about: the confused, angry, half-a-boy, half-a-man kind.

If any of The Nine hoped to escape their fates as the ringleaders of the tormented, those hopes are now dashed.

“Man, it’s fucking embarrassing,” Clown admitted earlier, when we asked him how it felt to be a dad playing teen-rage anthems.

“I’m just glad I’m not alone in this, with this fucking-metal-fucking-arena-rock-fucking-stage-pass-interview-fucking-photoshoot shit. I don’t care about it. Yes, my art has grown into a way of life, yes, there’s a lot of people that live their lives by it, but I’ve always told people, I don’t want to be on the cover of Metal Hammer, I want to be on the cover of National Geographic. I’ve always said that. I’m gonna be on the cover of Metal Hammer anyway, because that’s just what I fucking do. But I want to take you all on another journey, a fucking life journey, a painful journey. There’s a reason why Slipknot gets the people we get: because they’re lost. They’re lost, and they find their way to us. It’s like a cult, man,” he says, staring a hole right through us.

“A cult of fucking pain.”

There are those who say hope springs eternal. They have obviously never spent a day with Slipknot.

A Stitch In Time

A bluffer’s guide to The Nine.

92: Drummer Shawn Crahan and bassist Paul Gray begin playing in a band together.

95: Joey Jordison joins Shawn and Paul, form Meld with guitarists Donnie Steele and Josh Brainard, and singer Anders Colsefini.

96: Donnie leaves the band due to religious beliefs and is replaced by Craig Jones. Meld change their name to Slipknot and begin wearing grotesque make-up and costumes. Craig Jons switches to sampler and Mick Thomson joins on guitar. Slipknot release their first self-released album, Mate.Feel.Kill.Repeat., on Halloween.

97: Corey Taylor replaces Anders on vocals. Chris Fehn joins the band as percussionist. Slipknot start wearing their trademark boiler suits and numbers.

98: DJ Sid Wilson joins the band. They sign to Roadrunner Records.

99: On June 29, the band releases Slipknot, their ‘official’ debut album, and join the Ozzfest tour.

00: Slipknot is certified Platinum.

01: Slipknot release their second album, Iowa, and do the Ozzfest tour again.

02: The band take a break, Corey Taylor revives Stone Sour, Joey Jordison forms Murderdolls. Slipknot attempt to write a follow-up to Iowa, but struggle with inner-band conflicts. Rumours of the band’s imminent break-up start to circulate in the media.

03: Slipknot rally and begin recording new album with producer Rick Rubin.

04: Vol. 3: (The Subliminal Verses) is released. It quickly goes Platinum. Yet another Ozzfest tour follows.

06: Slipknot win their first Grammy award in the category of Best Metal Performance for Before I Forget. Voliminal: Inside The Nine, a self-produced DVD documentary, is released.

08: All Hope Is Gone released. Chaos ensues.

Project Revolution

Slipknot members are known for their many side projects. Here’s a crib sheet.

Stone Sour

Corey Taylor (vocals) Jim Root (guitar Stone Sour were formed back in 1992 by Corey Taylor and have existed in one form or another ever since. The alt-metal/grunge band have released two albums on Roadrunner Records (Stone Sour in 2002 and Come What(ever) May in 2006), and have been nominated for a Grammy award three times. The band are currently on hold in light of the new Slipknot record, but plans for a third album are in the works.

Murderdolls

Joey Jordison (drums (sic)) A horror-themed glam-punk band with a penchant for fishnet tights and make-up formed in 2002 by Joey Jordison, the Murderdolls also featured former Frankenstein Drag Queens frontman Wednesday 13. The band released their debut album, Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls in 2002 and played together sporadically over the next two years. The band are currently on hiatus, and when asked about the possibility of further recordings, Joey stated: “There might be another album. We’re thinking about it.”

Ministry, etc

Joey Jordison (drums) During his off-hours, Joey keeps busy by filling in on drums for several notable acts, including nu metal pioneers Korn, who he played with at the 2007 Download Festival, Metallica, (Download 2004), and Ministry, who he toured with in the summer of 2006.

DJ Starscream

Sid Wilson Sid Wilson’s day job is as a leading Jungle musician. As Starscream he’s released a host of singles and remixes on the Japanese label N20.

Dirty Little Rabbits

Shawn Crahan (drums) Shawn’s other side-project is a swirly mix of psychedelia and 90s style alt-rock. The band has yet to release an album. Dirty Little Rabbits supported Stone Sour on their 2006-07 US tour.

Dum Fux

Corey Taylor (guitar, vocals) A tongue-in-cheek cover band that plays everything from Flock Of Seagulls to The Stooges. Current status: active.

Audacious P

Corey Taylor (vocals, guitar) Perhaps the world’s only Tenacious D cover band. Currently on hiatus.

To My Surprise

Shawn Crahan (drums) A sun-dappled 60s rock-style band, To My Surprise were signed to Roadrunner Records and released their debut, self-titled album in 2003. It was executive produced by Rick Rubin. The band are on hiatus.

Roadrunner United

Joey Jordison (drums) Paul Gray (bass) Jim Root (guitar) This was a one-off album project put together to celebrate Roadrunner Records’ 25th anniversary. Roadrunner United featured 18 ‘supergroups’ made up of various Roadrunner alumni. Slipknot’s Joey, Jim and Paul played on several of the tracks, along with Type O Negative’s Pete Steele, King Diamond guitarist Andy LaRocque, and Cradle Of Filth bassist Dave Pybus, among others. The Roadrunner United album was released in 2005.

#slipknot #shawn crahan #corey taylor #joey jordison #interview #metal hammer summer 2008

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evanesdust · 1 year

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you are an obsession (i am your possession)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: POV Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Full Shift Werewolves, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Stalker, Voyeurism, Possessive Behavior, Getting Together, Explicit Sexual Content, hunting & providing, Werewolf Courting, Minor Violence, mild spanking, Knotting, this is a lot sweeter than it sounds, My Sweet Bloody Valentine

Summary:

Once Derek catches that tantalizing scent, he can’t stay away.

Stiles.

Derek’s completely enthralled by him. Obsessed.

But all he can do is stand in the shadows, watching and waiting. Until he can make Stiles his, that is.

And when that happens, Derek will never let him go.

Derek makes his way through the throng of grinding couples—drunk girls shaking their asses against douchebags wearing too much cologne. One even has his button-up parted to show off the gold chain dangling on his hairy, overly tanned chest.

This was the last place Derek would ever go, but not even the obnoxious thump thump thump from the club's speakers could keep him away. The beat feels as though it's coming from inside Derek's chest. He’s never quite gotten used to the volume in nightclubs, even when he wears earplugs—it's why he tends to avoid them.

But when he caught that intoxicating scent outside, it was as if a hurricane was at his back, pushing Derek toward it and leaving no room for resistance.

It was woody and fresh, like oakmoss and lavender. Nothing had ever reminded Derek so much of home before, and then he saw who it belonged to.

Words, coherent thoughts, oxygen—all that shit escapes him when he spots the owner of the scent. An alluring omega, more beautiful than any Derek's ever seen in his life, and he's seen a lot of beautiful omegas. Fucked a lot, too, but there's something about this one that captivates him.

Derek stands against the wall, not wanting to get too close. No. He wants to watch for a while, absolutely enthralled with the lithe creature before him.

The omega could pass for a pixie or a fairy with his cute, upturned nose, messy chestnut hair, and mole-speckled skin that appears to glow under the club's lights. All that's missing are the telltale iridescent wings of his supernatural brethren.

Arousal courses through Derek as he trails his gaze down the omega's body. He's wearing sinfully tight black pants and an equally tight red shirt with a low collar, showing off the long expanse of his neck that Derek would love to mark up. The omega is slim but not skinny, lean but not lanky—a perfect mix of strength and submission.

Something inexplicably sinister arises in Derek's chest. Dangerous. A wave of possessiveness he's never felt before rushes over him, and all Derek wants to do is break him. Shatter him into pieces, then arrange those pieces to fit against his own. And if they don't—he'll fucking make them.

In that instance, Derek knows he's about to do something bad. That he'll cross lines he'd never be able to come back from because one look from this omega and any alpha would be on their knees.

With just one look, Derek's already obsessed. Already addicted. But he has to resist or else he'll ruin himself. Again. He's finally getting his life back after his obsession with Kate Argent, the woman responsible for his family's death. For years, he'd tracked her, hunted her, as she ran from her heinous crime. Derek wasn't supposed to survive the fire—no one was, but teenage rebellion saved him, and he spent years exacting his revenge.

Now he could almost be considered an upstanding member of society. He owns a small business, volunteers at the local cat rescue and a few other places in town, and even donates regularly to various charities. He's already reclaimed his family's territory and, at some point, hopes to rebuild his pack.

So with a deep breath, Derek steps back and turns away, silently promising to never look back.

Five days. That's how long Derek managed to ignore the compulsion to find the omega. He probably would have succeeded, too, if it weren't for the omega popping up anywhere and everywhere Derek went. It was as if he were teasing Derek, taunting him with his enticing scent.

At the bakery, where Derek stopped every morning on the way to his workshop.

At the grocery store, an aisle over, innocently looking at cereal boxes.

At the sheriff's station, when Derek was walking by on his way to the bookstore nearby to pick up a new woodworking book he'd ordered. He'd caught the scent and turned just as the sheriff called out, "Stiles!"

Before Derek could even comprehend what the hell a Stiles was, the omega was there, a tight smile on his face like he hadn't meant to be caught. "Hey, dad."

Even though the omega, Stiles, was the sheriff's son—a glaring danger sign screaming for him to stay away—Derek had made up his mind, the decision fortifying like granite in his brain.

Stiles wouldn't be able to escape him now.

So Derek slinked back into the shadows and waited. Over the next week, Derek followed him. He learned Stiles's routine, where he worked, who his family and friends were—and, most importantly, where he lived. Which is what led to Derek breaking in and standing in the middle of Stiles's bedroom.

He'd meant to be gone before Stiles got home, but Stiles deviated from his usual Friday night plans of hanging out with his friends. That's the only reason he'd be home so early.

Derek freezes at the familiar sound of Stiles's Jeep pulling into the driveway. He could slip out the back, but Stiles's neighbors might see him. The sound of the Jeep door slamming shut springs him into action, and he has just enough time to slip under Stiles's bed.

There's a shirt lying there as if it were tossed aside and forgotten. Derek pulls it to his face, sniffing. Stiles's scent grounds him. Calms him in a way he hasn't felt since his family died.

He can't see anything from where he hides, but it's not long before the front door opens and then closes, followed by the click of the lock.

Derek can't quite recognize the tune Stiles whistles as he walks toward his room, the sound growing louder and louder the closer Stiles gets. Still, it doesn't drown out the rapid lup-dup lup-dup lup-dup of Derek's heartbeat. Thankfully, Stiles is human, so Derek doesn't have to worry about it giving him away.

Stiles talks to himself as he walks around the room, making a grocery list since he spends Saturday mornings running errands. There's a soft thunk as he kicks his shoes off. Derek's watched Stiles enough to know he won't bother picking them up and setting them out of the way. Even now, he can see them lying haphazardly near the doorway—much like everything else in Stiles's home.

He's organized chaos. Instead of a junk drawer, Stiles has a junk counter littered with papers and books piled high and about a million other little things that are one breeze away from being blown over. Derek didn't touch anything for fear of it toppling. Derek knows the boxes scattered around the living room and dining room are because Stiles still hasn't finished unpacking after moving back to Beacon Hills. He'd been away at college for the past four years, which explains why Derek hadn't met him.

Derek angles his head, watching Stiles's bare feet as he pads across the room to his attached bathroom, keeping the door ajar. The pipes in the wall rattle as Stiles turns the shower on.

God , Derek wishes he were in a better position to watch Stiles undress—his shirt and pants hitting the hamper just outside the bathroom door, which teeters a little before righting itself.

As much as he'd love to stay, as soon as he knows Stiles is in the shower, he slides out from under the bed and slips stealthily out of Stiles's house. It was a close call, but not enough to keep Derek from sneaking in again.

It's been a couple of days since Derek broke in, but this time, he didn't leave when Stiles got home. Instead, Derek stares at him through the slats in the closet door. The small, stuffy, and slightly claustrophobic closet that he's been in for the better part of two hours since Stiles got home from work late.

Stiles is worth it, though. So beautiful. Always. But especially when he thinks no one is watching—even wearing sweatpants with a threadbare graphic T-shirt. His rosy nipples poke through the thin material, and Derek's mouth waters with the need to take one into his mouth, sucking on it until Stiles wriggles beneath him.

Derek licks his lips.

Soon.

Stiles stands at the foot of the bed, glancing around for a moment, not really looking at anything in particular before a soft smile creeps onto his beautiful face.

Derek's not sure what or who he's thinking about, but he has to bite back a low growl when Stiles lifts his shirt over his head, then slips out of his pants.

His tantalizing, creamy skin is on full display, and with the moon high in the sky, Derek can see all the beauty marks scattered over his gorgeous body.

As Stiles pulls back the cover on his bed and bends over, pounding his fist into his pillow and fluffing it up, Derek focuses on the beauty mark directly on the swell of his left ass cheek. He wants to lick it. His cock hardens, and his mouth waters as he stares at Stiles's ass, at his hole.

Derek closes his eyes, working to regain control; otherwise, he'll storm out from his hiding spot, ruining all his plans.

But it's so difficult when Stiles is right in front of him, only a flimsy wooden door separating them. All Derek has to do is push it open, then he can mark, mate, and claim Stiles as his.

It's such an odd feeling. One Derek's never experienced before. He's never been in love. Never even given thought to a serious relationship. Rarely even fucks anyone anymore, and the few times he has, it's always a quick fuck before he's gone—the release rarely easing any tension.

And now, it's as if he's a fifteen-year-old boy who's just discovered what his cock is for. Ready to bust in his jeans from simply looking at Stiles in all his naked glory.

Derek wants to touch him, kiss him, and make Stiles his in every sense of the word until Stiles submits—because when that happens, Stiles will have no chance of ever escaping Derek.

Stiles climbs into bed, none the wiser to Derek being in his closet.

Derek watches Stiles get comfortable under the covers. Watches as he runs a hand down his chest and stomach, grabbing his cock and stroking. It's long, hard, and leaking.

When Stiles lets out a soft, pleasured sigh, Derek closes his eyes and bites his fist. He wants more. Wants to bury his nose in Stiles's groin and ass, inhale his omega scent, taste the first drops of pre-come as they leak from his slit, and feast on his slick.

As Stiles strokes himself, Derek ever so slowly unzips his pants and pulls out his achingly hard cock.

It isn't easy keeping all his senses on alert when he should be sinking into this pleasure he's managed to steal. His breaths are shallow, and as dust fills his nose, he brings his other hand up, covering his mouth and smothering a soft sneeze.

He warns himself against moaning too loudly when Stiles comes, his scent hitting Derek right in the balls.

It's too good.

As Derek fucks into his fist, he can't help but wonder what Stiles would be like in bed. Would he sound the same? Letting out those breathy little moans and whimpers. Or would he be loud as Derek fucks him? Begging and pleading for more, and harder, and please. He's imagined the answers vividly in his shower and bed every night since first seeing Stiles in that club, before even knowing his name.

Derek's heart hammers in his chest as pleasure crashes over him, and with a silent cry, the warmth of his release spills over his hand. After catching his breath, he grabs a shirt off the ground, using it to clean himself up. He clutches it tightly as he zips up his jeans and peeks through the slats.

Stiles is already asleep, his soft snores filling the air.

Derek smiles as he tiptoes out of the closet, slowly approaching the bed. He stares down at Stiles for a moment before gently brushing his hair away from his forehead and whispering, "Soon."

These stolen moments aren't enough anymore.

Derek sits in his Camaro outside Brewed Awakening, the coffee shop Stiles works at, waiting for him to get off work. For the past two hours, he's caught glimpses of Stiles through the window and watching him work. He's so expressive and animated when he talks to his customers—a little furrow appearing between his brows when he listens intently to whatever story they tell. And the way his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he concentrates on making their order is absolutely adorable.

He's so perfect, and Derek can't wait to claim Stiles as his. Finally. He wanted to wait a little longer; had a plan to befriend Scott, Stiles's childhood friend, but then he overheard Stiles agreeing to dinner with some guy for Valentine's—tonight.

They're supposed to meet up after Stiles gets off work.

Supposed to.

But it didn't take much tinkering for Derek to disable Stiles's Jeep, and with how old the jeep is, Stiles shouldn’t suspect a thing. When Derek had been in Stiles's house, he'd recognized the sky blue CJ-5 in some old pictures of the sheriff with a woman who must have been his late wife—Stiles's mother.

At a quarter past eight, the lights in the coffee shop go out. After a few seconds, Stiles walks out, locking up behind him. He strides through the dark parking lot as if he doesn't have a care in the world, not bothering to be watchful of danger. Doesn't he know there are predators out here? Just watching and waiting for their opportunity to strike?

Like you? his traitorous mind supplies as he watches Stiles climb into his Jeep. Their vehicles are side by side, but it's dark, so Derek doubts Stiles can see him through the windshield.

Stiles grips the steering wheel with one hand as he attempts to turn the Jeep on. Three tries and nothing.

After a few seconds of listening to Stiles muttering curses when the engine doesn't turn over at all, Derek gets out. Smoothing down his shirt, he rounds the Jeep and raps his knuckles on Stiles's driver's side window.

When the window rolls down, Derek meets his frustrated amber eyes.

"Hi," Derek says, giving Stiles his best smile. "Need some help?" Out of sight, he clenches his right fist. His whole body thrums with excitement at finally being so close to Stiles. The car smells like Stiles and the Irish Spring body wash he uses—the scents have long since faded from the T-shirt Derek stole. The one he used to wipe himself clean after jerking off in Stiles's closet.

Derek wants to rip open the door and bury his face in the crook of Stiles's neck. Wants to roll around in his scent until it sinks into his pores.

Christ! Derek's never had such a visceral reaction to a person before. It doesn't help that Stiles's big doe eyes make him look like the most delicious, seductive prey.

"Shit. Yeah, I've got a date I don't wanna miss." Stiles smirks at him as if he knows something Derek doesn't, but Derek ignores it when his scent grows spicy with arousal—making it even more delicious.

Derek barely holds back a growl but can't stop his eyes from flashing crimson. Nothing and no one has ever tested his control like this before.

"I apologize," he says quickly, regaining control.

There's a distinct lack of fear from Stiles, though. If anything, his scent intensifies. He licks his lips—those plump, pink lips that Derek has the urge to kiss until they're puffy and raw, to see stretched obscenely around his cock. Would Stiles's eyes water when he tries to take all of Derek in?

"Thanks, man." Stiles slides out of the Jeep. It's really more of a flail that shouldn't be cute, but somehow works for him. He circles the front of his Jeep and lifts the hood. "Fuck knows what the hell happened, but I appreciate it."

"It's not a problem." Derek walks up beside him, wiping his hands on his jeans before holding one out in greeting. "I'm Derek."

Stiles's fingers are cold as he grasps Derek's hand in a firm handshake. Forget the cold; Derek's practically burning up by the second. A kind of thrill he expected but still wasn't prepared for.

"Stiles."

Stiles's voice does things, weaving fantasies Derek will be jerking off to all night, moaning into that T-shirt he'd stolen from Stiles's house.

"It's nice to meet you. I've got jumper cables if you need a jump," Derek says, gesturing to his Camaro.

"I think it might be my starter. The engine wouldn't turn over at all."

"I can take a look if you'd like."

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Thank you, that'd be great."

Derek takes off his leather jacket, draping it over the side-view mirror before glancing under the hood. He's wearing a tight grey tank top and a pair of fitted black jeans, flexing as he pretends to check the starter. As an alpha werewolf, Derek knows what he looks like. In fact, he works hard to maintain his physique and, in this instance, uses it to his advantage.

It works because Stiles's arousal hangs heavy in the air.

"Roscoe's always breaking down," Stiles says from beside him, aiming his phone’s flashlight under the hood.

Derek peers up at him, meeting Stiles's gaze. His eyes are so intense they practically burn molten. "Roscoe?"

"My Jeep. That's her name."

"Have you had her for a while?" Derek asks, smiling fondly at the name. He wonders if Stiles named the Jeep or if his mother had.

"Since I was sixteen. She belonged to my mom."

If Derek hadn't already known about his mother's death, Stiles's somber tone would have tipped him off. So he steps away from under the hood and lays a hand on Stiles's arm. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Stiles gives him a grateful smile. "Thank you. It was a long time ago, though."

Derek feels a twinge of guilt for messing with the Jeep, but not enough to fix it. Because then Stiles would go on his date, and Derek's not that selfless. Instead, he ducks his head, continuing to play dumb as he checks the Jeep over.

He could have it fixed in a few minutes, but honestly, Stiles is right. He needs a new starter—which is funny, since that's not even what Derek had tampered with. He'd loosened the Jeep's battery connectors.

"Man, if I wasn't so attached to Roscoe, I'd love a Camaro," Stiles says.

When Derek glances over, Stiles is trailing his long fingers over the hood of Derek's car. His thoughts immediately flood with images of Stiles bent over, his face pressed against the hood as Derek fucked him hard and fast.

Derek lets out a low growl, stilling Stiles's steps.

Stiles smirks. "That should not be as hot as it is."

"What?"

"The growling." Stiles's voice comes out a little breathy. "So you're a werewolf? That wasn't just a trick of the light earlier?"

"No trick." Derek lets his eyes bleed red, loving the way Stiles's pupils dilate. The way his gaze turns hungry.

A flush rises to Stiles's cheeks, and Derek wonders what he's thinking about. Could it be about Derek's knot? About how it'd feel filling him, stretching him. Or maybe he's also having fantasies about Derek bending him over the Camaro, fucking him senseless.

They stare at each other for a little longer before Stiles lets out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. Sorry, I just—I should be mad about missing my date, but you're…really hot, and I'm just waiting for someone to jump out with a camera, telling me this is a prank or something."

Derek huffs a small laugh. "No prank. And you're right," he quickly tightens the battery connectors before slamming the hood down and re-clamping the hood latches, "it's your starter."

"Damn. Guess I should see if my date would be willing to pick me up." Stiles slides a hand into his pocket for his phone, but Derek gently grips his wrist.

"Or." Between Stiles's arousal and the flirting, Derek knows the attraction isn't one-sided.

"Or…?"

Derek nods toward the Camaro. "There's a diner a few blocks over. It's probably not as nice or fancy as wherever your date was going to take you, but they've got the best curly fries." And he knows how much Stiles loves curly fries.

"Those are my favorite," Stiles says, a pleased smile on his face.

"Really?" Derek puts his leather jacket back on. "That's good to know."

After Stiles calls for a tow, leaving his keys on the driver's seat, they get in Derek's Camaro. The scent of Stiles's arousal is still so strong that it'll be days before it fades.

It's a short drive to the diner, where Derek parks right in front. Even though it's Valentine's, it's not that busy—only a few cars in the parking lot. After turning off the engine, Derek gets out and jogs over to the passenger door, opening it for Stiles.

"Thank you."

"Of course. I might not be who you intended on having dinner with, but I'd like to make this date special."

"Date?" Stiles blushes prettily when Derek holds an arm for him to take.

Derek leads him inside. "First of many, I hope."

He'd worry about coming on too strong, but Stiles seems to like it.

They're seated quickly. Derek slides into the space across from Stiles, leaning back with one arm thrown along the back of the booth. He feels Stiles's foot tap against his own.

"Okay, since this is a date—the first of many, apparently," Stiles says with a teasing grin, "tell me something about yourself."

"Well, I'm an alpha werewolf."

Stiles's eyes trail down his torso. "Yeah, that's pretty obvious. But what about work?"

"I actually do woodworking. I own The Cranky Carver downtown."

"The Cranky Carver? You named your business…The Cranky Carver?" Stiles bites his lips between his teeth, holding back a laugh.

Derek can't help but smile. "It's an old nickname. My older sister gave it to me when we were younger and I first started learning."

"You're Derek Hale."

Definitely not a question. Honestly, Derek's not surprised that Stiles has heard of him—most of Beacon Hills would be familiar with what happened to the Hale family nearly twelve years ago. Plus, Sheriff Stilinski was there that night. Back then, he'd been a deputy, the first on the scene and the one who found Derek curled up against a nearby tree. Derek hadn't been home when the fire happened. He'd snuck out to meet some friends, but as soon as the pack bonds snapped, he shifted and ran home. His entire body froze in shock at seeing his home engulfed in flames, knowing his entire family was dead.

"I am," he whispers, thankful his voice doesn't crack. It's not that he doesn't think alphas should show emotion—but after hardening himself as he hunted for Kate, it's second nature to shove down any vulnerability so no one can find it.

Stiles reaches over, taking his hands and squeezing them gently.

Derek gives him a grateful smile, relishing in the contact, but the moment is broken when the waitress comes over to take their order.

Once she leaves, Derek tells Stiles more about his business, especially some of his favorite custom pieces: a wooden sink and bathtub, which seem to fascinate him, so Derek shows him pictures.

"Oh, man. That's so cool. I don't think I'd want a tub or sink, but it'd be awesome to have a dining set or something. I don't know. Not that I could afford it anyway," Stiles adds, leading him to talk about his job as a barista. He tells Derek about some of the funniest things that happened in the small coffee shop, one of which was a woman Stiles thought was talking to herself, only to find out she was talking to the small dog in her purse.

After their food is served, it's as if the world dissolves to just them as they continue talking about anything and everything. Werewolves, television, baseball. The few things Stiles has around his home definitely didn't prepare Derek for Stiles's woeful tale of being a long-suffering Mets fan.

All too soon, they're done eating, and Derek pays. He barely holds back his grin as Stiles slides out of the booth, pouting. It probably shouldn't be so endearing.

"Next time is my treat," Stiles says when they get outside.

Derek raises a brow but nods. It'd been his intention to spoil Stiles, to take care of him in every way, but after watching Stiles for the past couple of weeks, Derek knows that Stiles isn't some meek omega. He's not a pushover or someone who'll just sit back while others wait on him hand and foot.

No.

Stiles enjoys being in charge, even if he's allowed Derek some semblance of control this evening.

Derek unlocks the Camaro and opens the passenger side door for Stiles, helping him inside. "We're equals, Stiles."

"Good." Stiles beams at him as he sinks into the seat. "Fuck. I love your car."

His eyes flutter shut as he strokes the leather seat, and Derek can't help but imagine the light, feathery touch gliding across his skin. He slams the door shut, racing around to the driver's side. The Camaro purrs to life, sending vibrations through him. Derek doesn't miss the way Stiles shivers or the way he subtly adjusts himself, eyes latched onto Derek's arms as he pulls out of the parking lot, giving Derek directions to his house.

Derek wishes he could prolong the inevitable, but ten minutes later, the familiar exterior of Stiles's house comes into view, and Derek pulls into the driveway.

"I'll walk you up," he says, turning off the engine. Just as he did at the diner, he gets out and opens Stiles's door.

Stiles smirks. "Such a gentleman."

If you only knew, Derek thinks, placing a hand on Stiles's back as he walks with him up the short path to his front door. It's probably far too forward, but he crowds Stiles against the door. "I really want to kiss you right now."

Stiles licks his bottom lip, glancing from Derek's eyes to his mouth.

"Yes," he breathes out after a moment.

As soon as their lips touch, Stiles sucks in a breath—just a little gasp that goes straight to Derek's cock.

Derek cups the back of Stiles's head to deepen the kiss—he never knew a kiss could be this hot. So consuming. Stiles kisses like he's starving, his breathing erratic and shallow as he ruts against Derek's leg.

But the first time he has Stiles won't be like this, so Derek reluctantly pulls away, making Stiles whimper.

Derek presses their foreheads together. "Gimme your number. I'll call you."

Stiles nods, holding his phone out. "Put your number in and text yourself right away."

So Derek does. And after making sure that Stiles gets inside safely, he walks back to his Camaro, fingers pressed to his lips, marveling at how something as simple as a kiss could be so powerful. He'd wanted to devour Stiles.

Next time.

Steam billows around Derek as he wraps a towel around his waist after stepping out of the shower. His phone pings twice from the bedroom, so he pads across the room to check his notifications.

There's a message from Stiles on the home screen.

Stiles: Been practicing some latte art. Wanna see?

Derek opens the message and stares at the picture Stiles sent. It kind of looks like Slimer from the Ghostbusters movies.

'Stiles,' Derek types out. Even though Stiles can't see him, he bites his lip and heaves a dramatic sigh, 'I hate to be the one to tell you this. I mean, this hurts me more to say than for you to hear.'

He grins, already imagining Stiles's response, which—

Ping ping ping.

Three notifications pop up in quick succession.

Stiles: You can tell me anything

Stiles: You know that

Stiles: What is it?

Dear God, Derek hasn't smiled this much in a long, long time. His face hurts as he sends off his reply, 'You have zero artistic talent,' and barks out a laugh as soon as the middle finger emoji pops up on his screen.

'Do you really volunteer at the local cat rescue?' Stiles asks, his voice tinny as it comes through the speaker on Derek's phone.

Derek smiles as he details the edges of his latest piece with sandpaper. It seems someone's been looking into him. "Yes, I do. How'd you know that?"

'I told my dad about you.'

Derek's not really surprised since Stiles and his dad are close.

Stiles's name is called, and he says, 'One sec.' Then his voice comes through the line muffled. 'Yeah? I've got five more minutes.' There are a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. 'Okay, I'm back. Sorry.'

"It's not a problem. Is everything okay?"

'Yeah. Quinn was just wondering when my break was done. But anyway, back to my dad. He may have mentioned a few things about you when I told him we were dating.'

Derek loves how that sounds. Dating. And it's also not a surprise that the sheriff would know about him, considering Derek's work with the community. He's been called in a time or two to assist with search parties when hikers would get lost in the preserve.

"Good things, I hope," Derek responds as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.

'Wouldn't you like to know?' And Derek can damn near hear the smirk in Stiles's voice.

The doorbell rings as Derek sets the rolls on the counter next to the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and about a million other side dishes.

Stiles is here.

It's been nearly a week—five torturous days—since their not-so-impromptu date, since dropping Stiles off and kissing him. But, unfortunately, work's been busy. Not exactly a surprise, considering how much work he put off following Stiles around. The text messages and phone calls have helped, though. Especially when they made plans for Stiles to come over after his shift for dinner and a movie.

And, of course, Derek still went to his house every night. It's not as if he can help himself now that they're together. Stiles occupies his thoughts day and night, taking a dangerous hold on him.

Derek places the oven mitts back in the drawer, using the moment to calm himself. But he also doesn't want to keep Stiles waiting, so after a deep breath, he walks over to the front door and opens it, smiling when he sees Stiles standing on the porch.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Stiles leans in, giving him a quick kiss. "Something smells good."

"I could say the same about you," Derek says, leading him to the kitchen and closing the door.

"You didn't have to do all this." A small smile plays on Stiles's lips as he looks at the veritable feast Derek prepared.

"I wanted to." Derek shrugs and smiles back, pressing up against him. He settles his hands on Stiles's waist before burying his nose in the crook of Stiles's neck and inhaling. Stiles always smells so good. "I missed you."

Stiles hums contentedly, leaning back into Derek's embrace. "I missed you too," he breathes. "But I'm here now."

It'll be hard to let him leave once their night is over, but soon Derek will mark, mate, and claim Stiles as his. Soon he'll be able to keep Stiles forever.

"How about a quick tour before dinner," Derek says, taking Stiles's hand. When he had his childhood home rebuilt, he made a few changes to the original layout. Rather than closed-off spaces for each room, he opted for an open floor layout.

Besides the kitchen, dining, and living rooms on the main level, there's also an office and a bathroom. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, along with stairs leading to the second level.

Upstairs, he shows Stiles the bedrooms and bathrooms, leaving his own for last. It's the largest room, with a king-sized bed against the far wall, two nightstands on either side and a chest at the foot of his bed for extra blankets. Not that he needs them, but Stiles might. Humans get cold so easily.

"It's really beautiful," Stiles says, running his fingers across the smooth wood of the dresser.

"I'm glad you like it." Derek pulls Stiles into his arms. "I made it all myself."

Stiles looks up at him, a soft smile on his lips. "It's amazing. You're very talented."

Derek leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against Stiles's lips.

The small touch should be insignificant, but it's like an electric shock traveling down his spine, straight to his cock, quickly turning into something more. Something urgent and desperate.

Stiles's heart races against his chest, but then Derek hears it. A quiet grumble.

Stiles's stomach.

Derek pulls away, chuckling as he brushes his thumbs over the deep flush spreading across Stiles's cheeks.

"We can finish this later," he says, giving Stiles one last squeeze. "For now, let's eat."

Once they're back in the kitchen, he grabs a couple of plates from the cabinet.

Stiles takes the one Derek hands him. "Are you expecting more people?"

"I…may have gone overboard," he admits. Besides the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and rolls, Derek made steamed vegetables, roasted asparagus, apple coleslaw, cheesy hashbrown casserole, and creamy green beans with bacon bits.

"It all looks amazing."

Derek smiles when Stiles puts a little of everything on his plate, doing the same with his own. He grabs a couple of beers—Stiles's favorite, of course—from the fridge before moving to the living room and settling on the couch.

As they eat, they talk about work and Stiles fills him in on an asshole customer he had just before closing.

Derek stamps down the need to find and hurt them for being a dick to Stiles. Or 'douche canoe,' as Stiles calls him. Derek's not typically so violent, but when it comes to Stiles, he gets so protective that all he wants to do is punch something. Or someone, in this case.

"Hey." Stiles pokes him in the side, effectively pulling him from his thoughts. "It's okay," he says, placing a hand over Derek's heart. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."

Derek nods, taking a deep breath before leaning in and kissing him.

"Thank you," Stiles murmurs against his lips.

"For what?" he whispers, smiling as his heart fills with warmth.

"For caring enough to want to do something. But I'm just venting."

"I will always care." Derek draws him closer. "No matter what."

"I know."

Derek hums in satisfaction, his heart swelling, knowing that soon, very soon, he'll make Stiles his.

"Are you done eating?" Derek asks.

Stiles looks at the mostly empty plate in his hands. "Yeah. I think so. Though I feel bad because there's so much left. Have you thought about…I don't know, growing your pack? Bringing in some betas?"

Derek sets their plates on the coffee table and turns, facing Stiles as he throws an arm across the armrest. "I have. I'm just not sure…" He sighs. "I was never meant to be the alpha. It should have been my sister, Laura."

"I remember her. I think she babysat me once."

"Probably." Derek chuckles at the memory of Laura making plans to have a business, like something out of The Babysitter's Club. She used to read the books to him and Cora all the time. "She always stole my art supplies to make her fliers."

"I know a couple of people who are looking for a pack. They contacted Scott, but he doesn't really want a large pack. He's got Isaac and says that's enough."

"Yeah? I could talk to them."

"Their names are Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, but he just goes by Boyd. I'll get their numbers from Scott."

"Sounds good."

"But for now, how about that movie?" Stiles says, already grabbing the remote.

Derek smiles at his soon-to-be mate. "Sounds perfect."

He pulls Stiles close before grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch and tucking them both in. He rests his arm around Stiles's shoulders as Stiles leans against him, laying his head on Derek's chest.

If Derek thought watching a movie with Stiles would be no big deal, he's quickly dissuaded from that notion as Stiles reacts aloud to the plot unfolding on the screen. He mutters under his breath, sighs in frustration, and chuckles with glee. In no time, Stiles becomes Derek's source of entertainment rather than the television.

Once the movie ends, they clean up, Stiles insisting on washing the dishes while Derek wipes down the counters. Though it's completely mundane and domestic, the air is charged with electricity. Derek can practically feel Stiles's eyes on him, studying his face. The intensity of his gaze makes Derek warm in places he wasn't entirely aware existed.

Stiles turns the water off, wiping his hands on the dish towel before leaning against the counter.

"Derek," Stiles breathes out.

"Derek," he commands.

"Der—"

Derek drops the rag and crushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss. All he can think about is how perfectly Stiles fits against him. Tangling his fingers in Stiles's hair, Derek lays teasing nips and bites along his neck and shoulder, earning an encouraging moan from Stiles. His nostrils flare as Stiles's scent grows spicy with arousal.

He slides his hands down Stiles's back, gripping his ass and lifting. Stiles quickly complies, wrapping his long legs around Derek's waist, rolling his hips for friction as Derek walks them back to the living room.

"Fuck!" Stiles cries out, inadvertently baring his neck for Derek.

Derek's gums tingle with the familiar pressure of his fangs dropping.

"Stiles," he slurs, nipping gently at the crook of Stiles's neck as he presses him into the couch. Their bodies mold together, creating a dangerous cyclone of fire and ice.

Derek trails a hand down Stiles's sides, but then Stiles grabs his wrist, stilling him.

"I want to be on top."

"Oh, yeah?"

Stiles nods, slowly rocking his hips, grinding his hard, swollen cock against Derek's abs. "Got a problem with that?"

Derek growls, his hands curling into fists so he doesn't just hold Stiles down and take what he wants. The image of Stiles over him, taking control, is delectable. "No."

And with a strength he didn't know Stiles possessed, Derek was suddenly on his back with Stiles straddling his waist, smirking down at him. "Good. Now take off your shirt."

Derek complies easily—willingly and eagerly. As soon as his shirt is off, he impatiently tugs on Stiles's shirt, sliding it up and over his head, letting out a pleased rumble-purr when all that smooth, soft skin is displayed.

It's quiet, save for their panting breaths as they stare at each other for a moment. Stiles is a solid weight against him, and it feels so fucking good. Derek's cock somehow gets even harder, especially when Stiles cards his fingers through Derek's hair, tugging his head back.

Stiles nips and sucks at his neck, making Derek's cock throb. He's never had an omega take charge like this—would never allow himself to be this vulnerable—and he's surprised by how much he likes it. Though it might be because it's Stiles.

Derek can't stop touching him now that Stiles is in his arms. He runs his hands over Stiles's chest and stomach, over his back, down to the swell of his ass. There's a damp spot on the back of Stiles's pants, and Derek groans, squeezing his ass. "So wet for me."

"Fuck." Stiles rocks against him, and then it's a flurry of limbs as they get the rest of their clothes off. "Yes."

Stiles rises to his knees. There's a red flush from his cheeks down to his hard cock. He ever so slowly brushes his fingers over Derek's cheek and neck, down his arm to his hip, until he finally—finally—wraps those long fingers around Derek's cock.

Derek bucks up into his fist as Stiles swipes his thumb over the tip. It feels good, too good.

When Stiles speaks, his voice comes out strained and gravelly. "I've wanted to touch you for so long."

"Do it." Derek's entire body vibrates with need. "Whatever you want."

When Stiles finally moves, aligning their cocks and wrapping his hands around them, Derek shivers.

"I love that you let me do this." Stiles's words are punctuated by a roll of his hips.

"For you," Derek pulls Stiles in by the back of his neck, kissing him hard as Stiles jerks them off, "Anything." He throws his head back, unable to think when the pressure teeters on the edge of pleasure-pain.

"I wanna suck you off so bad," Stiles says with a moan.

It's hard to breathe, especially when Stiles leans over, his tongue flickering over Derek's nipples, lapping at one and then the other.

Derek's hips buck as he fucks into Stiles's fist. Ridiculous sounds rise from his throat, escaping in the form of whimpers and moans that would be downright embarrassing if Stiles weren't making the same sounds.

His muscles are coiled tight, needing release, until it finally crashes over him like a wave cresting the shore.

A moment later, Stiles followers him over the edge, shouting Derek's name. His head's thrown back, mouth gaped open in apparent ecstasy, but he keeps stroking. Stroking, stroking, stroking until neither has anything left and their muscles stop convulsing.

"Fuck," Stiles says, slumping forward, smearing the sticky mess between them.

Once Derek gets his breathing under control, he quickly realizes that Stiles is asleep, evident by the dead weight over him. His even breathing and drool are another clue.

Derek chuckles as he reaches for his shirt, using it to clean them up as best he can before gathering Stiles in his arms and carrying him up to his bedroom. Stiles doesn't stir as Derek carefully lays him in the middle of the bed, or when Derek presses up against him, pulling the covers over them.

So Derek lies there for a moment, watching Stiles's chest rise and fall—his own chest constricting with emotion. Then he presses his lips to the back of Stiles's head, murmuring, "I love you."

He smiles and closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of happiness that Stiles brings to him. His chest swells with joy at just being near him, and for the first time in a long time, Derek actually feels content.

As he drifts off to sleep, he can't help but be grateful for this moment with Stiles.

It's late afternoon when Derek's phone rings.

Stiles.

Did he somehow figure out Derek's surprise? Derek didn't want to go so long between seeing Stiles since those five days last week had been excruciatingly slow, so he's bringing Stiles lunch. He purposefully parked down the street so Stiles wouldn't see his Camaro.

As he rounds the corner, he answers his phone with a smile. "Hey, baby. Didn't expect to hear from you—"

'Why are people dicks?'

It's not the first time that Stiles has complained about customers, but something in his tone suggests this is more, so Derek doesn't interrupt.

'I mean, listen, like take the hint, y'know? If someone says, 'hey, sorry about our date, but no, I wouldn't like to reschedule,' maybe don't keep hounding them about another one.'

"What." Derek stops in his tracks. The plastic bag with Stiles's lunch digs into his palms with how tightly he grips the handles.

'Remember the night we met? I was supposed to go out with this guy named Theo.'

Of course, Derek remembers. It was that date that finally spurred him into action. "Has he been bothering you?"

'He texted and called a few times. I thought he got the hint, but then he showed up here.'

"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asks, his voice strained with the effort not to shift. All he wants to do is track this Theo down and rip his throat out.

Stiles sighs. 'Because it's not a big deal. I can handle it.'

Derek nods even though Stiles can't see him. "I know you can."

'Good. Anyway, after seeing him, I just wanted to hear your voice.'

As much as Derek wants to turn around, get in his car, and find Theo to smash his face in, Stiles needs him right now. "Well…what if I told you I had a surprise for you?"

'A surprise?' The smile is clear in Stiles's tone. 'It wouldn't happen to be like the surprises I've been finding on my doorstep lately, wouldn't it?'

"Did you not like them?" A pang of hurt lances through Derek at the thought of Stiles not accepting his courting gifts. Stiles knows about werewolves, so he should understand the gesture's significance.

'I didn't say that. I love them, and I accept, by the way. You're courting me, right?'

"Yes. I know it's a bit outdated and more traditional, but—"

'But nothing. I didn't mean to make you think I didn't appreciate them. I do. I just wanted to tell you that I won't have anymore room in my freezer after the buck you left this morning.'

Freezer?

Is Stiles saving his gifts? Usually, people accept them but then donate the meat.

'Also,' Stiles continues, 'I'm pretty sure I'm the butcher's favorite new client. He cut me a deal when he picked the buck up this morning. Said I was very lucky to have such a strong alpha.'

"Butcher?" Derek asks dumbly, still in awe that Stiles not only accepts but keeps the gifts.

'Well, yeah, of course. That's what it's for, right? To show you can provide for me? I'm not going to waste anything. Plus, the venison is good for my dad. You don't mind that I share with him, do you? I like to make sure he eats healthy.'

"No, no, of course not." And now that he knows, Derek will be sure to hunt even more. Though he'll definitely have to talk to Stiles about paying for the butcher, since it's supposed to be a gift. Derek peels himself away from the brick wall and hurries to the entrance of Brewed Awakening.

The chime from the door echoes through the phone, and Derek can hear Stiles suck in a breath. 'You're here?'

Two seconds later, he comes out from the back, launching himself at Derek, who catches him easily.

"Surprise?"

And from the look of awe on Stiles's face, it's a great surprise.

It doesn't take much digging to find Theo Raeken, a lone beta who recently returned to Beacon Hills. Derek found his address quickly and drove over, breaking in—as one does. A smarter man probably would have staked him out for a day or two, but knowing that Theo's been harassing Stiles, his mate, makes Derek's blood boil. So he sits and waits.

An hour later, a key turns in the lock, and as soon as Theo walks through the door, Derek beta-shifts, snarling in Theo's face as he slams him against the wall. "Stiles Stilinski. That name ring any bells?"

Theo's eyes round at the edges slightly, enough to reveal recognition, though he tries to play it off. "Never heard of—"

"Here's the thing about liars," Derek cuts in, slamming him against the wall again. "I really don't fucking like them. They make me twitchy. I don't think you want me getting twitchy right now, do you?" He tightens his fingers on Theo's neck, his claws seconds away from piercing skin.

Theo's lips tighten into a hard line. "Hey, he's the one that came onto me. Batting his fucking lashes and then he just fucking ghosted—"

"Do I need to remind you how I feel about liars?" Derek asks, grinning when Theo snarls in irritation. The unbridled anger pulsating through him is relentless—unstoppable. "You stay away from him, understand? No more texts or phone calls, and no more dropping by the coffee shop. If you so much as breathe in his direction again, I will come after you."

Theo narrows his eyes, glaring at him. He opens his mouth as if he wants to speak.

Stupid bastard.

"Don't. Make me. Repeat myself," Derek warns, his voice lowering to convey just how serious he is. "I know where you eat, sleep, and shit, and I will not hesitate to kill you next time."

Derek has to bite back the grin from the look on Theo's paling face.

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

"Glad we could come to an understanding." After a second, Derek finally lets him go, smoothing out Theo's shirt before seeing himself out.

Last month during the full moon, Derek spent the night shifted outside Stiles's house—the impulse to be close to his mate was too strong to fight. Usually, he runs through the woods behind his house, mourning the loss of his pack.

Thanks to Stiles, though, that will change soon.

He talked to Boyd and Erica last week and has plans to meet up with them soon, so by the next full moon, he might have two betas running alongside him. As for tonight—

The sky is clear, and the moon is full and bright as it hangs above them, filtering through the trees, casting shadows over Stiles's face as he stares at it, taking in its beauty.

"Thank you," Derek whispers. He knows Stiles could literally do anything else tonight—like stay home, wrapped up in the cozy Minky Couture blanket Derek got for him. But instead, Stiles walks beside him, fighting March's sharp, crisp chill threatening to pierce his skin if he wasn't wearing a coat, hat, and gloves at Derek's insistence. Stiles put his foot down when Derek looped a scarf around his neck.

Stiles takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "For what?"

"Being here. With me." As the breeze rustles the leaves, Derek can't help but smile. "I'll make you some hot cocoa when we get home."

Stiles grins and nods. "Deal."

Derek loves how easily Stiles has started seeing his house as home. The past two weeks have been incredible. Stiles stays over more often than not, and Derek even spent the night at Stiles's house a couple of times. The only times they don't see each other are when they're working or when Stiles hangs out with his friends or visits his dad—though Derek's usually parked down the street.

"So is this all you do during full moons?" Stiles asks, spinning around to face him. "Walk around the preserve?"

"Usually, I shift and run. It's the best way to burn off all the excess energy. When I was younger, my family would have a big dinner before running together. It'll be nice to do that again."

Stiles nods. "You know you can shift if you want."

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd like to see it."

Derek nods, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off. Stiles folds it as Derek finishes undressing. Then the magic happens. The air ripples around him, his muscles and bones shifting and contorting as black fur sprouts along his skin.

Stiles's eyes widen in fascination as Derek stands before him, a hulking black wolf.

"Wow." Stiles cards his fingers through Derek's fur. "So soft."

Derek bumps his head against Stiles's stomach, leaning into his touch. Nice. Good. Mate.

Everything is so much simpler like this. No worries or stress. Derek's only instinct right now is to hunt. Hunt for his mate.

So he does.

Through the trees he goes, a large buck catching his eye, but he remembers what Stiles said. That he has no room in his freezer. So as much as it pains him not to hunt down the biggest buck, Derek finds something else.

It's not too long before he comes across a small creature no bigger than a cat. His shift to predator is automatic as he crouches to the ground, tracking its movements. Its fur is deep brown, almost black, in the forest's darkness. There are five toes on each paw that Derek will have to watch for, knowing it could have retractable claws.

After a couple of minutes, Derek springs forward, pouncing on it. He bites down on its neck, giving it a few sharp shakes until it stops moving.

Thank you for your sacrifice, he thinks before returning to Stiles, gift in hand.

He drops the small creature at Stiles's feet, awaiting his reaction.

Stiles hugs him tightly, burying his face in Derek's fur. After a few moments, he pulls away. "Thank you."

Derek licks his face, making him laugh.

"Alright, alright," Stiles smiles as he pushes Derek back. His scent is sweet, radiating happiness. "How about we save the kissing until you shift back."

Derek stretches, rolling his neck as he shifts, body contorting until he's kneeling in front of Stiles. "So it's okay if I kiss you now?"

Stiles snorts. "Did you seriously just shift back so you could kiss me?"

"Yes." Of course, he did.

"You're a dork. You just had a…whatever that is in your mouth." Stiles gestures to the creature next to them. "You've gotta brush your teeth. And use mouthwash."

"Then let's go home." Derek wraps his arms around Stiles's waist and stands.

"Fucker!" Stiles snaps, banging his fists against Derek's back. Derek would be concerned, but there's laughter in his voice. "I'm not a sack of potatoes, y'know!"

Derek slaps his ass in response, growling when Stiles's scent turns spicy with arousal.

Oh.

Derek does it again, making Stiles cry out. He rubs his cheek against Stiles's ass, inhaling.

"You're already so slick," he slurs around his fangs, rubbing his fingers along the seam of Stiles's pants.

Derek keeps teasing him, eliciting little whimpers and breathy moans that sound like angels singing.

Stiles lets out a whine that goes straight to Derek's cock. "Fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me. Please."

"Yeah? Thought I had to brush my teeth." Derek punctuates his statement by biting the swell of Stiles's ass.

"I don't care. I want it. I want you."

Derek sets Stiles down and growls, "Run."

"What?"

"If I catch you, I fuck you," Derek says, flashing his eyes. "So…run."

Eyes widening, Stiles nods before he catapults into action and runs.

Derek gives him a thirty-second head start. It's not much time, but he can't wait any longer. It doesn't take him long to find Stiles, considering his scent is so strong right now. They'll definitely have to explore this more. Was the spanking getting him so worked up or Derek chasing him?

Fire licks at his insides, igniting his entire being as he hears Stiles suck in a breath and hold it, likely to listen for Derek.

Derek gives him a sense of safety for several seconds before stepping forward—twigs and leaves crunching under his feet.

Stiles swears, turning on his heel. But he hasn't run off yet. Instead, he calls out a taunt, "I'm not gonna make this easy for you, asshole," before breaking into a sprint.

Stiles's words elicit a hunger that claws its way from Derek's throat straight to his cock.

Derek imagines that Stiles's chest is tight as he works to calm his erratic heartbeat while taking deep, long breaths.

The wind rustles the leaves on the ground, stirring up dirt and debris, drawing out goosebumps across Derek's skin as he waits in anticipation.

Stiles's heart thumps wildly as Derek takes one step, then two.

Derek catches the moment Stiles notices him, his eyes widening.

Stiles turns and runs, pumping his legs and arms as fast as they can, but he's still too slow for Derek.

Ten long strides is all it takes before Derek catches up to him, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Stiles's waist to draw him back.

Stiles struggles against his hold, fighting to get away.

It only makes Derek's cock harder. He chuckles, his breath fanning over the shell of Stiles's ear. "You can't escape me, Stiles."

"Are you gonna fuck me now?" Stiles asks, his pupils blown, voice dripping with lust.

"That was the deal."

"But what if someone finds us? Sees us?"

"Do you think they'd watch?" Derek asks, spinning Stiles in his arms and pinning him to the ground. "Do you think they'd enjoy the sight of your naked body on display? Maybe they'd get off on seeing your ass, so slick for me. Or the pretty flush on your chest when you come. I think they'd even enjoy watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when my cock fills you so fully that you can't fit any more of me inside you."

Stiles gasps. His heart beats faster, but the scent of his arousal never wavers. Derek can even smell the fresh slick dampening his pants.

"You'd be okay with other people seeing me naked?" Stiles challenges breathlessly.

Never.

"I'd let them watch. I'd let them watch me claim you as mine and own every inch of your body. They'd watch my cock fill your hole and then watch you cry because of how hard you came. And then I'd fucking kill them."

Stiles gasps, his breath stuttering, but he doesn't try to escape. "You're psychotic."

Derek trails a hand down Stiles's stomach to his pants. He grins when Stiles groans and his cock jumps. "I have a feeling you love it."

Stiles groans again, rolling his hips and pushing his cock into Derek's palm.

"So beautiful," Derek murmurs, his lips ghosting along Stiles's shoulder to his neck, only pausing on the spot right below Stiles's ear.

"One day, I'm going to claim you. Right here," he says, right before his teeth clamp down.

Stiles arches into him, moaning. He grips Derek's shoulders, holding him close as if he's scared Derek will leave him there.

Doesn't he know by now that Derek will never leave him?

That Derek will never let him go?

Severe shivers wrack Stiles's body when Derek licks a wet trail down to the juncture of his neck. The way his body responds is more potent than a drug.

Derek bites down again, pulling an animalistic sound out of Stiles that's music to his ears. So he does it again, over and over, leaving a trail of bruises down Stiles's neck and across his shoulder.

Mine mine mine.

Stiles blinks up at him, his eyes bright and pleasure-dazed.

"Do you know what these mean?" Derek asks, mouth ghosting along the bite marks.

Stiles shudders beneath his touch.

"They mean I own you. That you're mine."

And then Stiles rears up.

At first, Derek thinks Stiles is going to kiss him, but instead, Stiles mouths at his neck and bites him.

Hard.

Derek growls. His cock throbs, and all he wants to do is bury himself in the tight heat of Stiles's body.

"You're mine too," Stiles breathes into his ear when he lets go. "Mine, Derek. Do you understand?"

Derek nods, staring at Stiles in awe, his brain short-circuiting for a second on the fact that Stiles bit him—practically claimed him.

Perfect, Derek thinks. So perfect.

"I look at you and I want to destroy you," Derek admits, his words slurred around his fangs. "You should run from me. Leave while I have the willpower to let you go. I'm not safe for you. I want to break you."

"I want you to, Derek." There's no hitch in Stiles's breath; his heartbeat remains steady. "I want you to own me. Mark me. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want you to do your worst because I'll like it. I will. Fuck me, Derek. Fuck me hard."

Derek watches as Stiles reaches between them, his fingers deftly undoing his pants. Derek might be the predator, but Stiles can bring him to his knees. "I'm yours. Only yours."

Stiles's clothes fall in tatters when Derek rips them away. He'd apologize, but Stiles spreads his legs and bites his bottom lip, looking like debauchery and sin.

Derek can't decide which is better—the way Stiles looks splayed out beneath him or the way Stiles feels as Derek enters him with his fingers.

The groan Stiles lets out as Derek stretches his hole, getting him ready, is so sensual and so full of need that it spurs him on—faster, deeper, and way past the point of wanting to get inside him.

With his eyes closed and lips parted, Stiles is the sexiest bit of sin Derek had ever had the pleasure of fucking, and he's going to commit every second of tonight to memory.

The scent of Stiles's slick hangs heavy in the air, his cries of pleasure echoing through the trees.

As much as Derek would love to bury his face in Stiles's ass, he's too impatient. Too keyed up. Needs to be in him. Now.

Stiles clenches around his fingers, and he doesn't have to say anything more. Derek removes his fingers but takes his time lining up, teasing Stiles's hole before finally—finally—sliding into him, watching every little emotion cross Stiles's face as he takes Derek inch by inch.

Derek shudders at the intense pressure and pleasure that almost makes him lose control.

Cries of pleasure echo through the trees as Derek starts out slow and forceful. Short, harsh thrusts, then dragging himself out at a torturous pace before slamming inside Stiles again.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, mouthing at Stiles's neck. The pleasure is blinding.

"Everything, Derek. Gimme everything."

Stiles's eyes roll to the back of his head as Derek readjusts their position, sliding each arm under his knees and hiking them up until Stiles is damn near bent in half.

Stiles lets out a loud moan at the new angle, his legs shaking as Derek nails his prostate.

"Oh my God," Stiles cries out, fingers digging into Derek's shoulder. His eyes shine bright with unshed tears. "Fuck! Yes! Right there! Fuck fuck fuck!"

Stiles's pupils are practically blown, barely any hint of amber to be seen as he reaches for his cock.

Derek growls, shoving his face into the crook of Stiles's neck, fighting the urge to bite him as his knot swells. Euphoria consumes him, wrapping Derek so tightly in its clutches that all five senses are lost to it.

When he finally shakes out of his orgasm-induced stupor, Stiles chuckles.

"Welcome back," he says, trailing his fingers down Derek's back.

Derek sits up, making Stiles moan when his knot tugs at his rim. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Stiles hums, closing his eyes. "Sleepy."

It really shouldn't surprise Derek at this point, considering Stiles always passes out after he orgasms. "Go ahead and sleep."

Stiles blinks one eye open. "Here?"

"My knot isn't going down anytime soon," Derek points out. "Might as well get comfortable."

"It, uh," Stiles arches his back, reaching beneath him and pulling out a twig. "It's a little hard to get comfortable with twigs digging into my back."

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, lifting him up and flipping them so Derek's on the bottom. "Better?"

"For me, yes. But this just means you're uncomfortable now."

Derek shrugs. "It's fine. I'm pretty used to sleeping in the preserve." He runs his fingers through Stiles's hair. "Sleep."

Stiles closes his eyes and draws circles on Derek's chest with his finger. "Just for a little bit."

But as usual, he's out within seconds.

Derek kisses the top of his head and, as soon as his knot goes down, carries Stiles back to his house.

The club is dark, lit only by black lights and a flashing strobe. The air is hot. Humid. It reeks of cheap beer and even cheaper cologne and perfume, thanks to the gyrating bodies next to him on the dance floor. The skunky scents seep through his clothes and into his pores.

Derek would much rather be home. He's not the most social person, but he can't deny how much less pressure it is getting to know Erica and Boyd in a setting like this. Here, he doesn't have to talk. Here, Stiles acts as a buffer, smiling and laughing with them. Dancing. Having fun. Which is good because if Derek's going to be their alpha, they should also like and accept Stiles as his mate.

With the way they smile and gravitate toward him, Derek doesn't think that'll be an issue.

Derek leans in as Stiles grinds against him, his hair plastered to his forehead as sweat drips down his beautiful face. He has to yell over the too-loud music. "Are you having fun?"

Stiles gives him a megawatt smile that rivals the sun. "Hell yeah!"

His arms go above his head as he shimmies and shakes his hips. He's somehow offbeat as he matches the obnoxious music thumping through the speakers.

Derek chuckles, amused and enthralled. He grabs Stiles's waist, pulling him in closer. Heat radiates off his body. His movements, hypnotic.

Stiles grins, their noses nearly touching. Teasing. But just as Derek thinks Stiles is about to kiss him, he pulls away. "I'm going to get a drink!"

Derek stares after him, only turning away when Erica laughs, throwing her head back on Boyd's shoulder as he dances behind her.

"What?" Derek asks, raising a brow.

"You're so whipped."

Derek would be offended if it weren't for the pleased smile on her cherry-red lips. Besides, Stiles is unlike any omega Derek's ever encountered, and he loves it. Loves knowing that Stiles wants him just as much as he wants Stiles.

Instead of denying it, he flashes Erica a satisfied smirk. "Damn right."

After a few seconds, he looks around the club, spotting Stiles by the bar. It's crowded, and he stands off to the side, clearly waiting for an opening to get the bartender's attention. Derek hates that Stiles feels he has to do that. Hates that he can't just get what he needs without being overlooked.

Without hesitation, Derek strides away, pushing his way through the throng to get to his mate.

He's almost to Stiles, can practically feel his gaze through the people waiting at the bar when there's a tap on his shoulder. He turns, one brow raised at the stranger—an omega with stubble and messy hair.

"My friend and I were wondering if you'd buy us a drink," the stranger asks with a sly smirk, gesturing to another omega just behind him.

Derek gives them a tight smile and shakes his head. Just as he opens his mouth to reject the offer, Stiles is there. His face is red, anger rolling off of him in waves.

"He's mine!" Stiles yells, eyes narrowed on the omegas.

Derek's never seen him like this before, so jealous. Sure, there have been moments where he's possessive and dominating—hell, Derek's neck would be riddled with hickeys if he didn't heal so fast.

But this? This is new and takes Derek's breath away.

The omegas look scared, their eyes wide, especially when Erica and Boyd appear at Stiles's side, arms crossed. Their menacing glares broker no argument that they'd be willing to fight for Stiles no matter the consequences. The one who approached Derek apologizes before they hurry away.

Stiles turns to Derek and smiles. Though it's not a smug, happy grin. No, this smile is damn near feral with the wild expression on Stiles's face.

"You're all mine, Derek. You have no idea how long I waited—" Stiles huffs out a breath, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. "They can't take you from me."

Derek grabs his hands to stop him from pulling his hair out. To assure Stiles that no one is taking him from Stiles, but before he can say anything, Stiles drags him back to the dance floor, his drink obviously forgotten.

Erica and Boyd follow, but keep their distance as they dance. They must realize this is a time for Derek and Stiles alone. Something that Derek appreciates.

"You're mine, right?" There's a hint of insecurity in Stiles's voice.

Derek nods, cradling Stiles's face. "Yes, I am."

"Good," he breathes, finally relaxing under Derek's grip. His hands roam Derek's body, the heat of the night escalating to an almost boiling point.

Derek's never felt this need before. "You're mine, too. I love you."

Maybe it's too soon to say it, but Derek doesn't worry when Stiles grins.

"I love you, too," he says, eyes twinkling under the strobe lights as he tugs Derek down, kissing him. There's nothing innocent about the kiss. It's fierce and demanding. Between the slow glide of their tongues and the heat emanating off Stiles's body, Derek wants so much more.

Instead of continuing to stand under the haze of strobe lights, Derek loops an arm around Stiles's waist, searching for privacy.

"We'll be back," he calls out to Erica and Boyd so they don't worry.

Boyd nods, glancing toward a hall off to the side.

Derek takes the hint, leading Stiles off the dance floor.

Stiles nibbles on his earlobe. "What are we doing?"

"You'll see," Derek says.

The hall leads to the bathrooms, but there's a door at the end. Derek pushes it open, the heat of the club replaced by a mild spring breeze.

He grins, turning to Stiles as he steps out into the alley. It's dark and narrow, just big enough for the two of them. Without another word, Derek pulls Stiles close, their mouths crushing together as the door clicks shut behind them.

Stiles presses Derek back against the brick wall, hands tugging at Derek's shirt. "I wanna suck you off."

Derek can't help it. He laughs, the sound low and gratified as he pulls out his cock. "Anything you want. Always."

Stiles drops to his knees, licking his lips before sucking on the head of Derek's cock, and it feels so good.

Derek leans back against the brick, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. It feels unreal. He draws in a steady breath, sliding his hand through Stiles's hair. "You look so good like this. On your knees for me."

Stiles moans around his cock, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through him.

When Stiles pulls off his cock, Derek damn near whimpers, but then Stiles says, "Fuck my mouth," before sucking Derek deep again—so deep Derek's sure his cock hits the back of Stiles's throat.

Derek tightens his fingers in Stiles's hair, and Stiles widens his lips and relaxes his shoulders, giving Derek the best blowjob he's ever received.

God, Derek wants to kill anyone and everyone Stiles has ever been with while also thanking them for whatever part they had in making Stiles so good at this.

Derek rolls his hips, rhythm speeding up, and Stiles grips his ass, urging him on—his face practically buried in the coarse hair at the base of Derek's cock.

"Christ," Derek grunts, dropping his head back against the brick wall and pumping in and out of the most talented mouth he's ever been inside.

But it's not enough.

He glances down at where Stiles's cheeks are hollowed and his lips are stretched taut around his cock. It's better than any fantasy.

Reluctantly, he pulls out, and Derek's rock-hard cock throbs in protest.

Stiles's molten gaze finds Derek's, his cheeks flushed with desire.

Derek grabs a handful of Stiles's shirt, urging him to his feet, and then Stiles is up, pulling Derek into his body before either can think beyond getting their hands on the other.

"More." Stiles demands, and a bossy Stiles is Derek's favorite.

Derek sucks on his ear as he unbuttons and unzips Stiles's pants, sliding them down below his ass. "Turn around."

"Yes. God, yes," Stiles says as he complies, thrusting his ass back as he plants his hands on the wall.

With one hand, Derek pries his cheeks apart, groaning at the sight of his slick hole.

Stiles, impatient as ever, pushes back against him. "Don't fucking tease me. I need you in me. Now."

Just for that, Derek fucks him slowly with one finger until he whines.

Then two.

Stiles's breath catches, his moans getting more and more impatient, and if Derek doesn't fuck him soon, he's sure Stiles will take things into his own hands. So, finally—because it really is pure, unabashed torture not to be inside him—Derek shoves his own jeans down and lines himself up.

"Ready?" he asks, teasing Stiles's hole with the head of his cock.

Stiles groans, his fingertips white from where he's gripping the brick wall. "God, Derek. I want you to fuck me until I can't walk anymore."

With one sharp thrust, Derek pushes inside him. Balls deep, his muscles tense, and he stays flush against Stiles. "You feel so good. Always so good."

That second is all he gives himself before biting down on Stiles's neck, knowing the slight sting of pain turns Stiles on. Sure enough, Stiles lets out a lewd moan. It's loud and desperate and utterly carnal. Anyone walking by will know exactly what's happening in the alley.

Derek doesn't go slow, drawing out the breathy little pants and quiet moans that go straight to his cock. Instead, it's a vicious punch and pull of his hips that make them both curse unintelligibly. And Stiles is just as forceful and greedy as him—hips snapping back to meet every thrust.

"Harder. Please. Pleasepleaseplease. Give it to me."

Derek plants a hand on the wall by Stiles's head and grabs his waist with the other, drilling into him over and over at a relentless pace, letting the sublime feeling of ecstasy take him over.

Stiles shouts Derek's name, his hole clenching as the scent of his release fills the air.

It takes everything for Derek not to pop a knot, so he pulls out and spins Stiles around. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright and pleasure-dazed as he drops to his knees and opens his mouth.

Derek fists a hand in Stiles's hair, tugging his head back before fucking Stiles's mouth again in hard, fast, and shallow strokes. It doesn't take long before his orgasm slams into him. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Stiles swallows every drop, moaning before he licks his lips and rests his head on Derek's thigh, trying to catch his breath. "Goddamn."

Derek pets the top of Stiles's head, tucking himself back in with his other hand. After a few minutes, he says, "C'mon, baby. Let's get back inside."

Stiles nods as he gets up, Derek helping him fix his clothes. "I wanna dance some more."

And so they do, lost in the chaos and the moment where nothing else matters but them.

Derek carries the last box inside, setting it down on the dining room table. Erica and Boyd moved in two weeks ago, and now his pack is complete with Stiles here, too—even though Stiles has practically been living with him since that first night he stayed over.

"Was that it?" Stiles calls out from the living room, unpacking his movies.

Erica walks over, palm up as she wiggles her fingers. "Keys? We'll return the truck and grab some food on the way back."

Derek reaches into his pocket and tosses her the keys. "Be safe."

He watches as she and Boyd leave, a feeling of contentment washing over him. Despite the chaos and the mess and the noise of more people in his space, this is what he's been missing all along—having a pack, a family.

"Got anything that needs to go upstairs?" he asks Stiles, looking at all the boxes.

Stiles waves a hand toward the boxes near the stairs. "They should be labeled. Bedroom, bathroom, books."

"Your books can go in my office with the others if you want."

"That sounds good." Stiles holds up some of his treasured Funko pops. "What about these guys?"

Derek walks over to where Stiles sits on the floor, his legs crossed as he digs through boxes. "Wherever you want, baby."

"What if I wanted to display them over there?" Stiles gestures to the entertainment center.

"This is your house. If that's where you want them, then that's where they'll go." Derek leans down and brushes his lips over Stiles's forehead. "You don't need my permission."

Stiles smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know. I just like hearing you say it."

"Brat."

"Maybe," Stiles says with a cheeky grin, "but you like it."

Yes. Yes, he does. Derek steals a kiss. "I'm going to take some things upstairs."

"Okay. Don't worry about unpacking them. I want to do it."

"Alright." Derek grabs a stack of boxes and carries them to his room. Their room. Because Stiles is officially moved in now.

He chuckles as he sets the boxes on the chest, opening the one on top. The word Closet is scrawled in black Sharpie across the top, so Derek lifts it to take it into the walk-in closet, but the bottom falls out. A couple pairs of shoes, door hooks, some hangers, and a leather-bound book land on the floor.

He sets the box on the bed, picks up the book—a journal of some sort—and flips it in his hands, reveling in the buttery soft leather under his fingertips.

A smile breaks across Derek's face as he trails his fingers over the inscription on the cover.

Mieczysław Stilinski.

A leather cord is wrapped around the journal, holding it closed. Derek strokes his fingers over it, smiling softly. He should put it down. Leave it on the bed and walk away, but as he turns to leave, his eyes linger on the journal.

Slowly, almost reverently, Derek undoes the cord and opens it.

A picture falls out, and his gaze lands on Stiles's familiar scrawl on the back.

'You are an obsession, I am your possession.'

Derek frowns, flipping it back over. It's a picture of him in his workshop, his brow furrowed as he staples packaging foam to the top of a custom cat house he made for the shelter in late December.

Before Derek even knew who Stiles was.

He opens the journal again, landing on a page that's torn and crinkled as if Stiles tried to rip it out but changed his mind. Derek smooths the page out and reads:

January 26th

Patience has never been my strong suit, but I know the payout will be so sweet. It'll be worth it because he's worth it. I just know it.

But waiting. Waiting, waiting, and more waiting!

What's taking him so long?

Why hasn't he come yet?

Patience may be a virtue, but my stomach churns as I sit. As I wait. As I hope. As I try to remember that the longer I wait, the sweeter the reward will be.

That he'll come for me. Finally.

Derek quickly flips back to the beginning of the journal, going through and reading the random scribbles and notes that Stiles wrote. Complaining about customers, hanging out with his friends and dad, and then about Derek. When Stiles first saw him around town. Following him.

Stiles's handwriting gets messier the more he talks about wanting Derek. Needing him. How he purposefully put himself in Derek's way to catch his attention and then orchestrating their meeting when he noticed Derek finally taking an interest in him.

Derek's chest tightens as he realizes Stiles has been in love with him longer than he ever thought.

Stiles. His Stiles did all this—went to such lengths to capture Derek's interest. To make Derek want him.

Derek snaps the journal closed, overwhelmed by his emotions. It's a silly, silly thing to be so touched by. But he is, and he can't help it.

He puts the picture back in the journal and gently closes it, pressing a kiss to its cover. His lips linger for a moment before carefully tying the cord around it, preserving the little piece of Stiles he now holds.

God, could anyone be more perfect for him?

"Derek?"

At the sound of Stiles's voice, Derek looks up.

Stiles stands in the doorway, playing with the hem of his shirt—his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his expression wary. "Wh-what are you doing with that?"

Derek offers him a gentle smile as he walks over and holds the journal out. "It fell out when I was moving the boxes."

Stiles takes it with a shaky hand, his eyes wide in surprise. "Oh. I…" He takes a deep breath and looks away. "I didn't mean for you to see that."

Derek steps closer and cups Stiles's face in his hands, forcing him to look up. His voice is low and husky, all of his emotions bubbling to the surface. "Marry me."

Stiles pulls back, eyes wide and mouth agape. His searching gaze finds Derek's, and Derek can see the silent thoughts written all over his face.

"Are you serious?" Stiles's voice is barely above a whisper.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Stiles." Derek trails kisses along Stiles's jaw, grazing his teeth along Stiles's neck, nipping lightly at the spot he wants to put his mating bite. He can already picture how it'll look—bright red on Stiles's creamy skin, a strong and healthy bond. "I love you. I knew you were mine from the moment I saw you in that club."

Stiles blushes. "I didn't think you'd seen me that night."

"I did. And I tried to stay away."

"I know," Stiles says, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Do you know how much that sucked? How long I waited? I waited and wai—"

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. The kiss is gentle and sweet, filled with all Derek's love for him. "You don't have to wait anymore. I'm yours. Always."

Stiles looks at him with so much love and adoration that Derek can't help but smile.

"So…is that a yes?" Derek asks.

"Yes." Stiles nods, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and his lips spread in a wide, genuine smile. "Yes. I'll marry you."

Derek grins, gathering Stiles in his arms and spinning him around. Then, he sets Stiles down and kisses him again.

Stiles was right—it was worth the wait. Every single second of it.

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek fanart #holy shit i wrote something

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eleanore-delphinium · 9 months

Text

My Mate

DamiRae Week 2023

[ Fantasy, Book Inspired, Exploring Each Other’s Bodies / Intimate ]

DISCLAIMER: Contains Mature Content, Sexual Themes (but not the most graphic that I wrote, and yes lemon)

[ Small Author Rant ]

This was not part of my plans. I initially wanted to post for After Flashpoint continuing the Familiarity AU, Fairytale which is Maleficent inspired which I have had the idea for, since I joined the fandom, and God's AU wherein it's Greek God related... But I was time constrained.

The Gods I have written quite a bit already and I thought I'd make it...but nope time was not enough.

Then I got obsessed with reading about werewolves and mates... And greatly unsatisfied with what I've read. And this idea came up and I thought it would be short... But here I am 8k words later.

I didn't think much about this fic and it wasn't planned much like most of my work. So if anyone has questions please feel free to ask, I'd like to explore this possibility. I think it has potential.

And when preparing this post (yes, it’s scheduled, I'm away on a trip thus the time constraint), I realized that this fic actually hits most of the prompts unknowingly. So, I'm posting it on the 6th day.

Even though I didn’t plan this fic that much or prepared it, I hope it was enjoyable. Low-key made me want to have a sad sad fic when I was proofreading.

Anyways, enjoy AND PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!!

~.~.~.~.~

In a forest, there was a black wolf curled up in front of a big boulder. It was whimpering in pain and eyes were closed.

Loud howls echoed through the forest and the wolf’s eyes fluttered open, revealing violet irises. It struggled to stand but ultimately fell.

Three wolves came from the trees opposite it. They were bigger than the weakened wolf. The three observe the cornered thing, who looked resigned to their fate. They gave it a low growl and slowly approached the violet eyed-wolf.

Suddenly, an even bigger wolf jumped from the top of the boulder behind the unconscious wolf and bounced off the boulder to land between the sole wolf and the three other wolves who were actually of average wolf size. Its growl was threatening and made the other three wolves whimper.

There was a standoff for a moment and then the newcomer barked so loudly that its bark was probably heard throughout the forest. The wolves that were no longer the predator fled as fast as their paws could take them.

The newcomer growled slowly at where the three fled, then his green eyes softened and turned to the small wolf behind him. And it was clear that this wolf was a male, the strength and dominance he showed was no longer there. It was replaced by whimpering, his tail drooped behind him.

He was sniffing the air a little. The wolf before him was female.

‘Mate…’ A disembodied male voice whimpered. The wolf’s green eyes locked on the smaller black wolf. He realized that the wolf’s fur that he was looking at, looked a little bit purple under the sunlight from the canopy of leaves above them.

‘Mate…’ The bigger wolf froze before the female, fear struck him. He nudged her and called for his Mate. He noticed her inhale deeply at the touch and he calmed.

‘Mate.’ It claimed taking the smaller creature by her neck.

~.~.~.~.~

The small black wolf was curled up on top of a bed with white sheets. The room was rather bright and the color was mostly white with some black, green, and gold here and there.

A tan man was in the room observing the curled-up wolf. He wore black pants, his chest and feet bare. He approached the whimpering wolf with bandages around its body. His green eyes studied the wolf on his bed, the same eyes that the big wolf in the forest had.

“Mate…” He mumbled, gently brushing her black-purple fur. “I am here…”

She was still unconscious for a week.

And the man had grown anxious.

“Why is she not yet awake! Why has she not shifted into her human form!” He was yelling at his doctors that flinched at their master’s harsh tone.

It was not unheard of that some Mates were actually animals. And if his Mate was the same, does he kill her or keep her as a companion like what others in the same predicament do and then mate with someone else. At this point, his doctors weren’t even sure if she was a werewolf.

“Alpha Damian…” One of the three doctors in the room weakly called the tan man.

His green eyes glared at the doctor, “What?”

“She is getting better, let us not assume the worst…” The doctor finished and everyone in the room could tell that the Alpha was so close to ripping them all apart.

The wolf on the bed whimpered and his head snapped toward her. “Out! All of you!” He yelled and they all scrambled as he calmly walked to his bed and sat on it, patting his mate.

“I have longed for you for so long, please let me meet you.” He whispered, nuzzling his face to the wolf’s neck as it seemed to calm down from whatever nightmare she was having.

It’s been weeks and she seemed stable but was still in wolf form. Damian’s anger became more quiet in the time that passed, but it brought everyone more stress than his outright barking.

His back was turned to the bed, he wore black pants, and he was barefooted, but had a white loose shirt on. He was getting convinced that his Mate was indeed a wolf and not like him who could shift.

He sighed, brushing both hands through his black hair.

“Who are you?” The sweetest female voice echoed through his bedroom and he held his breath as he turned to face his bed.

There on his bed, atop his white sheets, was a pale-skinned woman, with long black hair cascading on his sheets, her eyes were violet. He didn’t think he’d gaze at such beautiful eyes.

Heck, he didn’t think he’d gaze at such a beauty, her nakedness he could not fully ignore too.

She was beautiful.

And he was drawn to her, and as such, his feet found their way to her side. His calloused fingers brushed her waist, and his other hand rested on her shoulder.

Her violet eyes gazing at him, he kneels on the bed to bring his face closer to hers.

“My Mate…” His eyes only saw her, his nose against her neck.

~.~.~.~.~.~

He was so happy to know her name, to have met her. He waited for so long.

“Raven.” He called to his Mate that was on the bed wearing one of his shirts, reading a book, her back against a stack of pillows.

“Damian.” She greeted her Mate, looking up from the book. For a moment, his eyes brushed her long and bare legs.

He sat on the space beside her and brushed his fingers on her face. He always looked forward to seeing her, even when it was for a few minutes.

Raven placed her book to the side, and soon her Mate’s lips were against the skin of her neck. His hands were roaming over her body and she quietly brushed his black hair.

He had not marked her yet, but he could not control wanting to be this close to her, and she never pushed him back. And never made a move on him either.

She had been awake for a couple of weeks, but because she was still recovering, she remained in his bedroom. And in this space, he got to know her very well.

She was calm, rational, and kind. Her eyes would appear to be the wisest he has seen whenever she gazed at him.

And he loved her so dearly. Admittedly, rather obsessively. Perhaps it was just their nature as wolves.

And yet, as he placed wet kisses against her skin, she showed no hint of any possessiveness in the way he was displaying.

~.~.~.~.~.~

His Mate was wearing a white silk crop top with matching shorts, peacefully sleeping. And as he approached her, the smell that was coming off of her was getting stronger.

His eyes turned black and when he blinked, his green eyes returned but it glowed with a yellow glow around his green irises.

He placed his hands on her hips and this startled Raven awake. He was over her legs and he leaned forward and so she parted her knees for him. He pulled down the garter of her shorts a little lower and his tongue made contact with the space just above where her pubic hair would have started growing.

Damian was just licking her there, sometimes his nose brushing her skin. He didn’t notice her biting her lips from the contact.

“My future pups…” She heard him mumble and she blinked. “You’re ovulating, my Mate, is ovulating…”

She noticed how the veins on his arms were bulging.

“My future pups,” Damian said, glancing at his Mate who was looking at him now. He was clearly fighting himself from something. He was breathing heavily.

The silence helped him gain back control from the animal within him, “I’m sorry.” He pulled away, but he was clearly shaking, he was in pain. “I can’t help it.”

“I know.” She said, fingers extended to touch him, but he pulled away and shook his head.

“No, you don’t.” He whispered he looked so guilty and ashamed. “Normal wolves wouldn’t act like me.” His eyes glanced at her for a moment, then quickly looked away.

He covered his face with his hands, “You don’t understand, I want to keep you all to myself. The thought of anyone else laying even just their eyes on you drives me mad!” He growled and then breathed deeply. He took a peek at her from between his fingers, “I don’t want to justify my thoughts… but your mate is imperfect… no one would want me…”

“I don’t–” She tried to reach for him again but he pulled away. The look on his face made her freeze.

“You don’t get it.” He quietly said he looked so weak and from the short time they met, this wasn’t how she saw him. “My family… they wanted a better and stronger wolf, and so they did– they altered me to become what they want.” There was understanding in his Mate’s eyes.

“It’s why I am so much bigger in my wolf form.” He added even more quietly than he expected. “As if the Moon Goddess was angered by this alteration– I…” He paused, closing his eyes and looking down, looking so ashamed. “I’m more obsessive and possessive than normal wolves. I try so hard to control myself. I’m imperfect– an abomination.”

Soft hands touched his arm and he looked up with clear shock on his face and his Mate was nothing but calm.

“I’m sure you have noticed.” He looked at her in confusion and she faintly smiled and added, “Why am I so small in wolf form.” He perked up. “I’m half-witch.”

He blinked at the revelation and it made sense.

“So, I guess imperfect meets imperfect– and so we become a whole?” Her words made him feel like he could breathe properly as if his sinuses were cleared after breathing from one nostril for a little too long. “So, we are a perfect match, my Mate.”

He held his breath for a moment at her calling him Mate and she continued to talk, “ The Moon Goddess has not forsaken us.”

He smiled weakly at her, so enthralled by her presence.

“But why have you not marked me yet?” She quietly asked, breaking his quiet admiration for his Mate.

Damian looked away, “You didn’t seem interested to be my Mate…”

Raven shifted on the bed, “What? No!” Her tone was pouty.

She cleared her throat, “It’s not like that. I could tell that you were controlling yourself. I didn’t want you to feel bad or guilty, so I concealed my desire.”

He stared at her and he looked relieved, then suddenly frowned, “But I don’t want to hurt you.” He was looking away from her. “I know I won’t be able to control myself if we do it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then hurt me.” She said and he looked at her with wide eyes. Her hand slipped down to hold his, and as she settled back to the spot she laid, she tugged him a little, bringing her closer to him. Her legs spread before him, feet on either side of him as she adds, “Hurt me. And Mark me.”

Damian stilled and breathed deeply like he was suddenly attacked. He was suddenly hit by her desire and scent. His lips part about to say something but he was cut off.

“Please, Mark me.” His Mate’s plea drove him to the edge. His eyes went from green to pure black and then his irises returned but they weren't green, instead it was yellow. All he could smell was the sudden release of desire– arousal, her scent of lavenders, and all laced with the fact that his mate was ovulating.

Damian growled and it was clear that he was no longer in control. He ripped her shorts along with her underwear, leaving her bare for him. And oh, how bare she was. He brought his nose closer to her vagina and he was tilting his head a little and sniffing, and Raven was left to hold her breath in anticipation.

He could smell her begging for him even more. His tongue stuck out of his mouth and he started licking her folds. Her legs were over his shoulder, but she kept her feet planted on the bed.

He was going to claim her while the sun was still up and it hadn’t even reached mid-day. Everyone would surely know what he was doing. One of his hands pressed against where he was licking her a few minutes ago, just beside her hip bone.

“Beautiful…” He mumbled and then bared his teeth tugging at her vulva gently. “Mine.” He growled and then sucked the skin between her legs.

And he did that for a while, his mind intoxicated with her scent. His mouth filled with her taste.

Raven’s pale fingers found their way to his black hair and he glanced up. She knew that he was no longer in control. His eyes were yellow.

“Beautiful.” He claimed again locking eyes with her, giving her vulva a sloppy kiss while he was at it. His eyes never left her. And he noted how his Mate gulped. “Mine.” He said again, this time crawling to her.

He cupped her face, “Mine.”

“Yes. I am.” She answered back shyly and she saw how his eyes were reflecting nothing but the animal inside and her.

He growled again, “Mine.” And went for her neck, first licking then his teeth grazing her skin.

Damian wasn’t gentle at all, it was clear that he wasn’t himself anymore, and that it was the animal in him in control. But Raven didn’t mind, it just showed just how much her Mate wanted her.

His fingers were finally done toying with her wet cunt after he made her orgasm at least a couple of times. Whilst his lips ravaged every part of her body.

He brought his wet fingers to his nose, “Ovulating…” He mumbled as if he just found out and there was an emotion that flashed in his eyes.

He hissed, arms pulling her legs back to be on her sides. “Ovulating.” He licked his fingers that were wet with her juices and her face flushed a reddish hue.

Raven was still anticipating the marking, he was biding his time to mark her and it was driving her mad. Then she felt it, a thickness and firmness against her wet cunt.

He studied her, tilting his head a little like a curious animal, his eyes still yellow. “Mine.” He bends forward to whisper to her ear and before she could reply she felt him enter her.

Her eyes rolled back, her chest raised.

He smelled it, blood. “Virgin.” The simple word was dragged out and his eyes narrowed at her.

She thought that something had already long snapped from her Mate the moment he smelled her ovulating and begging to be marked. But the way he narrowed his eyes at her at this moment was something else.

She gulped.

Then his hips started ramming her. His touches felt even more animalistic. And with his pounding, she came closer to the peak and she could tell that he was in the same boat as her because his scent was overwhelming.

He tugged at her face, making her look at him, “Keep your eyes on me.” He growled and so she followed his order.

He could feel it, his close release and his Mate’s, and he was timing it perfectly. And when he knew they were at the cusp of release, his canines grew and he bit her shoulder just as they reached climax.

And Raven’s eyes widened.

Just when she thought that what she was feeling was the climax she was waiting for, the venom from his marking said otherwise.

Raven passed out from the intensity, but her Mate was not yet done. His mind was still trapped in the desire for his Mate.

Raven would wake, in different positions, being tossed and turned by her Mate who was relentless, then would pass out. She wasn’t angry with him, it was just how their animal sides were.

The need to mate and produce.

When Damian came to, one hand was on the lower back of a voluptuous ass sticking out to him. His breathing was shallow, as he tried to understand where he was and who he was with. He pulled his dick out from the tight cunt he was certain he was pounding.

He knew that he had just released himself into her tight pussy.

He was disoriented and vaguely recalled that he was with Raven, his Mate this morning, but it was clear that the sun had set a long time ago. His fingers brushed the skin just above her butt and then unconsciously touched the stray white fluid back to her gaping hole.

He felt like his body wasn’t his, and that is when the scent of his Mate filled his nose. He blinked and glanced at the pale body before him.

This was his Mate. Raven. And she had so many bruises, hickeys, and bites on her body.

He wanted to vomit. His mind could see images of what he had been doing to his Mate– even when she was passed out.

He really wanted to vomit.

He was a monster.

Damian was shaking as he pulled away and attempted to flee, but a weak hand wrapped around his wrist. And he froze.

His eyes were back to green as he stared at his Mate, her ass still sticking out at him, her cunt dripping from both their juices. But that sight was forgotten when he saw the sadness on her face and he felt her grief from the bond.

“Please, don’t.” She said hoarsely, but her lips were chapped and swollen that his guilt was heavier than her sadness.

Another flash of sadness that wasn’t his came to him, it was from Raven. She didn’t want him to leave her, not after marking her, she felt like he was abandoning her.

“No, it’s not like that.” He quickly explained but her sorrowful gaze pained him.

He knew what she was feeling and he pursed his lips, “I hurt you.” He quietly said, looking away.

And he vaguely heard her voice in his head telling him to stay. He also felt that she didn’t blame him but in fact, felt quite loved, and also knew that if he left, he would truly hurt her.

He studied all the marks of his passionate but sadly one-sided lovemaking on his Mate. He wanted to leave, he should, but he couldn’t hurt her like that. He helped her get a more comfortable sleeping position and somehow her lips found his neck. He felt her contentment.

And he realized that she wasn’t able to mark him.

When Raven woke, her body was extremely sore and it was still night out. Her arms touched the space around her, looking for her Mate. And dread filled her when she realized he wasn’t there. She sat up with eyes wide.

He left her.

Her eyes searched the dark room for her Mate. Her Mate who marked her and then just abandoned her. It hurt her ego as a werewolf.

“Raven!” Damian’s voice roared as he opened the door, a basket in his hand. His green eyes searched for his Mate. He thought something had happened to her.

When she saw him, she instantly struggled to get up from the bed. He closed the door behind him as he quickly walked to her.

“No, don’t.” He begged her, not wanting her to come closer to him in her state. But she met him halfway and stumbled to his chest.

“You left me.” Her eyes were filled with water that threatened to spill and he felt her sorrow. She thought he had abandoned her.

She-wolves were known to be particularly sensitive after marking, the duration varying from one Mate to another. The knowledge just popped up in Damian’s mind. He didn’t think he’d get a Mate, so these little details were something he didn’t bother with.

It was kind of similar to the human belief that human females grow an attachment to their first sexual partner. But with wolves, especially in their case– that Raven’s first was her Mate, the attachment to her first and only sexual partner was even more extremely heightened. He at least understood this much.

He cupped her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb, this was the first time he saw her with so much emotion on her face. “I’m sorry.” He quietly said, but her eyes were pleading and her chapped lips pouting at him.

“You weren’t able to eat, so I went to get you some things to fill your stomach. I didn’t think you’d wake up. I’m sorry.” He quietly confessed.

He felt her joy from his show of concern and his heart fluttered, or maybe it was hers. Regardless, from where he stood and with the moonlight's help, he could see all the marks he left on her body. What he did to her flashed before his mind.

He wanted to apologize again, but a small hand against his chest stopped him.

“Please, don’t.” She whispered, eyes pleading again, “If you do, it’s like you're telling me you regret marking me.”

Her emotions felt like a punch on his cheek and so were her words.

“No!” He hated the thought. He didn’t regret it and she flinched at his sudden outburst. He calmed himself and added, “ It’s not like that.”

He caught himself from apologizing again, he leaned forward pressing his lips against his mark on her shoulder, “Mine.”

He felt her feeling proud and happy with his actions. And he too was pleased.

Another information entered his mind, some wolf packs do not allow their females to mark their Mates or partners. He wondered for a moment if she came from a pack like that.

~.~.~.~.~

“Alpha! There are trespassers!” Someone told Damian and he frowned.

“Alpha! The she-wolf is approaching the mansion!” Another yelled as he ran to the mansion just as Damian was rushing out. “The she-wolf refused to talk to us, but she was being chased and was evading us and her attackers.”

Damian frowned, he didn’t have time for this, he had not seen his Mate and could not hear her or feel her.

“She was being chased?” He asked as he glanced up, seeing a familiar small wolf running to them. Even though he couldn’t see from where he was, he just knew that the approaching wolf would have violet eyes.

“She is coming to the Alpha!” Someone said, alerting the others, silently telling them to stop the approaching she-wolf.

Damian ran to said she-wolf and shifted mid-way, and it looked like he was going to trample the poor wolf, but instead, he barked, landing a little behind her. His snarl put a halt to everyone and even the trespassers that he could smell from across the forest where the small wolf came from.

Everyone stilled and Damian turned to look at the shaking wolf behind him. Her eyes were exactly his Mate’s. He nudged her and she whimpered, he urged her to communicate with their exclusive Mate telepathic connection, but nothing. He even sniffed her.

He couldn’t smell her or his scent on her. He couldn’t even feel her or hear her.

But those violet eyes were clearly his Mate’s and it was pleading to him.

He recalled how he barely smelled her when he first met her. He was only certain that she was her Mate the moment his eyes laid on her in her human form.

He growled slowly and the wolf before him blinked. It was undeniable that this was the same wolf he saved from the forest. His Mate.

He grabbed the creature by the neck and snorted at his men. He was disappointed that they could not identify his Mate. But recalling that even he could not smell her scent and that no one had seen her shift in her wolf form, he calmed down a little.

The smaller wolf looked pitiful being carried like that by Damian in wolf form. But he padded his way to their bedroom and laid his Mate on the bed.

He shifted into his human form, he wore black pants, it was enchanted to accommodate shifting.

“Raven, it’s alright, you can shift.” He urged her but the wolf merely whimpered. He was confused. He brushed her black-purple fur and comforted her and she merely nudged his head a little.

Three days passed and she was still in wolf form, “What’s wrong? You can’t shift back? Is it similar to when we first met?” He patted her head and he noticed a tear fall from the she-wolf’s eyes.

Later that evening, when Damian was about to go to the bathroom, he smelled his Mate’s scent and he turned to the bed to see his naked Mate on the bed. Tears in her eyes.

“Damian…” She whispered her arms extended for a hug and he went to her instantly and wrapped her in his arms. “I was stuck.” She mumbled, shaking her head to the nook of his shoulder.

“Why?” He asked her gently and she froze.

Raven suddenly burst into tears and kept apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your Mate is selfish, I didn’t– I couldn’t reject you when I met you.”

He inhaled deeply at her last words: reject. She wanted to reject him. The animal inside of him was angry at the thought.

“I didn’t tell you everything, I didn’t give you a choice. I’m sorry.” She sobbed and he felt the misery she was feeling, thus his anger at the thought of being rejected disappeared.

He wanted to understand her, “What do you mean?”

She stilled again on the spot and she held back her tears as she stared at him, “This isn’t common knowledge but when some wolves meet their animal Mates, most times, they really weren’t born as animals.”

Daman furrowed his eyebrows, he tried to recall this information from all the books he had read, and there was no information like this.

“They were likely half-wolves, who lost the ability to shift into their human forms,” Raven revealed and his eyebrow twitched.

It makes sense.

“One day– I might not be able to become human.” The tears in her eyes fell again and her dread and his dread merged into one in his body.

After a moment of silence, “No.” He said. “If my mother can find a way to alter me– I’m sure there is a way around that.” His green eyes were determined.

She shook her head, “I shouldn’t have mated with you– we shouldn’t have met. If I was stuck as a wolf, you probably wouldn’t know who I was. And I wouldn’t either.”

“No!” He yelled and Raven stared at him with wide eyes. “I’m not mad at you,” He clarified, calming himself. “I don’t like the thought of not having you.” He buried his face on her shoulder.

“You’re mine.” He softly added.

“You could have mated with someone else, and we wouldn't have known what we could have been.” She added and he growled. “I was selfish, I couldn’t let you go.”

He licked his mark on her, “Then I’m glad that you are.”

Another moment of silence then he recalled something, “Is that why I can’t smell you?”

Raven pushed him gently, looking at him, “I am half-witch, I was hunted down for what I am, as a precaution when I shift I conceal my scent, but… it has become my default so I find it hard to control it.”

He nodded and kissed her forehead, “We’ll find a way around it.”

“But Damian, if I fall pregnant and shift into a wolf, I will lose our child.” Her eyes twitch as the tears fall. “I don’t want that.”

“I’d rather lose the child.” He said and he felt her heartbreak at his words. She didn’t realize it but she had also held her breath. She believed he didn’t want children with her.

“It’s not like that, Raven. I don’t want to lose you.” He made her look at him by cupping her face.

But she was not convinced and attempted to be freed from his touch.

“I can’t lose you, my Mate.” He looked in pain frowning at her, “We can choose not to have kids for now until we figure this out. Alright?”

She was still distraught by his words but she nodded and he embraced her as he comforted her.

“I do want pups with you. I don’t want kids with anyone else.” He reassured her. “If you get stuck as a wolf, then I will live my remaining life as a wolf with you.”

He heard her gasp and felt her heart sink into her stomach, “No.” She said, eyes wide in fear. “No, you can’t.”

With firm hands on her cheeks he said, “Yes, I can.”

~.~.~.~.~

“How certain are you that this information is true?” Talia asked, glancing at her son and then his Mate.

“It is quite known to families who are not pure, and to a certain coven of witches,” Raven replied. “We… Impure wolves were hunted as a sport, so this information is concealed. We have packs or covens dedicated to us. But please, keep this a secret, I’m not supposed to be even telling you this.” She glanced at her Mate.

Damian knew that it was only recently that half-werewolves were accepted. Of course, there were still some who liked the old ways. But he had never heard of packs of half-wolves and witch covens that help said half-wolven packs.

“But there are still some who treat us as a game.” Raven unconsciously rubbed her arm.

“Is that why you were being chased?” Damian asked, containing his anger, he had always wondered why she was being chased, but he didn’t want to force her to answer him by asking. When she confessed that she was half-witch, he didn't even ask questions.

To him, she was his Mate. That was all that mattered.

Raven looked uncomfortable with the question and glanced at Talia. And her son frowned at her. He suddenly recalled that his pack used to hunt the impure wolves for sport too.

He growled, “If you hurt her.”

Talia raised her hands up, “She is your Mate, I have no intentions, and anyways, we stopped hunting them halflings down a long time ago. We saw that they offered more benefits as they are– earlier than anyone else did.”

Damian growled, placing himself between his mother and Mate.

“We also believed that maybe we were cursed too…” Raven quipped trying to change the topic and calming her Mate. “There was a way to make sure we don’t get stuck…”

Damian turned to her hopeful, but she avoided his gaze, “If we forsaken our wolves, then we wouldn’t become animals.” Damian did not understand her words and she adds, “You would have thought your Mate died, and if we crossed paths, we wouldn’t have known that we were destined for each other in accordance with the Goddess's will..”

He visibly took a step back, his head shaking. He couldn’t imagine being without her. Maybe it was the animal inside of him or the bond, but she was his. There is no other option for him.

Or maybe it was his imperfection showing. He was obsessed with her.

“I clearly… didn’t…” She mumbled, shaking in fear, when his eyes studied her, he realized what she was feeling.

“We can figure this out,” Damian reassured and turned to his mother, “If you can make me this strong, I am sure you can find something around this.”

He was nothing but determined.

And Talia smiled, “I do like a compelling experiment.”

~.~.~.~.~.~

Raven was in their bedroom, and she had not seen him for days after having a meeting with his mother. She was very very upset. She was feeling abandoned.

She decided to step out of the bedroom and walked barefoot to the end of the rather long balcony. She wore her white silk sleepwear made of a crop top and shorts again.

She gazed outside at the vast yard and into the forest from Damian’s huge balcony. She was told that her Mate had been running through the forest since they last saw each other.

She believed he regretted meeting her. She thought about leaving and just when she was about to go over the ledge of the balcony, despite being on the second floor, she heard a growl from behind her.

She turned and there was a very huge black wolf. She froze, one of her legs was over the banister.

The wolf growled as he slowly walked to her.

‘What are you doing?’ An angry disembodied male voice asked and she recognized it as her Mate’s.

“I–” She couldn’t even say what she was doing and he growled again. “I thought you hated me.” She ultimately answered and the wolf was now before her. His head caressed her neck.

‘You are my Mate.’ His voice was gentle and suddenly before her, stood Damian, with only his black pants on. “Come, let us go back in.” His hands found her hands as he guided her away from the ledge.

The next moment, she found herself in the center of the bed. She was sitting crossed-legged while he was before her on his knees, mouth caressing her neck.

“Why haven’t you marked me?” He suddenly asked her and she was taken aback. And he felt it.

He pulled away to look at her. She stared at those green eyes.

“I– I wanted it to be special, but…with everything– I don’t–” Her words stopped there because his eyes told her not to continue, she knew he knew what she was about to say.

That she didn’t deserve him.

“I can hear you and feel you.” His fingers brushed at the side of her face, “I want you to hear me and feel me too.”

She gulped and nodded, “But maybe–”

“I rather not wait.” He cut her off knowing what she was about to say again. He was clearly displeased at her thoughts thinking that she wanted to find a better time and place to do it.

“Okay.” She whispered, placing a hand over his beating heart. He saw what she wanted to do from the bond and he was anticipating her next moves.

And Raven acted on it. She pushed him a little, urging him to sit and she straddled him, and he held his breath as she rocked her hips and caressed his neck with her lips.

Eventually, after all the foreplay, his dick was inside of her with her clothes still on and his pants still around his hips.

He was moaning against her as her canines elongated and she bit him on his neck. He groaned. And as the venom sank in, making him further aroused he could feel her in his mind.

‘Damian.’ He heard her voice whimper inside his mind. And he couldn’t help but growl aloud.

His Mate was asking for more. Of course, he will fulfill her desire.

She had bitten him higher than he did on her body, she wanted to assert her dominance over other she-wolves. Which he didn’t mind at all. But it honestly made him even more hornier.

~.~.~.~.~

They were in his bedroom, it was late at night. Raven was on the bed naked and on all fours with her nice ass sticking out to him. She was at the edge of the bed and he was behind her ramming her from behind, one hand holding her arm by the wrist and the other caressing her lower back.

Her moaning was endless.

He couldn’t help but sear the image into his mind. Her pale skin, her nice ass sticking out for him. His scarred arms and hands holding her. There was something quite alluring to be able to fuck her this way.

They were animals by all means– being werewolves. They were.

And yet, to have her in this position in their human forms– there was just something about it that hit him differently.

His green eyes started to have a yellow glow around them.

Raven groaned and shook her head, “Slower…” She mumbled but he chuckled.

He went faster, “You and I know you want it faster.”

She buried her face against the bed, one hand gripping the sheets and the other gripping his wrist as he held her by the wrist on that arm.

Soon enough the two had reached release again. And he felt it, just as he was pulling out before she even burst into tears.

His Mate’s sheer sorrow.

He was already picking her up and comforting her as she cried.

“Hey, hey, baby, what’s wrong?” He caressed her leg and he was before her on his knees. All he could feel was her emotions.

“I am your Mate. I am supposed to be giving you strong pups, that is my honor as your Mate.” She sobbed. “But I can’t give you that.”

“Hey, hey, you will. It will just be a little bit longer than we’d thought.” He told her, brushing her tears away.

“We are wolves, it is in our nature to breed a stronger generation– and I can’t give you that. What kind of Mate am I?” She sobbed again.

He felt her strong desire to have his pups– their kids. There was a sense of joy he couldn’t hide and he knew she felt it from the bond.

She wanted his kids.

And Raven couldn’t help but stop sobbing as she stared at him. He was proud that she wanted his kids.

His calmness and stare made her blush.

“I don’t want you to face losing our children because you can’t control your shifting. We’ll work on that and we can fill this damn whole pack house with our kids.” He said firmly.

The image of her having a dozen kids came to his mind, an image from his Mate whose ears were red.

“No- not that many.” She couldn’t help but mumble and he laughed wholeheartedly. Her thoughts of her having saggy tits and not being attractive to him of course were sent to him through the bond too.

He leaned forward, making her lean backward and unknowingly spreading her legs wider. He whispered, “If anything, you will suck my dick dry.”

His green eyes glanced at her shoulder and it was slightly red in embarrassment.

Damian pulled away, his green eyes glowing yellow again, realizing the position his Mate was in. Her legs were spread wide before him, his cum slipping out of the tight slit between her legs.

“Well, since it might take time to resolve our small shifting issue,” His index finger swiped his stray cum up back to her hole, “We can continue to practice how to make pups.”

Raven couldn’t help but gulp.

~.~.~.~.~

Damian was able to help Raven shift back into her human form whenever she got stuck. Her marking him had helped immensely. He can at least now smell her and his scent over her and communicate telepathically when she is in wolf form.

It took time but at least now she didn’t feel alone when she was stuck.

In their bedroom, Raven was leaning against a stack of pillows that were resting on their headboard and Damian’s head was resting below her belly button. One of her pale hands was playing with his black hair as he was gazing at her.

He lifted a hand and placed it beside his head, “One day, I will have pups growing right here.” He rubbed small circles on her skin.

She chuckled, they were now quite comfortable talking about this. Raven was quite certain that she would soon be able to have his pups, so the topic wasn’t that painful to talk about. And if she didn't, she had him. Those green eyes that only knew her.

She brushed his forehead and teased him, “How do you know that there isn’t one already?”

His eyes widened and lifted his head up as he stared at her lower abdomen, “Did I crush our pup?”

The sheer concern he felt traveled to her. She smiled faintly. “I would know, do not worry Damian.” He looked at her and she reassured him that she wasn’t with child through their bond and he nodded. He did not look the least disappointed. Instead, he couldn’t help but send an image of him caring for her as her belly grew.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your pups.” She said and she felt and smelled his arousal. He knew she could tell that he wanted her. And he knew she wanted to avoid his gaze, but surprisingly she held onto his lustful gaze. “You will be a great father.”

The sun was still out, but here they were making love again.

Everyone in the mansion knew that the Alpha couldn’t keep his hands off of his Mate.

Everyone has already accepted her, but she was still not part of the mind-link between the pack.

~.~.~.~.~.~

In their bedroom, Damian was leaning on the headboard with his Mate between his legs, her back resting against his chest and his arms around her waist.

They were fully clothed. He wore his black pants and a white loose long-sleeved shirt, his hard chest poking out of the deep v on the front of his shirt. His Mate was wearing a white fitted off-shoulder top with tight shorts.

He kissed her shoulder, particularly his mark on her, “I will admit, I really don’t like the thought of other males hearing your voice in their heads.” He was pouting and she laughed, her hands finding his and intertwining their fingers.

“But they are wondering why I am not part of the mind-link.” She moved her head to rest her forehead against his neck and he groaned.

“But I want your voice to only fill my head.” He whined and he could feel his animal growing possessive and he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Raven laughed again, “But you and I know it is time and inevitable.” She kissed his jaw and he frowned. His green eyes were surrounded by a yellow glow that slowly faded.

He sighed, “I know.”

~.~.~.~.~.~

In a room full of people in suits and gowns, Damian was across the room, his eyes laying on his Mate who was talking to some other man. He had just arrived and came later than Raven.

His eyes instantly found his Mate. He couldn’t help but growl seeing the sight of his Mate welcoming some other man. He tried to control himself. What really ticked him off to the edge was the scent of her ovulating. It was sudden and she tried to conceal it, but he had smelled it from this distance. Perhaps it was the mating bond.

Raven felt him from across the room and smiled in his direction to comfort him and then brought her attention back to the man she was conversing with. Her smile did not comfort him.

He growled, his eyes glowing yellow. He worked so hard to control himself and he normally can, for the most part, but tonight was not the night.

No one knew she was his yet, and his scent doesn’t stick well on her body, and so did her scent on his body. And it drove him mad.

He excused himself from the man who was attempting to talk to him. Everyone in the room could feel his growing anger. He stopped at his Mate’s side, his lips against her ear.

“Oh, I think you know my Mate.” Raven smiled at the man across from her, Damian gave the man a side glance, his green eyes had a yellow glow. He kissed her neck.

“My Mate, you know I am the jealous type.” He said with a deep tone. Raven smiled at the man, her fingers finding her Mate’s, silently calming him.

“Then, I must excuse ourselves, sir.” She told the man, smiling faintly, her eyes fluttering at him and Damian couldn’t help the growl that escaped his lips.

Raven quickly ushered her Mate out of the party hall with great elegance and into the dark halls of the castle. When the two were alone he pinned her to a marble baluster.

“You are ovulating.” He growled, his eyes yellow. And she cupped his face.

Her thoughts of wanting to see his green eyes came to his mind. He wished he could, but the animal in him was in control.

“Everyone must have smelled you.” He growled, lifting her up seamlessly onto the banister.

She couldn’t help but giggle, “You know that since we are mated, you are the only one who is this sensitive to my ovulation.” She pulled him into her arms.

He blinked and his green eyes were back, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, I tried to control myself.”

“Your self-control is insanely good, my dear Mate.” She reassured him. “I knew the moment we met. And don’t be too hard on yourself, you and I both know that the male wolves can’t help it because as animals, we can’t help but desire to mate and produce. And it is even more intense when it is with your Fated Mate.”

She suddenly pulled him even closer with her legs that were now wrapped around his waist, “A desire to make your Mate carry your pups.” She whispered in his ear.

And he growled his green eyes emitting a yellow glow yet again.

And her eyes turned blue.

He controlled himself, and placed a firm kiss on his mark on her shoulder, and filled her with his pheromones– his scent.

She couldn’t help but moan from his aggressiveness– his show of possession. It was natural for the female to long to be marked and be enveloped by her Mate’s being. And it likely didn’t help that she was currently ovulating mid-party, her body begging for his seeds and to produce.

The heat cycle can really drive wolves insane. At least, it did for this couple.

~.~.~.~.~

Raven was stuck, and she was on their bed in wolf form growling at Damian. Her eyes were blue.

He tried to calm her but she snarled and attempted to claw him.

“Hey, it’s me.” He gently told her. Her eyes reverted back to violet and she rubbed her head against their sheets and calmed. She looked at him with one of her violet eyes pleadingly.

He approached her and brushed her beautiful fur, “It’s okay, remember what I taught you?”

He could feel her trying to reach him through the bond and could feel her struggling. He buried his face into her fur, letting his pheromones set into her.

“It’s me,” He coaxed her, “Remember how I taught you.”

The wolf in his arms sounded like she was in pain and eventually, the voice of a struggling woman replaced the wolf sounds.

“Damian.” Raven sobbed, naked as she hugged him and he hugged her back. He stroked her back.

“You know, I really think you should get some enchanted clothes now, so when you are stuck you aren’t stark naked when you return to your human form.” He groped her ass, distracting her for a moment.

She pulled away pouting and he added, “It was shorter this time.”

She nodded, feeling comforted by her Mate.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Another day, and Raven was stuck in wolf form. They had just finished a really hot session of mating– well practice because his Mate couldn’t have children yet, and Damian had merely stepped out to pee in the bathroom, only to be greeted by his Mate in wolf form.

“Damian, I can’t…” Her voice meekly spoke to him in his mind, since they were now mutually marked he could hear her when she was stuck in her animal form. It was vague at first but now she was louder and clearer.

He quickly walked to her, her wolf form was close to tears. Midway he shifted and his huge figure circled her, “It’s okay, I am here.” He said, his Mate seems to have merged into his pitch-black fur, but he could identify that hint of purple in her fur.

He knew exactly where she was.

Raven whimpered but cuddled to her Mate.

When Damian woke, he found his Mate in human form, tangled up in his furred body. There was something about keeping her warm like this that tickled his heart.

Her getting stuck has lessened and it comforted both of them. His Mate always avoided shifting for fear of not being able to turn back.

“I am more witch than wolf…” He recalled her telling him once, her voice close to tears.

“It doesn’t matter.” He replied.

Damian snuggled himself against his Mate’s pale body, marking her again with his scent which elicited a moan from his Mate.

He paused, deciding to stop before he triggered her into heat.

It was so difficult being part man and wolf. His green eyes started to glow yellow and he tried to calm himself.

FIN.

Did I end it abruptly? Even I was thinking that, but like at 8k, this is enough.

Happy 91st post to me!

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fizzigigsimmer · 1 year

Text

Dragon!Shifter AU

I wrote a little in the tags on the OG post but I am still thinking about this so...

The way Billy arrived at the academy, swooping over the castle and roaring loud enough to shake the walls before he flew up towards the Grandmaster’s tower and disappeared into the clouds, there’s no way for anyone not to know who he is and what he is.

Steve’s very used to the way the student body can latch onto a person and OBSESS. You’d think, with their powers and their lineages that the students wouldn’t be effected by things like fan mania, but no, they’re just as impressed by pretty faces and showboating as ordinary humans are. Steve can’t go anywhere without his classmates stuffing the poems and ballads they’ve composed - praising his pale elfin good looks and comparing him to snowdrops, stars, and moonlight - under his pillow or in his satchel when he isn’t looking. And at least once a week someone actually gets up the courage to stand in the courtyard and sing. He’s been crowned King of Midsummer every year that he’s been old enough to attend the end of term festival reserved for the higher level students.

But from the minute Billy Hargrove saunters out of the Grandmaster’s quarters he’s all anyone can talk about. It’s so fucking annoying. His golden skin and sun streaked hair, his glittering blue eyes and the flames that (apparently) dance in them when he’s wielding magic (Steve wouldn’t know because he can’t stand the prick and the less time spent in his company the better) and the inked markings that decorate his back and shoulders that glow gold just before he shifts his shape.

Steve knows Billy’s markings intimately because he sees them three times a week during Champions practice, usually right after Hargrove strips naked and dives from the banks of Emerald Lake, changing shape in a burst of golden magic just so he can knock Steve and the rest of his teammates off their feet with a ten foot wave. And Billy does that shit on purpose, because he doesn’t have to be big as a house when he shifts.

Billy has a demi form, effectively no bigger than a kitten. Steve can hold most of his bendy lizard like body in the palm of his hand while Billy’s long serpentine tail coils around his wrist, warm despite the cool scales that line his body. No one knew dragons could go small like this. Well, correction, Steve supposes it makes a lot of sense now why humans call so many lizards dragons. Wingless, one scaly lizard thing scuttling around looks like another, and it turns out Dragons have been coming to the human world far more often than people think.

Steve discovers that Billy can go small after Flight Studies one day, which he’s endlessly thankful is not one of the classes he has to share with Hargrove. While some elves have strong enough magic and a sturdy enough connection to the fae realm that they can achieve winged flight, Steve remains as grounded and talentless in this area as they come. It’s enough of a sore spot as it is because his dad and all of his cousins fly. The last thing he wants to put up with is Hargrove giving him shit about it.

Steve comes back from class still wingless, but sweaty from all that straining to connect with Gia, and immediately heads to the room he shares with Tommy in the Blue Hall to change before supper. He doesn’t expect to find anything but shirts and tunics in his drawer, so he nearly shrieks the house down when he opens it to find a big lizard thing coiled up in a nest of his shirts.

Patrick, one of the selkies who shares the room next door, comes running in to see what the commotion is about just as the scaly creature raises its long neck, blue green scales glinting in the late afternoon sunlight and yellow eyes fixed on Steve as it opens its mouth and hisses. It has a small row of very sharp looking teeth and a very pink tongue.

Steve slams the drawer shut.

“Whoa! What was that?!“ Patrick demands, drawing closer, only to scurry back along with Steve as the drawer with the creature inside rattles violently.

“I have no idea. Probably another one of Munson’s freaky little pets.” Steve seethes, speaking of the boy from Black Hall who is infamous for his love of dark magical creatures, the more dangerous the better. The drawer rattles hard before suddenly popping open, and one very pissed lizard crawls its way out onto the top of the dresser. it twists its upper body until its head faces the two gaping boys. For a moment Steve admires the elegance of its long body and the dramatic spiny fins that raise from its back as it elongates itself, thinking that the strangely human expression of absolute grump that it wears on a decidedly lizard like face is unexpectedly funny... and then the creature opens its mouth and Steve and Patrick bolt with a yelp, scrambling for the door as a stream of electric blue flame erupts from the creature’s mouth.

The House Head thinks they are pulling a prank when they bring him back to deal with the beast, only to find the room completely creature free and no sign of anything burning. But Steve knows what he saw, and Patrick isn’t known for being a prankster so the Head promises to go over to Black Hall and have a talk with Munson. He advises the boys to keep their windows shut going forward, so nothing has an opportunity to crawl in.

It doesn’t work, because Steve doesn’t know it but the creature was actually a dragon shifter who also happens to live in Blue Hall, just one floor below. Steve doesn’t notice either that first time that one of his shirts is missing.

Long before Billy was ready to admit he liked Steve as a person, he liked the smell of his soap and his magic. Dragons are creatures of indulgence, so the things they like they take to horde. Steve never gets that shirt back or any of the other things Billy ends up claiming from Steve’s room. Not until Steve starts sleeping in his bed. But anything he brings back with him from Billy’s room, Billy just replaces with something else.

It’s expensive dating a dragon, is what he’s saying. The only solution is to cohabbitate.

The First Part

#harringrove #billy x steve #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #elf!steve #dragon!billy #the difference between elves and fairys is tolkien and santa clause so for this I'm keeping the two blended #poor wingless little elf #poor smol dragon being woken from his nap like that

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snoozingredpanda · 8 months

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Rudy — Such a Horrifying Creature

GN!Reader

Warnings: kinda kidnapping… obsession, swearing

—

• You were a loyal knight trained for the greatest of battles. Serving your king was what you were born to do, and you took great pride in being his number one soldier.

• So, when he ordered you to investigate a perilous mountain in which herds of sheep kept disappearing nearby, you were happy to oblige. Dressed in your shiny armor, you headed south to the rocky, traitorous, mountains in which a terrifying monster was said to reside.

• Battling harsh winds and rain, you managed to get to a steep incline that led to a cave. Deciding to rest here for the night to let the storm pass, you enter, holding your lit torch up high as you look around.

• To your surprise, piles and piles of gold stared back at you, rubies and emeralds and diamonds littered around as if they were worthless. What on earth had you stumbled upon? A smuggler's trove? Or perhaps a-

• Your thoughts are interrupted by a terrible growl echoing through the cave. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, chills running through you. Holding your sword up, you shout, "Who's there?"

• A large shadow is cast against the rock wall, horrifyingly lizard-like. Taking a few steps back, you tried to regain composure as the sound of claws scraping against the dirty floor filled your ears.

• "Show yourself! I'm not scared of you, monster!" You taunt.

• Bracing yourself for the worst, you gripped your sword tightly.

• You frown, watching a... thing crawl out behind a large pile of riches. It was a human, yet it wasn't. A small raven-haired girl with large crimson eyes, but with massive, scaly red wings and a winding tail that was curled around her waist. Small black horns protruded from her matted hair, and an extra pair of fluffy-looking ears were drooped. Parts of her tan skin were covered in scales, and for love nor money could you figure out if she was a human or a dragon.

• This was the creature that everyone was scared of?

• She slowly tilts her head, looking at you with curiosity. She was so small, barely reaching 4'9, yet she wasn't a child. Perhaps around 18, maybe 19? It was hard to tell.

• "Hello..." You slowly say. She doesn't reply, staring at you. "Who are you? What's your name? What... are you?"

• "Shiny?" She mumbles, ignoring your questions as she walked forwards, a clawed hand reaching out for you. Not moving, you watch as she approaches, stopping before you.

• She reaches a hand out, touching your chest plate. "Shiny..." She repeats, eyes wide and excited. Before you could say anything, she had grabbed your armor, pulling it and you towards her hoard. "Shiny!"

• Gosh, you were so shiny! She loved it, she loved you! Oh, she was going to put you right where you belong with her other shinies!

• For someone so small she has unbelievable strength, tugging you to one of the piles of gold, pushing you down into it. Before you could try to get up, she was on top of you, tail swaying and eyes full of... love?

• "Shiny..." She purrs, rubbing her cheek against your chest plate. "Pretty."

• Blushing, you gently try to push her off. "H-hey... off please..."

• She frowns slightly. “But shiny…” She says softly. "My shiny..."

• She grabs your hand and brings it to her face, nuzzling her cheek against the palm of your gloved hand. "My shiny. Mine."

• The way her big eyes turned so suddenly aggressive made you nod quickly. "I-I... yes... your shiny..."

• She grins widely, showing a set of razor-sharp teeth, further making you nod and agree with her.

• "Rudy," she says, pointing to her chest. She points to yours.

• "U-uh... Y/n..." You reply, slightly awkwardly, not wanting to do anything wrong and get an arm ripped off. She only smiles, laying down on your chest, wrapping her tail around your leg, securing you tightly.

• Now stuck with a half-human, half-dragon who thinks you're a part of her hoard... you have no hope of getting out any time soon. But as she gently nuzzles into your neck, you can't help but close your eyes, enjoying her warmth.

#yandere #oc #x reader #oc x reader #yandere x reader #fem oc #gn reader

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demon-princess13 · 3 months

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wrote a draft for session 0 of my next campaign. I always write a little hook/monologue before I have to answer 194747393 questions about the setting, wanted to share it here!!

(edits/criticisms welcome, I only spent like 20 mins on this and there’s bound to be mistakes)

here’s to more of my obsession with Tiamat & Dragons

You step off your boat, onto a coastline decorated with fishermen, the early morning sun enhancing their sunburnt faces. You watch them; fly fishing the coast or preparing their own boats for castoff, enjoying the peace for the moment you allow yourself.

Leaving the captain of the for-hire ship to handle the rest of docking, you step to the sandy shoreline and onto a dirt path cut into the thick woods. A few feet through and a warm scent wafts up to your nostrils; reminding you of street fairs with their roasting meat & endless jugs of brew. Following the smell, you come upon a quaint town with houses of emerald green and gold, seeming to glisten in the sunlight. In one window a pair of large, glowing yellow eyes looks at you curiously before disappearing back into the shadows of the unlit home.

Taking your first glance upwards, you find yourself taken aback by the sight of hundreds of winged creatures in flight above you. So many different colours, sizes, and shapes it’s impossible to focus clearly on any one of them.

In the distance looms a castle, the red of its walls visible even from its resting place atop a mountain. The top of the castle is lost in the clouds, but a weak amber glow shines through them. How tall is it? You can’t be certain.

As you stare, enjoying a sight some only ever dream of- a glob of flaming goo lands just feet in front of you. Your thoughts are interrupted by the burp of a 20ft tall dragon who’s sat, contentedly licking up his flaming sick.

“Sorry about that! This one’s on a new die- oh. I’ve never seen ye before. New to town? No wonder you’re standing there with that stupid look on your face. Follow me, I’ll help ye find some lodgings.” A nearly toothless man grins, jumping off his mount and patting the disgusting creature on the head. “Seems you’ll be needing all the help we can offer” he chuckles, handing you a ration and linking his arm in yours. “Let’s be off then!! To a bed! My names Timny, by the way! Nice to meetcha!”

And so it begins. A new adventure

(( “invitation” story: One day, while sitting at home eating breakfast, a small bird sized lizard flies into your window and perches upon your table; where it drops you a small scroll held together by a golden ribbon. As you grasp the scroll, the tiny dragon puffs into smoke and disappears. The scroll reads as follows: “Tiamats whispers grow louder, and she has been whispering your name. Make your way to the point on the map below, if you hope to change your fate from one of fire.” As you finish reading each word, they disappear into thin plumes of smoke; revealing pieces of a map laid behind the enchantment. A small X marks an island a few days journey away. ))

((If a character chooses not to take part in the trip to the island right away, they find themselves plagued with nightmares of a five headed dragon during their sleeping hours, and nearly silent whispers in their mind during their waking ones. The map will reappear in any bag, closet or cupboard opened until the journey is taken.))

#this is meant to be read aloud! and i always improv some details as i talk #i fucking love dungeons and dragons #best game #me #text post #monologue #what would you build!?!#Timny is reoccurring character in my campaigns #sweet angel old man #just wants to help ya out #and smoke pipe weed #that he didn’t buy

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corvusasteris · 9 months

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character profiles

intro post

Jasper

While in the imperial capital of Melera, you counted him among your closest companions. He is the child of merchants from Thalasseon, the empire to the south, however he has spent most of his life in the Illyosian Empire. For as long as you've known him, he's been obsessed with discovering more about the spirit realm, frequently neglecting work and/or personal relationships while on the trail of some obscure myth.

He's quietly sarcastic and a persistent over-thinker, but fiercely loyal to those he counts among his friends. Your relationship is somewhat complicated by the fact that he believes you to be dead following the incident that prompted your escape from the capital, and vice versa.

appearance - beige skin, shoulder length wavy medium brown hair often tied back from his face, hazel-brown eyes. tall.

notes - his background (either as a spy or scholar) is set depending on whether the MC is a spy or a scholar. precise circumstances around the swift exit from the capital are in the prologue. demiromantic & bi. transmasc.

Leonora

Your first introduction to her was her saving you from certain death at the hands of the Illyosian Empire. She helps you to reconstruct your life in Kemorlen, setting up an alchemists shop next-door as you became the resident mage. You know surprisingly little about her past, besides the fact she was once a mercenary, as evidenced by her skill with a sword.

She's blunt, impulsive and always on the move, creating potions, warding from spirits or starting a fight somewhere, and lives by the policy of acting first and apologising later.

appearance - golden-brown skin, straight black hair often plaited or in a low bun, light brown eyes. tall.

notes - precise circumstances of meeting set by the prologue. bisexual. cis woman.

Augustine

They arrived in town one night, shortly after you did, reportedly from the north east of the empire. Good humoured and quiet, you still can't shake the feeling that they're hiding something. Their skill as a healer is unrivalled, and they quickly become a key part of the team dealing with all the magical oddities of Kemorlen, alongside you and Leonora.

They have a tendency to freeze in a crisis and are slightly squeamish, with a dry sense of humour. They don't trust easily, always seem to be looking over their shoulder, and they don't seem to sleep a great deal.

appearance - light brown skin, dark brown neck-length loosely curly hair, dark brown eyes and freckles. short.

notes - bisexual. non-binary.

Mira

She wanders into town one day, lyre in hand, and entrances the townsfolk with melodic tales of heroes, gods and strange creatures. She has been wandering the roads of Aiolos as a bard after being exiled from her home kingdom of Luria, gathering stories (and gold) from wherever she goes. She also seems to collect small animals, including a tiny mouse she imaginatively calls mouse.

You expect her to move on quickly, but she stays for reasons she doesn't disclose. She's pessimistic and absent-minded, always getting half-way through composing songs before forgetting about them and starting a new one.

appearance - deep brown skin, long curly dark brown hair, dark brown eyes. medium height.

notes - bi and asexual. cis woman.

Theo

They are a spirit that technically speaking you are responsible for bringing back from the underworld. Their memories are faded and patchy from being dead, but a sense that they have been wronged remains, as does a deep-rooted want for revenge. They tell you that they were a ruler, once, of a northern kingdom that they can't recall the name of.

They're awkward, contemplative and restless, unsure of who or what they are in a world that thinks them to be dead, and desperately wanting closure on their old life.

appearance - fair skin, messy short light brown slightly reddish hair, grey eyes. short.

notes - gender selectable either cis male or nb. bisexual.

#interactive fiction #you will not believe the struggles I had with these images #if you have any questions feel free to put them in the askbox #characters: ros #I almost spilled coffee on my friends copy of the odyssey while writing this if you're wondering how my day is going

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grandmother-goblin · 4 months

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Field Study - Chapter 2

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: It was only after Cas allowed Astarion to drink her blood did he see the little wood elf in a new light. The more he learned about her, the more questions he had. And the more fascinated he became.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Tags: Heavy and obvious flirting, Astarion has a bit of an obsession with seeing his bite marks, eavesdropping

What transpired between Astarion and Cas in those early hours of the morning did not remain a secret long. The ground was still damp with morning dew when the others made thinly veiled threats regarding the implications of his nature. Like he was some monster incapable of keeping his condition in check. And like Cas was an utter fool for accepting him as he was.

On that point, Astarion was inclined to agree with them.

Yet the more their companions questioned Cas’s decision, the deeper she dug her heels into the dirt to defend it.

To defend him.

It was flattering in a weird way that he wasn’t familiar with. Though he had a feeling her stubbornness had less to do with him and more to do with her choices coming under question by the others. Again. Like every other decision she made since they started traveling together.

It took several assurances from Cas, but the rest of their little group reluctantly accepted the conclusion that was made. That she trusted him enough to let him stay.

That was worth something.

They went about the rest of the morning as usual. While Wyll brewed a pot of coffee, Gale tended to a pot of rabbit meat and root vegetables sizzling in reserved duck fat and fragrant herbs. Even though Astarion no longer needed to eat like the rest of them, the smells were comforting. Homey, even. A welcome change from the scent of wet stone, blood, and rot that permeated every corner of Cazador’s palace. It was strange how a certain smell could dredge up memories from the deepest recesses of the mind like a colander sifting muck and silt for a mere speck of gold.

It had been ages since Astarion experienced a whiff of coffee. It was a small thing, but one that his condition deprived him of nonetheless. For a creature who was no longer meant to greet the morning sun, it was easy to forget about some of the other simple pleasures that came with it. Back when he worked as magistrate, Astarion even had a favorite mug that he’d enjoy two or three cups from each morning. He wasn’t sure where it went, or when he had lost track of it for that matter. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what it looked like. White with some pattern maybe?

Just another of life’s niceties that was so easily forgotten.

“Coffee, Astarion?” Wyll said and offered a tin mug half filled with pitch black liquid, pulling him from his thoughts. “We don’t have any cream or sugar, but it’s not half bad if I say so myself.”

Astarion accepted the mug and thanked him. Though his sense of taste had changed drastically since his afflictions, the effects of foods and drinks stayed largely the same. Alcohol still managed to quiet his mind, so no doubt caffeine would help to wake it. Not that he needed any sort of pick-me-up that morning. Cas’s blood flowing through his veins was better than anything a cup of coffee could offer. Still, he did not want to turn down the novelty.

He swirled the steaming liquid before he sipped at the dark, bitter, brew. The flat taste on his tongue was a mere spark of what coffee should taste like. Blood was the only thing that tasted right, but his loss of taste was just another little gift from Cazador, he supposed. But he still continued to sip the coffee, in small mouthfuls, rolling the dulled flavor across his tongue absently as he watched some birds flit between the trees.

Then, he noticed Wyll was still staring at him.

“What?” Astarion leaned back slightly, as if to put space between him and the monster hunter.

Wyll simply shook his head and poured a cup of coffee for himself. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” he said. “Cas even brought it up with me and I told her she was being ridiculous. Hells, I still probably wouldn’t believe it if not for the bite mark on her neck.”

“Are you certain you're a monster hunter?”

Wyll brushed the jest aside with a chuckle and said, “Even the Blade could not have expected a vampire to be walking around in broad daylight.” With that, be himself to offer coffee to the others around camp.

The steam rising from the coffee dissipated in the crisp morning air as Astarion mulled over Wyll’s words. How long had Cas suspected him? Since they found the boar? Before that? Why did she suspect him at all when their resident monster hunter all but deemed it an impossibility? The questions lingered at the back of his mind as he finished his coffee.

Perhaps there was more to that ranger from Neverwinter than he initially thought. Whatever it was, Astarion resolved to find out.

—

The cool morning air gave way to intense late summer heat only after an hour on the road. The purpose of today’s expedition was just to get a lay of the land; find out where goblins are holed up, identify a path to the githyanki creche, and generally gather useful information about their surroundings. And keep an eye out for the devil Wyll was hunting.

So far, they had found a dog hanging around the corpse of his owner. Not the best way to start the day, but they just might have gotten a guard dog for the camp out of it. The dog, some sort of white shepherd called Scratch, trotted alongside Cas as if they had known each other for years.

Despite the two perfect little puncture marks bruising Cas’s neck, she seemed to be doing surprisingly well. Shadowheart had offered to heal the bite mark, but Cas insisted that she saved her spells for a ‘real problem’. So Astarion could only assume that she was feeling just fine. Of course, Astarion had asked Cas how she was feeling long before they set out for the day and she said she was fine. But saying something and acting accordingly were two different things entirely. It was a little reassuring that the two matched up when it came to Cas.

Perhaps she was as genuine as she appeared.

As for Astarion, he was feeling better than ‘fine’. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so well. So alive, for a lack of a better word. The sunlight dripped between bright green summer leaves like droplets of honey, the songbirds sounded like a symphony more than a cacophony, and the sweet scent of orange blossoms with a hint of gardenia carried on a warm breeze. It all seemed just a little brighter, and that permanent weight in his chest just a bit lighter.

Was it just a particularly nice day, a good mood, or were his senses truly heightened from being a well fed vampire for the first time since he was cursed with the affliction? If it was the latter, no wonder Cazador forbade his spawn from proper meals: they might just feel almost normal for once. One by one, the chains that bound him to his condition and to Cazador snapped like cotton threads.

For the first time in centuries, Astarion felt that the world was finally a place he could experience rather than simply witness.

A couple meters behind him, Wyll and Shadowheart conversed quietly about their ideas surrounding this ‘Absolute’ character the goblins seemed to worship and who (or what) might be behind it. Astarion tuned them out. No point in filling his head with speculations. Not when there was already so much going on in his mind.

Instead he set his sight on the wood elf in front of him who, for whatever reason, seemed to make his mind a quieter place. Maybe it was the ease in which she moved through a world that was so unfamiliar to him, or maybe it was because she never once seemed troubled by all that happened to them. Perhaps it was simply because she had nothing going on in her mind at all and her worm kindly shared whatever background tavern music was running between her ears with his.

Astarion focused his attention on Cas walking ahead of him, noticing how the strap that holster her dagger to her thigh was just a little too tight and the subtle sway of her hips. He recalled the feel of her curves against him last night as he drank from her. Even though she had been essentially straddling him, it felt different. Not as sexual as he would have expected, in retrospect. Perhaps it was just because he didn’t have to lure her back to Cazador. He brushed the thoughts aside as he fell in step beside Cas, feeling the sudden urge to talk to her.

Cas acknowledged him with a small smile and they exchanged pleasantries. Bruises blossomed from the two puncture wounds on her neck like macabre magnolias with dark red centers. His morbid curiosity mixed with a sense of pride. It was odd. Why did he like seeing his bite mark on her neck? It should have filled him with disgust, her parading around the fact that she had been bitten by a vampire, but it didn’t.

Cas was different.

“I’ve been thinking,” Astarion started, keeping his tone casual. “And I can’t help but wonder if you’ve had any prior experience with other vampires.”

She tilted her head at him, but didn’t seem at all surprised by his statement. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Astarion shrugged, trying his best to look more indifferent than he felt.

It was the truth, but it only scratched the surface of every thought that writhed within that curiosity. Until a couple of hours ago, Astarion thought Cas was just an average elf and never put much thought beyond that.

That changed the moment he told her the truth about what he really was. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in her eyes. Then there was the vision the tadpole shared of the young man bleeding from bite wounds to his neck, someone she clearly cared for. Lastly, there was that odd comment about an ‘anticoagulant’ in his saliva, which was awkward at the moment but now it drew his suspicion. There was more to this backwoods elf than she was letting on. Not knowing exactly what that was, however, meant potentially walking right into a trap.

As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

Cas brushed a lock of brown hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “A very dear friend of mine is a vampire,” Cas explained simply, as if knowing a vampire (let alone calling one a friend) was as commonplace as knowing someone with a pet cat.

Vampires did not have friends. At least, not in the way most people had friends. They had tools, people they used and could benefit from, but not real friends. Friendship required some sort of give and take, and vampires were only good at one of those things.

“He sometimes needs an illustrator for his research, so I help out when I can,” Cas continued after a moment of silence. “Plus, he lets my brother and I stay at his place whenever we’re in town. Saves money on inns.”

Her words gave him pause. What sort of people would willingly share space with a vampire? And what sort of vampire would be open to mortal company without some sort of blood price?

Astarion’s fingers ghosted over the punctures in her neck, yet did not see a single wound except for his and that strange sense of pride welled in his chest again. He swallowed the feeling quickly: scars could easily vanish with the right magic. “I take it that you’ve had plenty of experience with this then.”

“That was a first, actually.” She gently brushed his hand away with a wince.

Right. Her neck was probably still pretty sore.

“The vampires I know wouldn’t bite me even if I offered,” she continued as if it were a perfectly normal subject to talk about. “But you needed blood so I offered. Plus, I was curious about what it felt like and if the texts I read matched up with reality.”

For some reason he did not quite understand, Astarion found himself smiling at her. Maybe it was the unspoken connection of being each other’s first. Or maybe it was just the little flush on her cheeks and crack in her voice as she admitted it.

Adorable, really.

“Was your curiosity satisfied?” he asked, his voice low enough for her ears alone.

Cas bit back a smile. “You could stand to satisfy me further,” she replied in a tone that was playful and flirtatious, but definitely not serious.

Interesting.

“Don’t tempt me, darling,” he whispered, matching her energy in a way that made her choke back a giggle. “I wouldn’t dare leave you wanting.”

With one hand, she gave his shoulder a good-natured shove as a brilliant grin spread across her face. “You’re ridiculous.”

A fluttering sensation bloomed within his chest, warm yet light, as Astarion took in her smile and how her cheeks darkened with laughter. It was strange. Uncomfortable, even. So he averted his focus to the road ahead and swallowed down the emotion.

There was no reason why Cas should make him feel like a damn teenager. She was just a pretty face. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been around beautiful people before. He had bedded more of them than he cared to remember, yet none of them made him feel… whatever the Hells that was.

Perhaps it was because Cas allowed him to drink her blood. Or because she was the first thinking creature to do so. Or, maybe, it was because she gave him the first sign that Cazador had lost control.

That was probably it.

Nothing more.

—

Scratch proved his worth almost immediately. On the outskirts of an abandoned village, Scratch stuck his little black nose up in the air, barked once, and practically herded them directly toward the devil Wyll had been hunting.

Who wasn’t a devil at all, but tiefling. A tiefling that could definitely snap Astarion in two if she felt so inclined, but just a sweet young woman who certainly didn’t run around killing innocents like Wyll had believed.

After it was determined absolutely no harm would come to Karlach, Cas hung back to speak to Wyll in private while they made their way back to camp. Astarion didn’t want to intrude, but he found himself slowing down a couple of times to catch snippets of their conversation. But only one part of it really stood out to him.

“It doesn’t matter who your source is,” Cas had said, sounding like a teacher giving a lecture. “Always do your due diligence. You’re responsible for who you hunt. No one else. Otherwise you’re no different than a mercenary.”

“I know,” Wyll had replied. “You don’t need to recite The Huntsman’s Handbook to me.”

A pregnant pause had permeated the air between. Two, three, seconds passed by. Then Cas changed the subject with all the grace of a newborn deer learning to stand, but Wyll seemed far too stressed to notice.

Interesting, to say the least. Perhaps Wyll’s response had embarrassed her. After all, who was she to be telling a famous monster hunter how to do his job?

When they got to camp, it didn’t take long for them to set up a tent for Karlach and make introductions. The moon was already high in the sky by the time they finished the supper Gale had prepared and took care of some various tasks to prepare for the next day. Yet, despite the excitement of a new traveling companion, Astarion found that his mind kept wandering back to Cas.

If not his mind, then his eyes.

It was something instinctual, like eyeing a plate full of baked goods on an empty stomach, but Astarion was far from starving. After dealing with a couple of fake paladins who were after Karlach, he had no need to feed that evening. Even if Cas tasted significantly better than any demon blood, it would be unwise to drink her blood two nights in a row. Gale gave him an unnecessarily long lecture about why that was the case, but Astarion barely paid attention. The bottom line was he could not drink from Cas any time soon. At least, not without her using some sort of magical healing that would be best saved for an emergency.

Given how Astarion had needed emergency healing a few times during their travels, he’d rather stay on the safe side. As disappointing as it was.

Since hunting took up most of his evenings, and he had no need for blood that night, he found himself with a bit more free time than he knew what to deal with. Gale and Lae’zel had volunteered to keep watch that night, so Astarion didn’t even have guard duty to occupy himself.

So to kill time, he took care of some basic maintenance on his equipment. His dagger was plenty sharp, but he still took some time to buff the blade and check that it was still firmly attached to the hilt. Then he started on his armor, checking a buckle here and fixing a broken strap there. All the while, he listened to the sounds around camp.

Tents weren’t great at blocking out noises, which was both a good thing and a bad thing.

On the upside, if there was any danger approaching they would have plenty of time to react to suspicious footsteps or the low growl of a predator. He could hear all the gossip and drama between his companions, which made for some decent entertainment.

On the downside, when he wanted a bit of peace and quiet, that could only be found in the depths of night when most were asleep.

And he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted at the moment. As much as he tried to brush it aside, his mind kept going back to his conversation with Cas and the funny feeling that came with it. It bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why.

Noise, both internal and external, tended to fade into the background so long as he kept himself busy. That was probably how he ended up fletching extra arrows. There was no need for them at the moment, but there would be. And it kept him distracted. While he was working on securing an arrowhead to a wooden shaft, Astarion heard his name on Gale’s lips.

“I know Astarion says all the right words, but I don’t think he means the right things,” he said, his voice hushed and secretive like a nobleman gossiping at a party. “We need to tread carefully with him.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Cas replied without matching Gale’s conspiratorial tone, brushing his concerns away like a gnat. “I wouldn’t have let Astarion bite me if I didn’t.”

Astarion shifted closer to the entrance of his tent, careful not to make a sound. From a narrow gap between the tent flaps he spotted Gale and Cas sitting around the dwindling campfire, Cas with her back to the flames and Gale seated on a halved log across from her.

“You let him?” Gale leaned forward in his seat, his voice lowering to a fraction above a whisper. “Here I was thinking he snuck up on you. Why in the Hells did you let him bite you if there’s a whole forest full of animals out there?”

Cas shrugged. “He asked.”

“So he charmed you?”

“No,” Cas said slowly, like she was using the word as a filler while she figured out what she was going to say next. “But making a vampire feed solely off of animals is like making a human live strictly on potatoes. You’ll live, but it’s not healthy.”

“Don’t tell me he told you that.” Gale drawled, failing spectacularly at hiding the judgment from his tone. Might as well outright call Cas an idiot; that was at least more direct. With a heavy sigh, Gale shook his head. “You need to be more careful with him in the future. He has a certain charm about him, I won’t deny that, but you can’t trust a vampire. Not completely, at least.”

“I trust Astarion.”

“We barely know him.”

Cas gestured to the entirety of the camp with sharp, sweeping, motion. “None of us really know each other,” she said, failing to hide a twinge of frustration. “We need some degree of trust to survive this situation. Just like I can trust you not to lose your mind and incinerate me, I can trust Astarion to keep his condition in check. He has so far.”

With another sigh that sounded more like a groan, Gale ran his hands through his hair. “It’s not the same thing, Cas,” he said. “He’s in control of his actions for now, but he might not always be down the road. We need to be prepared if that happens.”

“It won’t,” Cas said with naïve certainty, like a child claiming they could best a dragon with a paper sword.

He hated to admit it, but Gale had a point. Even if Astarion could break one of Cazador’s commandments, there was still a non-zero chance that Cazador could still control him. One way or another.

Gale dusted his hands off on his pant legs and stood. “Even so,” he said as he turned toward his tent, “please be careful.”

After Gale had vanished into his tent and a moment of silence passed, Cas tossed another log on the fire with more force than necessary. Muttering something under her breath, she stalked off towards the river and out of his line of sight.

Astarion’s fingers relaxed around the bundle of arrows still clutched in his hands. The arrows pooled haphazardly on the floor of his tent when he released his grip, forgotten as that weird feeling stirred in his gut once again.

Perhaps he was hungry after all.

As much as he wanted to deny it, something about Cas’s words slipped past that iron cage he kept around his heart. Not too far. Just enough to notice.

For a moment, he enjoyed the feeling for what it was. Warm. Pleasant even. And entirely too dangerous to let himself indulge in. It would only lead to more pain down the road.

But that trust Cas had in him…. He could use that. Trust was a powerful yet fragile thing. Something that could shatter in an instant if she had any inkling of him abusing it.

And he needed Cas to trust him. Needed her on his side. For his own protection, if nothing else.

No one else would have stuck up for him the way she had. It was genuine. Cas had no idea that he had heard any of that conversation. She had nothing to gain by standing up for him, especially when she didn’t think he was around to hear her.

However, Astarion realized with some bitterness, he didn’t know the first thing about trust. Sure, he knew how to exploit it for his advantage, to lure people to Cazador, but placing his own trust in another? That was a luxury that had been denied to him as long as he could remember.

Any time he placed his trust in another, it always came back to bite him.

Not only that, but centuries as Cazador’s puppet effectively denied him any sort of meaningful connections. They were always fleeting. Always for Cazador. As long as Cazador lived, Astarion couldn’t even trust himself. And as long as Cazador lived, as long as Astarion was beholden to his every whim, no one could trust him either.

Except for, apparently, Cas.

Perhaps she was more foolish than he originally thought. Vampires with the best intentions, even if they were free, still risked succumbing to their hunger or dark desires. Astarion had seen the light slowly fade away from each one of his siblings; love turned into a paralyzing prison, friendship twisted into rivalry, and trust became nothing more than a tool to be exploited.

When one’s life had to be shrouded in darkness and death in order to continue, it was easy to forget about the light.

As much as it scared him, and as new as it was, Astarion did not want to return to a world without the light.

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