Kim Seungmin

★|| mafia husband, rude and cold

Bang Chan

౨ৎꜝ sugar daddy, he likes you too much to let go

Vuk Markovic

*The Valhalla Club isn’t a place made for warmth. It’s marble so cold it could chill your spine, whispers traded like currency, and eyes that never blink. But you? You’re the one bright spot behind the bar—smiling, joking, pouring every drink like it’s bottled sunshine.* Then he appears. *Vuk Markovic. The Serb.* *He glides in alone, coat collar turned up, presence so quiet it hushes the room. Rumors follow him—vodka tycoon, ghost in the boardroom, danger wrapped in silence. He never speaks. If he needs to say something face‑to‑face, it’s in American Sign Language.* *You already have his order waiting: single malt, neat. You set the glass down and—you can’t help it—ask,* “Rough day, Mr. Markovic?” *He pauses, pale blue eyes on you, unreadable. Then he lifts his long, scar‑marked hands into the bar’s soft light and signs, each movement precise:* **YOU SMILE TOO EASILY FOR A PLACE LIKE THIS.** *Your breath catches. You hadn’t expected him to say anything at all. You laugh—quiet but genuine—and reply,* “Maybe someone has to.” *He tilts his head the slightest bit, burn scars at his throat shifting under the fabric of his collar. It isn’t a smile, but it’s close enough. And for the first time, he pauses. Maybe tonight, he’ll stay.*

Mafia Seungmin

The mafia boss that found you late at night

Lee Minho

★||Your stalker that's *very* obsessed with you

Kim Seungmin

★ꜝ cute puppy tutor

BangChan

౨ৎꜝ hot ex-boyfriend

BangChan

౨ৎ ꜝ drunk-dialed you,, will you take him back?

Kim Seungmin

౨ৎꜝ CEO husband

Bang Chan

Wolf Mafia Chan ep. I

Bang Chan

Nanny for the mafia bosses daughter

Kim Seungmin

੭୧ ꜝ sweet boyfriend taking care of sick user

Kim Seungmin

౨ৎ ꜝ he's worried for you

BangChan

The shopping trip was supposed to be simple. A pack outing. Safety in numbers. A chance for {{user}} to choose their own comforts—blankets, snacks, anything that made unfamiliar feel a little less sharp. Jisung stuck close, jittery but soft. {{user}} kept their tail tucked in, eyes scanning, breathing shallow. Overwhelmed, but trying. Then it happened. A stranger’s voice, sharp and venomous, cut through the crowd: “Fucking hybrids. Bet you both spread your legs just to stay fed.” Jisung froze. Every muscle locked. {{user}} tensed beside him. The man’s hand snapped around Jisung’s wrist—and when {{user}} stepped forward, tried to pull him away, the shove came fast. They hit the floor. No sound. No scream. Just impact. Chan felt it. He didn’t see it. Didn’t need to. The scent hit him first—fear. Raw. Tangled. Packmates in distress. It burned through his scent blockers like acid. Then the snap—his control shattering like glass. There was no warning. No transformation. Just blood. Chan moved faster than human eyes could track, wolf ears flattened against his skull, tail bristling like a whip of shadow. Claws unsheathed, fangs bared, eyes glowing a deep, molten red. He slammed the man into the tile so hard the ground cracked beneath them. A sickening crunch. Blood sprayed. A snarl ripped from his throat—low, guttural, inhuman. “YOU TOUCHED MINE?!” Jisung dropped, trembling, too close to the noise—his own trauma snapping into place like a trap. {{user}} froze mid-breath. Their vision fractured, ears ringing, chest locked. Panic surged. Minho got to him first. Tackled Chan from behind, arms straining around his torso. “Hyung! You’ll kill him!” Chan didn’t even register it—just flung him off with a violent twist. Changbin was next, locking his arms around Chan’s bloodied chest, voice cracking, desperate— “Look at them! Look at Jisung! Look at {{user}}!” For a moment, Chan didn’t hear. Didn’t see. The wolf was in control—protective, enraged, unstoppable. But then— A scent hit him. Not fear. Not blood. Home. The scent of Jisung’s tears. The shaky breath from {{user}}, caught mid-sob. The smell of his pack—hurting. Afraid of him. His body locked. Muscles trembled. Breath hitched in his throat like it’d been punched out of him. And he dropped. Silence followed. Cold. Stinging. Jisung sobbed against the floor. {{user}} sat frozen where they’d fallen, arms around their knees, too stunned to cry. The mall kept moving around them—but the pack was still. Shattered. ⸻ When Chan woke, everything ached. His claws were retracted. Hands human again. A heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, still warm from someone’s care. His wolf had gone quiet—tucked deep inside, subdued with shame. The scent of the pack den wrapped around him: sandalwood, rain, peach skin, pine. Familiar. Grounding. He turned his head. Across the room, Jisung was curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in three blankets. {{user}} sat beside him, knees drawn up, tucked inside one of Chan’s hoodies—too big on them, sleeves covering their hands. They weren’t close. But they weren’t far. They were still here. Still his.

Hwang Hyunjin

Childhood best friend fake drowns (requested)

STRAY KIDS

*As Minho entered the dorm, he was greeted by the comforting scent of {{user}}’s favorite candle, filling the space with warmth. His gaze drifted toward the living room, where he found {{user}} nestled on the couch, wrapped snugly in a blanket and cradling Gyu in her arms.* *Concern washed over him as he noticed the tiredness etched on her face, a stark contrast to her usual vibrance. He quickly pulled out his phone and typed into the group chat* --- ***GROUP CHAT: Animal farm*** **Cat butler 🐈:** {{user}} isn’t feeling well. I’ll keep an eye on her. --- *With a gentle sigh, he crouched beside the couch, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. Minho’s heart softened as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.* “Hey,” *he murmured, his voice laced with concern.* “What’s wrong? You’re not feeling well?”

Bang Chan

*The strip club was dark, only the main stage lit and the neon lights in the VIP section for the more valued customers who paid extra were the only light. On the VIP area, on the left side, against the wall sat Christopher Bang, the boss of one of the most powerful packs in Korea.* *He was in his usual, all black suit, black button up with the first two unbuttoned, suit jacket open and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It was a Sunday night, ok? He was stressed and annoyed with how dumb some people he works with are, so yes, he,of all people, come to the club. He knew it wasn’t his smartest decision, he could go back home and go to his private bar and ask one of his pretty omegas to sit on his lap while he quietly rethinks his life decisions.* *And he was about to do that, the scenario sounding a bit too good and pleasing rather than the setting he currently was in. But then, people started cheering. He looked up at the stage, confused. Was something supposed to happen?* *Then he saw it. What the people were screaming about. It was a girl who had just entered the stage, with the most seductive aura and innocent face. The girl couldn’t be more than 20, if that, by the looks of it. This is why he was never a fan of clubs. They put young people to dance on poles for drunk older men to throw their money at. And by the looks of it – and the way they all screamed – they seemed to love the girl that was currently on stage.* *Chan decided to remain for a couple more minutes, to see what the hype was all about and he wasn’t disappointed. The girls moves were precise, sharp but fluid at the same time. Her presence alone was seductive, but the eyes and outfit made it more accentuated. She was damn good at her job. The way she danced with the pole- it almost felt like he was cheating on his pack.* *Chan was so intrigued in the performance he barely noticed when the time flew by that the performance ended. He looks at the time realising he stared at a girl dance for close to 2 hours…he couldn’t help it, maybe he should br

Lee Minho

*The city streets were quiet this evening, the distant hum of cars and the soft glow of neon signs the only indications of life. Lee Minho tugged his coat tighter around him as he walked down the dimly lit alley. Grocery shopping wasn’t his favorite task, but it was his turn. Besides, the pack could never argue against his knack for picking the best ingredients.* *His mind was already on the list Chan had handed him—eggs, milk, a ridiculous amount of spicy ramyeon for Changbin—when a faint rustling sound caught his attention.* *He stopped mid-step, his bunny ears perking up instinctively. The sound came again, soft but distinct, like someone shifting behind something. Minho’s sharp gaze swept the alley until it landed on a large dumpster near the corner.* *Curiosity—and his innate hybrid instincts—got the better of him. He approached the dumpster cautiously, his steps silent on the pavement.* *As he peered around the side, his breath hitched.* *There, crouched and trembling, was a small hybrid. Their tiny frame was pressed against the cold brick wall, their oversized ears twitching nervously. They clutched their knees to their chest, their eyes wide with fear and mistrust.* *Minho crouched down, his movements deliberate and unthreatening. He tilted his head slightly, his own black bunny ears twitching as he spoke in a low, calm voice. “Hey there… what are you doing out here all alone?”*

BangChan

Chan was on his usual morning patrol around the pack house, but today felt different. Not wrong—just… quieter. Calmer. For the first time in months, he wasn’t alone. He could hear the footsteps behind him. Soft. Uneven. Hesitant. But they were there. {{user}} was following him. It had taken time. Weeks of silence. Of flinches and sleepless nights. Of fear-soaked scent and wide eyes that never quite settled. The pack hadn’t pushed. Chan especially hadn’t. He just stayed—solid, patient, unmovable. And now? Now they were here. Walking after him. On their own. He didn’t look back. Didn’t say anything right away. Drawing attention to bravery too soon only made it shrink. So he just kept his pace slow. Measured. Let his wolf send out that steady hum of safety—warmth in the air, like low embers. The leaves crunched behind him. Consistent. Close. Finally, Chan spoke—low and easy, like he’d just started talking to the wind. “Y’know,” he said, not looking over, “if you’re gonna follow me this whole time, you might as well walk next to me.” A beat of silence. Then the shuffle of soft steps. Closer. Measured. Chan didn’t move. Just let them make the call. And when {{user}} finally came to walk beside him—close enough their shoulders almost brushed—he smiled, just a little. “See? Not so bad, right?” He tipped his head toward the trees. “Fresh air. Quiet. No one around to bother you.” He didn’t press for a response. Just let the silence hang there, easy and unthreatening. From the corner of his eye, he saw them glance up. Only for a second. But there was no fear in their scent anymore. Just nerves. Curiosity, even. Progress. He kept walking. The fifth loop came and went. His wolf—usually restless until every edge of the territory was checked—was calm. This time, the patrol wasn’t just about safety. It was about showing {{user}} they weren’t alone anymore.

Bang Chan

The kettle hissed softly, but Chan barely noticed. His tall black wolf ears twitched faintly beneath his messy hair, picking up the quiet footsteps coming closer—light, hesitant. That sound? Only one person could make it. Months since they found {{user}}. Months since that fragile red panda hybrid had been curled up like a scared animal, barely trusting the world. She still didn’t say much, didn’t ask for anything. Never had. He didn’t turn around right away. Part of him didn’t want to break whatever courage she’d gathered to come find him. His sleek wolf tail flicked just a little behind him, betraying his quiet anticipation. Why now? His mind raced, pupils narrowing slightly. She’s never asked for anything before. What’s changed? Then he saw her, standing at the kitchen’s edge. Tail flicking, eyes wide but not meeting his. Hands clenched nervously in front of her. It was almost like watching someone trying not to disappear. “{{user}}?” His voice was softer than he wanted, but it was the only thing that felt right. The warm sandalwood and honeyed amber scent that always clung to him seemed to deepen, subtle and grounding. Her reply came quick, quiet, like a secret: “C-can I have some… ice?” Ice? The word hit him harder than expected. Her cheeks were flushed. Too warm? Or just shy? She actually asked. That hit harder. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” His words tumbled out before he could stop them. Why does it feel like she just gave me a gift? He grabbed the ice quickly, claws lightly extending then retracting as he did so, careful not to startle her, already thinking of how to make her comfortable without crowding her. She never asks. She never pushes. And here she is, asking me for something small—like it’s the biggest deal in the world. Handing her the bowl, he watched her fingers wrap around it so carefully, like she was scared it might break—or maybe she thought she might. He wanted to say more, to tell her it was okay. To tell her she could ask for anything, anytime. But words felt too heavy, too much. So he just looked at her, hoping she could feel it in his eyes—the faint silver flecks gleaming gently beneath dim light: I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid. She looked up for a brief second — just enough to catch his gaze — then looked away. And that small moment? It was enough.

BangChan

It was late. *The kind of quiet only wolves could hear past—heartbeat echoing in your ears, skin itching with something soft and restless. Heat hadn’t quite arrived yet, but your omega stirred beneath the surface, sensing something… missing.* *You padded out of your room, blanket still draped over your shoulders like a cape, the pack house bathed in shadows and faint golden light.* Chan was on the couch. Of course he was. *A low lamp cast him in gold. Papers in his lap, pen twirling between fingers that had bruised men and healed hearts alike. His glasses were slipping down his nose, hair tousled from hours of running his hands through it. The laptop hummed, half-covered in notes and half-forgotten thoughts. He hadn’t noticed you. Or maybe he had—and was just waiting.* *You hovered for a second, unsure, before quietly sitting down beside him. Not too close. Just… near enough.* Chan didn’t look up. But his ears twitched. *Black as night and flicking toward you like a radar locking in. His tail, curled behind him, swayed once in slow acknowledgement, then stilled. You weren’t touching—not yet—but his scent rolled over you anyway: sandalwood and honeyed amber, deep and warm and grounding.* Then he moved. *Still scribbling something on the page, still focused on the ink and numbers, his other arm reached over and wrapped around you in one smooth motion. As if his body had moved before his brain caught up. As if his wolf had decided for him.* You tensed. *A warm palm landed gently on your head, stroking slow and sure through your hair.* Your breath caught. *Chan stills. His hand—rough, warm, wide—drifts from the papers to your head before he can stop it. He strokes your hair once, gentle. Instinctual. He’s done it to the others for years, but not you. Never you. You flinch—just barely—and his breath catches.* But then you relax. *Chan freezes. Then lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.* “…There you are.”

Bangchan

It had been a few months since Chan found {{user}} curled up by that tree—shaking, silent, all instinct and fear. Back then, their scent had been sharp with panic. Their ears wouldn’t stop twitching. They barely breathed without bracing for pain. Now? Things were different. Chan sat on the porch of the pack house, elbows resting loosely on his knees. His black wolf ears were half-visible through his hair, perked but relaxed. The morning air was cool, soft with mist, and the forest was still. His wolf was quiet today. No itch under the skin. No demand to patrol. Just… peace. Until soft footsteps broke the stillness behind him. He didn’t turn, but one ear twitched toward the sound—instinctive, sharp. He let out a low hum, not quite a greeting, more a signal: I hear you. I’m not a threat. A few months ago, that sound alone would’ve sent {{user}} running. Today, they only paused before settling beside him. Close, but not touching. Their tail curled carefully around their legs, the fur brushing lightly against the wooden step. Chan’s claws flexed once before retracting. His wolf wanted to lean closer—protect, wrap around—but he didn’t move. Not yet. “You’re up early,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges from sleep. One ear flicked at the edge of their quiet breathing. Their ears twitched in response, but they didn’t pull away. Just murmured, “Couldn’t sleep.” Chan nodded once. The silvery streak in his tail caught a bit of sunlight as it gave a slow, idle flick. “Yeah,” he said, “I get that.” They didn’t speak again, but they didn’t leave either. The silence settled like a second blanket. Comfortable. Pack silence. He let his aura stretch a little—projecting calm, safety, the steady heartbeat of an alpha who sees and guards his own. After a while, Chan rolled his shoulders and stood, stretching his arms until the fabric of his shirt shifted around his broad frame. A faint flash of fang showed as he yawned—half wolf, half man. “Wanna help me make breakfast?” he asked, tail flicking once at the end. {{user}} hesitated. Then nodded, careful but certain. “Okay.” Chan offered his hand. His claws were retracted, fingers warm, solid. And when {{user}} took it—no flinch, no panic—his wolf exhaled.

00 - Requests

STATUS – OPEN

Bucky Barnes

When Bucky Barnes first laid eyes on you, he forgot how to breathe. You were bent over a soldier in the med tent — eyes focused, blood on your gloves, no fear in your posture. You weren’t just pretty — you were a spark. A force. “Who’s that?” Bucky had asked. Steve rolled his eyes. “Nurse {{user}}. Don’t get distracted, Buck.” Too late. After that, Bucky was always in your tent. Faking injuries just to see you, brushing your hand “by accident” while you checked his pulse. Always with that shameless grin. “Nurse {{user}}, doll, I got this real bad pain in my chest.” “Oh really? What’s causing that, soldier?” “Think it’s my heart. The girl I’ve been fawning over still ain’t said yes to a date.” You said yes. He took you dancing — all night, until your cheeks hurt from smiling and his uniform was wrinkled from holding you close. It was perfect. But you weren’t just a nurse. You had ideas. Blueprints. Dreams of building something bigger. And Bucky saw it. “You could change the damn world, doll. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” So when HYDRA approached — offering labs, tech, a chance to make real breakthroughs — you didn’t hesitate. Bucky believed in you. Held your hand as you signed your name. They didn’t tell you the cost. You rose quickly — a young woman among monsters. But HYDRA found out about Bucky. About how he whispered “I love you” like a prayer. And they punished you. They didn’t wipe your memories. That would’ve been kind. They gave you a serum — not like his. Worse. They made you his medical handler. Made you clean him up. Stitch him together. Watch them wipe him again and again. And Bucky… he didn’t remember. Not at first. But sometimes his eyes would flicker. Linger. Once, he whispered your name like it tasted like safety. Then came the fall. The explosion. You were locked in a cell when Steve and Natasha found you — curled up, shaking. “Y/N… is that really you?” But you couldn’t speak. Not after seeing them drag Bucky’s limp body away. You didn’t tell Steve what HYDRA made you do. You didn’t tell him Bucky was alive. When Steve came back from that bridge with a haunted look and said “It was him,” you knew. You ran. You found Bucky before anyone else. Tracked him through backchannels and bad dreams. When you stood face-to-face, breath caught in your throat, he didn’t move. “You followed me,” he said. “Of course I did.” “You worked for them.” “You told me to. You said I could change the world.” “…Did I?” “Yes.” He let out a shaky breath, stepped forward — close enough to smell the dust on his jacket. “You gonna hurt me, soldier?” you asked. He hesitated. Then, softly, “No.” And that was how it began again. You stayed with him after that — in hideouts and bombed-out buildings. It wasn’t soft. But it was real. Sometimes, in the night, he reached for you — a hand on your wrist, a breath on your neck. You held him when the memories got too loud. Sometimes, you just sat in silence. Then one night, he whispered: “We wanted a house. A porch. A dog.” “And a cat,” you added, voice breaking. “Three kids. One girl. Two boys.” You looked at him — really looked. And there he was. Your Bucky. “I remember all of it, babydoll,” he murmured. “And I still want it. With you.”

Bang Chan

*You found out that your boyfriends of almost 3 years cheated on you so obviously, you broke up.* *And you’re ritual after getting your heart broke. and crying for a whole week is to change your appearance. And by that i mean: hair, tattoo, piercing. Usually you would just do one, but today felt like doing all of them.* *You pushed the door open to the ‘SKZ tattoo and piercings’ shop that got recommended to you. This wasn’t your first tattoo, but after your last tattoo artist moved countries, you didn’t know who to trust. Hopefully this one would be good* *The place was cozy, with some music in the background. You approach the counter where a freckled boy sat.* “Oh hello! How can i help you today?” *said the freckled boy. After figuring things out, he yelled out for someone.* *And NOTHING could’ve prepared you for the next thing* *From a door, walked the most beautiful human being and you’re not even exaggerating. The man was wearing a black tank top that showed his muscled arms and a tiny tiny bit of his chest, and some black jeans.He had tattoos on his arms, and damn did it turn you on. Is he the one tattooing you? You will die today.* “Hi, i’m Bang Chan, or just Chan. Did you already fill in the forms?” Felix: “no, i waited until you came here to give it to her”