☆ VAMPIRE!WILLNE

first of all, i’m am OBSESSED with this idea!! vampire!will would soooo do this 😖, like imagine him just pinning you down, hands above your head as he looks into your eyes, muttering about how you’re going to sleep with him and you’re just so….. transfixed. you can’t look anywhere else other than his eyes and your brain is like fuzz, hypnotised by his piercing gaze from on top of you. 

maybe he even asks for you permission… something like, “can i bite you?” but it feels like a mile away until he just smirks to himself as you give him a slurred response and he just uses you as he pleases! <33

✧ WEREWOLF!ALFIE BUTTLE

oh my god, imagine him doing this during a full moon?? or close to a full moon?? i can imagine him upping his sex drive around a full moon and he’s so worried that he’s going to get too lost in the moment and lose control so he’ll just abruptly pull out before he knots into you and you’re left a bit like, “huh?? what’s going on??”

i can imagine him being so sweet and awkward about it bless him too. like, him just shyly admitting, “i really don’t want to get rough with you, darlin’,” and you’re just openly like, “what if i want it rough, alf?” and his ears perk up and he’s like so happy.

cue the full moon and he’s knotting you SO MUCH. there’s scratches all over your body and bruises litter your skin as he’s so rough with you, splitting you open, marking you and fucking you dumb <3<3

୭ WITCH!CHRIS DIXON.

fuck me, this idea makes ME so buzzy. like, YES? i don’t know why i never thought of witch!chris, it just makes sense??? but oh my god, this man is a menace. if he can put any hex, spell or trick on you, he will.

thinking about him innocently slipping you a drink one day when he invites you over for drinks and it’s actually a love potion and you initially think it tastes funny but instead of questioning it, you just accept that it’s probably chris’s choice of alcohol.

after a while of letting it sink in, i can imagine you getting really hot and the whole world is a blur and chris is trying to act innocent, asking “are you alright?” and you just slur out something, maybe even mumble something about how he looks attractive, as your pupils are forming into hearts as you’re feeling this attraction you’ve never felt for him before… 😵‍💫 and he just takes advantage of that…

꩜ SHIFTER!ARTHUR TV

omg i’ve never thought about this??? but oh my god i’m obsessed???

thinking about him slipping up as he’s having sex with you. maybe saying something that only you knew with him but like, you can’t escape so you’re just stuck there, having sex with your shifter ex boyfriend who’s currently inside of your boyfriend’s body… 😵‍💫

“That…”The man bites his lip, shuffles feet: indecisive. He’s older and fussy and tidybut genuinely apologetic, uniform textbook-neat, brown hair touched with grey;Chris can sense warlock skill but isn’t quite sure what specialty. He himselfisn’t the strongest witch in the world—not even in Los Angeles—though ifSebastian can feed him any power at all, their odds’re decent. Even ifSebastian can’t, well. Righteous fury can do a lot. “I shouldn’t. He’s not justour best suspect; he’s the only suspect. Motive, means, opportunity…but…”

“Butyou’ve already tortured him,” Chris says flatly, “and he didn’t do it, butwhether or not he did, you would’ve killed him.” When he lifts his hand fromSebastian’s back, sparks dance between his fingers.

“We knowwho you are, Mr Evans,” says another voice. One of the detectives, the oneswho’d come for Sebastian. The one who’d argued for the benefit of the doubt.“We know how much good work you do. Healing sick kids, looking out for yourneighborhood, rescuing that family from that house fire…you’re a good guy.”

Right nowChris is not inclined to be.

Sebastianreaches out a little more—emotionally, intangibly, not physically—and twineshimself into Chris’s glowing heat. Safe.

“I thinkmaybe,” the detective says, glancing at his captain, “we let them go. I mean,the kitten’s hurt pretty bad, and we did that, and do you really wanna arrestthe guy who saved a whole family from their burning house last month? That’snot community goodwill.”

“Let me gohome with them.” Scott, arguing on their behalf. “I’m trained in therapytechniques and working with troubled magicians. I can help. And I’ll take anoath to let you know if anything’s suspicious.”

In Chris’sarms, Sebastian tenses with hope. Then starts crying again, mostly but notentirely for effect.

“You,” the captain says, annoyed, “arebiased, Mr Evans. The other Mr Evans. Both. I wouldn’t trust you to inform onhim even if he killed the warlock in your backyard and dragged him to your feetlike a dead mouse. But…fine. Trackers, two officers outside the house, and ifhe sneezes wrong I want to know.” He pauses. “For whatever it’s worth, I hopehe’s all right. I really do.”

“Here.”Their detective comes over, touches Chris’s arm. His name’s Peña, Chris recallsvaguely. “I’ll do it. This shouldn’t hurt, but hold still.” A flare ofinaudible music-notes ripple around Chris’s wrist, settling quickly into a hardlump of magic that fits itself skillfully in between existing personal shields.He can tell it’s there and it’s alien, but it makes itself more or lessunobtrusive.

“May I?”The man gestures at Sebastian’s arm.

Chrisbreathes in and out. Nudges his kitten gently. “Seb? You up for this? He won’thurt you, it’s just a tracking spell, he’s good with those and he’s careful—”He’d damn well better be, even more so than he’d been with Chris. “—and I’mright here.”

Sebastiannods, face hidden in Chris’s neck. Holds out an arm. Shivers when unfamiliarmagic brushes his, but doesn’t protest.

“Okay,you’re good. Go. Take him home.”

 Even as he grabs for the vanishing glow of magic—

 Sebastian’s gone. Out of his head.

 “No—” He lurches that direction. Where his kitten, his other half, his brave beautiful shapeshifter true love, has been standing on the sidewalk, well out of house-fire range, feeding Chris power.

 He can’t see at first. Then he can.

 Sebastian had evidently taken a step out of the way—onto the neighbor’s lawn as emergency fire crews and paramedics crowded the space—and collapsed, quiet and unnoticed as the death of a snowflake, behind a rosebush.

 Not moving. Awkward. Broken. Like he’d made no effort to catch himself.

 Chris falls to knees beside him. Reaches out. Trembling.

 “No,” someone keeps saying, “no, Sebastian, please—I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” His face is wet with tears, with soot. “No.”

 Sebastian’s in human form—they’d run out from bed, distracted by the neighbor’s house becoming a torch—and wearing only pajama pants and Chris’s shirt. His hair’s rumpled from having Chris’s hands in it, moments or decades before. He’d been alive, so alive, laughing exultantly as Chris pinned his wrists to the bed and bent down to kiss him—

 “No. Please.”

 Sebastian doesn’t stir when Chris gathers him up. Long limbs fall like discarded twigs.

 “Please,” Chris says. “Please wake up. I’m sorry, kitten, I’m—I love you—”

 Sebastian’s breathing.

 This fact registers belatedly: in the minute rise and fall of that beloved chest, in the exhale that brushes Chris’s collarbone. In the faintest fairy-wing flutter of pulse.

 “Oh god,” Chris chokes, and starts to cry.

 One of the paramedics approaches. “Sir?”

 “He’s hurt,” Chris whispers. “I—it’s my fault, I did this—”

 “May we take a look at him, sir?” The man exchanges glances with another man; Chris suddenly realizes how his own comment might’ve sounded, without any other cause for the fire known as yet. “Was he in the house?”

 “No, he—” Oh god. Oh god, the words kill him to say. “I know what happened. I was—”

 “You got the kids out,” says the second paramedic. “We saw you, you’re a hero, man. And—hey, I know you. Local witch, right? Magic hands and all? You do art?”

 “Yes—no, I’m not a—I don’t know.” He cradles Sebastian’s limp form, shaking. “Can you help? I know what happened. It’s power drain. Serious.”

 They exchange glances a second time. “He’s a witch too?”

 Chris feels his eyes widen as the shock slams home. No. No, Sebastian’s not a witch.

 Sebastian’s rarer than that. Natural magic. Not mythical, but the kind a person might meet once in a lifetime, if lucky. A true shapeshifter, a born therianthrope, a magic source. And prey to anyone unscrupulous enough—and skilled enough—to collar him. Like the warlock who’d held him for eight months before he’d escaped and come running into Chris’s life, hiding in kitten-form from rain under Chris’s car.

 “He,” he starts, stops. “I…”

 Sebastian stirs, in his arms. Makes a sound: not a word, but questioning, small.

 Chris clutches him more tightly. “Seb? I’m here. I’m right here. I’m so sorry.”

 “…Chris?” Sebastian coughs, blinks, shakes his head, lets it rest on Chris’s chest. “For what? I feel like I’ve been flattened by a gryphon, but I’m okay.”

 “Are you?” Natural magic means innate magic. Sebastian’s got inhumanly huge reservoirs to draw on, to feed to his witch or warlock or academic theoretical sorcerer. But it’s tied to his self, his existence. Human magicians use power like a tool: grabbing glittering lines out of the air, diverting them, directing them, not internalizing. Power drain for a fellow witch might mean exhaustion and an inability to grip with weary hands at strands of magic.

 For Sebastian—

 “Well…no.” Seb sighs. “I’m so tired I can’t think. Are you all right?”

 “I’m not the one who—”

 “Would you two like to come along to the hospital?” asks the paramedic who’d known who Chris was. He’s got a hopeful open kind of face, brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes, earnestly young. “We’ve got some new infusions that’ll help witches bounce back faster, rose-hip and licorice with boosts from our resident healers.”

 Chris looks at Sebastian.

 The other paramedic, older, gives them a narrow-eyed thoughtful gaze, and says nothing.

 Sebastian looks up at Chris, clearly thinking the same thoughts about healers and temptation and his own identity. They haven’t been exactly keeping him a secret, but they haven’t been advertising; it’s unlikely that Chris’s cheerful Los Angeles neighbors would’ve connected his dark-haired quietly smiling partner with the reckless moon-sugar-high explosively powerful shapeshifter who’d vanished from the supernatural party scene a year and three months ago. Sebastian uses his own first name and doesn’t transform in front of anyone; most of Chris’s clients know either the calm witch’s assistant-slash-lover who helps mix magical ink with barely-hidden delight, or the long-legged brown tabby kitten with quirky folded-over ears who likes to sit with sick children and purr.

 The children always feel better after that. Amazing. Magical.

 “I think I’d just like to go home,” Sebastian says weakly. “Unless—Chris, should they look at you—”

 “No, I’m good.” He waves offers of assistance away. Scoops his kitten up into arms with heroic effort. He’s shaky from the fire—oh god, he walked through fire, he rescued kids, with Sebastian’s help—and from the aftermath. But their house sits white-painted and well-warded just up the hill, and he’s pretty sure Sebastian can’t walk, but it’s a short enough distance for carrying.

 At home, Sebastian tucked into bed—barely conscious, murmuring something that sounds like I love you—Chris sits with him, brushes hair out of his eyes, catches a whiff of smoke and ash and exertion. Himself. His clothes. Impressive.

 He kisses Sebastian gently. “Will you be okay if I go shower? I’ll make it quick.”

 “Yes. Just come back.” Sebastian closes his eyes. He’s a study in contrasts against the blue backdrop of pillowcase cotton: dark tired hair, dark eyelashes, white face. “It’s better when I can touch you.”

 Chris nods, and goes.

 In the shower he lets his hands shake, lets himself shake; lets himself sink to heated tile and come apart for a moment under the kindly cover of pattering drops. He could’ve killed Sebastian. He could’ve—he hadn’t even thought—

 Sebastian had offered, had opened himself up freely and held out strength for Chris to take, and he had, he’d taken—

 He’s no better than Sebastian’s old captor. He hasn’t put a compulsion-laced collar around his kitten’s neck, but Sebastian’s tied to him anyway, out of love.

 He’s going to be sick. He presses a hand over his mouth. Swallows, as fire-flecks tumble from his hair and swirl down the drain.

 No. No, he’s not—it’s not that bad. He pleads with the lump of lead in his gut. Sebastian chose him. Sebastian is choosing this. He’s never taken his kitten’s choice away.

 He’ll just have to be more careful. So careful. So grateful for this gift.

 He vows this to the bright sparkle of the shower. If it’ll make him clean, he’ll go out and beg absolution. He’ll never touch Seb’s power again if Seb asks for that.

 He gets out of the shower, shaking his head like a dog, sending drops flying all directions. He aches with guilt, with the knowledge that this guilt means they were able to save children, with the understanding that Sebastian held nothing back and would’ve kept shielding him if he’d had to run back in.

 He sits down naked on the side of the bed. Sebastian opens pale blue eyes lazily, feline and drowsy, and reaches out to tap at his arm; Chris laughs softly through piercing heartbreak, and gets into the right position, half-propped up against pillows, kitten cradled safely in his arms, more or less atop his chest.

 He rubs Sebastian’s back. Strokes soft forest-dark hair. His magic’s in his hands: what he draws can heal, can blossom into life. He’s worn out and hurting but he pushes a spark or two of brightness that way. What he’s got to offer. His heart.

 “Chris,” Sebastian murmurs, sleepy. “Save it.”

 “My turn.”

 “Mine’ll refill. With time.”

 “Yeah, but right now.” He pets Sebastian’s hip, traces the line of his spine, the smoothness of his skin. “You’re barely here, aren’t you.”

 “Oh…somewhat better than that. It’s already started coming back.”

 Huh. Chris really doesn’t know much about therianthrope biology; no one does. Not enough for a proper scientific study. “That fast?”

 “Not fast as such, but immediate. It’s like…after you donate blood…sort of. Your body naturally makes more blood; mine makes magic.” Sebastian yawns. “It’s not a perfect analogy. It’ll rebuild faster than that. More so if I rest and don’t use it much. The more it comes back, the more it will come back.”

 “So me jumpstarting you a little does help.”

 “…well,” Sebastian says. “Fuck. I was rather hoping you’d miss that implication. Also, jumpstarting? I’m a cat, not a car.”

 “Nice heated seat,” Chris says vaguely, squeezing his ass. Sebastian’s still Sebastian. He wants to cry. “I love you. Can I ask you something?”

 “Always, witch.” Sebastian yawns again. “Love you. That’d better not’ve been your question; it shouldn’t be a question.”

 “No. But that’s why, sort of…” He hesitates, but he’s started now: no unsaying words. “I didn’t…you didn’t…you wouldn’t’ve let me…keep going, the way I was using you, would you? You’d’ve stopped me?”

 Sebastian goes still. Then sits up—Chris hadn’t known he had the energy for that—and twists around bonelessly so they’re face to face. “You think you’re acting like him. You’re not.”

 “I kept pulling from you. I could’ve really hurt you, Seb. I did hurt you.”