#primal contact lenses

[lealdern]

How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch7

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

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Dating Dick Grayson is strange, to say the least. You see him more than you had before but there’s still some distance that he keeps between you, like a glass wall neither of you can cross, though you both linger at the barrier all the same.

There’s no reason for this that you can think of beyond his emotional availability. That first night when he’d held your face in his hands and looked at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t even think he could articulate was the beginning of something wonderful, but it wasn’t the solution you think he hoped it was.

He’s attentive, and caring, and an amazing lover… When he’s there.

And he’s been low contact for over a week now, only sending short reassuring messages when you text him, and you’re concerned but not annoyed: You understand he’s like a tide that flows in and out of your life. Sometimes he’s an all-consuming presence that sweeps you away in his roll and tumble, other times he’s so withdrawn while you’re left high and dry.

Resigned to another night of late work alongside some frozen leftover soup you start to head to your bedroom to change when you hear a tap on the window: The window that’s seven floors above the ground with no fire escape outside of it.

It slides open before you have a chance to move, to grab pepper spray from your handbag or a knife from the kitchen, and a figure tumbles in, clumsy and groaning.

Nightwing.

You’d never seen him before but you’re familiar with the grainy CCTV images the newspapers and magazines sport when he’s done something they deem worth writing about.

There’s a large gash across his stomach and side, blood flowing much too freely to be anything good.

He mumbles something as you run into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your first aid kit, though you know it doesn’t contain anything useful for this situation: Plasters and a shock blanket can only go so far. When you come back, phone in hand and 911 dialled you startle when his hand wraps around your wrist in a snake-like strike.

“No- No ambulance.” He murmurs your name, hand reaching up to his face to peel away the mask over his eyes and you’re staring at the glazed eyes of Dick Grayson. He winces, words lost in his throat as you press the towel down against the gash on his stomach, well aware of the blood that’s already coating your knees where you kneel on the floor.

“I can’t fix this,” the words are a near hiss, fear and anger mingling together to create something that dilutes the shock of what is happening; of knowing your boyfriend is Nightwing at the same time as you know he’s far too pale and the wound is far too deep. “You’re going to bleed out.”

“He’s- he’s coming,”

“Who?”

“Bat… Batman.” Dick swallows thickly and you see his eyes go over your shoulder just as you become aware of the displacement of air in the room, molecules shifting to make space for the hulk of void that stands behind you.

For a moment you freeze, body coiled and tight, ready to attack at a hair trigger movement, even if the primal part of you knows that the Batman is something to run from. If he sees the fight in your eyes, the way you shift to block Dick away from him, he doesn’t say anything, and instead crouches next to you and pulls something from his belt that folds open to a white sheet, about hand towel size. He moves your hands away from Dick’s side, gentle considering the urgency of the situation but still firm, and presses the sheet to his side.

The bloody towel feels sickly-warm in your hands and you watch as the sheet moulds against Dick’s side, seizing and puffing up while a low groan escapes Dick’s mouth.

“Does he have clothes here?” Batman looks to you, white of his lenses piercing white and you feel like a deer in headlights, “Jeans, tshirt, anything?”

“Y-Yeah.” You stand, rubbing your bloody hands across the front of your tshirt as you do, and head to your bedroom to fetch the clothes Dick had left in the drawer you’d emptied out for him to use. For a moment you startle at the sight of the blood on your hands as they hover over a black tshirt and blue jeans.

When you return, Dick looks far too pale, hair plastered to his forehead as he blinks slow and speaks to Batman, who is steadily removing the Nightwing suit from his body.

“Call an ambulance,” Batman instructs, taking the clothes from you, “tell them he got attacked and came home and passed out.” The orders are clear and it’s what you need right now to function, so you nod and kneel down next to Dick on the opposite side to Batman.

The call feels distant in your mind, thoughts a rush as Batman manoeuvres Dick into the tshirt first, and then the jeans. He takes the bloody towel and squeezes out some of the soaked-up blood to coat the tshirt clothes in just the right places, before he takes a knife to cut the tshirt in a near perfect imitation of the slash on Dick’s stomach.

You rattle off your address to the man on the phone, distracted as you think on how this is like a well-rehearsed costume change backstage at the theatre, fine-tuned and precise to the minute.

Dick’s hand slides into your sticky one and you startle, looking down to find Dick looking up at you with what he must think is an encouraging smile but is more a waning grimace.

You squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back, weakly.

“Stay awake,” you can hear the waver in your voice, knowing you’re close to that first choke of a sob, “Don’t you dare pass out.” The words are harsh, spoken through clenched teeth as you fight to keep yourself grounded and useful.

The man on the phone assures you that the paramedics are nearly there and you look up to see Batman lifting up Dick’s t-shirt, hands settling at the side of the stiff white bandage-like-thing that’s keeping Dick’s blood where it should be: Like he’s about to peel it away.

“What are you-“ He ignores you, focusing- listening even, for something you can’t hear.

Dick squeezes your hand, “’s okay, don’ worry,” he slurs and you look at him gone out.

Anything you were going to say is lost when batman peels away the thing and presses the towel back against Dick’s side as there’s a pounding at your door. You stand, vaguely hearing the woman on the phone telling you to open the door for the paramedics, and you open the door.

When the paramedics walk through you turn to watch them surround Dick, and see that Batman is gone, the dark outside of the closed window suspiciously void-like.

You dismiss him, heading back to Dick’s side as they stabilise him as best as they can before putting him on a gurney.

He drifts in and out, skin looking more grey than anything else, eyes truly glassy as his breathing shallows and you rub a sticky thumb over the back of his hand, both of you marked by his blood.

It’s as though you drift in and out as well, the journey to the ambulance, to the hospital, feeling like abstract snapshots. At the hospital he’s swept away, and a kind but distracted nurse guides you away from the staring eyes of others in the emergency room, takes you somewhere you can wash your hands.

Even when your hands are clean you linger in the quiet for a moment longer, the hum of the white light above and the tightness of the walls around you makes it feel like a liminal space, somewhere it’s okay to linger for just a moment because time won’t pass here, and nothing terrible will happen.

Taking a deep breath, you head back out and the nurse finds you again, a more alert look in her eyes, “Come this way.”

She guides you along the corridor to a private room, the white board on the outside having ‘Grayson’ written in thin green marker. She shows you inside and you wait, the space where the bed would be feeling like a marker of something awful, so you avert your eyes and stare at the blood that’s guttered in your fingernails and dried, blood you couldn’t scrub off without a nail brush.

The cream coloured t-shirt you were wearing has a gory smear of your handprint on it, the sight keeps your attention until someone clears their throat at the doorway, and you look up.

Bruce Wayne.

You know of him without an introduction.

You’d forgot Dick’s-… Bruce, would likely come.

“How is he?” He asks, voice a rumble that fills the room even if it’s low and quiet.

“Still in surgery,” you answer blandly.

He nods and the room quiets; you have nothing to say to this man on a good day, nothing that Dick would forgive you for saying, anyway. Right now, you feel like a frayed live-wire; a quiet danger that, if touched or prodded, would likely deliver a fatal charge.

You wait, quiet, camped out on opposite sides of the room like the strangers you are, until the connection that tethers you both is pushed into the room on a bed, unconscious and hooked up to slow-dripping blood and fluids. Swallowing at the sight of Dick, still grey, still wan with dark under-eyes, you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood: The assurance that he’s going to be fine assuages your collapsing heart, but the sight of him laying there, having been so close to death, still pulls everything good from you.

“What happened?” Bruce Wayne asks, the first words from his mouth since your solemn and silent vigil began.

“Muggers.” You say, quiet and without explanation, and Bruce nods, seemingly satisfied, though at what you’re not sure.

Dick is… Vulnerable: You feel like an animal protecting their wounded, and in your mind, Bruce is a threat: It’s taking a lot not to snip at him with bared teeth and sharp words.

You think Bruce knows; he stays a quiet solid presence across from you that feels just as lethal as your own.

There’s something to be handed to the man, though, he doesn’t even try for small talk in the hours that you’re sat waiting for the moment Dick cracks open his eyes with a low hitch of a breath turned groan. You don’t say anything about what you’d seen: The costume, The Batman, the blood on both your hands. Instead, you run your fingers through his hair and try not to cry, try to ignore the void of a man that watches you as you press your forehead to Dick’s as you both just breathe in each other’s air in relief.

Everything else can come another day, or even never, that’s fine by you.

Next Chapter

A/N: In my head the “bandage” expands and packs the wound internally but I didn’t know how to explain that while not coming out of the narration, if that makes sense. Inspired by 'Your Biggest Mistake' by Ellie Goulding. Initially this chapter’s inspiration song was supposed to be Tribute by Tenacious D but I let myself skip that one when it came on shuffle for obvious reasons.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc x reader #my writing #dick grayson reader #nightwing reader #nightwing/reader #dick grayson/reader #HTSCWYD

[djohnhopper]

NEW FICTION: The circle, part 3. This is an ongoing piece of fiction. It's an experiment. There is no plan, no real idea of what is coming next, its just written at the moment, so even I don't know where it is going. Part 1 and 2 can be found at: https://johnhopperwriter.blogspot.com/ - part 3 is below.

The circle, part 3. The fat crow circled above him slowly, his glasses flashing regularly in the clenched beak of the bird. He could think of a number of things he'd like to do to the bird, but few that he could. There was a way perhaps, but... He glanced towards the periphery of the circle. Whatever was coming was now so near that he could practically taste them, and it wasn't ripe fruit and honey, it was bad blood and rank gristle. Shit! He raised his eyes once more to the drifting bird, as if it was taunting him. The sigil at the base of his thumb itched in answer to the taunt, and he allowed it. It was this or nothing. Unchecked, the itch quickly spread - across his fingers, deep into his palm. A thump started, matching his pulse, but heavier, and with purpose, the purpose was the crow above him.

He didn't let his eyes drift for a second from the circling bird, even though he knew that everything would change around him within moments. He had to have his glasses. It was a short-term obsession, but he needed his eyes, needed the focus that his corrective glasses would give him. He knew it was a handicap, crap vision, but he'd lasted this long, he would last longer, if he could just get the damned glasses back.

His hand began to seize, the ligaments shorten and thicken, as his fingers curled in on themselves, forming an involuntary fist. His whole hand now throbbed, pulsed with a single purpose, a fist with a guttural need - to strike, and it did. Without his own awareness, he shot out his arm, sending it high into the morning sky, his fist punching into thin air, but dragging along with it a primal urge to hit the dark, fat bird circling him, and to hit it hard. He missed. Tried again, and missed once more. The third time he felt contact, his pulsing fist colliding with the oily feathers of the crow. The bird fluttered, sending its wings into awkward angles, its clawed feet furiously trying to fend away a stroke from nothing, to defend itself from thin air.

He watched intently as the bird tried to right itself, so he hit it once again with his fist. The bird knew by instinct that it was headed for freefall. It was the glasses or flight. It chose wisely, dropped the glasses and flew off into the morning sun with a fury that would be paid back in kind at some point, of that he was certain. But the glasses, seeming to fall in slow motion, tumbled over and over, the suns refection flashing with a regular rhythm that seemed to match the slowing pulse of his hand, a fist no longer.

His glasses landed gently in front of him, creating little or no impact as they settled into the white dust. He dived into the dirt, spread-eagled. He grabbed hold of his glasses as if they were a long lost elixir of life, which in a way they were. They were his eyes, and he damn well needed them now of all times. He quickly examined frames and lenses - both intact. The frames were a little bent, but they were all there. He stuck them onto his face. Everything shot into focus, and he was ready.

He was just in time. he shifted his gaze towards the source of the mumbled, disjointed song. The trees parted, the undergrowth curled into itself, creating an opening where there had been none, and in that space stepped the creature.

She was an old woman, cascading peppered hair swept past her shoulders. She was short, skinny, wore nothing but swirls of brambles, wound about her - brutal thorns punctured and scraped across her emaciated body, leaving lethal looking raised welts, glistening with blood, that almost seemed, along with the brambles, to be part of her costume. Bramble woman, he couldn't help naming her, but he instantly regretted it the moment she captured his restored vision. She looked demented - half here, half somewhere else - he knew what that felt like. But her eyes, that was her strength, her passion, her power. They swarmed with creatures, tiny creatures - sharp, angry, hungry flies, bloated and evil. Every time she blinked, a new swathe of flies flew out of her, while more filled the void of the new departed, forming a rhythm, a cycle of nature that wasn't, couldn't be real.

The song was still with her, still mumbled and distorted, as she slowly made her way towards him, swaying across the white dusted circle, as if in a half-remembered ambling dance that only she knew. But it was more than that. She moved slowly and painfully, the bramble thorns eating into her body on all sides as she moved. And as she got closer to him, clouds of flies from her eyes began to circle him, looking for something new, and something old. They were looking for death, new death, and felt that they had found it - in him.

#new fiction #fiction #fantasy fiction #horror fiction #folklore #new writing #writing

[coloredcontactsus]

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[fleetsparrow]

I'm trying to write some Slade/Dick identity porn kidnapping nonsense, but instead my brain has been commandeered!!!

Fic bones under the cut because maybe this will be like an exorcism and I can get back to what I'm working on, aaaaaah!!!

Edit to add context to what I just spent the last hour of my life writing:

Bruce meets Dick as canon (ish), but Dick is decidedly Not Human.

Bruce Wayne attends a circus.

While the family of acrobats are performing, someone sets the big top in fire! Cue death of the Flying Graysons (*F*).

In the commotion, Bruce changes to Batman to help the rescue work, but alas! The circus family is no more!

...maybe...

In the charred remains of the big top, beside the two bodies of the parents sits a child.

A child that should have burned.

Batman reaches for the thing in child form that sits silently weeping, and pauses.

Bruce knows better.

*Batman* knows better.

The ruins are full of ash and smoke and dust and, unfortunately, the remnants of *people* he couldn't save.

But he flicks up the lenses of the cowl before he touches the boy's shoulder.

It will be less terrifying for the child to see human eyes. It will give him some kind of comfort.

But the eyes that meet Bruce's aren't human.

They're blue—horribly blue, like the clear skies Gotham hasn't seen in years, like the ocean just before it pulls you under, like gems and flowers and things that have never *existed* in this plane and may never exist, and—

And they've just imprinted on his soul.

"They're gone," Bruce says.

It's not much. It's not what he was going to say, whatever that had been. It doesn't even feel like the words came from him; he just voiced them.

The boy nods.

By the time his brain catches up with the rest of him, he's in the car on the way home.

The boy is wrapped in his cape, held between his chest and the steering wheel. It's a terrible way to drive—extremely unsafe, his mind reminds him—but he doesn't dare move.

The streets are clear for him in a way that's never happened before in all his years living here. As if through a fog, he hears himself tell Alfred to have the medical bay ready. No, he's not injured. Prepare a room upstairs, too.

The boy hasn't said a word yet. He hasn't opened his eyes, either, not since that moment in the tent.

Alfred is just returning from the house when Bruce carries his bundle to the med bay. The boy remains curled in on himself as Bruce lays him down. Alfred says something about Bruce stooping to kidnapping, but Bruce isn't really paying attention to him.

He wants to see those eyes again.

No.

He *needs* to see those eyes again.

He removes a glove and touches the boy's cheek with his bare fingers.

The boy stares directly into Bruce's eyes the moment he opens them, and the cave falls away. Their gaze never breaks, but Bruce has the distinct impression the boy sees everything—Alfred, the cave, the house, Bruce's heart.

Alfred bodily pulls Bruce away from the table, breaking their eye contact.

His ears are ringing, or maybe it's his mind. Alfred is speaking to him, shouting perhaps, but his voice is muffled.

Slowly, Bruce's senses return to him.

"—that thing is, you cannot let it stay," Alfred says.

He's frightened. Bruce has never seen Alfred in such a state. Concerned? Anxious? Angry? Yes, all of those. This isn't that.

This is horror, a primal mixture of fear and disgust, tinged with an unbearable recognition of the incomprehensible.

Bruce blinks sharply to clear his mind.

*Whatever that thing is,* Alfred had said.

Steeling himself, Bruce glances back at the table.

The boy is staring at the floor. His face is smeared with ash. His small fingers cling to the cape as if it's the only thing left in the world.

He looks hollow. Haunted.

Bruce knows that expression intimately. He's worn it for years.

Bruce turns back to Alfred.

"He's a child," he says, the strength in his voice a surprise even to him. "He's ours, now."

"You think that terrible creature there is a child? It's not even human!"

Bruce turns to the boy once more, but the child doesn't move.

"He's ours," Bruce repeats.

After all, even angels were once called "terrible".

#fleet's fanfics #i may have gotten carried away #this was meant to be a bare bones sketch #instead I ficced #heck #started off OK and then whoops

[colored-contact-us]

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[explorationoftheatrestyle]

Expressionism 

The Expressionist movement came to fruition in Western culture in Germany through the early 20th century. Expressionism is made to represent the most pure and animalistic passions of humankind. With less of a focus on words in dialogue, Expressionism utilizes strong and striking visual imagery to connect with the primal instincts of humans. Stylistically, the tone is hazy and dreamlike, making use of shadows and mishappen objects and structures. Characters are less of a priority than group catharsis and there is a sense of eerie foreboding in that everything is relatively normal but off in a small but major way.

My installation aims to connect with the dreamlike quality of Expressionism. I made use of my photo of Patti Smith, in which she is naked and seated on the floor. There is no context, but there is an animalistic and primal quality in the way she makes fierce and unrelenting eye contact with the camera. The bottle of ibuprofen represents the inherited pains and whims that come with having a human body. Around the severed hand, I have strewn a necklace depicting a black and white image of three vague women around a tree. All of these objects are tied together through the hazy filter of a pair of blue sunglasses I held up to the lense of my camera. All of these objects are meant to make sense on their own, but in this specific context, there is something rather offputting.

[imaginationsmb]

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[heathergraves]

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[tristanginger]

Cura nei dettagli. E tutto brila! E tutto scintilla! 

 Photos by Marisa Parisella 

 Wearing Primal Contact Lenses in “Wraith” 

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Caught Backstage | 5th Second

Warnings; includes smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), embarrassment, second hand embarrassment,

Wembley Arena, one of the most famous places that a musician could perform. It was an honour to be welcomed onto that stage, and even more so that there were cameras around corners within the crowd, capturing the sheer joy imploding onto the faces of fans, and to top that all off, there was another reasoning for the lenses. A movie, technically the second one, but the first taking information from each member of the band.

It felt so surreal, there was an onslaught of adrenaline running through your veins as you held a chilled water bottle, drinking the cold liquid. You had yet to start the show, so there was still time to kill. One of the last times that had been recorded was when Mikey and Cal had been cinched by the snaking flames, it made you relieved that that idea had been scrapped for the future.

However, even though there was no fire nearby, there was a heat riveting inside of you, you had so much energy awaiting, but it was still almost an hour until you were called out to grab a guitar and stand behind a microphone. Those statistics made you huff, and so you walked into the dressing room that the five of you shared, only to see a single singer there. Luke.

Your partner was half laid on the couch, his phone grasped in one hand. As you entered the confinement, you ensured the door was closed behind your jittering presence, so that if you were to consensually pursue your primal urges, there would be a barrier, blocking out the view of anyone that decided to be a peeping tom.

“Missed you.” He mumbled, continuing to stare at the screen of his device. You sat beside him, his hand extending to your thigh and massaging the taught muscles, it was a comforting act, his lips pressing to the skin that the uprise of your shirt exposed also. Luke was the sweetest, and his statement made you laugh a little, not enough to trigger any insecurities, but enough to peak his curiosity. Although his phone was still in his hand, he was peering up at you.

“I was gone for twenty mins tops, and I still didn’t get my phone back from that asshole.” Crossing your arms was not the only sign that signalled that you were frustrated. Another was the crease that formed between your brows, which Luke reached up to try and rub away, at his touch you let the line shrink away.

“That’s better.” He spoke, throwing his phone onto the table in front of the couch, his hand coming up to brush any loose strands of hair that had absentmindedly decided to escape from behind your ear. “What did he want with it anyway?”

“He saw it as a way to piss me off, and for once Mikey was correct. Normally I wouldn’t be bothered, I’m so exhausted from our work, my mum wants me to visit her in (Your Home Town) and is getting annoyed that I can’t because business, and my dad’s getting the other end of the stick, she’s saying she should have never let him move me to Sydney with him. A part of me is slightly happy that Mike took my phone, but the other wants to rip his head off.”

“Would sex help ease your list of troubles?” It was blunter than the boy usually was when referring to the activity, let alone suggesting it. Your head snapped up to lock onto his smirking gaze, trying to decipher whether he was being serious or not.

“Here? Now?” Slipped past your lips, unsure whether the idea was that great of one. Sure, when you had entered the room, it had been an probable thought, one that had calmed you just from thinking about it, however it seemed risky.

It certainly wouldn’t be your first time having sex with the risk of being caught, the tour bus and hotel rooms were a green zone, however there were paid staff behind the scenes of the stage, working to make sure everything went perfectly and to plan. The aspect of two famous teenagers having sex on a sofa, in the band’s relaxing quarters wasn’t on the schedule. But what did they expect, as said, you were teenagers.

“We have forty seven minutes, there’s plenty of time.” Luke prompted, his hands beginning to undo his jeans which attracted your eyes to the area of his covered cock. However you didn’t stop his actions, instead you remained still, letting him shuffle his layers of concealing articles down his thighs, far enough to the point where he was revealed.

His dick lay heavy on his thigh, twitching slightly when you licked your lips at the sight. “Care to shed a little clothing too? I don’t think this is going to work if only one of us is half undressed.” At his suggestion, you too shimmied down your black skinny jeans and underwear, neither anything particularly eye catching or special to the moment.

Your pussy was left bare, and as you came to rest again upon the sofa, you hovered over Luke, your eyes cast down as he had his hand on the body of his length, his hand conducting the movements of his cock and how it rubbed sensually against your slit.

“Just put it in me!” You sighed, brushing your hair over your shoulder. As you commanded, Luke bottomed out inside of you, pulling you down on him by the waist, his face coming to rest closer to your own. “Oh.”

“You’d think you’d be less tight by now, not that I’m complaining.” He bit his lip ring, which encouraged you to lean forward and take the metal ring into your own mouth, sucking on the black accessory and the part of his lip around it. Then you began to move, bracing your hands on his chest as you brought your tightness up and down his erection, coating him in your pleased juices and the feeling elicited happy noises from the pair of you.

“Good, don’t.” You breathed, your eyes fluttering at all of the sensations that you were feeling from where your bodies interlocked. The bliss never got old, the passion remained intact through each day of your relationship, and it was presented to those who opened the dressing room door. They groaned because of the sex, but for a different reason than Luke had been.

“Fucks sakes guys.” Calum turns, not wanting to see two of his best friends in such an intimate moment, clearly not meant for their eyes. At his voice, Luke and you froze instantly, redness spreading from your cheeks all the way down to your necks and luckily clothed chests.

“Not again.” Ash shook his head, and you avoided the eyes of your bandmates. They laughed a little, but you and your partner however did not. “Did you two really have to do it in here?”

“We’ve never done it in a dressing room before.” You attempted to sass back at the drummer, but to your dismay, your voice came out as quiet and guilty. Not really the attitude that you were going for, but oh well.

“Can you guys give us a minute to get decent?” Luke asked, his hand flopping over his face, to which you prodded his fingers, trying to peer through them to find his ocean eyes.

“Sure.” Mikey dragged the word out, unsure how to deal with the situation. “I just came back to give your phone back (Y/N/N) And the sofa’s all yours when we grab dinner, I don’t want to sit on that thing.” He threw it at you, the object ending up right next to Luke’s naked thigh which tensed from the contact.

“Thanks.” A sheepish smile was exploited onto your lips, teeth showing through their parting in an awkward stance.

“We’re on in a bit, keep your hands out of each other’s pants until after the show please.” Calum spoke, still refusing to look at the two of you. A loud sigh was heard from him as he walked away, and you imagined it as a prayer to either make him blind for future instances in which they caught the two of you in such a position, or for him individually to never have the unfortunate luck of seeing you two as such ever again.

Taglist

: @coucoukayy

@reallygroovyholland

​ @faithhhsworld

@lukehemmingsleftnipple

@inocent-as-a-rose

@marvel-af

@kingxnichole

@winchestergirl907

#luke hemming imagines #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings oneshot #luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings imagines #luke x reader #luke hemmings #lukexreader #luke x oc #luke x y/n #luke imagine #luke oneshot #luke 5sos #5sos luke #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5sos smut #5sos x y/n #5sos x reader #5sos x you #5sos x oc #5sos imgaines #5sos one shot #5sos preferences #5sos fic #5sos fanfic

[starrysnowdrop]

“ i had a dream about you. ”

“I had a dream about you.”

Imperial Cid AU

Yume x Cid

1,029 Words

Thank you so much @mythopoet-of-amaurot for this prompt, as it was the perfect one to begin my first exploration into the Imperial Cid AU! I want to also tag @meepsthemiqo here for sending me the ask that inspired me to write this AU in the first place. Hope all of you enjoy, as I’ve seen the anticipation building for this!!

Following the intense battle with Ifrit and the subsequent victory over the primal, the Raen ronin who helped lay the Lord of the Inferno low agreed to discuss the aftermath further with Thancred and the other adventurers back in Camp Drybone.

Yume brushed some loose locks of her raven hair off of her face and began her long trek back to town. While walking along the path, she soon heard footfalls behind her... they were quite faint, as if trying to conceal themselves from her notice. Yet, this person was no trained rogue, as it was abundantly clear to her that whoever it was seemed to be closely following her.

Yume reached for her katana at her side and in a flash of steel, unsheathed the blade and swung it around so she could face the lurker.

“I know you are there, show yourself!” She shouted to the mountains surrounding her, certain that the person concealed in the shadows had heard her loud and clear.

“Wait, adventurer!” A masculine sounding voice called out from the nearby rock face just off the path.

Seconds later, the voice revealed itself to belong to a man with long, white hair down to just below his chin, a short, full beard of the same hue, wearing what appeared to be a white lab coat, purple shirt underneath, and fancy adornments hanging from the coat. The man’s most noticeable accessory, to Yume’s eyes at least, was one that she recognized from her time as a mercenary in Kugane: a pair of brass engineer’s goggles with blue colored lenses sitting on his forehead.

His white gloved hands were raised in the air in surrender, and he seemed to be, oddly enough, smiling at her gently. “I mean you no harm, I promise.”

Scowling as the man approached, Yume raised her katana a few ilms. “Who are you?! What do you want?!”

“Please, lower your weapon. I only wish to speak with you.” The white haired man pleaded as he stepped closer to the Raen woman, his voice smooth and steady.

Yume raised her eyebrow as she lowered her katana. She still held the blade in her dominant hand, but took a more relaxed stance. “Oh really, you only wish to talk? Do you honestly think that I can trust your words, Garlean?”

The man chuckled, “What makes you think I’m a Garlean?”

“Your goggles... they fit over your third eye... I have seen a pair like those before.”

Momentarily, Yume noticed the Garlean raise his eyebrows slightly. “You have?”

Yume quickly decided to merely nod in response, as the stranger did not need to know such details of her past. She sheathed her sword and then folded her arms in exasperation. “You did not answer my question.”

“No, I guess I didn’t. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised at how defensive you are, as I have given you no reason to trust me.” The man shrugged his shoulders and sighed deeply before continuing, “Still, if you permit me but a moment, I have come with a warning.”

“A warning...?”

It was the Garlean’s turn to nod. “Listen—whatever highfalutin ideals your new Scion comrades have touted, whatever grandiose rewards as recompense the Eorzean Leaders have promised you, do not be swayed to do their dirty work for them. You will only get yourself killed.”

The ronin took a step back in a mix of defensiveness and confusion. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning, nothing more.”

Yume shook her head and her eyes widened as she tried to make sense of what he just said. “You, a Garlean engineer, went out of your way to follow me, only to warn me of being in danger? I am a mere adventurer, so why should it matter if I get killed or not? Would my death not make it easier for you to accomplish your goal?”

With a smirk, the Garlean man replied, “Perhaps... but I have a personal interest in seeing you alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am not sure myself.” The man ran his hand along his bearded chin, closing his eyes in what looked to be recollection. He took a deep breath before returning his gaze to Yume. “I... I had a dream about you... and now you’re standing before me in the flesh. I wish to know why.”

“You... dreamed of me?” Yume’s eyes grew even wider as her heart started beating wildly in her chest.

She looked back at the Garlean and began to stare intently at his face. From that distance, she couldn’t tell if his eyes were a grey or blue in color, only that they were soft and so expressive. Even if he were trying to conceal his intentions, she knew his eyes would give him away. In that moment, his eyes were gleaming and searching her own, searching for an answer that she could not give.

The two broke eye contact when the Garlean cleared his throat and began to turn around and go back the way that he came. He looked back over his shoulder towards her when he spoke, “I have taken too much time already. I promise that we will meet again soon.”

Her arm began to move before she could understand what she was doing. Yume instinctively reached out for him, beckoning him back to her. “Wait, please! You never told me who you are, nor have I given my name.”

He stopped dead in his tracks when she called out to him, and he turned back around fully to her, though he did not walk back to her. He simply answered her from afar.

“My name is Cid nan Garlond, Primus Architectus Magiteci of the Garlean Empire. And you are?”

“I am Yume Aino, a ronin trying to find my way in this strange new land.”

The Garlean engineer, now identified as Cid, beamed when she gave him her name. “Yume, Yume... beautiful.”

Cid waved and then left Yume standing there on the dusty path through the mountains with her breath caught in her throat and heat rising to the surface of her cheeks as she watched his figure disappear from whence he came.

#ffxiv #cid nan garlond #cid garlond #cid garlond x wol #cid x wol #cid/wol #my writing #imperial cid au #yume aino #oc: paint it black #yume x cid #otp: always you

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 3]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Chilton struggles with his discomfort being touched and desire to cuddle, and grapples with his conscience.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide attempt & noncon (from previous chapters). Angsty fluff. 

2,300 words

“You’re coming home with me,” Dr. Chilton said with the authoritative tone of your boss, the hospital administrator. Then you looked at him with questions in your eyes, and his confidence quickly broke. “That is… I would like you to come home with me. It would be professionally irresponsible to leave you alone. You just tried to—”

“I didn’t,” you interjected. “I didn’t try to do anything. I just…” Thought about it. Planned it. Began to execute the plan. But you didn’t do anything.

Chilton watched you, his analytical gaze muddied with guilt. He held your arm as if you might drift away if he didn’t. You glanced down the wide marble hallway of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but no one was there to see him grasping you so familiarly. You should have known it was safe—Dr. Chilton wouldn’t have risked public affection if there was a chance of being discovered. The main hall was darkened. This wasn’t an emergency hospital, so there were only one or two medical personnel on call overnight, and guards whose rounds Chilton knew by heart.

“If you prefer, I could have you kept under observation. However, it would be more pleasant if I did it myself. Simply to make sure you are alright.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’ve never thought about killing myself before. I’ve never gone through with it,” you shrugged dismissively.

“That is not a reason not to be worried,” his voice pitched up in alarm. “In fact, I am more concerned that this is a pattern.”

Fuck. You forgot you were talking to a psychiatrist.

How could you make him understand you didn’t need help? You would never have the guts to actually go through with it, however much you wanted to. Were you even depressed? Probably not. You were just a dumb, dramatic, half-assed piece of shit who couldn’t even finish—STOP!

Fuck.

“OK,” you conceded, tongue numb and heavy. “If you think it’s best… I’ll go with you.”

***

It wasn’t until you were sobbing in the passenger seat of his classic red cabriolet that Chilton began to have doubts about his own intentions.

“Perhaps it would be better if I brought you to a friend’s house,” he offered softly. Your head shot up, puffy eyes filled with—of all things—betrayal. “Or a hospital.”

“You’re going to check me into a psych ward after fucking me?”

He stiffened. In the few months you’d worked at BSHCI, you always seemed cheerful and naïve—the cutting remark took him by surprise.

Right after you made it, your hands flew to your mouth. “Sorry…” you murmured, equally taken aback. “I didn’t mean that. I know you would never take advantage of me.”

The apology cut deeper than the insult, though you wouldn’t understand why. He fell silent and stricken as he turned the ignition.

Dr. Chilton’s home was an obscenely modern monstrosity with all white walls, white kitchen, hard angles, and open spaces that gave it an air of luxury, but moreover, vacancy. It was a five-star hotel: grandiose, without a single hint of a person living in it.

He offered you the guest-room, like a gentleman—no! He would take the guest-room, and you could—

The press of your lips cut off his nervous babbling. You smiled (a weak, tired smile so different from the sunlight that radiated from your face in public) and said you didn’t want to be alone. So he led you to his bedroom, another pompously large space that dwarfed the king-size bed at its center. He often had trouble sleeping, but never considered that his bedroom’s fishbowl quality could have anything to do with it.

His blood pressure was dangerously high as he stood next to his bed. How was he supposed to sleep next to you? Undress in front of you? He was near panic at his foolish decision to bring you home when there was a sudden weight around his middle grabbing him from behind. He gasped and jerked away before realizing, quite obviously, it was you. But his heart was still racing in his ears, and he winced as you reached for him again.

“Don’t… touch me, please.”

Your eyes widened, mortified. “S-sorry sir,” you stammered, and it didn’t escape his notice that your entire body went rigid, or that you reverted to calling him “sir” like when he was reprimanding you at work. You must have been expecting him to blow up at you. He’d conditioned this response. He’d successfully made you afraid of him, and his reward was a sharp pang in his chest.

His hands found your shoulders, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It is all right,” he said. His best effort to be comforting came out dreadfully stiff and monotone. “And you… you may call me Frederick, if you like.”

He watched your throat tighten as you swallowed. With relief, he felt your shoulders relax, and then you looked up—your eyes fell on his like dawn breaking over Chesapeake Bay. Your mouth shaped into the first syllable of his name, but paused as your eyes locked on his left cheek.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. “Is it because…” You reached up to caress the round scar where a bullet had entered, but withdrew your hand quickly before making contact (and had the decency to blanch at your faux pas).

“Yes,” he gritted his teeth. “Because of that.” And because of the ones left on his abdomen by Gideon’s scalpel. And the scars not visible on the surface, left by years of neglect.

You shifted uncomfortably, seemingly at a loss if physical contact was off-limits. “I’m sorry.”

“It is all right. I am fine.”

Your lips twitched upward at that, and a gentle, sarcastic puff of air escaped your nose. Chilton straightened his posture—he’d been called out, and he knew it. If anyone else had dared laugh, he likely would have gone into a defensive pique and shut down, but instead, he returned your lopsided smirk.

Look at the two of you, pretending you’re fine. Just fine.

“That is to say, I am not incapable of touch”—he squeezed your shoulders as if to prove a point—“Our… rendezvous earlier was… enjoyable. I simply do not like being caught by surprise,” he explained haltingly. His cheeks heated. The truth was, he was bluffing: he had little experience with affectionate touch, so he couldn’t say what he was comfortable with. But surprises he was certain he did not appreciate.

“Then are you sure about sharing a bed?” you asked with tentative shyness. “I like cuddling. But if it doesn’t feel good to you, then…”

“It will be more than all right,” so long as you do not thrash too much in your sleep, he added mentally. He frowned. “I would like to enjoy cuddling.”

But he was never conditioned to enjoy physical contact by affectionate parents or by lovers, and life experience had done little but teach him to anticipate pain. Dr. Chilton understood how abnormal brains functioned. He knew he might never gain that oxytocin boost normal people get from the act of twining their bodies around each other. Still, it meant a great deal that you wanted to twine your body around his—that his simple presence pressed claustrophobically to your skin might invoke a positive emotional response.

Exposure therapy was the only treatment. If he was to become accustomed to being touched, he must practice.

“What should I do to support you?”

“Just go slowly,” he yielded. “Give me warning.”

***

He didn’t know why he showed you. Perhaps there was no other choice—sleeping with contact lenses always made his eyes red and irritated by morning. But perhaps he hoped that you would run away and get it over with. A masochistic side of him wanted to see your face contort in horror, disgust. For you to realize this hideous thing had fucked you, and curse him for hiding the truth.

Anticipation of your impending rejection felt like a boulder lifting off his chest. He was being crushed under his own happiness, unaccustomed to bearing your thoughtful gazes and kind words. The world would be right again when you ran.

“Come here a moment,” he called you into the master bathroom, voice calm but a quarter octave too high with strain. “You deserve to see this.”

Every muscle in his frail, hacked-to-pieces-and-put-back-together body tensed as you cautiously poked your head through the door and saw him standing in front of the mirror. You remained placid, but your eyes registered shock as they fell on his ghostly blue dead eye, then shifted down to his sunken cheek—the bullet hole more pronounced without makeup covering it, a gap of teeth missing where the bullet tore through his jaw.

Instead of disgust, you approached him, padding across the bathroom tile in your bare feet. You asked if it was alright, and waited for his faltering nod before caressing his tattered face under your warm palm. You called him handsome. Rugged. You called him a thousand beautiful things in a tender, soothing voice that held such magic in it he almost believed the words were true.

***

Dr. Chilton held you warm to his chest through the night, barely sleeping himself. Sleeping was impossible under those conditions. The scene of his dark bedroom would give, from the outside, the impression of peaceful stillness, but uneasy emotions roiled inside him, rocking him like a boat on a stormy sea.

Fucking was different.

When his cock was buried deep inside of you, claiming, possessing you, a primal urge took him over, blinding all his senses with desire, blotting out his over-active thoughts. But the feeling of you resting silent and trusting in his bed sickened his stomach.

He stroked your hair, watching your perfect lips move ever so slightly with each exhale that passed between them. He had been so wrong about you. Underneath your bright, friendly, forced smile was a garden as thorny as his own, and he loved you all the more for it. More than you could ever know. More than he imagined possible when he thought of you as a sunflower soaring toward heaven, high above his reach—an unobtainable treasure he admired with envious eyes.

For once in his miserable life, Dr. Chilton found someone who understood his pain.

A sunflower was just another plant trying to escape the cold, dark soil.

He flinched at being touched, especially on his abdomen or face. Holding you while you were deep in a sound sleep from which you barely stirred was tolerable. Not as pleasant as he thought it should have been, but not unpleasant. The sensation of contact was a bit squirmy, like worms writhing under his rib cage, but the warmth of your body, the sight of your peaceful face nestled against his chest made him feel protective. Strong. Desirable. You felt safe with him. A new kind of contentment washed over him, and so he bore the squiggling worms and hoped they would go away with time.

You felt safe with him.

His stomach turned again.

You felt safe, because you didn’t know that Dr. Chilton heard everything inside the BSHCI walls, including the staff break room. You didn’t know he was listening when you told Nurse Clerval that your boyfriend’s night shifts were putting pressure on your relationship. That Chilton began scheduling your shifts to conflict with his, hoping it would be the last straw. And it was. A few weeks later, you were single, and he celebrated his victory alone with a Scotch in his office, a smirk on his lips as he watched you cry to Clerval on the security feed.

You wouldn’t have let him hold you if you knew how deliberate his efforts had been to break you—to dull your shine enough that you might consider him an option, even though he was too cowardly to ever ask you for a date.

In the end, everything worked out better than he could have planned. The ends justified the means, did they not?

Forget the fact that, had a janitor not been cleaning his office, you would have been found dead on the floor of the supply closet tomorrow. Gone forever. How could he have known he pushed you that far?

Dr. Chilton had given up on himself long ago, but he had never considered ending his life. Instead, he used his misery to justify all manner of unscrupulous conduct. He hated himself so deeply that he might as well prey on a disassociating patient reliving memories of sexual abuse. After weeks in a coma, losing an eye, a kidney, half of his hearing, did he not deserve to take what he wanted? The possibility of getting caught was worth a moment’s pleasure when he hardly had anything to lose.

Was he preying on you, he wondered, as you slept in his arms?

No. This was different than Julianne. You were consenting, aware of yourself and your actions. A little depressed perhaps, but nothing that would have you deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. If you ever committed a crime, you would not be sentenced to his care.

You were wonderful, kind, and melancholy, and you wanted him. Your skin was soft, and your lips softer. He dipped his head to kiss them with the lightest ghost of pressure so you would not wake up. Your fingers curled in his silk pajamas, and you murmured a few cooing syllables, nuzzling closer before you stilled again. He would take care of you from now on. Do right by you. Everything he had done was worth it, because you were here with him.

Still, his stomach turned. The worms wriggled in his intestines, and no matter how heavy his eyelids, he could not sleep.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:  @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes​ / @barbasimp​ / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​

#Frederick Chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #gender-neutral reader #dark fic #my writing

[coloredcontactsus]

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[teeztheflag]

Wolf!Ateez Reaction to mating season with their human!mate who doesn’t know they are werewolves

warnings: strong language, smut, dirty talk, oppa kink, unprotected sex, impregnating, bondage, slight possessive behaviour

a/n: again not linked to the other reactions, some of them are wearing contact lenses to hide their changing orbs so their s/o doesn’t recognize

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ kim hong joong ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

As Hong Joong was a alpha the mating season really had a strong effect on him linked to the goal to bear strong pups for a future leader. You being his human mate and totally unaware of your boyfriend‘s ability to change into a wolf and being more sensitive wondered why he again avoided you this time of the year. It happened the last two years, too. You just thought it was a phase where he had to work a lot and simply didn’t have much time left, also not sleeping at home but in an apartment closer to his work, much to your dismay.

The problem was, extacly in this time you also felt different. You endured much more mood swings and missed him a lot. Also your craving for that one thing put you on edge. As soon as you tried to give Hong Joong the signals that you wanted to become private with him he immediately resisted your flirting and left with the most hilarious excuses.

Since two weeks Hong Joong thought your heat ended by now and decided to settle in with you again. Late night he worked downstairs in his office when he heard your little moanings. Gripping the papers tight his eyes closed without his intention and he felt the growing bulge in his pants that ached painfully against the material.

Fucking shit.

His body moved on his own when he followed the small sinful sounds upstairs to your shared bedroom. A delicious smell filled the corridor and he stopped in front of the door. Meantime you were shamelessly touching yourself totally unaware of the werewolf behind the door that listened to his mate.

„Fffuckkk, ngahhh... Jooooong!“

It was just too much for him by now, knuckles going white at how strong his grip was on the door handle. He literally threw the door open with so much force that had you jumping up very shocked. Besides the embarrassment of being caught pleasuring yourself something intrigued you definitely more... Hong Joong‘s eyes weren’t their normal color but changed into a deep golden.

„I could only resist this much...“

▂▂▂▂▂▂ park seong hwa ▂▂▂▂▂▂

Seong Hwa has always been a controlled wolf with a high will to protect you at all costs so he also tended to leave you in mating season. It wasn’t a secret that you were probably a little clingy to your tall boyfriend, always happy when he came home or picked you up from somewhere. Your favorite place was in his lap and arms, Seong Hwa would lie if he denied that he didn’t like it, too. Of course you were his little angel and he didn’t want you to be scared of his real nature, well, that’s why he didn’t tell you about it.

Unfortunately mating season was the most painful experience for him within the year, because you being whiny and so desperate cried the whole time he left you alone. He felt bad, his animal instinct telling him he should make you feel better especially because you didn’t know why you felt this way...

It all changed when he he received a call from you that you had hurt yourself and couldn’t move. Seong Hwa immediately panicked at the thought of you being injured and drove to your house as fast as he could.

„Y/N?! Where are you, angel?!“ He searched every room for your form but when he opened the door to your bedroom he knew you tricked him.

„Oppa, I missed you...“ There you were placed on your knees on the fluffy blankets a pink lace lingerie decorating your curves and inviting Seong Hwa to just take you here and now.

„Y/N...“ Oh no, he felt his wolf urging him to do something and closed his eyes to concentrate on anything other than your sweet arousal that was dripping down your thighs. How desperate have you been to be this wet already? He’s such a bad mate...

„Pl - please, I am begging you! Take care of me... I miss you so much and my body is burning it - it‘s almost painful!“

You started sobbing in front of him, this definitely was enough. He took a hold of himself and emerged your form with confident steps.

„I am so sorry, angel... Oppa is never going to leave you like this anymore.“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ jeong yun ho ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Yun Ho usually was a very happy and positive person in every matters and when it came to your heat he really had his fun. Usually he tried to wear contact lenses in your presence and preferred to only pleasure you the whole season. This way he wasn’t able to lose control so easily because when you were satisfied in your needs his urge to let his wolf take control faltered.

Again this time he didn’t have problems with hiding his secret by to eating you out on the kitchen table when in real you just wanted to prepare the breakfast together. What he definitely didn’t plan were your next words.

„Yun Ho! Oh my gosh, y - you are sooo good in this! Ahhh...“

Of course he was, everytime he used the opportunity to try out new techniques and he enjoyed it maybe a little bit too much waiting for your reactions because of flicking his tongue in another way. And you tasted so good, the best dish for a good morning. Your needy moans and flinches only pushed him further to do his best and let him enjoyingly hum at your sensitive bud.

It was expected that the oral sensation you were receiving couldn’t date you forever... so after feeling your third orgasm coming through you knew something more had to be done.

„Yun Ho, I - I want you...“ His eyes widened at your unsteady statement and he pulled away from your entrance licking his lips off your digits in the process. He looked to the ground an debated.

Come on... only this time! Look at our beautiful girl! She needs our dick!

Stupid wolf, but maybe now the right time was?

„Yun Ho! Please, do something!“

„Shhh, Y/N. You really want this, huh?“ You nodded dizzily at him still feeling the sparklings of your orgsam.

„Huh, then use your words and I will give you everything you want!“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ song min gi ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

To be honest, Min Gi became exceptionally frustrated at mating season. It wasn’t easy for him to refrain his outgoing mate, because you indeed had to endure heat pulsings that were enormous. He already asked his friends about their human mates and how they coped with the situation. But he knew you weren’t like the other girls and needed a special treatment.

To say it bluntly, you became a brat during mating season and Min Gi was clearly sick of holding back to fuck some sense into you. Eventually his wolf was exhausted after some time and Min Gi had to bondage you to the bed because you just didn’t stop grabbing his cock and kissing his neck.

„Why are you like this?! What man let’s his girl hang on when she’s needy? Since three weeks you’re avoiding me! Now let me free and I will just find a guy in a bar tonight!“

Another man touching his mate? How delusional of her. Of course you didn’t really meant it but mates could be easily triggered also if you were human. Your sexual frustration made it to a point where touching yourself wouldn’t help anymore.

„Say that again.“ Min Gi leaned over your sweaty form on the bed and heavy breaths left his mouth. You could swear you saw a slight growth of his teeth but pushed away the thought immediately when he screamed at you.

„SAY THAT AGAIN!“

„Min - I didn’t mean to - “

„Little brat! It’s time to punish you for being so disrespectful!“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ kang yeo sang ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

Yeo Sang was quite shocked his mate turned out to be human knowing exactly what that meant for his primal instincts. He didn’t know how the first season with you would turn out but he didn’t want to hurt you at all costs. Wolves could be quite violent during sex and especially their heat with their partners so he sticked to getting out of your sight everytime he could make out the gorgeous scent of your body like some of the others did with their own human mates. Usually Yeo Sang managed to skillfully change into his wolf and run back to his pack where he would be safe from your eyes. You on the other hand found yourself often searching the house for your missing boyfriend sometimes only finding a quick note from him.

Today you already awakened with sticky clothes to your body exactly knowing it was this strange time of the season again. It happened regularly throughout the year you thought Yeo Sang looked especially cute or even hot, only a little eye blink with his beautiful lashes letting a chill run down your spine.

Watching him deliciously eating his pasta you couldn’t stop thinking about how his lips would feel on your body but you knew he acted different this morning, too, meaning nothing good for your desires...

You carefully stood up pretending to get something from the kitchen when you made a swift move and landed on his lap. He layed down his fork and looked at the wall ignoring you hard.

„Sangie...“

„I am not in the mood.“

He pushed you off and ran to the bathroom and closed the door. You followed him slightly pissed and banged against the door yelling his name and asking what the fuck was wrong with him again. You heard some shuffling and then nothing?

„Yeo Sang? What’s wrong?“ You could’ve swear the window was open so you speeded outside to look for yourself and indeed it was. Your anger raised and so your heat. Something nudged against your leg und you tripped over and screamed fully at the large creature over your form.

„Oh my god! Please don’t eat me!“ You shielded yourself on the ground with your arms in front of you and just hoped it would leave you by. But instead it neared you and whimpered a little bit. You peeked our of your arms and gasped.

„Huh? A wolf?“ Yeo Sang couldn’t just run away when he smelled your heat in the forest and knew it became stronger by making you angry. In this form his wolf had a stronger will and his sense just doubled themselves making it unable to ignore your sweet fragrance and aura.

The bond pushed you to the wolf although you were totally scared but when you looked into his eyes something seemed familiar...

„S - sangie...?“

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ choi san ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

San didn’t hold back during mating season because your and his cravings for each other were natural for him. The only thing he was afraid of was the fact one day he had to tell you that he was a werewolf, at least when you would bear your first child for him and someday it would change in front of her eyes.

Anytime you got into heat the two of you nearly never left the house jumping on eachother all the time. He honestly tried to give you hints that he wasn’t like you at all. You just thought he was a beast in bed with all the growling and biting in your neck eyes always watery and mind blissful because of the high pleasure he gave you.

„Y/N! Baby, look at me! I want to see your pretty eyes when I am pumping my pups into you!“ Well, you thought he was kinky. Nothing more...

„Y - you’re wearing contacts lenses t - day? Ahh, fuck, San!“

He pounded endlessly into you holding your knees up with his warm hands in a tight grip. Sweat tickled down his forehead and already wettened his hair. He smirked, grunts leaving his parted lips and licking them at the sight of his mate in front of him. She was totally defenseless in his arms just like he wanted it.

Suddenly he stopped and leaned down to catch her questioning eyes with his.

„Look at me, those are not lenses.“

Just when he thought you would get the hint after some time of thinking and hard breathing passed you lifted one eyebrow.

„Oh shut up little delulu - now continue I was so clooooose!“

Maybe not this time, bro...

▂▂▂▂▂▂ jung woo young ▂▂▂▂▂▂

Woo Young loved your behavior in heat and so did his wolf. You often wear the most sinful lingerie for him and acted like a needy cat for your mate. He didn’t need to smell or feel your changing in demeanor to know mating season began and it definitely was the best time of the year for him. But you, too, didn’t know your boyfriend was unhuman, and he liked to keep it like that. He didn’t really was afraid you would find out but he put so much effort into the relationship to not let you find out about the destined pull it could destroy a lot.

As Woo Young was a quite sneaky and playful boy he found a good solution to let his wolf take control during the sex and to hide his secret. You just thought he had a really dominant phase once or twice a year and already looked forward when the play time came by again.

His best strategy to fuck you at night: turn the lights out and have you screaming his name until you didn’t thought about the marks all over you body the next day again, or at day time: his favorite thing to cuff your wrists and put on a blindfold.

You were to distracted by his sinful touches and praises to think about the fact this felt like a fifty shades scenario and you didn’t need to be embarrassed about your and Woo Young‘s kinky behavior because your boyfriend tended to exaggerate things more like you.

This one night you could remember he seemed to have put on orange looking contact lenses and pretended to be a ‚werewolf‘, it seemed like he put much effort into the costume as he really had something animalistic back then.

„My mate...“

„Oh god, fuck right there Woo Young! Deeper!“

„Tell me you’re mine!“

„I - I am yours Woo! Only yours, forever!“

You screamed out his name multiple times as he skillfully reached and penetrated the sweet spot deep inside you already poking against your womb. Woo Young could only chuckle at your naivety but also was thankful for it. Like this, he could keep his act on a long time without having to miss any little thing of a good mating season.

▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ choi jong ho ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂

It wasn’t surprising Jong Ho received a quite intelligent mate from the moon goddess and he had to admit he enjoyed watching you trying to figure out his unnatural strength and senses also like your own feelings.

It started with telling him you felt a much deeper love like for him like you ever did for your ex-boyfriends before and that she knew he was someone really special for her. The wolve‘s heart swelled at your words and confession but also he felt a little bad for not telling you the truth.

In private he called you his ‚soulmate‘ which you found utterly cute but Jong Ho knew it meant so much more. He wanted to help you to find out for yourself what he was and why you felt so different at mating season living through the most embarrassing cravings that you tried to hide from him.

He didn’t think it would be so hot to see you struggling because of his presence and he was just too good in hiding his own desire from you making everything really hard.

When you sat inside the big library of his and his friend‘s mansion you came across a book about mystic creatures. You blushed at the next words not daring to read any further when suddenly the door sprung open.

Jong Ho smelled your arousal outside in the garden and couldn’t resist to look after what caused your sudden hotness. He stood behind you and read the sinful things you just read on his own. He made a move to put you on his lap and stroked your hair with comforting motions.

„Why don’t you read it out loud?“ You shivered at his husky voice and wished you could get out of this situation.

„Th - the mating season makes both male and female mate craving and earning for the sexual release through their partners and...“

„And?“

„Jong Ho... this cannot be real right?“

A moan left your lips when he pressed a light kiss on your shaking lips and his eyes turned into a rich golden color.

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