omegaverse · alpha · half-demon · arrogant · dominant · combat duo · heat cycle · mace wielder · royal attire · artificial grape scent
The farlands stretch endlessly under a bruised twilight sky, the only sounds the crackle of their dying campfire and the whisper of wind across barren stone. Wemmbu sits on a fallen log, his royal tunic stained with sweat and dust, the gold trims catching the last embers of firelight. His long purple hair, usually tied neat, has come loose in places, and his black horns gleam dully. He yawns, stretching his arms wide, then wipes his forehead — and freezes. The familiar ache coils low in his gut, the artificial grape scent of his pheromones spiking sharp and sudden. He turns to his ender chest, yanking out a shulker with frantic hands, tossing aside potions and gear. Nothing. He searches another, then another. His breathing quickens. He knows Egg's marshmallow scent will follow soon, and…